Chapter 12
JETT
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re awfully bossy?” I said as I pulled my clothes off a piece at a time and left them folded neatly on the edge of the nearby tub.
“You have.” Locke’s eyes tracked me across the open expanse of tile. Thankfully, wooden shutters had been closed over the windows, so we had complete privacy. “But I am the boss.”
He was, I supposed. For now.
Part of me wished I were exactly what Locke thought I was. A rent boy whose primary concern for the next ten days was pulling orgasms out of him.
But I wasn’t that guy. My father, Maverick, still found moments to repeat the mantra he’d started when I was very young. “Curious Cat is never content.”
My mind had been whirling since we arrived.
Villa Altomare was different from what I’d expected.
It was definitely a shockingly large villa.
But it was also homey and warm, the way my uncle Jude’s homes were.
Despite Jude’s obscene wealth from his music career, he didn’t try to impress people with it.
He was who he was, down-to-earth and family-focused.
It hadn’t occurred to me that Locke Maris, heir to a multibillion-dollar fortune and the very definition of “old money,” would own a place like this, let alone host global power players here.
But then again, the housekeeper had implied they’d hosted before, most likely during his grandfather’s time.
For as much as Locke often seemed rigid and closed off, seeing everyone welcome him here so familiarly and catching glimpses of his emotional reaction to arriving at his late grandfather’s place had made me want to know more.
Made me wish we had the kind of relationship where I could ask him those questions.
Fortunately for both of us, I also wanted his dick in my mouth again, which would be a good way to distract us both.
I grabbed an extra bath towel from a stack, and as I stepped into the large shower, I refolded it into a thick, long rectangle before dropping it in front of his feet and lowering to my knees.
Locke’s body was obscene. Hard muscles with only the barest padding over his abs. Ink along his arm and one of his legs. The angles of his face and his narrowed eyes always looked fiercely intimidating in a way that got my dick up every single fucking time he looked my way.
“You look good on your knees for me,” he murmured, folding his arms over his chest. “Wash me.”
I would have taken offense if I hadn’t been trained to look for even the most subtle tells in people’s body language.
Locke Maris’s jaw flexed.
I remembered it flexing several times before, and each time, he’d been anxious.
The first had been in Amsterdam, when he’d been concerned about my health.
The second in New York, when he’d made me the indecent proposal.
Then again in the car just a little while ago, when he’d been concerned about his little gay secret getting out.
Locke wasn’t nearly as chill as he was pretending to be.
Still, I thought about refusing him. Telling him to wash his own damned body.
But my father, Beau, had always taught me not to spit into the wind no matter how mad I was, and denying myself the opportunity to caress every part of Locke Maris’s body with my greedy little fingers seemed like a similarly bad idea.
I reached for the bottle of bodywash sitting on a small teak bench and poured a giant heap of it into a fluffy washcloth. Then I met Locke’s eyes and began at his feet.
My fingers turned a utilitarian job into cultish skin worship. If he wanted me to wash him, I’d make him regret it.
By the time I reached the top of one of his inner thighs, Locke’s dick was bobbing heavily in my face, and his quads were twitching under my fingers. His chest heaved on every loud inhale, and thick steam clouded the space around us.
“That’s enough,” he clipped, his voice gruffer than usual. “Suck my cock.”
I blinked water droplets off my eyelashes and peered up at him again. “But I was just getting started.”
He unfolded his arms and clasped the back of my head, pulling it close to his erection. “At this rate, we’ll be here all night.”
I hid a smile as I nosed the crease between his dick and thigh, still drawing it out to punish him for being an asshole.
When the hand on the back of my head moved to carefully brush the wet hair out of my eyes, I felt my own breath hitch.
Tricky bastard.
Using tenderness to get what he wanted was a dirty move. Fuck that.
I took him in my mouth, suddenly wanting to make him come as fast and hard as possible. He grunted loudly. The sound echoed in the tiled space, and his fingers tightened on my face. “Fuck,” he snapped. “Fuck!”
His breath came in heavy pants as I worked his cock and balls with my hands and mouth like I was being paid for it. Which I was.
“Jesus, slow down. I’m going to… fuck!”
The warm, salty tang of his release hit my throat and tongue, and I swallowed quickly to keep up with it. My own dick wasn’t nearly hard enough yet to be close to coming, but I was too annoyed to give a shit.
I stood up slowly, feeling the stiffness in my legs from being in the same position too long. Despite the folded towel, now soaked with water, the tile had still been a bitch on my knees.
Locke’s neck and chest were streaked with red. Was it from the hot shower spray or how worked up he’d gotten?
His narrow eyes bored into me. “You think you’re clever.”
“You think you’re straight,” I replied pointedly, deliberately wiping the corner of my mouth with my pinky as if wiping away leftover traces of his release, even though I’d swallowed it all greedily.
I turned to exit the shower, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me back until the back of my bare body was plastered against the front of his. His softening cock pressed into one ass cheek, and one of his free hands came around to splay across my lower belly.
“Is this your way of asking for my mouth on you, Jethro?” he asked in a low voice in my ear. “Because you could just ask.”
My eyes slid closed. My name wasn’t Jethro. And while part of me hated that he didn’t know that, I fucking loved hearing him call me by it in that teasing tone of voice.
“I dare you to suck my dick,” I said, unable to hide a smile. There was exactly zero chance this man was going to reciprocate with another man’s cock in his mouth. I’d been with plenty of “straight” men who would, but Locke Maris wasn’t one of them.
“Mm. That’s not asking.”
His hand moved lower, fingers tangling into the hair at the base of my cock.
I sucked in a breath. “Please.” My voice sounded ragged in the thick, wet air around us.
Locke’s large hand wrapped around my hardening shaft, causing me to let out an embarrassing sound. I arched back into him, my hair getting caught on the late-day stubble of his chin and cheek.
“You going to come for me, Jethro?” He pulled experimentally, sending a shudder of pleasure through my groin.
My chest heaved. Water trickled into my mouth, making it clear I was open-mouthed in shock in pleasure. “Oh god.”
“You like my hand on you,” he said in an amused voice, bringing his other arm around me and spreading his hand over the center of my chest as if keeping me from doubling over. When he shifted, I realized he was keeping me from leaning forward and blocking his view.
“Fuck,” I whimpered.
This was unexpected and so incredibly erotic. Locke Maris was stroking me off in the shower. Giving me pleasure instead of simply taking it.
Watching what he was doing to me.
“Good boy,” he said in my ear before swiping a thumb over the precum escaping my slit. “You want to come, don’t you?”
I needed to stop being a complete slut for him.
It was embarrassing. I’d never in my life responded positively to “good boy” shit, so why the fuck did it get me every time he said it?
Was it the way he made it sound almost like a taunt or a dare?
I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to claw a little power back.
“It’s hardly your mouth,” I said on a gasp as his hand twisted just right.
The rumble of his laugh vibrated through my back and balls. “Do you want me to stop? This not good enough for you? Not gay enough?”
The teasing in his voice made me smile. It was good to know I’d helped bring him out of the funk he’d been in when we’d arrived.
“There’s plenty of time for you to prove your gayness to m— Oh fuckkk.”
“Come for me, Jethro.” The command was whispered silkily. The man was a fucking maestro. He knew exactly how to play me.
I might have been embarrassed if I hadn’t been in such ecstasy. I teetered on the delicious edge for a few long seconds before his fingers brushed my nipple. Then I nearly choked to death on shower water as I threw my head back and opened my mouth in a cry.
Thankfully, Locke clapped a hand over my mouth before it filled with water, stifling my shout at the same time.
“Shh, that’s it. Just like that,” he murmured.
Oh my fucking god.
Since when was a freaking hand job this powerful? This asshole had the ability to own me in a way no one ever had before.
If this was what an orgasm was like with only his hands on me, what the fuck would it be like if he ever let me come on his cock?
I shuddered again and felt his arms release me. He moved under the shower spray and finished cleaning himself off before stepping out of the shower and reaching for a towel.
My eyes followed him like rabid wolves stalking their prey. The wide planes of his back. The curve of his spine. The hard muscles of his calves leading down to slim but strong ankles and long feet.
I thought back to the men I’d dated in college before I’d sworn off relationships. They’d been the meek, nerdy sort. Sweethearts—at least I’d thought so until they’d proven otherwise.
Locke was nothing at all like them.
He was the complete opposite. The kind of guy best encountered in quick, furtive doses. Hot but meaningless. A dime a dozen in the city.
But somehow, this time, it was different.
And I fucking hated that. Because of all the men I’d hooked up with over the years, this one was the absolute least likely to give a shit about me in any way past what I could do for his dick.
I washed and dried myself, escaping back to my own room to clear my head while Locke went back to behaving like I wasn’t anything important—a skill he excelled at.
And one I was determined to foil at every turn.
Just as soon as my legs stopped shaking.