19. Silas
19
SILAS
G raham sleeps through my dismount and my clean up. His feet are still on the floor while his body lies limp on the bed. I pull up his underwear, and he doesn’t stir. With his cum still leaking from me after I get him squared away, I decide to take a shower and then I might join him for a nap. I have a night shift later, and while I don’t feel hungover anymore, I could use the rest.
It’s not until I’m under the hot stream of water that what I’ve done over the last twelve hours settles in.
Hopping from one man’s bed into another’s. Blowing my ex. Kissing a married U.S. Senator who’s so deep in the closet, I’m surprised he could even find his way out for a morning. Asking for it raw from someone I know about as well as a stranger. What the fuck is wrong with me lately?
This all started with Graham, though. I was normal until he showed up in my gym. At my building. The night he hired me was one thing, but I moved on from that. His re-emergence in two of the primary corners of my life was when I started to lose my mind.
I don’t know what it is about him, or about the way I get when I’m with him. He’s an itch I can’t scratch, and it’s not like he’s some god among men. But I am so fucking attracted to him. Beyond what’s rational or understandable.
I’m so messed up I can’t even figure out if today was a mistake or not. If he doesn’t want to see me again, I’ll get it—totally. Talk about being from two different worlds. But if he does—what the fuck do I do then? It’s not like I’ll be able to say no.
This place is probably a half hour walk from my apartment. It’s totally private. His wife doesn’t know about it. I’m just saying, if he offered me a key again in a serious way, I might take him up on it. Not so I have a decent place to sleep—I’d use it to meet up with him and fuck him.
But looking at him now, still passed out from our earlier activities—I think I might have wrecked him. Or worse—traumatized him.
While Graham put up very little in the way of resistance, I definitely had my way with him. I hope I didn’t force myself on him in a way that was unwanted. To be fair—he did spit in my hand. He had to know what I was gonna do with it…right?
The dude’s had sex a handful of times in his whole life, though. Maybe he didn’t know. Fuck.
“Hey.” I nudge his shoulder.
He startles, sits up and looks at me. His hair is a disaster. A combination of just woke up and fucked into the bed. It’s perfect. The sun is still fairly blinding in the room, but it lights his eyes in a way I find mesmerizing. Yeah, okay, maybe he is a god among men.
Why the fuck did I have to go and kiss him? He’s all eyes and lips and cock now. I want all of it. All of him . Or maybe I’m rebounding hard off my night with Ben. Could be that. Too many feelings needing some place to settle outside my body. And all that thought makes me want to do is crawl up in his face and stick my dick in his mouth. I feel like a fucking predator .
“Do you need to be anywhere?” I ask, not remembering why I woke him up in the first place.
He shivers, and I notice he’s got chills everywhere. His nipples are like pebbles. He’s got bigger than average nipples and I find that excruciatingly attractive, too. Quarters instead of nickels. He might have stopped working out with me, but it’s obvious he hasn’t stopped working out entirely. His body looks good. Maybe still bigger and softer in spots than he wants it, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
He looks at his wrist, realizes he’s not wearing a watch, and asks, “What time is it?”
I shrug. “Maybe nine?”
He stands up. “I wonder where my phone is.” After a brief hunt through the clothes on the chair beneath the window, he wanders out of the bedroom. He comes back in with his phone in hand, studiously staring at the screen. “I have a conference call at noon.”
So much for that nap. “Maybe we can talk for a few minutes before you have to go?”
He looks up from his phone at me. “Yeah, of course.”
He really is nice. Maybe one of the nicest guys besides Christian I’ve ever met. I don’t know how to deal with nice sometimes. I feel too harsh—too cynical. Like a literal bull in a china shop. Not that I’m incapable of being sensitive. It’s just that sometimes it doesn’t occur to me until I’ve already done a healthy amount of damage. I am, in other words, an acquired taste.
“In terms of earlier…I hope you don’t feel like I um…like forced myself?—”
“No,” he says. “No, I didn’t feel like that. I know what you mean, but no. You know what you want.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean it’s what you wanted.”
“I wanted it,” he says firmly.
“You sure? Even without the…”
He nods while I picture the healthy load of cum in the condom I took off him. The way I still feel some of it trickling from my recently cleaned hole.
I make myself swallow before clearing my throat and averting my eyes. “If you’re sure. I mean, I realize it’s too late now…”
“If it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me,” he says.
It does bother me. That’s why I’m asking. I tuck the towel tighter around my waist and see he brought my clothes in here with his. “Guess I should get going.”
“I could order some food—if you don’t have to leave right this second.”
“I have to work tonight,” I tell him. “I should get some rest.”
He sighs. “So what’s the deal? Are we pretending this never happened or what?”
“No pretending here,” I say. “Also, it was pretty unforgettable, and you can take that however you want.” There. That was nice, wasn’t it? I hope so because it feels like a real putting myself out there moment. I could have substituted it with use me anytime, Senator, I’ll keep my ass ready , but I’m hoping he can read between the lines—Harvard grad and all that.
There’s a huge “what now?” hanging in the air between us, but I don’t know whether my answer would be different than his. So, the answer is going to depend on who asks first.
It’s not gonna be me.
I pass him on the way to the pile of clothes on the chair. I pick up his t-shirt first and have a weird urge to wear it instead of my own shirt, but I hand it over. He pulls it on while I pick up my pants.
“Was that all you needed to talk about?” Graham asks.
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
“Can I text you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Anytime.”
“Okay.” We finish getting dressed in silence. I leave the bedroom, find my pack and make sure I have everything I came in with. I was right. It’s just past nine according to my phone .
Just past nine, and this place couldn’t be more inviting. I glance at the couch which is a million times nicer than the one I might be going home to sleep on, and the TV, which takes up half the exposed brick wall.
I turn to find him watching me. “It really is a nice place,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s not bad.”
Rich boy, I think. I should take him to the house where I grew up in Queens. Mom and Trixie would die of embarrassment, though, and I would never do that to them.
“So,” he says, approaching me. “When you say anytime…”
I glance at him with his furrowed brow, one corner of his lower lip caught between his teeth. Not that I would want it, but he and I both know this can’t be anything. That doesn’t mean I never want to see him again—or do this again. What he lacks in experience he makes up for with his willingness to try. It’s intoxicating. Borderline addictive.
I’ve got no clue where my life is headed in the long run. He’s got a path. One that apparently involves babies and a pretty picture for political posters. I do want him, though, and I get off on being someone’s dirty secret. It’s part of what makes escort work interesting. Corrupting a senator? Shit…I love it. Not that I ever would, but the blackmail possibilities are endless. Something about that makes it even hotter—that he would risk it just to fuck me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I promise I’ll stop being a total dick.”
He grins, and there’s something shy in it that’s almost too charming to look at.
I have a feeling I know what’s hanging him up, though, so I go ahead and address it. “I get you’re new to hook-ups,” I say. “I also get you’re not out there trolling gay clubs and looking for someone to take into the bathroom for a quick hand job. You’ve got a life, I’ve got a life. You just keep doing you. If you want to meet up, text me. No judgement. ”
He nods carefully. “Right.”
“Hey.” I clap a hand on his arm. “Don’t look so bummed about it. Welcome to the world of casual sex. It’s fun if you don’t think about it too hard.”
“And if I do?”
I give his arm a squeeze before letting go. “Do us both a favor, Senator. Don’t.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Seriously, go make babies with your wife. Tell me to fuck off whenever you want. I won’t take it personally.” Those words feel like a lie as soon as they exit my mouth. Not the making babies part—that’s an inevitability. I probably would take him blowing me off personally, but nothing could be worse than Ben dumping me for London.
I might need to put aside some money and time for therapy if my shit with Ben keeps popping up at times like this. I have no interest in being scarred for life because I made the mistake of falling for someone who wasn’t as invested. And I won’t lie—my arms are a little tired from holding them out so stiffly to keep anyone from getting too close. This guy particularly. Keeping him away has been exhausting.
“I’m not sure how it’s gonna go with Avery. I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” Graham says.
“Well, what else are you gonna do?” I ask. “If you insist on being a fucking Republican, this is the way of your people, right?”
“Gay people can be Republicans,” he argues.
“Apparently, but I can’t really say I get it. Try not to take away any of my fundamental rights while you’re in Washington, okay?”
He scowls. “I’m not in it for that.”
“What are you in it for, then?” I’m curious.
He doesn’t have an answer ready, which surprises me. He shoves his hands in his pockets, scuffs his shoe on the floor, looks down at it, and shakes his head. “I’m good at compromises, I guess. ”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I might not agree with everything my party stands for, but maybe I can help moderate some things.”
I snort. “Good luck with that. Anyway, I gotta go.”
“I can try,” he says as I turn toward the door.
“If that’s really what you plan to do down there, then seriously—good luck.” I turn back at the last second and surprise him with a kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”
He manages to grab a fistful of my tight shirt and hold me in place before I can pull away. He presses his lips to my cheek in return. “Thank you,” he whispers before letting me go.