49. Silas
49
SILAS
I can’t find Lilah anywhere. Worse, the only person my body wants to find is him . I want to do more than fuck him. I want to scream at him, berate him and humiliate him until everyone in this house knows exactly what a piece of shit he is. How he treats people he makes promises to.
My mind keeps tripping on the video he let me take. Why would he do that? He could have knocked the phone away at any point, but more than once, when I looked down at the screen, it was his half-lidded eyes I saw, staring at it. At me as I pounded him harder than anyone I’ve ever screwed in my life.
That goddamn cage…
What the hell was I doing putting my hand on his dick in the first place? That’s the better place to start. If I had to guess, I was trying to get a rise out of him. Remind him I turn him on, and he can deny it in public all he wants, but he and I both know he’s as queer as I am. Maybe I wanted him to remember that.
No. Not want. I needed him to. Needed him to know I haven’t forgotten a thing. My memories of him are tattooed on my brain, branded into my skin. After a year, the second I put my hands on his body, I felt entitled to it. Last summer, he took away what was mine. Reclaiming it was my fucking privilege.
I could almost smell the spark of the chemical reaction igniting between us when he locked that door. By the time he tried to get closer, I was already hard. His pathetic apologies and excuses only made me want to fuck him more. What the hell does that make me? All I know is it wasn’t like this with Ben when he came home. He ghosted in and out of my life with barely even a thought of mine thrown his way.
But Graham?
Goddamn, he’s still under my skin.
The glimpse I got of the cage before it was smashed against the vanity remains with me as I do a room to room search for Lilah. It was like a full coat of armor, much more restrictive than the one I gave him. I couldn’t even see his cock through it. It was both enraging and an enormous turn on.
I could easily believe he hasn’t been with anyone since me. It’s not a stretch with his father watching him and his desperation to keep up appearances for the senate’s sake. Briefly, it occurs to me to feel guilty for all the men who’ve had me since, but I shove that aside quickly.
Having sex is my job. Gil is maybe slightly more than a job, but what I feel for him isn’t a shard of what I once felt for Graham. So what is this feeling I’m experiencing now?
Frustration mainly—since I can’t locate Lilah.
But there’s also a thrumming sense of unfinished business—a reminder of the video I now possess.
Proof.
Leverage.
I could ruin his life worse than he ruined mine.
But to what end? Revenge? A year ago, I might have jumped at the chance, but now…
Now it’s all too depressing. I don’t want this version of him. On a completely psychological level, I no longer find him attractive. He’s a coward, and worse than that—he’s cruel. At best, he’s a thoughtless prick operating solely in his own interest, and that’s not the man I fell in love with.
The man I loved was a lie.
The next door I try is locked. I pound on it. “Lilah? Lilah!”
Scuffling and hushing ensues.
A very disheveled Lilah opens the door, mouth kiss-swollen and eyes glazed. Behind her, a curvy brunette is adjusting her spaghetti straps with her back to me.
“I’m leaving,” I tell her.
“You ever hear of texting?”
I nod my chin at her conquest. “Would you have noticed?”
“You can’t leave. Daddy’ll think we’re fighting.”
“Then I guess you’re coming with me.”
The pained look on her face tugs at me. The other woman whips around, dark eyes flashing. “Who are you?” she asks.
“Lilah’s date.”
“Li—I swear to God?—”
“Hey—it’s nothing like that,” Lilah says dismissively. “Come with us.”
“I can’t just leave,” she says.
“Why not? We’ll just say we’ve had enough of the stuffy old assholes and want to go get a drink. We’re friends, right?”
The brunette appears to weigh this. “I’m not into threesomes.”
“I said it’s nothing like that, and if you’ll come with, you’ll see. Please?” Lilah walks over to her, and they share a long look that quickly devolves into a hot, heavy kiss that’s got even my dick twitching.
Damn.
“Please,” Lilah begs in broken breaths.
They’re literally groping each other. What did I walk in on?
“Come on,” I say. “Both of you. I’ll get a car. Meet me out front.”
They’re merging mouths again, and I repeat myself .
“Okay,” Lilah says. “God.” And then she’s back to kissing her friend.
“If you don’t show, I’m leaving without you.”
Lilah pushes the other woman away and takes a deep breath. “We’re coming.”
I take her word for it and rush back down the stairs where I’m met with the sight of Graham, Holden, and their father huddled together while Holden gestures at a group of people out back.
Like he senses my eyes on him, Graham looks up. Anger explodes like a firework in my chest at the longing in his eyes. The regret. The question I hadn’t answered earlier. What are you doing here? And the one behind it, too. When can I see you again?
I shake my head, a firm no in my gaze. Never. Nothing like this can ever happen again.
Calliope is the brunette’s name. She and Lilah went to private school together and have been best friends since first grade. Calliope is in medical school while Lilah has a college degree she does nothing with. I can’t even remember what it’s for.
Apparently, this is the first time these besties have expressed any feelings toward each other beyond friendship, and they seem awfully excited to continue expressing those feelings.
Lilah doesn’t go so far as to tell Calliope I’m a paid escort, but she does spill the beans that I’m gay and mostly around for Gil.
“Aw…how is he?”
“He’s great!” Lilah says, a little overenthusiastic. “He’s talking to a guy online. We think he likes him.” She includes me in the “we.”
When we get back to the Montgomery’s home and before Lilah sneaks Calliope up to her bedroom, she pulls me aside. “Did you see him? Is that why you wanted to leave in such a hurry? ”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say something?”
“He said things.” And I have no interest in sharing them. “Go have fun.”
“Are you going to Gil’s room?”
“I’ll check in with him, but he has some tournament he’s playing tonight. I’ll probably hang out by the pool.”
“As long as he knows where you are if he needs you.”
I nod. Yes, thank you, Lilah. I know what I’m being paid to do here.
“Okay.” She smiles. “Wish me luck! Good night.” She lifts onto her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my cheek before chasing after Calliope.
As expected, Gil is completely absorbed in his computer, headphones on. He’s got two separate chats pulled up on one of his monitors. One with other players and the other with Zq550mn. It probably means something, but who knows what.
He waves me off when he sees me, and I hold up my phone to let him know I’m around.
He gives me half a smile before turning his attention back to his monitors.
The house is empty. I change into swim trunks and a t-shirt before stopping by the kitchen, grabbing two beers from the fridge and heading out to the pool. It’s a warm evening. Dusk. The sky is a hazy purple with the rosy hint of sunset lingering on the horizon.
Unlike the Lawthers’ house, there’s no ocean to be seen from here. Just a bunch of trees and well-kept shrubs.
The pool is a long rectangle, not designed with fun in mind, but I’m guessing it’s twenty-five meters—or whatever length makes a lap pool. It’s lined with deck chairs, and I pick one on the end nearest the house to face the lawn.
I have two missed messages on my phone from Trixie raving about her new mattress, which don’t require more than emojis in response. And then my thumb drifts toward my gallery. I rationalize that I’m only trying to make sure I got him on camera. I want the beauty mark. I want the voice. I want to make sure my dick got in the shot before I fucked him with it.
But oh shit.
“Please stop? Please fuck you?”
And then his face comes into focus. Behind him, I’m unbuttoning my shirt. The angle is slightly distorted because the phone is so close to his face, but it’s the sounds he’s making that have my dick plumping in my trunks.
I press the heel of my hand on it to make it stop. Nothing about this should be hot. It should sicken me to see him like this. Panting and whimpering. Crying for fuck’s sake. He’s obviously humiliated, and the words I’m saying to him in the video hammer that fact home. I’ve done degradation play for clients in the past, but this is different. This isn’t taunting. There’s pure venom in every word.
But when he spits on my hand, my growing erection overpowers my will to stop it. I slide my hand inside my shorts. While my face is rarely on the screen, he says my name way more often than I heard him do it at the time, and it’s got me leaking as I stroke my cock. I’m reasonably certain no one will walk out here with me jerking off, so I indulge.
What I wouldn’t give to be fucked like that . With as many men as I’ve had sex with—and I’m beyond the ability to even guesstimate, only a handful are worth remembering. I had the best sex of my life with Graham. No matter where or how we did it, something about the way we fit together—the way we knew each other—just worked .
My friend Christian once asked me if it’s always better with guys than with girls. I’m gay, so I don’t have much to compare it to, and I would have said yes—hands down—but men in general aren’t all that great at sex—especially the “straight” ones. The majority are selfish in bed and get off fast, which isn’t bad necessarily, but is unsatisfying more often than not. Some are less selfish—they’re trainable and ask for guidance. Some have a natural talent—like Gil—who understands his angles, knows how to roll his abs, and likes to draw sex out.
And sometimes two men click into place, hyper-responsive to each other and adjusting accordingly. Paying attention to what works and leaving what doesn’t.
I think I must have forgotten how good I was with Graham. He looks high on my cock in this video. I knew I was aiming straight for his prostate, but I had to have milked it for all it was worth to make him look and sound like that .
He’s sweaty and red faced. His eyelids flutter, only the whites visible. His jaw grinds, bracing himself when I draw back, and his mouth falls open as I slam back in, low grunts escaping as he takes his punishment for ruining me.
I should have slapped him. That’s what I want to do now as I stroke myself faster. My balls fill and tighten. I should have left a mark on his face he wouldn’t be able to explain away.
When I watch him orgasm—however the hell he managed that—it’s so hot I don’t even bother trying not to come. Need courses through me, and my dick erupts in my trunks. With my entire fist slick with cum, I milk myself dry, the aftershocks coming hard and fast.
Jesus. I can’t ever watch that again.
Shutting off the screen, I get to my feet, less steady than before, strip off my shirt, and dive into the pool.
Once I’m submerged, I will the water to wash all my dirty thoughts away.