Preston
Vadim stands beside me at the sink, taking each thing from me after I’ve washed it: the pot, the wooden spoon, the bowls.
He's gone quiet since his revelation. And tense, too, the line of his shoulders stiff and raised beneath his black shirt.
I hand him the final bowl, dry my hands, and move behind him. Placing a hand on each of his shoulders, I give them a firm squeeze, and yep, he's coiled tight.
A rough breath escapes him.
"Too hard?" I hedge.
"No," he murmurs, turning sideways. "Perfect, actually."
"Good." I dig my fingers in deep then lift my hands off him. "You are way overdue for a massage."
He spins around, and his gunmetal-gray eyes drop to my hands then swing directly to my face. "You're not giving me a massage."
"Why not?"
"One." He latches onto my wrist. "You're meant to be resting."
"I have been resting. Look." I free myself from his grip and swing my right arm that was sore after the attack to prove my point. "Back to normal."
"And two…" He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. "There's a good chance I might not be able to control myself."
I chuckle. "Thought you were giving up with the jokes."
"I'm not joking, Preston."
He tugs me in sharply, my groin pressing against his. There's movement there.
"I have Mace in my room," I declare. "I'll be able to control you should you get a little handsy."
He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He frowns then tenderly sweeps a tuft of hair off my forehead. "I'd never do anything to make you uncomfortable or give you reason to feel unsafe with me, Preston. I'm going to keep you safe. That's my number one priority."
Eep. Now I'm the one guilty of making a stupid joke.
"I didn't mean it like that," I backtrack. "I just… I would just really like to give you a massage."
He lowers my hands, his eyes scanning my face. I'm still a little bruised but way less self-conscious about it.
Around Vadim, at least. Not planning any public outings anytime soon.
"To thank me without saying the words?" he hedges.
"Exactly."
He holds me fixed in his gaze, and it's so hard to tell what's going on in that head of his. He's definitely dangerous. He's killed people for crying out loud.
Not one but plural. That could mean two. Or twenty.
Or more.
But he's also kind and thoughtful and, despite what he just said, he does feel things. Not just big things but small things, too.
Everyone does.
Maybe he simply holds back or doesn't give himself permission to for who knows what reason?
We all carry baggage, and even with all his privileges, his wealth and power and family name, I get the feeling Vadim Piotrowski might be over his luggage allowance.
And he wants to keep me safe. I can tell he means it, and even though he has no clue what's in store for me, just hearing that feels so damn nice.
"Okay. You can give me a massage. But then we're fully squared up for everything, and you have nothing more to thank me for. Deal?"
"Deal." I nod with a smile. "Alright. Where do you want to do this?"
"I think I have a massage table in the gym."
Of course he does. My smile grows.
"Of course you do. Let's go to the gym then."
"Mmmmph… Nghhh… Oh, that's good. Right there. Yeah, yeah. Ahhhh…"
For a person who is not super expressive and fluent in the use of, um, words, Vadim is hands down one of the most responsive, by which I mean noisiest, people I have ever massaged.
Not that I mind.
It's great feedback. When someone just lies there like a sack of cement, it's impossible to gauge how you're doing, and, more importantly, if they're getting what they want out of the experience.
There's a wide variance in what clients consider to be a good massage.
Some people come in and are happy with a light, relaxing touch, and others want full-on remedial work.
There are only so many different ways to ask if the pressure is okay without sounding like a broken record, so this real-time feedback?
Awesome. It makes giving this massage even more enjoyable for me.
And, hey, that Vadim has a gorgeous, sculpted back isn't too shabby either.
But I push that thought aside.
This might not be a clinical setting, but I still want to do a good job. And at least one of us needs to remain professional, and it sure as heck isn't going to be Vadim. He's already forewarned me, and as flattering as that is, nothing will happen.
I've got my rule of three, and I intend on sticking to it.
"Alright, I'll get you to turn over so I can do your neck."
He lifts his head. "Uhhh…"
"What?"
"I can't turn over."
"Why not?"
He continues staring straight ahead. "Because you've caused a, uh, physiological response in my body."
"Ohhhh. I see."
I asked Vadim to take off his shirt and pants, so he's only in a pair of boxer briefs and socks. Both black, naturally. I've placed a towel over his legs to keep him warm, but if he's…aroused, that won't do much to protect his modesty.
I'm not sure what to do.
When this happens with a client, I do my best to ignore it. It is a legitimate physical response to touch, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the poor guy is mortified out of his mind.
But this is Vadim I'm dealing with.
Not a client.
Not any regular man either.
He glances over his shoulder, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. "Lucky for me I'm in the hands of a professional, right?"
And with that, he changes his mind suddenly and flips himself over on the table, and, holy flaming shitballs, Vadim's boxers are straining at the seams, his erection tenting his briefs so hard there are gaps on either side of the main event.
I exhale slowly through my nose even though my heart rate just shot up by twenty. I consider grabbing a spare towel to place over him, but that thing is like a flagpole, a towel won't make any difference.
And, oops, I've been staring at it for way too long.
My eyes shoot up Vadim's spectacular abs to his perfectly sculpted pecs.
"I believe my neck is up here," he teases smugly, patting his neck to drive the point home.
"I know that," I retort, working my way up to behind his head so I can massage his neck and shoulders.
And that's what I do, being careful as I apply pressure since this is a sensitive part of the body, especially when it's been tight or under strain.
As hard as I try not to, I can't help my eyes swerving down the length of Vadim's body. His hardness isn't relenting. If anything, his cock seems to be…pulsing.
Focus on the task at hand. Vadim's dick is not in your hand…but damn, I wish it were.
"You okay, Pres?" Vadim asks, his eyes closed but a grin stretching his lips. "Sounds like you're having a little trouble breathing there."
"I'm breathing just fine, thankyouverymuch."
"Good. You can go a little harder if you like." His cock pulses. Don't tell me he's able to make his dick throb on command? "On my neck, I mean."
"Fine." I drive my fingers into the sides of his neck. "This okay?"
Vadim's mouth doesn't answer, his cock does, twitching under the fabric of his underwear like it's trying to wrestle free.
That's when I see it.
I squint, blinking super hard under the harsh white light of Vadim's gym because it's not an easy thing to see.
But, yep, it's really there.
Vadim is so turned on he's leaking, the black material of his briefs glistening with his pre-cum.
Vadim cranes his head up to see what's stopped me in my tracks.
A satisfied grunt rumbles from the back of his throat, and then his hand is on his pec. He circles his thumb around his nipple several times before sliding his palm over his washboard abs. He yanks his bulge with some force, bunching his cock and the material around it in a tight fist.
He runs his thumb over the evidence of his arousal.
"You did this to me," he rasps.
"I, um…" I take a step back from the table and run a hand coated in massage oil through my hair.
He must notice I've moved away because he pulls himself up to a seated position, his muscular legs dangling off the side of the table. The swollen head of his cock is now poking through the waistband of his briefs, but I don't think he's noticed yet.
His eyes are on me, burning with intensity. "Are you okay?"
I nod. "Yep."
"Do you want to stop?"
"No."
He dips his head a little lower, those eyes searing into me. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
I'm only capable of speaking in a whisper and single syllables it seems, so it's nice of Vadim to double-check. It's actually really fucking nice. I might not be ready to have sex with him, but at the same time, I don't want whatever is happening now to end either.
At least, not yet.
He glances down at himself and sees he's slipped out of his briefs. Instead of tucking himself away, he curls his fingers around his length. A pearl of white glaze escapes from his slit. Holding himself, he slowly turns to me.
His eyes repeat his previous sentiment. You did this to me.
An unfamiliar exhilaration rushes through me.
There's something intoxicating about being the center of attention, having a drop-dead gorgeous man with next to nothing on staring at me like I'm the only thing in the universe.
Unsure what to do with these feelings he's stirring up, I take no responsibility for the next words that tumble out of my mouth.
"Stroke yourself."
Vadim rolls his head slowly from one side to the other, his eyes flickering with heat, never leaving me.
"Is this part of your normal service?"
"You know it isn't. But you're…"
"I'm what?"
"Special."
"In a good way?"
I look down at the engorged head of his cock. "TBD."
He lets out a low chuckle then slides his briefs down his solid thighs and kicks them off. His cock is nothing short of magnificent: long, girthy, leaking, and ohmygod, it curves downward from about halfway, a slight but delectable arc.
"You want to watch me jerk off?"
I nod, my eyes darting between his hand closing in around his length and his face, slightly playful but somehow still incredibly intense.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because…" I don't know why really. I don't even know how I found myself in this situation. Everything is starting to blur. "Because you've seen my ass." It's as good a reason as any, I figure.
"So we're playing tit for tat, are we? Or…ass for dick, in this case?"
I laugh. "Wow. Your first funny joke. Maybe your dick is your lucky charm?"
I don't know if he realizes, but a satisfied look settles on his face.
"How far can I push my luck?"
"We're at the limit."
"Why?"
"My three-date rule. Remember?"
"I haven't forgotten." He shifts, swings his legs onto the table, spreads them wide to give me a clear view of his massive cock, and starts masturbating.
"One. The Butterfly Lounge. Two. Your place after I followed you.
Three. You being here for the past few days.
According to my math, we're past three dates. "
I huff. "None of those times count as actual dates."
"Not true. I met your parents and kissed you, in that order by the way, the first time we met. The second time, you showed me your beautiful pucker." He bites into his lip and lets out a soft groan. "That was so fucking hot."
A stream of pre-cum oozes out of him, more than just one drop, more like three or four combined. He runs his fingers over the release and uses it as lube as he keeps stroking himself, settling into a smooth rhythm where he can also keep talking.
"And the third time, I'm naked in front of you, pleasuring myself."
"And this is as far as I'm comfortable going."
"Why? Why do you have a three-date rule, Preston?" He lets go of himself and leans in toward me. "Did something happen?"
I drop my head. "Yes. But I don't want to talk about it." I take a steely breath and look up, meeting his gaze directly. "I just want to see you jerk off."
He studies me for a few beats then crosses his legs, pulling them in toward him on the table, and rests his forearms on his knees. His cock rests between his size-twelve feet, and Jesus, it's the same length.
"Okay. I'll agree to keep going with this. On one condition."
I fold my arms across my chest. "No sex."
He lifts both hands, palms facing me. "No sex."
"Or anything sexual," I add, since I'm not going to get caught out on a technicality again.
"Or anything sexual," he mirrors, leaning back and touching himself. If his plan is to distract me, well, it's working. "I want you to sleep with me tonight. No sex and nothing sexual, I promise. But I want you in my bed."
I don't know how he's managed to skirt around my no-sex rule and come up with something that's technically not sexual but is kind of sexually adjacent.
He brings one hand to his nipple and begins tweaking it between his fingers, his other hand moving faster and faster along the length of his shaft.
"Fine," I breathe. "Just sleeping though?"
"Scout's honor." His eyes snap shut, and he lets out a loud, guttural groan. "Fuck. I'm getting close."
I blink rapidly, unsure what I should do now. I don't even know where this impulse to see him get off came from, so obviously, I feel like a deer caught in headlights now that I'm about to watch him…finish.
Taking a few steps back, I find the wall and press my whole weight against it, staring hypnotized at the sight of Vadim jerking off in front of me.
For me.
His eyes find mine. "You ready for it?"
I nod. "Yeah."
"Okay." With his eyes trained on me, he grimaces and lets out a series of increasingly louder and louder grunts. His cock erupts, unleashing a torrent of cum all over his muscular chest, his chiseled abs, some of it running over the top of his hand.
Releasing a few ragged breaths, he looks down at the mess he's made and flicks his hand over his thigh to get the cum off. Then he brings those dark-gray eyes to me again and grins wolfishly.
"Look what you do to me, Preston Miller."
I-I'm speechless.
I'm not used to having any sort of sexual hold over a man. I considered it a victory if a guy didn't roll over and start snoring within five minutes of getting off. Vadim is definitely not a come-and-collapse guy.
He hops off the table and reaches for the nearest towel then pats himself clean with it. His cock, although starting to go flaccid, is still hanging heavy, swinging between his legs like a pendulum, the downward curve now receding.
Oh, dear god, I pray I'm not drooling.
"Might go take a shower." He leans in closer, and I can smell the remnants of his cum and sweat, a warm, salty, masculine musk. Bringing his mouth to the curve of my ear, he murmurs, "See you in bed."