Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
JAMIE
Mitch takes me to the Chicago Café, a small diner in the heart of Boystown. The waitress seats us at a table by the window and hands us menus.
“See anything you like?” Mitch asks as he peruses the menu.
“Yes,” I say, staring at the man who’s making my night a dream come true.
His blue eyes peer over the menu, one eyebrow kicking up as he studies me for a moment before dropping the menu on the Formica table top. “I mean the food.”
“I know what you mean,” I reply, smile and then drop my eyes to the menu.
He chuckles. “So, tell me about yourself. Do you live around here?”
“My sister and I live in a three flat my parents own off of Lincoln. So not too far,” I say and then decide on what I want to eat. “I’ll have cherry pie and a cup of coffee.”
“Cherry?” Mitch sounds surprised, and his mustache twitches.
I zero in on his upper lip and say seductively, “Yes. It’s my favorite.”
“It’s mine, too,” he says in a rumble, then adds, “But no coffee.”
“What do you mean no coffee? Coffee is great—the best with pie.”
“No.”
“Now, you blew it. I’m out of here,” I say in mock fury and begin to stand.
“Keep your ass on that seat, boy,” he whispers, but it’s as powerful as if Mitch had shouted at me.
I drop back in the seat and eyeball him.
“Are you going to be a brat, or are you going to behave while we’re here?”
I think on it for all of five seconds and say, “I’ll behave.”
“Good. Then you may have coffee.”
I so want to push, but I bite my lower lip and remain quiet.
Right then the waitress walks up. She takes our order, and swiftly comes back with our slicers of pie—which are both cherry and coffee for me and a glass of water for Mitch.
The entire time, we eat, we trade stories about our jobs, our ambitions, our families and our friends.
To my surprise, Mitch is a chief financial officer for a major bank and originally grew up in a small town in Massachusetts.
I explain how my twin and I are from the western suburbs of Chicago and how Jillian and I graduated from Northwestern a year early.
My sister has a degree in accounting and I have an engineering background.
The conversation goes down as easily as the coffee I’ve been drinking and the food we are eating. Glancing at my watch, I’m shocked to see that we’ve been sitting there and talking for almost five hours.
“Jamie, I don’t want to let you go just yet,” Mitch says with an east coast cadence I finally recognize.
As another shiver runs through me, I promptly drop my cup of coffee and the liquid spills across my groin.
The waitress had just refilled the cup. But thank God, I’d only had her fill it half way.
Nonetheless, there was enough to leave a visible wet spot and I can feel the heat of the liquid on my lap.
“Are you burned?” Mitch asks, worry lacing his voice. He leans forward, quickly grabbing napkins out of the holder and passing it to me.
“No. I’m okay,” I say, patting the wet spot.
Mitch relaxes and leans back against his chair. “Good. Then spend the day with me?”
His piercing blue eyes strip me bare, undoing me the moment they lock on mine. I can’t say to this man. “Yes.”
“Alright then. And now, as much as I love my leathers, I need to get out of them and you need to change clothes too. I don’t live too far from here. Will you join me?”
I wipe my mouth and stand. “Let’s go. Then we can go to my place so I can change too.” I look down at the coffee splashes on my rumbled jacket and the wet spot on my pants. Oh, well.
Mitch chuckles and stands, but not before he drops a couple of tens on the table, and then we leave. “That sounds like a good plan.”
It doesn’t take long before we reach Mitch’s place, a third-floor apartment right on Melrose near Broadway. Before he changes, he hands me sweat pants that look at least two sizes too big, then tosses me a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. “Take care of that. It’s my favorite concert shirt.”
“Will do,” I say with a salute and begin stripping out of my clothes.
Mitch doesn’t take long to change out of his leathers, but it’s enough time for me to put on the t-shirt and sweat pants. Thanks to the drawstrings, I’m able to secure the pants, since my underwear was wet and I have to go commando.
Then I take a moment o around his one-bedroom pad.
“I like your place,” I say, admiring the colorful artwork, all of male bodies, on the wall.
Mitch comes out of the bedroom smiling. “Those are all mine.”
“What?” I’m not sure if I heard him correctly.
“Some artist wanted to paint my body. But what he didn’t explain was that he literally wanted to paint me and roll me along the canvas.”
“That’s kinda cool,” I say in awe. Every nuance of his gorgeous physique is captured in different color palettes.
“Yeah, it was. So, after he was done, he gave me copies.” Mitch reaches and pulls me into his arms. “Then I spanked him and made him come.”
I bust out laughing, not expecting him to confess that.
“When did you get into BDSM?” I ask, hoping we can talk about it more.
“In my early twenties.” He stares down at me and something passes across his face. “Are you interested?”
“I don’t know. But I’m open to talking about it,” I admit with a shrug.
“That’s good. Talking is good.” Then Mitch kisses me, short but sweet. He then looks into my eyes and utters, “You haven’t come, have you boy?”
I shake my head. “No, Sir.”
“I think I need to rectify that.”
Before I can agree, Mitch kisses me again.
His left hand gently grips the back of my neck while his right hand unties the drawstring and slips into the sweatpants.
He wraps his hand around my already stiff prick and strokes me slow and even until I begin to squirm under his pleasurable onslaught of teasing and jacking.
“Oh, God. I need to come,” I plead as a current of pure ecstasy floods my body and I begin to shake.
“Sweet, sweet Jamie. Keep your eyes on me,” Mitch croons as he keeps me grounded with his hand on my neck. “Come.”
It’s all he has to say. I come with a groan, right into his stroking hand. If it wasn’t for Mitch holding me, I’d slump to the ground as my energy is zapped out of me.
“Now, let’s get you home so you can change. Then we can decide what to do with the rest of the day.” He waggles his brows and releases me from his hold.
I agree. He cleans us up, then we head to my place. As he drives us over, I tell Mitch about my and Jillian’s antics growing up. And about how our parents, being a mixed marriage, meant we encountered some bigotry in our lives.
Mitch totally understands what I’m saying. Being a gay man, and into leather on top of that, he assures me that he has met some roadblocks where narrow minded people are concerned.
When we walk into my flat, the place quiet. I head to Jillian’s bedroom to check on her, and my heart plummets when I see it is empty and her bed is still covered with the outfits she had tried on yesterday and rejected.
I immediately start to panic.
“Call her friends, maybe she stayed with them,” Mitch calmly suggests.
I call Kate’s apartment, but there’s no answer. So I call Sue next. After five rings, she finally answers. And what she says next pisses me right off. Sue confesses that my sister—my sweet, na?ve sister, went off with my friend Patrick last night.
“That asshole. He had better not have laid a finger on her.” I run my hand through my hair as I grab my car keys.
“Boy, chill. The Patrick you described earlier doesn’t sound like someone who would take advantage of your sister. Now put away your keys—you’re in no shape to drive. We’ll take my car.”
“Good. Good idea.” I am so panicked, that’s all I can string together.
“Much as I like seeing you in my clothes, do you want to change into your own stuff?”
“No time. Let’s go.”
When we get to Patrick’s, I verbally assault him—until Mitch, once again, the voice of reason, calms me down.
I am finally—or mostly, convinced that Patrick didn’t force himself on Jillian.
Yet, the idea that they slept in the same bed is brazen for my sister.
But I keep my mouth shut. Besides, I have successfully avoided Jillian’s questions about what I’m wearing.
She doesn’t need to know what I was up to with Mitch.
So when Patrick suggests we all go to breakfast, Mitch and I agree.
And now, here we are, sitting across from my sister and Patrick, who are all lovey-dovey on each other, while we are eating breakfast like we’re one big happy family. And maybe, this is the start of two beautiful relationships. But we shall see.
THE END?
Look for the epilogue for Jillian & Patrick and Jamie & Mitch, and read how the two couples’ lives have turned out. Available on both of CJs’ websites.
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