André

by Jayce Ellis

  “Bet. I’m going to take a shower and get ready.” At my questioning glance, he clarified, “Going out to Park tonight. You gonna get off your ass and come with?”

  Park was Jake’s standard Friday night hangout, and it said something that I’d forgotten all about it. I’d never particularly been interested, but what the hell? It’d be a good way to get out of my head. “Yeah, sure.”

  Every week he’d asked, and every week I’d told him I’d only come if it was a deathbed wish. So when his eyes bugged out and he grasped his throat like he was choking, I laughed.

  “Whatever, man,” I said of his over-the-top reaction. “I need a break. Something to think about other than this impending bull.”

  Jake shook his head and threw his arms up. “Coulda sworn my time was up. Okay, man. I don’t go ’til late anyway, so we can eat and you can even rest up for a bit before we get gone.”

  The thought of all the things I needed to do before going out to stand in a building full of overly perfumed and cologned people was exhausting, and it was on the tip of my tongue to back out. But that’s what he expected, what anyone who knew me expected. So I wasn’t doing it.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said instead. Jake smiled and wandered off, and I wondered what I’d gotten myself into.

  Chapter Three

  André

  I stood outside the roped-off line at Park and, for the umpteenth time in the ten minutes I’d been here, reconsidered my life choices. But it was Friday night. I’d spent so much time this week trying to get everything ready for the internship starting Monday, which included taking on two new clients, probably the height of madness under the circumstances, and I needed a break.

  I normally stopped by for happy hour on Fridays, because they made some bomb jerk chicken wings, and I could chill, decompress a bit, and head home before the crowds showed up. People were out in full force already tonight, and normally I’d say forget it. But something about the idea of going home, late as fuck again, just like I’d done the past three days, set me on edge. I needed a reprieve, and this was it.

  The bouncer I was used to seeing spotted me from the door and waved me over. I grinned and ducked out of the line and up to the front.

  “Yo, I thought I’d missed you tonight,” he said, after dapping me up and giving me a one-armed hug. “You good? I know this ain’t your gig.”

  I didn’t know this man’s name and, even though he did the obligatory ID check on me weekly, I was pretty sure he didn’t know mine. But there was something to be said for routine, and having deviated from it, I appreciated the concern. “Yeah, I’m good. Long nights at the office this week.”

  “Gotta keep that hustle on,” he said, nodding.

  That was one way to put it. I offered him the cover charge, but he shook his head. “Nah, man, you good.”

  I walked in, already feeling my spirits a bit lifted, marveling at how much the venue changed from happy hour to night. Gone was the low light from the sconces dotting the wall, the scene I was used to. In its place were overhead beams and strobe lights, the thudding bass from the DJ, and a rising swell of noise—laughter, conversation, shit-talking—that drowned out everything but the thumping beat under my feet. It’d be easy to lose yourself here, and that was just what I needed. I shouldered my way through until I got to the bar. I was probably four rows back, so I breathed out, giving myself time to get my head right.

  This week had been—whew. Between George’s phone call Tuesday and reviewing the details of my proposal enough times to make my eyes bleed, I was at the end of my rope. I worked hard as a financial advisor, as a business owner, but I’d always set limits. I’d told myself, being self-employed, that I didn’t have to be on call twenty-four seven. That I didn’t have to work until after the last partner left every night to show my dedication. And, by and large, I’d stuck to that. I might not have been as big as some of the other small firms in the area, but I made a decent living.

  Recently, though, that itch to do more, be more, had worked its way into my bones. And as I looked at my income—steady—and my expenses—not so much—I knew I’d have to make a change. Harold’s call about the Pennington project had come at just the right time, but I still wasn’t sure how I felt about going back to work for them. And I was even less sure about the extra hours I’d been putting in this week to stay on top of things. It was part of the game, but I’d gotten used to a certain routine. Being responsible for my own well-being was hard enough. Being responsible for others? Even if I wasn’t cutting the check, I worried about how that would go. Fiona would tell me worried was my natural state of being, and she was probably right, but that didn’t help.

  A loud laugh on my right caught my attention, and I turned. Two guys stood a few feet away, one with his back to me, his posture stick-in-ass rigid. The other, a tall, broad man with a wide smile, threw his head back and laughed. He was tickled to death by whatever had just happened, and I found myself grinning. I didn’t often see that kind of pure, unadulterated joy on someone’s face.

  Then the other guy turned, and my grin turned to a gape. Sweet Black Baby Jesus, the man was fine as hell. His skin, dark, rich, maybe even darker than my own. Those cheekbones and that jaw, covered in a close beard I had the strong urge to sit on. His hair was cut in a low fade, one I knew he kept a regular barber on standby for, and he looked more amused than annoyed by whatever his friend had said. He shook his head, like he was trying to stave off the laugh that had engulfed his partner.

  His eyes found mine and held. I didn’t break contact, even though every part of me screamed to do just that. I straightened my shoulders when he tilted his head, then dug my nails into my palms while his gaze traveled down my frame. His tongue darted out, then he gave me a quick grin, nodded once, and turned back to his friend.

  “Can I get you something?” the bartender asked.

  I hadn’t even noticed the steady move to the front. I tore my gaze away and focused on her. “Yeah, let me get a Woodford neat.”

  She nodded and disappeared, returning in a second with the tumbler and pouring me a finger’s worth. I thanked her and closed my tab, then scooted to the side for the next person. I usually didn’t wander into the depths of Park, choosing to enjoy my wings at the bar and leave. But now I kind of wanted to see what this whole thing was about.

  The hot guy and his happy friend were gone when I next looked, and I ignored the flash of disappointment. I twisted and turned myself through the crowd, heading for the back, where Park had an outdoor section. The vibe here was more steel and concrete rather than the wood and wallpaper that made up the inside. The bass hit different, louder and clanging in my bones. I waded deeper in, trying not to look as out of place as I felt. But I was, and I knew it, and I went through my drink maybe a touch too quickly.

  Or maybe just in time, as someone knocked into me, pitching me forward and the glass out of my hands. It shattered on the floor, causing people to shriek and scream and dart out of the way.

  “Fucking hell, Jake, what’d you do?”

  I turned, directly into the chest of the man I’d stared down earlier. His brows were drawn together, dark, but not with anger. Worry.

  “You okay?” he asked, reaching out to touch my shoulder.

  That felt way too good. But I didn’t move away. Blame it on the alcohol. “Yeah, I’m good. Must’ve tripped.”

  The guy shook his head. “No. My Ferdinand-esque friend here bumped into you.” He grinned then, and God, when was the last time I wanted the way I did right now?

  The other man, Jake, popped his head up. “My bad. I’ve already called someone, gonna take care of this. We’ll get your next round. What were you drinking?”

  I waved him off. “I’d finished. No need.”

  Jake frowned and looked at his friend. Who was still looking at me, his eyes roaming up and down my face, and I prayed my strength in the Lor
d I didn’t get hard in front of them.

  “Okay then,” Jake said, taking a step back. “Marc, you need anything else from me?”

  Marc turned his head and gave Jake what could only be described as a lazy grin. The kind of satiated, post-sex look you gave someone after you knew you’d just put it on them. I wanted to fuck him and see if I was right.

  “Nah, man, I’m good. You got this?” he asked, pointing to the glass. Jake nodded. “Good. Regardless of what he says, I’m going to take our friend here over for another drink.”

  Jake laughed that laugh of his again. “You do that, man. Have fun.”

  Marc, I guess his name was, looked down at me. “You have to let me buy you another.”

  “Not really sure I need another Woodford. I was heading out anyway.”

  He considered me for a moment before nodding. “Fine. How about you accompany me so I can get another, and then you can tell me why you were staring at me like that before?”

  He started walking, and I followed for a few steps before stopping in my tracks. “What’d you say?”

  I wasn’t sure he heard me, but he paused and turned. “Were we not checking each other out at the bar?”

  I didn’t answer, but I took another step forward. That was apparently enough, because he headed toward the rear bar again. He ordered whatever he was having and I stuck with ginger ale.

  “So,” Marc said after taking a sip, “what’s your name?”

  “André,” I replied, holding my hand out.

  “Marc,” he said, then scrunched his nose, just a fraction before smoothing it out. He shrugged, more to himself than to me, before shaking.

  I wanted to ask what that was for, but thought better of it. Made me wonder if Marc was in fact his name, but did I really care? No.

  “You come here often?” he asked.

  Small talk. Not my forte, but I could do this, especially with a guy this damn fine. “Weekly, usually for happy hour. This is my first time being out for the weekend crowd.”

  “Then it looks like I picked a good night to finally come. Why did you decide to come?”

  The way he said that last come made my dick twitch, eager to find out when we were getting to the good part, and by the small grin that curved the side of his face, he knew it. But I answered anyway. “I’ve had a long week, a lot of shit going down, and I needed a release.”

  “You and me both. A good release sounds like just the ticket.”

  We were absolutely not talking about being at the club anymore, of that I was certain. What I wasn’t certain of was what we were discussing, or if I’d let myself believe we were on the same page.

  I don’t know what look I had on my face, but Marc laughed at it. “I’m just teasing you, man.” He winked. “Unless you don’t want me to be.”

  I raised a brow and pitched myself a little bit closer, next to his ear, but not so close people noticed. I was pretty sure we couldn’t be heard over the noise, but I wasn’t taking any chances. “Are you propositioning me?”

  “If you’re into it.”

  I pulled back, and watched as he took a moment to look me over again, staring pointedly at the bulge in my pants, which I was helpless by this point to hide. I had a thing for a slim-cut fit, and they didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. In my defense, I hadn’t expected to find someone I wanted to ride like a pony when I got here.

  That very thought brought me up short. I hadn’t wanted to bottom for anyone in a long time. Ever, except in my mind. My fantasies won awards for the way I threw my ass back. But reality? Yeah, reality was my head was a mind fuck and I’d never taken the plunge. Literally.

  “What do you want to do?” I asked him.

  Marc sat his drink down and leaned in closer. “If I had my way,” he started, “I would take you home, lay you out, lick you from tip to toe. Suck on your nipples until your dick was leaking, then lap up all that fluid. I’d hike a leg over my shoulder and rim you until you were begging for me, then trap your arms over your head while I take you.”

  I heard the words, and it was like a cord plugging into my mental socket. Everything he described was everything I wanted. The kissing, the touching, the licking. The being spread open and fucked to within an inch of my sanity? Dear God, yes please.

  But as quickly as my brain said yes, my dick deflated faster than a popped tire. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

  “That sounds like an amazing idea for the right guy,” I told him, pulling back and fishing some ones out of my pocket for the bartender. “Too bad I’m not the right guy.”

  I threw the money on the bar and left without a word.

  Marcus

  I watched André’s retreating back with a wry smile on my face. I should’ve known the guy I’d found checking me out would be one of those strict tops only. I was vers, actively, and loved a good pounding as much as I loved holding someone’s legs open and taking them until they couldn’t see straight. Normally I might have snagged his wrist, told him I’d do everything I mentioned and then let him hit, but I was still wound up by this afternoon’s news and needed a bit of control.

  Park wasn’t the place I’d choose if I were actively looking for dick, but I didn’t feel like going somewhere else. Besides, it was doubtful I’d find someone who ticked my buttons like André did. He was DC short, maybe 5′5″ or 5′6″, and my 6′1″ frame felt like a giant here. But something about the way he held himself, proud, like he knew he looked good, did it for me. Shit, maybe bottoming tonight wasn’t such a bad idea.

  My phone buzzed against my thigh, which was the last sensation I needed to feel. I fished it out of my pocket.

  Jake: I met a lovely young lady, and I’m going to escort her home this evening. You cool to get back?

  I should’ve known. Good on Jake for getting his, but when I’d come so close to getting mine and lost it, watched it fall through my fingers, I couldn’t help but be a little resentful. Still, I texted back.

  Me: Of course. Have fun. Strap up.

  The response came back immediately. The wink emoji, and one word: Always.

  I shoved my phone in my pocket and closed out my tab, then made my own way to the front. I had no clue if Jake was taking his friend to her place, coming back to the row house, or what, but I was going home. God created earplugs and headphones for a reason.

  I walked out, grateful for the balmy night air of DC in August, and started the short walk to the Metro. I got to the end of the street and heard a voice. “Marc.”

  I frowned. That wasn’t Jake, but I knew it just the same. André, sitting on a piece of cinder block jutting out from the side of the building at the corner, looking as lost as ever a grown man did. I should’ve kept walking. Everything in me screamed to keep walking. So of course I stood rooted to the spot.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You forget how to get home or something?”

  He huffed, his shoulders hunching up and his head dipping. “Nah, that ain’t it.”

  I wasn’t going to be moved by the almost remorseful look on his face. I wasn’t. “What’s wrong then?”

  “You know how much I want everything you said in there?”

  Well, shit. If he wanted it, why weren’t we doing it? “Not enough to say yes.”

  “Can I recant my rejection?”

  I laughed, a short sharp thing bursting out of my mouth before I could drown it. “What, you change your mind? You want me to dick you down now?”

  André’s eyes darkened, that same way they’d done when I’d caught him watching me. When my dick, chillin’ and just waiting for me to get home so I could jerk off, had decided it had a better idea. When I’d given a quick prayer of thanks that Jake’s clumsiness had led me to him. I clenched my fists at my side, both eager and dreading his response.

  “I haven’t gotten fucked in forever,” he said. “You’re going
to have to go slow.”

  Hell the fuck yes. “I can take all the time you need.”

  My dick jumped angrily at that. He wanted no parts of slow. He’d have to get over himself.

  André stood and took a step forward. I stayed firmly in place. He closed the distance between us and tilted his hips. Just enough for me to feel the tip of his hardness against mine. I leaned into him a fraction, heard his tight gasp when my dick brushed against his stomach. What was it with this guy that had me ready to do whatever?

  “So, we doing this?” he asked.

  I couldn’t even speak. I nodded and he gave me a slow grin. “I’ll get a ride then.”

  I grunted, still too lightheaded from the rush of blood to my dick to form words. It was only a few minutes before a car pulled up, and we were quiet until it stopped at the corner of a high-rise. One of those tall, mirror-finish ones with the words Crestline Apartments emblazoned across the front. A row of shops and stores comprised the ground level, some of them already boarded up for the next owner. DC rent prices were a bitch like that.

  André used his key card and opened the front doors, then walked up the steps. An older Black man sat at the concierge table, and he waved at André while giving me a sharp, shrewd glance. Oh yeah, I knew that type. The one who didn’t say a word but saw and knew everything? Your best friend or your worst nightmare. I nodded respectfully at him and he did the same, hopefully satisfied for the moment that I wasn’t a threat to someone I could tell he considered his own.

  The elevator was right there when André pressed the button, and he held it while I walked in. “Night, Mr. Johnson,” he said as he walked in behind me, giving him a little wave.

  “Night, son.”

  That last part was directed toward me. I knew a warning not to fuck with one of his, no matter how kindly it was presented.

  André hit “nine” and leaned back. The ride would be short, but I still wanted to crowd him into the corner, to take his hand and put it against my dick, to show him exactly what my words meant. But no. I’d let this anticipation build, because I just knew it was going to be explosive when I finally got inside him.