Trey
Chapter twelve
Gareth's waiting for me again in the same hotel room. I'm glad he reached out again, but I'm a little nervous about round two. If the first session with him messed up my mental focus so much, what will another session with him do to me?
He stands from the bed, wiping his hands on the front of his slacks; still nervous, but his easy smile hits me low in the gut.
It's eager, hopeful. His eyes shine with excitement.
And I find it warming my chest at the idea that just my presence has that effect on him.
I've had plenty of clients happy to see me, but something about the vulnerability and trust of the man standing in front of me has my lungs squeezing in on themselves.
"Brockman," I say, a small smile tugging at my lips.
He clasps his hands behind himself and rocks up on his toes. "Huang," he replies, his smile growing impossibly wider.
"Should I..." he starts, jerking a thumb towards the bathroom.
I nod. "Please."
He spins on his heel quickly and shuts the bathroom door behind himself. I take a few deep breaths in and out, willing my thrashing heart to calm down and my soul to center.
I take the lube and plug out of my bag and set them on the nightstand next to the bed, knowing exactly what I want to explore with him tonight. I pull my shirt off and my jeans. I know he likes my body if the heat in his eyes and the way he drank in my chest are any indication.
The shower shuts off a few minutes later, and he appears again in the doorway, wrapped in a white towel, a rivulet of water he missed trails down his chest, and his hair is still wet on the bottom. His eagerness is charming.
My own cock thickens against my leg in anticipation.
Gareth is the poster boy of an all-American jock.
Strong jaw, longish crew cut, thick biceps, broad chest. He has the build of a football player, and I find myself wanting to drag my tongue down his chest. Maybe I will tonight.
If he's comfortable. That's obviously the priority.
"Would you like to lie down?"
He nods eagerly and crawls across the mattress, settling himself on his back. His towel sags open between his legs, showing off a teasing slip of pale inner thigh.
I take a moment to appreciate how sweet he looks lying on the bed for me.
I want to do everything to him. I want to touch him, drag my lips all over his body, make him feel good, see him come.
He's glorious when he lets himself go. The memory of him coming a week ago floats through my mind again.
Head tossed back, jaw slack, eyes soft, like the weight of the world finally slid off his shoulders.
It filled me with a sense of pride and satisfaction that I could do that for him.
"Any requests for tonight?"
He bites his lip but shakes his head 'no'.
"Alright," I say, smiling, and watch as his eyes dip to my lips.
I should be self-conscious about smiling and about how much I enjoy him, but I'm not.
His return smile is blinding, and it takes the breath from my lungs for a moment.
I want to test his boundaries, but not push them.
I want to see exactly where he's comfortable being "gay" and where he's not.
He was fine with penetration last time, but what about something more intimate? What about kissing? Or holding hands?
I wrap my hand around his ankle and wait for a response. The smile on his face fractures slightly as his pupils dilate. I drag my hand, tentatively, up the inside of his calf slowly, letting the soft hair of his leg tickle my palm. When I reach his knee, I check in with him.
"Green," he says before I even need to ask.
I press both of his knees gently down onto the mattress so his legs are straight.
I straddle his thighs and slide my forefinger under the band created by his towel. I raise an eyebrow at him, asking permission.
"Green."
"Good boy."
He blushes furiously, and I watch as his Adam's apple bobs on a nervous swallow. He likes my praise. My chest warms. I love that he wants to be my "good boy". An ironic chuckle falls from my lips.
"What?" he asks, his hand coming to mine to stop me from unwrapping him like a present. The towel is currently tented, and I marinate in satisfaction.
I lean back, not giving him my full weight, but leveling him with the attention he deserves. His blue eyes are wary, but he's not running for the door.
"If you had told high-school-Trey that grown-up-Gareth would like being called my 'good boy,' I would've thought you were lying."
His shoulders relax again when he realizes I'm not making fun of him. His smile returns, this time contemplative, and he gives me a chuckle of his own.
"Nah. If you'd told high-school-Gareth that he'd like being your 'good boy', I would've believed it."
His confession is quiet, whispered, and so goddamn honest that it hits me in my chest. He confessed that he was attracted to me in high school during the first dinner, but hearing his quiet confession now hits me on a different level.
Now, I can see it written all over his face.
"Color?" I ask quietly, the past, the present, the lust, and the hurt hanging between us like a physical thing.
"Green," he replies, releasing my hand but leaving his gaze on the towel.
I slowly undo the towel, letting it drop open and exposing every inch of him.
"Is it... am I..." he stutters, biting on his lower lip again. He fidgets uncomfortably on the sheets.
Sweet, insecure man. I let my gaze fall from his eyes to his lips, down the five o'clock shadow on his neck, to his broad chest, thick biceps, taking my time to really soak in the details.
I drag my gaze down his chest, the softness of his stomach, the light brown happy trail, and to his lower stomach, where his hard cock has sprung up to rest against his belly..
I can find something to be attracted to with all of my clients, but it's no difficulty being attracted to Gareth. He's objectively a handsome man.
"Gorgeous," I conclude, bringing my eyes back up to his, so he can see the sincerity there.
He swallows again, his eyes shining and hopeful. "Yeah?"
My lips tilt up in a lopsided grin. "You know you're hot," I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
"I want to be hot for you," he whispers.
A warning flag goes off in the back of my mind, but I push it aside. He paid for this session, so I'm going to give him the best service I can.
I flatten my palm and let it glide up the underside of his cock.
He hisses out a breath between his teeth, and his cock jumps beneath my palm.
I have a list of things I'd like to do with him tonight to slowly get him comfortable with a man's touch, but I am always willing to change the plan if he's uncomfortable.
I wrap my hand slowly around the length of him and give him a squeeze, checking in with his eyes. There's a little trepidation there, so I check in verbally.
"Color?"
"Green. Yo-your hand... it's..." he blows out a frustrated breath as I stroke him slowly, waiting for whatever he wants to give me. "It's bigger... and rougher... than mine..."
His hips give a tiny thrust of movement, and it makes me smile.
"Can I go down on you?" I ask, making sure to keep my voice completely neutral so that he knows no matter what the answer is, I'll accept it.
He nods eagerly.
I lean back, spreading his legs and situating myself between his knees. I take his cock in my hand again and bring it to my mouth, sticking out my tongue and letting it drag along and then swirl around the head.
A deep groan vibrates out from his chest as he loses the battle to watch me, and his head drops back against the pillow.
"Fuuuuucckkk.... Trey..." he gasps out as a hand comes to rest on the back of my head.
He threads his fingers through my hair, and unease slithers into my gut.
It's intimate. Way too fucking intimate for someone who is supposed to be a client.
I realize it's not the touching that bothers me, but how much I love the intimacy of the touch.
Get it together, Huang. You're here to do a job.
I let saliva gather in my mouth, letting it drip down his cock and onto his pelvis. Every breath out has become a desperate mewl or whine.
Before he blows, though, I pull him from my mouth.
He's about to protest, but it's drowned out by a moan when I drop my tongue down the crease of his hip and to his rear entrance.
I graze it with my tongue, waiting for a clench, or a protest, or something, but it never comes.
"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod," he chants above me. I slowly pump his sloppy length in my hand as I explore more, tongue fucking his hole. His heels dig into the mattress as his hips lift, chasing the sensation.
"I'm going to come, I'm going to come..." he pants out. His cock thickens in my hand, and I speed up my rhythm, letting him chase that release. His cock pulses and his hips thrust, all while he holds my head to him. I pump him through his orgasm, spurting wave after wave of hot cum onto himself.
When he collapses back to the bed, I remove my hand, knowing his cock has to be over-sensitive right now.
I guess the plug will have to wait until next time.
I lean back onto my heels and watch him as he breathes.
I like watching him a little too much. I like admiring him a little too much.
I like his trust and attention a little too much.
It's a heady, powerful feeling, knowing he loses himself, just for me.
That I'm the first and only man to see him like this - touch him like this.
That red warning flag waves itself again.
I clean him up, clean up my hand, and sit on the bed beside him, one leg tucked under the other. I drag my knuckles down his chest, soothingly, as I check the clock. We have half an hour left, and I doubt he'll be able to rebound that quickly, but still, I wait.
When his breathing evens out, and he blinks his hazy blue eyes at me, I can't help but smile.
"You've got half an hour. How would you like to spend that time?"