Fifteen Shades of Gay (For Pay) (20 page)

“Hey. You scared yet?” Cormac’s arms encircled Andrew from behind. In the darkness, Andrew was struck by how strong the other man was, not to mention he was almost a head taller. The realization he might not be able to fight free of Cormac, should it ever come to that, made Andrew shiver.

“You know what scares me?” Andrew whispered. “Bill collectors. Eviction notices. Metastatic cancer.”

“Forget all that. These are just bad people. Sick people.” Cormac kissed Andrew’s ear. “I can protect you from them.”

Another actor dressed in fluorescent white appeared, flashlight in hand, to lead Andrew, Cormac and the others through a series of history-inspired tableaus. When it came to his position in the group, Andrew wouldn’t have chosen the front or the back—the best position seemed to be smack in the center—but fate, not to mention Cormac, seemed determined to make Andrew the first to experience each shriek, strobe light and blast of white smoke. Andrew bulled his way through Jack the Ripper, the Zodiac killer, and Ted Bundy. Then the actor playing John Wayne Gacy, dressed in the clown costume Gacy had used to entertain small children, leapt out of the shadows and Andrew shrieked at the top of his lungs.

“Get away,” Cormac blustered at the actor, pulling Andrew protectively against him. “I hate clowns. I’ll kick your ass!”

“I did
not
just scream that way,” Andrew muttered as “Gacy” obligingly launched himself at a knot of terrified girls.

“Of course not.” The humor in Cormac’s tone was barely audible. “Once we get past Jeffrey Dahmer we’ll be done. Poor thing. Your heart’s going like a jackhammer.”

“I know. I’ll get you for this.”

Cormac kissed Andrew’s ear again. “I look forward to it.”

* * *

Cormac’s hotel was another nice one, the Chatwal on 44th Street. Andrew took in the deco furnishing and framed art with exaggerated dignity, like a museum curator examining potential acquisitions. He was still embarrassed by his scream in the haunted house.

“My assistant got a deal. Besides, we’re staying in the theater district. Thought you might like to take in a show tomorrow,” Cormac said.

“Sure.” Andrew couldn’t make himself sound eager.

Cormac shrugged out of his suit jacket, dropping it on a chair. Catching Andrew from behind, he pressed his mouth against Andrew’s throat, kissing first with his lips, then his tongue. “Wow. I can taste that herbal masque.”

“Yeah, well.” Andrew tried to pull away. “Men who are secure in their masculinity get to enjoy facials.”

“I’m secure in my masculinity.” Cormac wouldn’t let go. “Plenty of things scare me. Maybe not
haunted houses
….”

Making an infuriated sound, Andrew fought to break Cormac’s grip. To his surprise, he couldn’t do it, no matter how hard he tried.

“I want you.” Cormac pulled Andrew close like his resistance was nothing, a lover’s game at most. “I want you so bad. I dream about you every night.”

“I’ll knee you,” Andrew snapped, unsure why he was fighting, shocked by the violent pulse beating inside his throat.

“You try that on me, you better be sure.” Pushing Andrew onto the room’s king-sized bed, Cormac fell on top of him, seizing both of Andrew’s wrists and pinning them to the black and gold bedspread. “I wrestled in college. A guy kneed me and I punched him so hard, he spit out a tooth.”

Andrew found himself panting, staring into Cormac’s pale gaze. When Cormac’s mouth closed over his, Andrew shut his eyes, exploring with his tongue like he’d never been kissed before. For a long time they made out like that, Andrew lost in the warmth and soft, slick pleasure, Cormac’s lower body rocking against him. At some point Andrew’s True Religion jeans slipped down. Not long after, Andrew’s boxers worked their way to his knees, slipping lower as Cormac’s feigned thrusts intensified.

“Hey.” Pulling his face away, Andrew fought to focus on Cormac. The room was lit up, lamps burning and balcony curtains parted, but their connection was so intense, they could have been in total darkness. “We still haven’t decided. Who drives, you or me?”

“Me. Please,” Cormac gasped.

“Fuck you.” Andrew made a final desperate effort to free himself. He knew he would fail. Somehow that certainty, and the iron grip around each wrist, was all the more erotic.

“Oh, I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck you all right.” Releasing Andrew, Cormac dug in his trouser pocket, tossing two condoms onto the bed. Unzipping, he pushed his pants and shorts down in one motion, tearing open the first packet with his teeth. No sooner was the first condom in place than Cormac opened the next one, sliding another lubricated latex sheath on top of the other.

“Double-bagging?” Andrew had heard of the concept but never tried it.

“Not for safety. To keep me from feeling too much. Coming too fast.” Lifting himself, Cormac hesitated, the sheathed tip of his cock between Andrew’s legs. “Am I too big for you?”

“No. I want you.”

“Yeah. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Go ahead. Hurt me.” Andrew groaned as Cormac pressed between his buttocks. “I can take it. Hurt me….” He broke off, gasping as Cormac forced his way inside. The violation burned, stretched, threatened to split him in two.

“I’m all the way inside.” Cormac barely had breath to speak. Probably those dual condoms were the only things keeping him from letting go.

“Good. Now give it to me.” Andrew wrapped his legs around the other man. Only much later would he realized he’d unconsciously echoed the plea Paresh had issued while being spanked. “Hard as you can. Please….”

Cormac’s hips started to move, slowly at first, then faster. He was panting, teeth gritted, eyes shut tight, sweat breaking out on his brow. Legs locked, bottom lifted, Andrew soon evolved from grunts and moans to breathless cries. The pleasure rose, a tremulous, fragile thing that paradoxically threatened to overwhelm him. Cormac was gasping, teeth clenched like a man on the brink of divine revelation or death. When Andrew went over the edge, clamping down inside, Cormac screamed, going utterly still.

“Oh… oh….” Andrew muttered, pulling Cormac closer. With Paresh it had been all mechanical, the inevitable satisfaction of tab A inserted in slot B. This was worlds away.

“Andrew.” Cormac kissed his lips. “I love you.”

Returning to himself, Andrew felt Cormac pull back, felt the softened member withdraw with the tiniest twinge of discomfort. Stripping off the condoms, Cormac took them to the toilet. A flush came next, then the sound of hand washing. When Cormac finally returned to bed, he looked stricken.

“I did
not
just say that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t scream in the haunted house. Besides.” Andrew touched Cormac’s cheek, smiling up at the other man. Cormac was handsome, fit, smart, gentle. In a word, perfect. “Like I told you the first time we played around. I’m a guy. I get what you really mean.”

“You do?”

“Sure.” Andrew worked his fingers into Cormac’s short dark hair. “Your dick’s in love with my ass right now. What can I say? It’s mutual. Why shouldn’t it be?”

“Andrew.” Cormac flattened himself, pressing his cheek against Andrew’s chest. “This was perfect.”

Andrew couldn’t hold back a satisfied chuckle. When he closed his eyes, he’d sleep like the dead. “Mac. I know. And trust me. This is only the beginning.”

Chapter 12

Andrew rarely slept on his back. He preferred his stomach, or better yet, his side, curling up against a pillow. Usually he wrapped himself in blankets, but with Cormac lying atop him, cheek still pressed against Andrew’s chest, even a sheet proved unnecessary; Cormac radiated heat like a blast furnace. At first, Andrew was too sleepy to object to the unaccustomed position. Then he woke around three a.m., awash in delicious warmth but more than a little stiff. He tried to shift unobtrusively, but Cormac awakened at once.

“What is it?” he murmured, so alert and serious, Andrew bit back a smile.

“John Wayne Gacy, dressed as a clown. Here in the room with us.”

“Yeah, well, let him try something. I’ll put him through a wall.”

Andrew kissed Cormac, and then flopped on his side, drawing his knees up. Turning in the same direction, Cormac slid his arms around Andrew’s torso, tossing one long leg over the smaller man’s. “How’s this?”

Closing his eyes, Andrew let himself savor the way that lean, hard body fitted against his. Would any man’s body—Paresh’s, for example, or Sven’s—feel so good? After years of sleeping with softer, smaller females, was Andrew simply responding to the contrast? Or did something unique to Cormac, the scent of his skin or the slight hitch to his breath as he slept, make the difference?

When Andrew woke again, it was morning. As with most mornings, the sun intruded, casting white light through the open curtains. And as with most mornings, Andrew was erect. This time, however, the fingertips tracing him from head to root were not his own.

“Andrew.” Cormac’s mouth was close to Andrew’s ear. “Last night. I should have gone more slowly….”

“Are you kidding? For your first time at bat, it was a home run.” Andrew shifted so he faced the other man. The gentle pressure against his member was tantalizing, but his rear end throbbed. He suspected his usual post-breakfast trip to the toilet would prove uncomfortable, at best. “Mind you, I don’t think I can do it again, not so soon.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” Cupping Andrew’s face in his hands, Cormac kissed him, exploring so thoroughly with his tongue, when he pulled back, Andrew was left gasping. “But you’re beautiful. Let me touch you. Please.”

Andrew relaxed, even the ache between his buttocks receding. He should have known Cormac wouldn’t force real pain on him. And surely that was why Andrew had enjoyed the previous night’s struggle, fighting against Cormac’s grip and gasping in excitement when the other man overpowered him. It was easy to submit, to free his rational mind and accept the eroticism, when he genuinely trusted the man holding him down.

“Beautiful….” Cormac’s mouth worked along Andrew’s throat, nipping and sucking. His hands, larger than average and long-fingered, kneaded Andrew’s shoulders, eventually migrating to the dense muscle of Andrew’s biceps and triceps. Finding Andrew’s nipple, Cormac licked until the nub burned, sucked till Andrew groaned. Then Cormac’s mouth found the other nipple, twisting with his teeth.

“Oh… oh…” Andrew panted, giving himself a tug. He’d felt those teeth below the waist, if such a thing were possible.

“Your nipples are turning red. Red as your lips,” Cormac said. “Red as the head of your cock.” Following the trail of dark, downy hair, he kissed Andrew’s flat stomach, then continued lower. Curling his fingers around the base of Andrew’s cock, Cormac rubbed the tip over his lips, then against the pre-razor roughness of one cheek. “I want to taste your cum again.”

“Then suck me,” Andrew said, pushing his hand into his mouth. The other man was a fast learner. Even though this was only Cormac’s second time, Andrew suspected if he planned to last more than a minute, he needed something to bite down on. And he wasn’t wrong. For what seemed like eons Andrew teetered on the edge, holding back, torturing himself. Then Cormac varied his tactic, changing from a steady pull to deep-throating, and Andrew pitched headlong over the cliff. A few moments passed before he could speak. When he did, his first thought was for Cormac, remembering how their first encounter had practically choked the other man.

“Are you okay?”

“Perfect.” Straddling Andrew, Cormac he lifted his own member, purple with neglect. “Do you mind if I just, um. Finish?”

“Sure. But try this.” Guiding Cormac between his thighs, Andrew squeezed until the other man gasped. “I’ll keep up the pressure. You thrust.”

Having heard about intercrural sex from one of Wasserman’s other employees—a dyed-in-the-wool heterosexual who always said no to anal intercourse—Andrew had imagined this type of satisfaction, which his straight friend permitted for a price, to be utterly passive, a decidedly one-sided route to pleasure. What he hadn’t expected was how Cormac covered him from head to toe, faces close together, kissing and thrusting at the same time. Before the end Andrew held Cormac tight, lifting himself in accordance with the other man’s rhythm, kissing for its own pleasure rather than as a means to an end. When Cormac came, Andrew found the hot rush oddly satisfying.

“That was good,” Cormac said raggedly, kissing Andrew again. “Your thighs are so thick… meaty….”

Andrew chuckled. “If I were a girl, I’d decapitate you for that.”

“You know what I mean. Masculine. Ideal.” Once again, Cormac cupped Andrew’s face in both hands. “ … I like you, Andrew. I really like you.”

Warning bells rang inside Andrew. “I like you, too,” he said, striving for the right tone, not too cool but not too warm, either. What were they doing? How well did they really know each other? Accepting his baseline bisexuality was one thing. Exploring it was another. But getting deeply involved with a closeted homosexual who lived on the opposite side of the continent? That was nothing to stumble into without serious consideration. Disentangling himself, Andrew got out of bed and stretched, wiping at the stickiness between his thighs.