23. Silas
23
SILAS
T he coffee is bad in a way I want to call legendary. I can’t drink it without laughing. Ultimately, I use my delivery app to have something better sent over. At eight, the sun is high enough to soak the space, reminding me in a vivid way of the last time I was here.
I’m starting to feel a little more like myself, some of my protective layers sliding back into place. The spit roast with two phone cameras on me in the middle is still giving me thoughts about myself I thought I’d long since shaken off—shame, mostly. Sex work is one of those things you either keep completely private—or—like those guys do—put out for public consumption. It’s obvious which side I fall on in that equation, and I will be speaking to Katia about it.
She can threaten the man who hired me—make sure those videos never see the light of day. But I need my hands to stop shaking first. Graham’s hug helped. I wasn’t trying to flatter him when I said I needed it. I wanted him to pull me into his arms as soon as he got out of the car. I understand why we needed to be inside, but the longer he went without touching me, the more I was afraid he wouldn’t .
When he did, something beyond relief spilled through me. It was something more like absolution. Forgiveness for the things I do to get by.
But now, he and I are on opposite sides of a table eating doughnuts and sipping coffee. I’m waiting for him to kick me out. Tell me he’s got to go—he’s got a busy day or whatever. I don’t want to have sex with him this morning—I feel too disgusting for that. I’ve also been up all night. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to go home, find a place to sleep for a few hours and then go to the gym and try to work the rest of these nauseating feelings out of me, but I’d rather lie down with him .
Can I just say that? Is that a thing I can tell him? Since the food got here, we’ve been doing the small talk thing. Weather. Thanksgiving plans. Why he sucks so bad at making coffee. The invention of the Keurig.
“That’s what I’ll get you for Christmas,” I tell him, which is pretty forward if the way he looks at me afterward is anything to go off.
I shrug since it probably indicates I’d like to come back here—do this again. Do more, even, which I shouldn’t be thinking about because I know it’s not only wrong but pointless.
He doesn’t say anything, though.
“What’ve you got going on today?” I ask, feeling out the situation.
“Not too much,” he says. “My father and I are leaving for DC tomorrow for the weekend to make the rounds.”
“What does not too much look like for you?”
“I have to pick up some things from the dry cleaners. Go through my email. Nothing pressing.”
“Can you hang out awhile?” I ask.
A brief hesitation and then he says, “You look like you could use some sleep. ”
I study his face and try to discern whether I should push this. “Yeah…I should go.”
“Wait,” he says quickly. “No. I do want to hang out with you. I’m not in a rush to go, but I get that you had a rough night.”
“Yeah.”
We stare at each other for a beat.
“I didn’t sleep well last night either,” he says.
“Can you sleep after that?” I ask, nodding at his coffee.
“Probably.”
Here goes nothing. “Wanna give it a try?”
Graham gives me a small, uncertain smile. “Yeah.”
I take a shower first because I need to rinse those assholes off me. I have some clean gym clothes in my bag that I put on before leaving the bathroom. Graham is lying on his back on the bed, on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling before he turns to me.
“You’ve got your shoes on,” I say.
He looks down at his feet like he hadn’t realized.
There is very little that’s smooth about me and Graham. We’re like stop motion claymation. But that doesn’t make it feel any less right to get into the bed, flip back the covers and tuck myself in. I lie on my side facing him, waiting for him to perform his next action.
He kicks off his shoes, and they thunk to the floor. Then he turns, still fully clothed, to face me. “You smell good,” he says.
“I guess I have you to thank for that,” I tell him. I used the soap and shampoo that was already in the shower. “Water pressure’s good, too.”
He smiles faintly. “You being nice to me is confusing.”
The sun is so bright in the room, I have to squint. He’s got the HD view of me now, and I hope I look better than I feel. “Say something unsexy,” I tell him. “Talk to me about what it’s been like having sex with your wife.”
“Have you ever had sex with a woman?” he asks.
“Only for work. Never because I wanted to. ”
“And?”
“I wasn’t into it.”
“She puts on gay porn in the background for me to watch to get me hard. But I think it turns her on, too.”
“Interesting. Does it work? Do you get hard?”
“Usually. But the more she gets into it, the more it splits my focus, and lately, I…” he averts his gaze.
“You can tell me. Fuck knows I’m not gonna judge you.”
“I don’t want to make it seem like more than it probably is,” Graham says.
“What does it seem like to you?”
He sighs and picks at the comforter. “Sort of like she acknowledges that I’m gay but also thinks she can satisfy me well enough.”
I get the feeling he’s leaving something out. “And does she?”
“It’s not like I disassociate completely. I realize where my dick is when we’re messing around, and I…get off…”
He speaks haltingly, like he’s not used to talking about sex, and I guess he’s not.
“But the last few times it’s been…a disaster.”
“How a disaster?” I ask.
“Jesus…I’m not telling you that. You don’t need all the details.”
“Hey, if there’s anybody you can talk about this with, it’s me. I’m the last person who’s gonna judge you.”
“You judge me all the time,” he says.
I frown. “Not about this.”
“Of course about this. I’ll never forget the look on your face when I told you why I was getting married.”
“Well,” I say, “You’ve gotta admit—it sounded a little extreme, but I understand why you felt like you should do it. And it’s good you found someone you can be honest with.”
“It’s starting to feel like I’m leading her on.”
“Hey, if you can be married to someone who gets you, and you’re able to get off with her, you’re doing better than a lot of other couples.”
“Right, except…”
“Except what?” I ask after several seconds when he fails to finish his sentence.
“I just wish I wanted that.”
“I think you do want it, Graham. And it sounds like you found a way to make it work. Congratulations,” I say, surprised by the tinge of bitterness in my tone. Upon further examination, I think I might be a little jealous of this man who seems to have it all. At least on paper.
“I don’t want her to love me like that,” he clarifies.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a lie,” Graham says.
I look him in the eyes again. “Is it?”
“Why would you ask that? Do you see me right now?”
“What am I supposed to be seeing?”
“The guy who dropped everything when you called. The one who’s telling himself it’s just a nap—it’s not cheating.”
“I’m not gonna make you cheat on your wife,” I tell him. “Again, I mean.”
“I don’t know how you can say that when you’re lying there looking like that.”
I heat up with that statement. “I’ll go,” I say weakly.
“No.” He slides his hand around my neck to bring our faces close. “You won’t. Please. Don’t.”
All of a sudden, I don’t ever want to leave. Something profound changes with that one gesture. With those particular words. Something clicks into place between me and him. An understanding? A bond. Affection for him and gratitude—deep, deep gratitude—hits me out of nowhere.
My mouth meets his—I’m the one who does it, who closes the distance. Any excuse to get his arms around me again. It works too, because as his tongue licks over mine, our bodies press together. I shiver with how good he feels. My leg wraps around his in a reflex move to keep him from backing away. I kiss him harder, hungry for the taste of him. Icing and coffee.
My cock, which I thought would be hiding out for the rest of the day, rises hard against the pressure of his full erection. His body is warm and big and reassuring as he wraps me up with it. Our hungry mouths dive deeply into each other’s, taking and taking. My hand moves up his back, into his hair. Our hips move slowly together, as firm and needy as the kiss. I like him so much.
Too much.
I tear my mouth away and breathe. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have texted.”
“Why did you?”
“I wanted you,” I admit.
“I want you, too.”
“You’ve got shit to lose. I don’t.”
“That’s bullshit.”
He’s right for a hundred reasons which he only knows the half of. I don’t just want him—he’s become the only one I want. The fact that we can never be together in any real way only makes me want him more. “You don’t get to call me on my bullshit,” I say. “You take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.” His mouth crashes into mine again, and our grind grows more frenzied. He gropes my ass, squeezing tight, and does something salacious with his tongue. All of a sudden I’m coming . No warning—no chance to get a hold of myself—like a virgin on his first hot date. “ Unh…fuck…Jesus ,” I groan as my cock spasms, and I spill into my shorts.
He works me through it, nipping at my lips and continuing to move with me as the explosions keep coming. He’s right behind me. With one, bed shaking shudder, he pants through his own release before our bodies relax against each other and we pick up the kiss at a softer, more eyes-rolling-to-the-back-of-the-head-because-it-feels-so-fucking-good pace .
Eventually, we shuck our clothes, do a cursory clean up and wrap ourselves up in each other again with our spent cocks and lazy mouths. “What about your emails?” I manage to ask him.
“Did you want to be held or not?”
“I do want to be.”
“Then just let me.”
I nod and let him, safe in his arms because I already know how our story ends.