Hunger (Chicken Ranch Gentlemen's Club Book 1)

by Amanda Young

  "Is there a problem?"

  "No, sir." Declan snapped into action. If he wanted this job, then he was going to have to blow the other man's socks off. He knelt in front of the other man, studying the thick prick in front of his face while he tore open the condom.

  There is nothing to spaz about. It isn't as if I've never sucked a cock before—and Graves has a nice, thick hunk of meat. Probably the thickest Declan had ever seen, capped by a wide, bulbous crown. He was going to have to work to get his mouth around that baby.

  Declan carefully wrapped his fingers around the base, the ruddy flesh hot and heavy against his palm. He used his free hand to carefully roll the condom all the way down to the root. Holding the rubber secure, he leaned forward and experimentally flicked his tongue over the tip.

  The taste of latex was foul, but at least it didn't have any of that funky Nonoxynol-9 crud on it. He and Max, his best friend up until they were caught fooling around by Max's older brother, had found out all about the right and wrong kind of condoms for oral sex when they were fifteen.

  Not since that early fumbling had he felt so edgy. Nervous sweat built beneath his arms and spread along his hairline. He imagined his face shone with the anxiety of a rube.

  Declan cleared his mind and tried to focus on the task at hand. He pursed his lips and wrapped them tightly around the crown, using the tip of his tongue to prod the slit through the condom reservoir and tease all the way around the brim.

  The condom shifted under the pressure, rotating around. That wasn't good. Declan grasped Graves's cock to hold it in place as he swallowed the thick shaft. He kissed his fist before reversing direction and moving back up the swollen head.

  He worked the base of the shaft, pumping up and down as far as he dared, while he used his free hand to cup the tight, furry sac beneath. He bobbed up and down, his mouth watering around Graves's tool. Saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth and slid down Graves's sac, making everything nice and slick. He moved the moisture around, rolling Graves's balls in the palm of his hand.

  Needing a short break, Declan popped his mouth off Graves's dick and ducked lower, mouthing the soft, hair-roughened balls hanging beneath. He glided his tongue over and around Graves's balls, lapping at the silken skin while slowly stroking the other man's thick shaft. The taste of salty flesh eroded the nasty hint of latex lingering in his mouth.

  While he lapped the smooth, round contours, he used his spit-slicked palm to work the uppermost inches of Graves's prick, keeping him hard and ready. Declan squeezed the broad head and twisted his fist, hoping he wouldn't be down on his knees all night. His body reacted to the cock in his mouth and scent of male musk, but his heart wasn't in it. A weird sense of detachment clouded his actions. All he needed to do was make Graves come hard and then it would be over. The job would be his.

  With that goal in mind, Declan abandoned Graves's balls and lapped his way from root to head. He moistened his lips and formed a tight ring around the tip, applying pressure until his mouth popped over the flared ridge.

  Graves exhaled, coloring the air with a quiet moan. Declan descended lower, taking as much as he could without gagging. He added suction on the way back to the crown, pursing his lips and caving his cheeks around the older man's thick length.

  A shudder was the only response he received for his efforts. Otherwise, Graves held perfectly still, letting Declan do all the work. The harder Declan sucked, the whiter the older man's knuckles appeared where they clutched the desk's lip.

  Finally, blessedly, since Declan's lips were going numb and his jaw ached like hell, Graves tensed up. The thick muscles in his thighs grew taut, promising the man wouldn't last much longer. Declan doubled his efforts, putting in a little more oomph in the hopes that Graves would shoot before his technique got sloppy. He pumped his fist in time with his mouth, willing Graves to come.

  The older man bucked forward, shoving his cock farther into Declan's mouth, and started to tremble. His hips twitched, jerking through the spasms as the condom ballooned in Declan's mouth.

  Declan forced back his gag reflex and held on until Graves stopped convulsing. He kept a firm grip on the base of the condom and lightly sucked, trying to bring Graves down softly.

  A deep sigh sounded from above. Graves pulled back, stripped off the rubber, and shoved his damp dick back inside his pants. "Very nice. You do that well for all my clients, and we'll both stand to make a nice chunk of change."

  "Thank you, sir," Declan muttered, uncomfortable with the compliment. With a wince of discomfort, he rose to his feet. "Can I, um, put my clothes back on now?"

  "Go ahead." Graves returned to his seat behind the desk and picked up the phone while Declan re-dressed. While he covered up, Declan listened to the other man request for someone to come and escort Declan out of the building. After he hung up, Graves set his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on the tips of his joined fingers. "Do you have any questions for me before you leave?"

  "No, sir. Not at this time, although I imagine I'll have some later." All the information was a lot to take in.

  "That's fine. There's a bit of a learning curve, but I'm sure you'll catch on quick." Graves rubbed his chin. "Do you have somewhere to stay tonight, Declan?"

  "I…" Shame swelled and burned in the pit of Declan's gut. "Of course I do."

  A knock sounded on the door, sparing Declan from any further questioning. Colt popped his head inside. "Everything all set?"

  Graves nodded. "We're good." To Declan, he said, "I'll expect to see you here at noon tomorrow. We'll give you a better tour and let you talk to the other boys and get your bearings before you begin work tomorrow evening."

  "Thank you for the opportunity to prove myself, Mr. Graves." Declan silently followed Colt to the door.

  Colt stopped with his hand on the knob and glanced back at Declan over his shoulder. "Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into, kid?"

  Declan nodded.

  "All right. Good luck with it, then. You'll probably need it."

  "Uh, thanks." I think. "See you tomorrow."

  Declan had barely stepped outside when the door slammed shut behind him. He took a fleeting look back toward the entrance and shook his head. Colt certainly was friendly. He hoped the rest of the staff was a little warmer.

  His empty stomach growled as he descended the steps. One more day, he silently promised himself. All I have to do is get through one more night on the street and then things will get better. They can't possibly get any worse.

  Chapter Two

  Killian took a sip of lukewarm Coke and glanced around the employee dining room. Located on the first subfloor of the Dyotech Industries, the cafeteria was lit by overhead lights that cast a sickly pallor on the men and women mingled around the large, open room. Since it was well after normal working hours, the chow line was closed; the serving area behind the steel and glass sneeze guards was dark. White, bench-style tables lined the room.

  Although he was closing in on thirty, Killian felt transported right back to high school and all of its trappings. He was a math club geek then and an accountant now. It amounted to the same thing. The only differences were the subtle laugh lines around his eyes and his jaded outlook on the world. He still preferred numbers and statistics over people. Math was always a sure thing; the variables were constant. Figuring out people was nearly impossible. Frankly, he had a better chance of discovering Atlantis at the bottom of his swimming pool.

  The bimonthly mixers weren't fun for anyone, but they were mandatory. The CEO, a man with more money than brains, had gotten into his head that happy employees would work harder and increase the company's profit margins. While the idea had some basis in fact, the mixers and forced socializing were no one's idea of a good time.

  He wondered how much longer he would have to stay before it would be polite to leave. After all, he'd already suffered through an inane hour of small talk and making nice with the newbies, most of whom looked just as uncomfortable. Th
ankfully, his speech impediment hadn't kicked into full gear. The god-awful stuttering only happened when he was really nervous or trying too hard. He couldn't care less about the impression he made at these shindigs. Like most of the others, he only wanted to put in his time and go home.

  Killian swallowed his dread as he saw Cash Rosedale headed his way. With his quick wit and artificially white smile, Cash could charm his way through anything. Only those closest to him knew about the low self-esteem that had plagued Cash since he was a child. His confident swagger and gym-toned body had won the hearts of men and women alike, although Cash didn't stick with anyone long enough to let them see the real person beneath all the pretty polish.

  While Cash could be a certifiable pain in the ass, he was also Killian's oldest friend. They'd been fair-weather friends since the first grade, and Killian doubted that would ever change. Even if they did get on each other's nerves more often than not. It was simpler to forgive their foibles than end a friendship spanning over two decades.

  "So," Cash said, dropping down on the bench beside Killian. "What are you planning to do tonight? Any grand plans I should know about?"

  "Not unless feeding my fish and staring at the TV is your idea of a good time." Killian knew what Cash's reply would be before the man uttered a single word. They went through this same back-and-forth conversation every week. Just because it was a Tuesday and they both had to be back in the office in the morning didn't mean Cash wouldn't have some kind of outlandish plans he wanted share.

  "Not likely." Cash set his drink down on the table and leaned in closer. "I found out about this place in the next town over: Chicken Ranch. It's a real, honest-to-goodness, all-male brothel. Can you believe that shit?"

  "Well, good for you." Killian sighed, already expecting the invitation before it was spoken aloud.

  "You could come with me."

  "I don't think so." The last time he'd gone out with Cash, Killian had ended up stranded an hour away from home. The time before that, he'd ended up getting punched in the nose when Cash had ducked a jealous boyfriend's fist. Needless to say, Killian had learned his lesson well.

  "Come on, man. It'll be fun."

  "Sure. You always say that, and I always end up miserable by the end of the night."

  "It won't be like that this time. Honest."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Besides, when was the last time you had your ashes hauled? I'd say you're past due."

  "That's none of your business." Unless his hand counted, it had been a while. He damn sure wasn't telling Cash that.

  "Fine. Don't tell me. You being so cranky says more than enough."

  Killian blew out a sharp breath, his impatience rising. "I am not cranky."

  "Are so."

  "What is this, middle school? I'm not arguing with you on the subject of something you know nothing about."

  "Come with me." Cash batted his long black lashes at Killian. "Please."

  "No."

  "Fine." Cash stood up. "Forgive me for wanting to drag you out of your cave for a little fun. Have fun turning into a hermit in that drafty old mausoleum you call a house."

  "Have a good time," Killian called out as Cash stormed away. The man was such a drama queen.

  Amused, Killian wondered if Cash would actually go anywhere. The other man wasn't prone to do anything by himself, which was probably why he'd invited Killian in the first place. Lord knew, if the shoe were on the other foot, there was no way Killian would tell anyone where he was going. Prostitution was illegal; even if it weren't, he wouldn't want people to know he'd gone to a whorehouse.

  Although, now that he thought about it, paying for sex wasn't such a terrible idea. He could avoid all the trappings that went hand in hand with trying to pick someone up: the awkward small talk and stuttering when his nerves got the better of him, not to mention the inevitable rejections that followed.

  His last relationship—if anyone would call an entirely one-sided affection such a thing—had crashed and burned over two years earlier. Walking into a pub and finding a burly biker with his tongue tonsils-deep in your date spelled "the end" loud and clear. Since then, he'd lacked the heart to go out and find someone new. It wasn't as if he was unattractive, per se, or had the personality of a cockroach, but sociable was last word anyone would think of in affiliation with his name. Cash wasn't exactly wrong for calling him a hermit.

  In my defense, it's damn hard to impress someone new when you can't string together a sentence without stuttering like a fool.

  Killian rose to his feet, his mind made up. It wasn't as if it would be all that hard to track down. There couldn't be that many places named Chicken Ranch out in the boondocks. He could go and check it out on his own and then decide whether he actually wanted to go through with anything.

  Shit, who am I kidding? It's been so long since I got laid that the opportunity to do so without having to put forth any effort is too good to resist.

  It wasn't as if he couldn't afford it. After a lifetime of living frugally, he had plenty of money in the bank. Very rarely did he splurge on anything, and when he did, it was normally something useful. Not that most people would call the new high-definition sound projector he'd just purchased a necessity, but it came in handy considering the amount of time he spent at home listening to music or watching TV.

  Nodding to people as he moved through the crowd, Killian managed to avoid getting trapped into a conversation with anyone. He hit the elevator button and sighed, thinking he was home free.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of unnaturally red hair and a bright purple dress. He tensed and tapped his foot against the floor, punching the arrow button in a useless effort to make the elevator arrive faster. Thankfully, the doors swooshed open and he quickly ducked inside, narrowly steering clear of Tracy Higgins. He had zero interest in hearing about so-and-so's latest hip replacement or her friend's cousin's brother's funeral. While he wasn't proud of running from a woman half his size, it was much simpler than trying to politely extract himself from a conversation after she'd latched her bony claws into his arm and started jibber-jabbering away.

  As the elevator rose to the first floor, Killian popped a piece of cinnamon gum into his mouth and began to make plans for his evening.

  What the hell do you wear to a brothel?

  Chapter Three

  Declan was still reeling as he descended the stairs. He'd just given a man head for money. His throat still ached from the repeated drilling. His lips were a little bruised, and his jaw ached; other than that, he was no worse for the wear. However, the pungent taste of latex lingered on his tongue like a bad memory. Thank goodness the man hadn't wanted any more than that. Although the guy seemed nice enough, he was also over fifty, with a potbelly reminiscent of a mall Santa's fake gut.

  A shiver passed through Declan at the thought of someone so unattractive taking his cherry. Sex was sex, but fuck if he wanted his first time to include someone so out of shape; that dude probably would have sweat all over him and huffed and puffed like a pig. Gross.

  In retrospect, he should have considered all the unattractive men he'd have to bang working as a rent boy. It stood to reason that good-looking men wouldn't frequent places like Chicken Ranch when they could get all the ass they wanted for free. The only hot men he'd seen so far that night were the other employees. As it turned out, the boss man frowned on fraternization. Go figure.

  However, that didn't stop him from enjoying the view or talking to the other men. A gazillion questions had run through his mind, each one more embarrassing than the last. Thankfully, a few nice men had lent him their ears and listened while he stuttered over one query after another. Only one was obviously perturbed by his presence.

  He'd caught one svelte blond in particular shooting him dirty looks more than once throughout the afternoon. Before Declan could let it get to him, one of the other working boys had told him not to take it personal. The guy who'd been giving him the stink eye—Rich or Rick or some
thing that started with an R—had a habit of being unfriendly with guys he considered competition. Declan understood that in a roundabout way, even though he doubted he would be a threat.

  Comparing them was like relating a prince to a pauper. What's-his-name's hair was thick and shone like spun gold when the light hit it, whereas Declan's limp locks were so pale they verged on white. Peach freckles dotted his nose and cheeks, while the other man's complexion was as tanned and smooth as an artist's canvas. Declan was short and skinny, without a lick of fashion sense. Why would anyone worry about losing business to him?

  Grey, a big man who Declan probably would have avoided under other circumstances due to the sheer amount of ink and metal covering his body, was the nicest out of the bunch. He took the time to answer Declan's questions without making him feel like the rube he was, and even went so far as to explain the items on the "menu" they were all instructed to use. Declan made a ton of mental notes until Grey was pulled away by business.

  He was a little surprised by how much the men charged, considering the rural area. One of the other men—whose name escaped Declan—had assured him people from all over visited Chicken Ranch. Declan was impressed at the amount of business they seemed to do, considering he'd been born and raised in the same county and had never heard a peep about a brothel of any sort in the area, much less an all-male establishment. Sure, he'd heard whisper about hookers, but he'd just assumed they were talking about the streetwalkers. Hell, he'd never ever seen one of those until recently.

  And now here I am, ready and willing to sell my ass to the first man who wants it.

  Part of him still thought he was going to wake up any minute, safe and sound in his bed at home. The more realistic half prepared for the night to come. Although he'd gotten off lucky with his first client, he wasn't ignorant enough to think he would make it through the night without his ass being penetrated.