by Neil Plakcy
“I want to show Mr. Wilcox his swanky new digs,” Marv said, falling to his own knees with a lot less grace than the foreman had done. He didn’t seem to care if his expensive linen slacks got soiled. “This is his office we’re kneeling in.”
Rafe lifted pale, hazel eyes to Conrad. His gaze lingered long on Conrad’s khaki-covered legs, the bulge of his groin, his narrow waist and broad shoulders. Years of competitive swimming had given Conrad a body he was proud of, but he still found himself sucking in his stomach and flexing his pecs for the handsome man.
When his hazel eyes finally made it up to meet Conrad’s green ones, the corner of Rafe’s black-plum lips lifted into an arrogant smirk. “I can’t think of anyone’s office I’d rather be kneelin’ in,” he said. His voice held a cock-thickening combination of innuendo and amusement.
Marv chuckled good-naturedly, always quick to share a joke. Though Conrad didn’t think his happily married, two-point-five kids, minivan-owning boss knew what the joke was.
“C’mon over and have a look, Mr. Wilcox,” drawled Rafe. The way he stressed the syllable cox was downright illicit.
Conrad bit his lip and peeked at the open space behind Rafe and Marv. Then he set his shoulders, focused all his attention on the gold glint in Rafe’s earlobe—Conrad couldn’t help but wonder what else was pierced—and quick-stepped the distance required to join them.
Death gaped six feet away.
His own crouch wasn’t as elegant as Conrad might have wished, but he was too anxious for the hard, splintered security of the floor to do anything but lunge toward it. Sweat slicked his hair, ruining the immaculately gelled black spikes.
Rafe’s expression appeared thoughtful as Conrad dropped down beside him.
While Marv blathered on about lighting options and cork versus slate flooring, Conrad shut his eyes and stole a few calming breaths. The scent of manual labor and Perry Ellis cologne rushed into his nostrils. God, he loved that cologne. His ex, Michael, had worn it too, but it hadn’t smelt quite so musky-sweet on him.
He opened his eyes again to find Rafe’s face less than a foot away. The foreman’s thigh was hot against his own. This close, the irises of Rafe’s eyes were an incredible striation of gold and gray and brown. His nose was thin, right until the end where heavy nostrils flared, and his mouth was so full it looked puckered, as if waiting to be kissed.
Rafe’s tongue darted out—shocking pink—to slick along his lower lip.
“Well?”
Marv’s voice broke the spell. Conrad jerked his head back. Jesus! Had he really been about to lock lips with a complete stranger in front of his boss? “Pardon?” he asked Marv, having no idea what the original question had been.
Marv shook his head, making his sparse brown hair wave. “I said, did you want to use this space”—his thick finger tapped the blueprint—“for a built-in or a closet?”
“Uh…” Actually, at the moment, Conrad couldn’t give a flying fuck. He’d sprung a hard-on that could slice through steel. Cut it out, moron, he told himself. This is important. He was Callingwood Graphic’s new head designer, and he was being asked to help with the design of his own office. It was everything he’d been working toward since he’d graduated five years before. So never mind the window of doom or the eminently fuckable basketball star beside you.
Conrad took a good look at the plans. “Um. I wouldn’t mind a built-in here,” he said, pointing to the alcove on the right of the door. “If we could balance it with another one here.” He slid his index finger over an inch. “Is that possible?”
Marv looked to Rafe, which meant Conrad had to look at Rafe, too. Christ, the man was sexy. Deep, almond-shaped eyes. High cheekbones. Skin so dark it looked like espresso coffee… and that mouth!
“Yeah. We can do that.” Rafe cocked his head to study the plan. Then he reached down to take Conrad’s hand and move it over a tad. His palm was almost twice the size of Conrad’s own. Conrad’s cock lurched. “But it’ll involve either creating a weird jut-out into the hall, right here, or losin’ a foot and a half of floor space inside.” Rafe gave Conrad’s fingers an intimate squeeze as he lifted his hand away. “Plus, changin’ around walls would require another round with the architect.”
Conrad dragged his attention back to the blueprint and attempted to knee-shuffle sideways. Rafe was really buggering up his concentration. A big finger hooked through the belt loop at Conrad’s lower back, halting his escape attempt.
“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Conrad said, feeling foolish, feeling flustered. He should have seen that. Was Rafe’s hand creeping down to his ass? “Well—”
“I could always make you a built-in…here,” said Rafe, running a ragged fingernail across the wall-to-wall window. “I’ll make it low, but it’ll still cut into some of that view you so admire.” He shot Conrad a wink.
Conrad really wanted to kiss him now. That was a perfect solution. With a partial wall in front of the window he wouldn’t feel like he was walking into death’s abyss every time he opened his office door.
“No need to go through the architect for that,” Rafe went on.
“That sounds—”
“Are you joking?”
Conrad’s eyes leapt to Marv. His boss was shaking his head vigorously. Wave. Wave. “What’s the point of having a floor length…” His Blackberry chirped, and Marv’s voice trailed off as he unclipped the phone from his belt to glance at the display screen. “I’ve got to take this,” he said, standing up. “Do whatever you like, Wilcox, but I think messing with the view would be a shame.” He pushed a button and walked away to gain some privacy.
“I was going to put a credenza there, anyway,” Conrad said, smiling up at Rafe. Even kneeling, the foreman was a head taller than him. “So, yeah. If you could build something, I’d really appreciate it.”
Rafe didn’t answer right away, he was busy tracking Marv’s progress. When Conrad’s boss ducked into the stairwell, Rafe’s hand finished its descent to Conrad’s asscheek.
Conrad gasped as he was hauled flush against about two-hundred-and-sixty pounds of muscle.
“I can you help you with that phobia,” Rafe whispered against Conrad’s ear. Hot breath washed his cheek, right before strong teeth closed over his earlobe.
“With… Oh, Christ…what are you doing?” Rafe’s tongue was in his ear and his fingers were lowering the zip on Conrad’s pants. Normally, Conrad would be more than happy to roll around on the floor with a prime piece like Rafe. But his boss could be back any second. Not cool. “Stop it.”
“With your fear of heights,” Rafe elaborated, doing the opposite of stopping. He reached inside the now open zipper and proceeded to jack Conrad off through his white jockeys. His tongue tickled its way along Conrad’s jaw.
“How’d you—”
“You looked like a deer caught in the headlights when he asked you to come over.” Rafe chuckled and nipped at Conrad’s Adam’s apple. “A pretty, dark-haired, green-eyed deer.” Now his lips moved up to hover above Conrad’s own. His hand pumped faster. “You were so pale I thought you were gonna pass out,” Rafe said, flicking his tongue into Conrad’s mouth.
Before he’d even thought about it, Conrad was sucking on the strong, pink muscle. His balls drew up tight. “Christ, man, you’ve gotta stop,” he groaned. In an act of incredible willpower, he tore his mouth away and twitched his hips back.
Rafe’s eyes glittered. He took his hands away from Conrad’s body long enough to push his hard hat off. Then he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and hauled that off, as well. The cigarette pack landed with a crinkly clatter somewhere behind them.
Conrad swallowed hard as Rafe’s body was revealed. Except for small, fragrant tufts of black under his arms he was completely bald, from the top of his head to the ripples of his stomach. And yes, there was a matching gold hoop in his left, dime-sized, java-chip nipple.
“Fuck me, you’re beautiful.” Conrad couldn’t help but lean forward and take the pretty brown, gold
spangled button between his teeth.
“Later,” Rafe said. “I’m gonna fuck you later.” His long fingers tangled in Conrad’s damp, spiky black curls, holding him close for a long second as Conrad gnawed on his nipple. Eventually, he pulled him away. “Right now, I just wanna see you come.” Rafe held his gaze as he shimmied the khakis down Conrad’s hips.
“Marv’s—” Conrad started to protest.
“Gone downstairs,” Rafe said. He slipped a forefinger below the elastic of Conrad’s underwear. A quick tug and Conrad’s cock sprang out, rosy red and granite hard. “Pretty boy,” Rafe sighed. He spit into his palm and then wrapped his hand around the quivering shaft. With his other hand, he picked up his discarded T-shirt and draped it around the root of Conrad’s penis. It hung there, limp, like a flag of surrender.
“I had a boyfriend a while back,” Rafe said conversationally. “Was so scared of heights he couldn’t even climb a ladder.”
The hard and fast fist on his cock made Conrad’s answer a bit less than coherent. “What’d you…oh…God…do?” He wrapped his arms around Rafe’s neck, biting at the salty ridge of his collarbone.
“You know Communico’s eighty-seven-floor monstrosity down on Randell Street?”
“Yeah.” Conrad’s hips rolled.
“Well, when it was just being built, and there were only concrete floors and steel supports, I hauled his ass up to the top.”
Just as Conrad felt the first telltale clench in his stomach, Rafe clamped down tight on the base of his dick. “Fuck. Please!” Conrad gasped.
“I told you—fuckin’ comes later. Listen to my story.” His lips ghosted over Conrad’s mouth. “I licked…” Rafe licked. “And sucked…” As he sucked Conrad’s lower lip into his mouth, Rafe’s hand resumed its up and down motion, but now the pace was much too slow. “And fucked him into submission.” He unwound one of Conrad’s hands from his neck and pressed it to the front of his jeans.
Conrad moaned at the feel of Rafe’s hard, hard cock pushing against his palm.
“You see,” Rafe said, picking up his pace incrementally, “I wouldn’t let him come, ’til he’d put on a safety harness and hung his head out over the side of that big, nasty buildin’.”
Conrad fucked Rafe’s hand for all he was worth. He was so bloody close. “An-and he did th-that?” he managed to get out.
Rafe’s chuckle was pure arrogance. “Course he did. I’m a great lay.” He flipped his shirt over the crown of Conrad’s cock. “Go ahead and come now, pretty boy. I hear the guys comin’ back.”
Now that he mentioned it, Conrad could hear them, too. The concrete stairwell amplified the tromping of work boots. The sound got louder with every second that passed. How much time do I have? he wondered, with a vague sense of panic. The answer was, enough. He had enough time.
When Rafe gave his balls a tug and shoved his tongue down Conrad’s throat, Conrad shot all over that dirty T-shirt. His hands scrabbled for purchase on Rafe’s slick back. He thrashed and moaned.
The footsteps got closer.
Almost before he was finished spurting, Rafe had wiped Conrad off and done up his khakis. Rafe tucked the slimed shirt into the waistband of his jeans. It drooped, covering the ridge of his impressive erection. “It’s Saturday,” he said, his voice mellow. He shifted back on his heels and smoothed the rumpled blueprints. They’d somehow ended up kneeling on top of them.
It blew Conrad’s mind that the man could sound so damn calm. He swiped his hands through his hopelessly messed-up hair and tried not to look like he’d just come. “So?”
“So…” Rafe smiled. “The boys leave earlier on Saturday—around five.” He rose to his feet with the same feline grace Conrad had admired before. “Me? I ain’t got a family, or nothin’. So I’m thinkin’…” He held out a hand and, with no apparent effort, hauled Conrad to his feet.
Conrad looked up. Way up. He’d known Rafe was tall, but he hadn’t realized…
The first of the construction workers rounded the corner. “Hey, Rafe,” the man said. “Jim’s got yer gyro down in the van.”
Rafe lifted a languid hand to show he’d heard. “So I’m thinkin’,” he leaned over to whisper again, “that maybe I’ll stick around for a few hours. Watch the sun set from up on the roof. Tie up some…stuff.”
“What d—”
Conrad’s cell sang the opening bars to AC/DC’s “Hells Bells.” He fished the phone out of his pocket and saw Marv’s name blinking on the screen. “Shit. Hang on.” He stepped out of Rafe’s shadow and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, boss,” Conrad said, all false bonhomie. “Where’d you get to?”
Rafe stooped to pick up his smokes and then wandered over to lean against the empty window frame. Conrad’s skin pebbled in horror. He whirled away. “At three-thirty?” Conrad asked Marv. He checked his watch. “Okay. I’ll meet you there.” He turned back around, forcing himself to look only at Rafe, and not at the empty space behind him. “Marv had to leave,” he said, with a wry smile. “Wish I’d known.”
Rafe smiled, too. “I kinda liked not knowin’.” He came forward, holding out his hand. “I’m afraid I’ve gotta get back to work, Mr. Wilcox.”
Conrad shook his hand, feeling a little nonplussed at the sudden formality. But then, the construction crew was all around them, now.
“I hope to see you again soon, though,” Rafe said. He turned his body a bit to brush Conrad’s knuckles against his still-stiff cock. “Real soon.”
Conrad sat in his car and drummed his fingers against the leather-covered steering wheel. The sinking sun cast the building’s dark shadow right across the street. It licked the hood of his Volvo. Conrad craned his head out the driver’s side window. That roof looked about ten miles high, though he knew it was only sixty feet or so.
He pulled his head back in and resumed drumming. Rafe was worth a lot. No doubt. But was the man worth this? “That is the question,” he intoned, in a solemn, hammy voice.
A piercing whistle startled a few chickadees from the tree beside him. They wheeled up and around, complaining. Besides Conrad, they were probably the only creatures who’d heard the sound. This street, in the heart of the business district, was quite deserted at seven-thirty on a Saturday night.
“You comin’ up, er what?” Rafe hollered.
“Er what,” Conrad mumbled. He sighed and got out of the car. “Why don’t you come down?” he yelled back, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify the words.
Rafe stood on the edge of the roof, looking like a pagan god. Sunlight cast a fiery halo around his shirtless body.
After a long, charged silence Conrad got the answer he’d pretty much been expecting.
“No. Get up here.”
Just the sound of Rafe’s voice had him hard again. Conrad gave himself one more second to reconsider. “Fuck!” he growled.
The steel door leading onto the roof sprang open as Conrad reached for it.
“Got tired of waitin’,” Rafe said. He grabbed a fistful of Conrad’s shirt and hauled him through the doorway to crush him back against the concrete-brick wall.
The air left Conrad’s lungs in a rush. “How’d you know I wouldn’t chicken out?” he wheezed.
Rafe used his handhold to wrench the shirt right over Conrad’s head. “I didn’t. I was comin’ down to you.”
“Oh.” Oh!
“But you’re here now.”
As soon as Conrad’s mouth was clear of the fabric, while his arms were still tangled up high, Rafe’s lips slanted over his. There was nothing of the slow tease about him now. Rafe was heat and want, grappling with Conrad’s clothes, tongue fucking his mouth, grinding his cock into Conrad’s hip.
Conrad gave up wrestling with his stupid shirt. He just sagged limp in Rafe’s grip and ground back, riding the bigger man’s thigh like it was a pony.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day, kid,” Rafe broke away to say. He freed Conrad’s arms and tossed the shirt aside. Then he directed Conrad
’s hand to the buttons of his tab-top jeans.
“Wanna see how hard I’ve been thinkin’?”
Fuck, yeah. “I do.” Conrad sank to his knees and pulled the buttons apart. The rapid-fire prrrrt sound made his mouth water. When he saw that Rafe wasn’t wearing any underwear, more saliva pooled under his tongue. And when he realized that Rafe didn’t have any hair there, either… “Jesus,” he breathed, swallowing the flood.
Rafe fished out his cock. His long, thick, long cock. It was so dark that his fingers looked pale against it. “You want this?”
Conrad couldn’t look away from the damned thing. He supposed, in the part of his mind still capable of rationalization, that Rafe’s penis was simply proportionate to his overall size. After all, he’d had black lovers before, knew the whole “horse” myth was just that—a myth. But… “Jesus,” he said again.
“Hey.” Rafe pinched Conrad’s chin, lifting it. “I asked you a question.” He tapped his cockhead against Conrad’s lips. “Do. You. Want. This?”
“Yes.” Conrad strained against his grip, reaching with his tongue when Rafe didn’t let him get any closer.
“Yeah?”
“Yes!”
Rafe turned and strode away. He stopped about three feet from the roof’s edge. “Then come and get it.”
Shit! Conrad had managed to forget that part of the deal. “Look,” he said. “I’m okay with being acrophobic. It’s no biggie. Just come back, okay? You were going to come down anyway, right? We’ll go to my place, have a nice…”
“No.” Rafe had bent over to undo his boots. He straightened and toed them off. “Next time, we’ll fuck like rabbits in your safe little bed.” He stood on one leg to take off his sock. “Today…” Other leg. Other sock. “…We’re gonna fuck right here.”
Conrad held his breath as Rafe peeled his jeans down.
“You can crawl, if you have to,” said Rafe. He sat down and then stretched himself out on a dark brown blanket that Conrad hadn’t even noticed. “In fact…” A slow, sexy smile spread across his face. “I think I’d like that.”