Chapter Twenty-Nine
Billy is at the Maritime Hotel, inside the Hiro Ballroom. When his art director suggested using that space, with its enormous paper lanterns hanging from the twenty-foot ceilings, he loved the idea for the Emma Holland cover shoot.
The photographer is setting up a shot with a topless Emma covering her breasts with a sushi tray while a gorgeous male “chef” stands beside her holding a live koi fish.
It was Billy’s idea to pair the starlet with a male model: Tyler.
Yes, it’s his apology to Tyler for this mess with Violet, but it’s also a brilliant match: Emma’s sultry, French-Irish and Cherokee beauty is all the more dramatic next to Tyler, the tan, blond, corn-fed boy from Kansas.
It was going to be a gorgeous cover—those assholes at Vanity Fair could eat their hearts out.
Of course, Tyler’s Burberry contract required him to wear Burberry in the pictorial, which didn’t quite fit with the room’s Japanese aesthetic, but the art director was a good sport about it.
What Billy wants, Billy gets—at least when it comes to Gruff.
“Hi, Mr. Barton,” says a female fashion assistant. “Can I get you something to drink?”
He checks his watch. Eleven a.m. Good enough.
“A mojito,” he says. “Are they breaking soon?”
“Any minute,” the young woman tells him, then disappears. The next time he sees her, she’s presenting him with his cocktail.
The first sip of the minty, sweet drink calms his nerves. Still, he’s counting the minutes until he can get Tyler’s cock in his mouth. It’s been a few days. Tyler is pulling away from him; the Violet problem has put a pall over their relationship. Blackmail is a boner killer.
And that’s what the visit to the photo shoot is really about: Billy got a suite for the two of them. A romantic little rendezvous space. Something to put the fun back in fucking.
But the shoot is taking forever.
There’s a problem with the lighting. Things are set up, things are taken down. A technician is called in.
“Let’s wrap for lunch,” Billy says to the photographer.
Lunch is perfect. Billy knows Tyler’s very specific eating regimen, and lunch is not a part of it.
Upon the break announcement, everyone whips out their cell phones. Emma’s publicist, an aggressively well-groomed older woman with a British accent, rushes to her side. The assistants start taking lunch orders.
Billy waves Tyler over but can tell he’s not exactly overjoyed to see him.
“Hey—the shoot looks great,” Billy says.
“Yeah,” says Tyler.
“What’s wrong?” Billy says. Tyler shrugs.
“Follow me—I have something to cheer you up. Let’s go.”
Billy reserved the penthouse suite. The room has a sensational nautical theme, with round windows that give the feeling of a boat cabin. It feels like a mini getaway, and that’s exactly what they need.
But when he starts to undress, Tyler says no.
“Are you punishing me?” Billy says. “And not in a good way?”
“Do you think this is funny?” Tyler says.
“No. Of course I don’t. I take it very, very seriously: Agnes is selling. The lawyers are drawing up the paperwork. This is basically a done deal. Violet’s not going to do anything stupid.”
“How do you know?”
“She’s not going to mess with her golden goose, Tyler. She’s getting what she wants: her own club. Violet’s Blue Angel. We’re featuring it in Gruff. I’m using my contacts to pad the guest list for her opening night. I’m her new best friend. Understand?”
Tyler nods, visibly relaxing.
“I’m keeping her happy. I promise. Now why don’t you keep me happy?”
Tyler pours himself a glass of champagne, and Billy unzips his own pants. Tyler, standing by the ice bucket, watches as Billy takes his cock out of his boxers, stroking it. Tyler’s eyes lock on Billy’s rock-hard shaft, and Billy can see that despite everything, Tyler still wants him.
Tyler takes a few quick strides toward him, then kneels to lick the tip of his cock before trailing his tongue down to the base, then up again, to take him fully in his mouth. Billy moans, wanting to feel his cock hit the base of Tyler’s throat, wanting to hear him gag.
Soon Tyler chokes on his cock, triggering Billy’s orgasm deep in his mouth. Tyler swallows, clutching Billy’s ass, pulling him deeper until the moans trail off and he’s still.
Tyler stands up and leads Billy to the couch, standing behind it so he can bend Billy over the back of it.
Tyler spits on Billy’s ass, using his thumb to rub the wetness into his asshole.
And once his cock breaches inside, nothing else matters: not the photo shoot, or the magazine, or the problems with Violet.
The entire universe revolves around the exquisite sensation of Tyler inching his flesh inside Billy’s flesh, with agonizing slowness.
And then the ecstatic pain as Tyler pumps in and out, again and again.
Tyler calls him a bitch—a first. It triggers a release of such intensity that Billy doesn’t recognize his own voice as he cries out. Even as Billy finishes, wilting with pleasure, Tyler continues to work his ass until Billy feels his violent shudder.
They drop to the floor, lying against each other, panting for breath.
“You know what?” Billy finally says.
“What?”
“I know you feel like Violet has us by the balls right now, and maybe she does. But I promise you, by this time next year, I will find a way to fuck her in the ass harder than you just fucked me.”
“How?” Tyler says.
Billy kisses him on the cheek. “I’m working on it.”