by Cara Dee
I was his spice.
The scratch to his itch…
Fucking hell.
Chapter 7
Sueños, the place where dreams didn’t come true, but you could have a good fucking time. Latin remixes of pop songs blared out of the speakers as usual, and the walls screamed of Mexico, Puerto Rico, and the Caribbean with murals painted by Camila.
“Nicky! Don’t even try to sit down before you’ve said hey!” Valeria hollered from the bar. “Mama! Nicky’s hea’!”
I grinned and turned to Gideon. “Grab us a booth. I’ll be there in a minute—unless you want me to introduce you to Camila and her four loud daughters.”
He widened his eyes. “I’ll pass.”
Thought so. I could tell he was already tense, and we’d just gotten here. But no matter how small the bar was, it was probably packed by his standards. To me, a place wasn’t packed until you could smell at least twenty different perfumes. To him, it was when the booths were filled.
I smacked a kiss to his jaw, then made my way to the bar, where I elbowed myself in between two men.
“Hey, darlin’.” I reached over the bar and kissed Valeria’s cheek just as her mother appeared from the back.
Camila and her girls had been a big part of my teenage years. I’d gone to school with the youngest, Isabella, who was the coolest goth chick in Brooklyn, but it was safer to introduce them to Gideon one at a time.
“Nicky, what’s this I hear about you leavin’ Brooklyn?” Camila asked, looking offended.
“Don’t listen to gossip!” I didn’t know who to blame. Anthony wasn’t one to spread that shit around. “It’s two months, and then I’ll probably be crashing at Anthony’s again.”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned forward, and I dutifully kissed her cheek too. “Don’t tell your abuela. You’d break her heart.”
“Ay, with the drama,” I laughed. “If you know, I’m shocked she doesn’t.”
“Whas’at supposed to mean?” she hollered.
“Nothin’!” I insisted. “Can I get some service? I brought a hot date.”
I looked behind me and—oh man. I kinda adored him. He’d found a booth, and he was currently wiping down the table with a disinfectant wipe.
“The Suit cleaning the table?” Valeria asked. “Sofia just wiped them down.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t getting into it with them. “Anyway.” I twirled a finger.
Camila gave her daughter’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be in the office. Don’t be a stranger, Nicky.”
Isabella appeared next, and we bumped fists as Valeria delegated my drink order to her sister, which suited me just fine. Valeria could move on to the other patrons and water down their drinks while Isabella gave me doubles of everything.
I ordered a gin and tonic, a beer, a glass of red, and a Blue Lagoon for some variety.
“Didju hear about Maxine from school?” she asked, pouring Gideon’s wine.
I nodded grimly. “Nonna told me. I hope she gets full custody and that her two-bit fucker—” I flipped my fingers under my chin “—goes back to Rikers.”
“Seriously.” She arranged all four drinks on a tray and asked if I wanted to open a tab.
“Nah. I don’t think we’ll be here that long.” I handed over my card and grabbed the tray.
“Ay. Before you saunter off.” She swiped my card with one hand and poured two shots of tequila with the other, and I chuckled and shook my head.
I took one of the little glasses and threw it back, hissing at the burn in my throat.
She swallowed her shot without making a single grimace—unless one counted her smirk.
I pocketed my card. “Bitch. Later.”
“Later, hoodrat.” She blew me a kiss.
Lifting the tray over my head, I started making my way through the crowd, and I nodded and hollered hellos to a handful of people I knew. Ed Sheeran’s “South of the Border” began playing as I emerged in front of the little booth Gideon had picked, and I bobbed my head to the beat and spun my imaginary turntables. My Friday had gone from ice cream sundae at the keyboard in a quiet apartment to having drinks at one of my favorite bars with the man of my fantasies. Safe to say, I was in a good mood.
“Hey there, gorgeous. Wine for you, beer for me, and two extras because one is never enough.” I slid in next to him rather than across from him. It was a tight fit, but no matter. This was the place to be for privacy and lewd behavior under the table.
Best part of the Caribbean theme? The mosquito netting that could be closed like a curtain, effectively shutting out the world. Here, it was just the two of us and bamboo. Or whatever wood imitation the booth was built from.
“It’s very loud here,” Gideon said. “I like the net, though. But we can still see through it.”
“It used to be regular fabric, but then Camila caught a bunch of fuckers doing blow in public, so… This is why we can’t have nice things.” I took a swig of my beer and squeezed his thigh.
“I’m sorry, I’m processing,” he informed me. “My mind is spinning with impressions and you doing…things.”
“What things?” Had I gone too far? Maybe this was a bad idea. We could always go back to the apartment.
“Just the way you act.” He shifted the wineglass closer to him and traced a finger along the stem. “You’re carefree and appear to have countless friends. Your behavior. Your laughter, your banter, how you made that Italian gesture—with your fingers under your chin?—and how easily you maneuvered yourself through the crowd with four drinks. This is nothing to you.”
“Hon, I’ve been working in restaurants on and off since I was fourteen,” I explained patiently.
“That’s only one thing. I understand you’ve had practice,” he said. Then he shook his head, visibly frustrated. “This isn’t me, Nicky. Your life is vibrant. You speak with your entire body, whereas I was raised not to stand out in a crowd because that’s embarrassing. How can I ever make a lasting impression in your life?”
Oh, fuck me. Was that something he aimed for? Because he’d already succeeded.
“The most colorful item in my life is a red tie that I wear at Christmas,” he finished.
“I have plenty of color in my life,” I agreed. “That’s why I’m not looking for color.” I waited until he made eye contact, and the uncertainty in his eyes nearly did me in. “Color can easily be translated into madness. There’s rarely a dull moment, no sitting still, very little stability, and no structure. And getting to know you has made me realize that’s what I need more of.” I sat up straighter so I could drape an arm along the back of the booth, and I rubbed his neck gently. “But should we really be talking about this, papito? As far as I know, we part ways in a month, and you go off to marry a woman who can have your kids.”
I needed to protect myself more than ever. Gideon was dangerous as he was, and if he was having doubts and getting attached too, it would possibly break me. ’Cause I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to walk away first.
And if there was one thing I’d learned from my years as a sex worker, it was that the husband never left the wife.
Gideon stared at his wineglass before bringing it to his lips and taking a big swallow of it. “Have you wondered… Good grief, that’s awful wine.”
I exhaled a laugh, my stomach tightening in anticipation of what he was gonna ask.
“If the circumstances were different…” He cleared his throat. “Would you be interested—I mean, have you considered—”
“Yeah. You?”
He swallowed and nodded minutely.
Fuck. My heart pounded against my rib cage.
For a moment, his façade shattered. He looked crestfallen and utterly lost. “I truly want a family. My own family spent decades building New York and forgot that families need building too. I’d walk away from everything they created for something bigger—a wife, or…you know, to come home to, and kids—people who are simply there.”
Then there was fuck-all I
could do. My family meant the world to me, so it was impossible not to empathize with his wistfulness. At the same time, it hurt. It was the one thing I wouldn’t be able to give him, and it was clearly a deal-breaker.
“A family is a wonderful thing to be a part of.” I had to show him I understood him. “I get it.”
He nodded slowly and reached for the gin and tonic. “I always wanted a brother. My parents were loving and more affectionate than the rest of our family, but it still resulted in many lonely evenings. My father worked too much, and my mother was often away planning some benefit.” He took a tentative sip of the gin and tonic, then a bigger swig. It must’ve received a better grade than the wine. “What about you? You’re still so young, but have you thought about children and such?”
“Not really.” I scratched his scalp at the back of his neck the way he liked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love kids. Love working with them, but no one’s gonna let me adopt. I don’t have the financial stability for that. I don’t even have a home.” I tried to lighten the tension with a chuckle, but I wasn’t sure it worked. “In short, it’s a conversation for once I have a place of my own, once I’ve gone into business with Anthony and we’ve expanded the academy, and once I’m in a committed relationship.”
He inclined his head. “That makes sense.” He closed his eyes as I kept weaving my fingers through his hair.
Why did our little outings always end up with the heaviest topics? Couldn’t I just enjoy one evening out where I pretended we were on a date? Jeesh.
I drained half my beer and scrambled for something easier to talk about.
I guess since he and I definitely weren’t happening, I might as well ask who he really was. His family spending decades building New York gave a hint or two.
“So, I take it you’re from one of the real estate families that built the city,” I said.
He hummed. “Are you asking for my last name?”
“Yeah, I reckon I am.”
“Grant.”
Holy shit. Gideon Grant IV. His last name appeared on skyscrapers—or at least two—and he fucking owned the building I was currently staying in. Funnily enough, they owned a shitload of property here in Brooklyn, too. They’d been part of the transformation of Williamsburg in the nineties, when artists and spoiled rich kids replaced a lot of the guidos and micks such as myself.
“I’m picturing you bored out of your mind in some skyscraper boardroom day in and day out.”
The corners of his mouth twisted up. “You’re not far off. I have a right-hand man who functions as my filter and barrier, and somehow, I still end up in several meetings a day—and God knows with how many final approvals and signatures. Hardly what one might call an inspiring job.” He furrowed his brow but didn’t open his eyes. “If my cousins and nephew offered to buy me out, I’d probably consider it.”
So how the fuck did he think he was gonna find satisfaction in the vision of his own future? Right now, there was a door he could walk out of. Once he got married and his wife had squeezed out a couple kids, the same door would be locked and bolted, and if he wanted to escape, he’d have to join the sorry band of married closet cases who sought out sex workers on the sly.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I suggested. “I told Camila and her girls that you’re my hot date, so start acting like you might score tonight.”
He grinned a little at that and cracked one eye open at me. “Are you telling me there’s a chance you might invite me to your place?”
I leaned in and kissed him softly. “Definitely.”
He hummed and kissed me back. “I’m all yours until six AM. That’s when I have to walk Chester.”
“Chester.”
“My dog.”
I grinned into another kiss. “Of fucking course his name is Chester. Is it a golden retriever or a Schnauzer?”
He huffed and pulled away from me, and he stuck a hand inside the inner pocket of his suit. “I’m glad not everything about me is predictable, Mr. Profiler.” He pulled out his phone. “Chester is a Havershire, a mix between Yorkshire terrier and Havanese.”
Weren’t they tiny?
Gideon’s screen flashed to life, and there it was. The background picture was of a dog, but he didn’t stay there. He went to his photo album instead and clicked on another photo.
What a cute fur ball. Definitely a lap dog. Its white-and-brown coat pointed in every direction, and dirt and leaves were stuck to his legs. The soft-looking ears let me know Gideon didn’t mess around with grooming. I bet he took the dog to some overpriced dog stylist.
“We have a dog walker in my building who takes him out a couple times every day, but I try to make it home for mornings and evenings,” he murmured, swiping to another picture. “His favorite pastimes are making a complete mess of himself in the park, cuddling up on my lap when I read, and listening to my daily work ramblings. Or so I hope. Otherwise, I’m a horrible owner.”
I shifted my gaze to Gideon’s face instead. It was the first time I could see him with a kid. He truly loved that dog, and I supposed it made sense. I’d read in one of the books I’d borrowed that autistic people sometimes connected easier with children and pets than other adults.
“I’ve been thinking about adopting a brother for him,” Gideon admitted. He was lost in his own photo album, going from one picture to another. It seemed the whole album was filled with images of Chester. “It would have to be one who got along with Chester, though. He’s very active when we’re outside, but the minute we come home, he wants to sleep or take it easy on my lap.” He grinned fondly. “Sometimes he’ll nip at the bottom of my pants and run toward the living room or the library. It’s his way of telling me I’ve been on my feet for too long.”
Cazzo, I was gonna fall for this fucker before our arrangement was over.
I finished my beer, torn between jumping his bones and running away to hide, because I knew I wasn’t gonna win this round. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from handing over my heart on a goddamn platter.
Hell, I wasn’t strong enough to run away either.
Screw it all. I leaned in again and kissed his jaw. “Come home with me, papi. I need your big fat cock.”
Funny how quickly he lost interest in his phone. “Okay. Let me pay for the drinks first.”
“Already took care of it.”
“Oh.” He frowned for a beat before his eyes heated up with some indecent idea. “Then let me treat you to something else before we go back to your place.”
The dirtier, the better.
Half an hour later, Gideon’s driver pulled up in front of an adult store back in Manhattan, and I was beginning to wonder if this was the reason only the driver—aside from Claire—knew of Gideon’s sexuality. Because Gideon had simply said “West Village,” and the driver had known exactly what that meant.
So Gideon had been here before.
Long gone were the seedy places with boarded-shut windows and back alleys. In the heart of an LGBTQ neighborhood, this store was brightly lit and showcasing its services right in the window alongside boxed sex toys, stacks of movies, and kinky outfits. They had six private booths, two double suites, whatever that meant, a glory hole, and a theater that seated eighteen guests.
“We won’t be long. Perhaps thirty minutes,” Gideon told his driver.
Once we were on the curb and Gideon had closed the door, he turned to me and unzipped my jacket. There was a new air to him; he was assertive and in charge of the situation.
“Are you up for some role-playing?” he asked.
“Sh-yeah.” I blinked up at him, instantly intrigued and turned on. “You’ve been here before.”
He inclined his head. “It’s been my once-a-year indulgence the past ten years.”
Hot damn. “What do you do when you come here?”
He raked his teeth across his bottom lip and smirked a little. “Not much. I rent a booth and masturbate with the door ajar. People enjoy watching.”
�
��And you like being watched.” I stepped closer and slid a hand up his chest. “You’re an exhibitionist.”
It was funny to me that he could hesitate to go into a grocery store without a shopping list, but he had no issues being in control as soon as it was about sex. That part of him wasn’t merely confident; it was utterly fucking shameless.
“Neurotypical humans take sex too seriously,” he said. “I’m not an exhibitionist so much as I enjoy making people nervous. It turns me on to see them out of their element. To see them hesitate and wonder what’s protocol.”
My eyebrows went up, and…well, so did my cock.
This was his alternate universe. A place where he was the assertive norm and everyone else was scrambling, like he felt he did in society, in his everyday life.
He cupped my jaw and brushed a thumb over my barely there scruff. I’d shaved yesterday. “You can pass for twenty,” he murmured. “Sweet boy.”
Jesus.
His raw masculinity and power pushed me straight into a subservient mind-set.
“Just follow my lead, okay? The trick is to take it slowly at first so everyone who doesn’t want to take part can leave.”
Um. Everyone? Take part?
Rather than taking my hand or something, he slipped a hand to the back of my neck and ushered me into the store, which was surprisingly small. Considering all they bragged about in the window, I’d expected something bigger. But there were arrows on the floor leading to the back, so I guessed all the booths were in another section, separated from the store.
Gideon guided me straight up to the register, where a guy my age was flipping through a catalogue with a bunch of leather outfits. He glanced up and straightened as he spotted Gideon.