17. Trey
Chapter seventeen
Trey
Ihaven't been able to stop thinking about Gareth, Micah, and Lily for a week. No amount of hot yoga, poker nights, meditation, clean eating, or orgasms have been able to quiet my brain at all. I don't want to wait until he gets paid next to see him again. I don't want to only see him again.
I've picked up my phone no less than a hundred times, but I always talk myself out of it.
If I text him about anything other than work, it's crossing a line I'm not sure we can come back from.
I know he has feelings for me, and I should cut him off the way I did Paul. I just can't bring myself to do it.
It's an easy conversation - one I've had a dozen times. One I've perfected.
"I've enjoyed our time together, but I feel like you've outgrown what my services can provide. It's been an honor working for you, but I'm afraid that if we continue, it'll be holding you back from finding what you truly deserve."
Easy. Elegant. Kind. Compassionate. Leaves no room for argument.
When clients go from simply requesting my time to developing feelings for me, it's not even really about me.
They've found comfort and trust and intimacy, and they want more of that.
They want a partner to share those things with. And that's just not me.
But we can be friends, right?
It's Friday. Lindsey should have been taking antibiotics after her urgent care visit. Friends can ask friends about their ex-wives, right?
I groan to myself, knowing that nothing about what I'm feeling for Gareth is remotely friendly. Friends don't think about what it would be like to be a step-dad to their kids.
I internally kick myself, but pick up my phone and fire off a text before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Me: Lindsey feeling better?
Three bubbles appear instantly.
Gareth: She is. Kind of you to think of her. Thanks again for all your help with the kids last weekend
Me: They're great kids
Gareth: lol I think so too, but I might be biased
I stare at the phone... wondering where the fuck we go from here. Before I can reply, another text comes in.
Gareth: Are you free tonight? I just got off work and was going to shoot you another deposit
Gareth: I know we talked about doing it here, if that's still okay?
God, his vulnerability and eagerness hit me in the chest like a truck.
Me: I'm free tonight
There. Short. Simple. Giving nothing away.
When I get a notification for a deposit, I start to pack my bag.
Me: What time do you want me there?
Gareth: ASAP. I'm hopping int he shower now
I can't help but chuckle.
As I'm walking out of my house, I notice my camera bag next to the door, where I'd dropped it after my shoot this week. On a whim, I grab it. I might not use it, but I'll have it if I want to.
The entire twenty-minute drive to his apartment complex, I think of positions I'd put him in to shoot him.
He's got a great ass and thighs. He'd look sexy as fuck draped over a couch, ass arched so the dimples at the base of his spine would be highlighted.
I'd have to play with the light to get them to look even deeper.
Or on his back in his bed, with a sheet casually draped over his lap, showing the skin of his thigh and hip but hiding the goods.
I normally hide the goods when I shoot men because they can be insecure about their size or shape, while still making them look sexy.
Gareth's got a great cock, though. I'd probably do some fully nude.
I'm already hard by the time I throw my SUV into park, grab my bag, and take his stairs two at a time.
I barely knock once before the door swings open, and Gareth's standing there, bottom half covered in a dark green towel.
"Hi," he says, his voice tinged with awe.
I blame my racing heart on running up the stairs. "Hi," I reply. We stand there for a few solid breaths, just smiling at each other like idiots.
"Uh, come in," he says, standing back and letting me pass him.
I normally take my time with clients, asking them about their day and building that intimacy slowly. But not tonight.
I drop my bag at my feet, knowing my camera's in a hard case, and push him against the door. His blue eyes widen.
I want to push him. See where his comfort level really is when it comes to being gay. I don't know why I feel the need to push him. Maybe it's to answer the question of if we could be more - a question I haven't even acknowledged to myself that I have.
I trust him to use his safe word if he needs it.
I press my body into his and drop my head to his neck, kissing the warm, damp skin there. I kiss and nibble gently, noticing he's freshly shaved and smells like the most intoxicating mixture of aftershave, shampoo and body soap.
His hands instantly wrap around my shoulders, abandoning the towel to the floor.
I gently take his nipple between my teeth, nipping at it before sucking on it hard.
He moans wantonly, bringing his leg up to wrap around my hip on his own.
His towel falls to the floor, completely forgotten. I smile. Yeah, he's ready.
I stand, grip his ass and lift him fully off the ground, pinning him to the door while he wraps his legs around my waist. He's hard, naked, and rutting against me like a feral animal.
"Fuck," he grunts in surprise. I was worried that a macho jock like Gareth would take offense to being carried, but the grin on his face tells me he’s more than pleasantly surprised. He's not a small man by any means, but I lift heavy weights religiously.
He goes to take my lips in his but I pull back. It's the last remaining boundary. If we kiss on the lips it's because we're together. It's the last scrap of any kind of professionalism I have and he's paid for tonight. I have to at least give him what he paid for.
"Not on the lips," I whisper. It's more of a plea than a command.
If he kisses me, it'll be over for me. The distance and walls I've been struggling to rebuild as quickly as he's been destroying them will crumble completely.
Every look, every painfully vulnerable confession, every time he showed me how great of a man and father he is takes a sledgehammer to my professional walls with such strength it should be frightening.
Pain slices across his expression for a millisecond before he drops his lips to my neck, kissing and biting the flesh there. I moan in return, gripping his ass cheeks tightly and pulling him harder against me.
"I'm going to take this ass tonight, Brockman. You ready?" I pant out, dizzy with lust.
"Fuck yes," he whispers between grunts, hands roaming all over my body frantically.
"Where do you want it?" My chest aches as my breath saws in and out of my lungs.
"Bed," he grunts, tugging at my shirt.
I hike him up my torso higher so I can carry him to the bed. His mouth and hands continue to roam, touching me and kissing me as much as he physically can.
I lay him on the bed before stepping back.
It's almost like the photograph I pictured in my mind on the way here and I take a moment to appreciate just how gorgeous he really is.
Crows' feet and lines between his brows show that he's aged and managed the stress of life, and they only serve to make him more handsome.
"Lemme get my bag," I say by way of apology for leaving him.
I jog to the front door, flipping the lock for good measure, grab my bag, and his towel, and jog back to the room. I pull my t-shirt off with one arm while I refile around in the bag for what I need.
I grab the lube and lay the towel down on his comforter.
"Get your sexy ass over here," I say, patting the towel.
He gets to where I want him as I pop the cap to the lube open.
"I want to see you," he whispers. Another confession. Fuck, I never knew they could be addictive.
I kick off my shoes, socks, jeans and boxer briefs. He checks me out unabashedly, licking his lips and causing my cock to jolt in response. I'm not sure I've ever had this much fun at a booking.
I trace my finger lazily down his stomach and watch him suck in a breath between gritted teeth. Precum drips from his tip onto the soft hair on his happy trail. I take my thumb and rub it in circles, messing him up.
I drizzle some lube onto my fingers and begin to rim him. His knees are up, giving me easy access. He drops his head back against the pillows and moans loudly. He's easier to open up, this time, and within minutes he's squirming, gripping the sheets.
"Fuck, coming," he grunts as I graze his prostate. He jerks himself roughly as he comes on a groan. I massage him through it gently, waiting for him to come back to himself.
When his eyes open again, I smile.
"Got another in you?" I ask, still working him open.
He blows out a breath. "Shit. I don't know. Maybe?"
"Wanna take my cock?" I ask, my voice low and seductive. His eyes drop to where I'm lazily stroking myself. He bites his lower lip but nods eagerly. I should turn him away from me so it's not so intimate, but it's his first time. He deserves his first time with a man to be perfect.
I tear open a condom wrapper with my teeth and watch as his Adam's apple bobs. I pour more lube onto him as well as my cock. When I feel like he can take me without pain, I press the head of my cock at his entrance. One hand is gripping my cock while the other grips his waist.
"Deep breath in and out for me, baby," I say, immediately kicking myself for using a pet name. But when he melts in response, I know that it's worth it.
I press forward slowly, until the head of me slips through his tight ring of muscles. Both of us freeze and moan. I open my eyes to check in with him and see his beautiful blues staring back at me.
"You good?" I grunt, willing myself to ignore the primal need to rut into him. His eyes are glassy, but he's not tense.
He bites his lower lip again and nods. I press in another inch when he tenses. I retreat. If that's where his limit is, that's what we'll work with.
His spent dick is slowly filling and coming back to life as I retreat, thrusting shallowly and slowly, but not going past the point of discomfort.
"You good?" I ask, pulling out and thrusting in again.
He nods before breathing out a quiet "Yes."
His one hand drops to his waist and covers mine, and squeezes.
He breathes deep again, and I'm able to press in another inch.
And another inch, until I'm full seated inside of him.
I lean over him, bracing my weight on my hands.
His legs wrap around my lower back, pulling me into him.
I roll my hips, pulling out to the tip before thrusting slowly back inside.
My eyes study his face for any sign of discomfort.
His eyes are rolled back in his head, head thrown back in ecstasy, jaw slack, sweat beading on his forehead. But he's not giving me the sounds I know he makes when I graze his prostate.
So, I lean back, tucking my legs beneath me, so that I'm resting my ass on my heels, pulling him down on my cock. Lifting his pelvis like this lets me hit his prostate with every thrust.
His arms fly to grip the sheets above his head, his legs around my waist tremble as his mewls get higher pitched.
"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, Trey..."
I don't want him to come in this position but I can feel he's close. I grab his wrists and pull him to sit upright in my lap. He's impaled on my length and completely helpless in this position. It also puts him above me.
He opens his glassy eyes and looks at me, wrapping his hands around the back of my neck and head. My jaw slacks as I pound into him from below.
One hand grips his ass, pulling him up and down on my cock, while the other grabs his dick, tugging it the way I know he likes.
"Jesus. Fuck. God. Trey."
"Come on me, baby. I know you can," I encourage. I'm close, too. He's not quite there, though. He came just minutes ago. So, I break out my secret weapon. "Be a good boy for me and come, Brockman."
He throws his head back, groaning and pulls me to his sweaty chest. I don't mind. He smells like him, sweat and sex and I love every second of it.
Thick, warm ropes of cum paint my chest, and his and I finally let myself go and fill the condom. I time my thrusts with my hand stroking his cock so he feels me all over him.
When he collapses, I wrap my arms around his back and gently lower him to the mattress.
My head is still buzzing, but I need to take care of him.
I pull out of him slowly, keeping the condom on to contain the mess.
I head to his bathroom, dispose of the condom and wash myself up before running a washcloth under warm water and returning to his bedroom.
He's exactly where I left him, softly snoring. It makes me chuckle. What's better than a nap after sex?
I clean him up as slowly and carefully as I can so as not to wake him. He wakes up with a snort a few minutes later, looking adorable and thoroughly fucked.
"Did I die?" he asks and a loud laugh explodes from my chest.
"You didn't die, Brockman. Just a couple of good orgasms."
One blue eye looks at me warily. "Huang, I think you fucked up."
Worry slithers through my gut, but I don't let it take over. "Oh? How did I do that?" I ask, pulling my boxers back on and sitting on the mattress next to him. I tuck a sweaty strand of hair plastered to his forehead and push it back into his dirty-blonde hair that is sticking up at all angles.
His eyes soften at the gesture and I'm vaguely aware that I'm breaking all my own rules. But it feels right in the moment. It feels right with him.
"I'm already thinking about taking out a personal loan so we can do that every night," he says, and it takes me so off guard I can't help but laugh again.
I rest my hand on his sweaty chest, toying with the soft hair there.
"I'm feeling very needy," he insists.
"No loans needed," I reply. I don't want him taking loans out, but I'm sure he's exaggerating. Just a goofy way of complimenting me in bed.
I know I should look at the clock, but I don't. My professional walls vanished the second he came on my cock. I can't leave him yet. Not only for him, but for me too.
"Can I shoot you?"