Ben Ryder - Englishmen 3 - Released

by Ben Ryder

  I was greeted by Russell’s manager, an efficient-looking lady who was smartly dressed. She showed me into the living room area of the suite. I was surprised to find Mason Russell alone. No assistants, no agents, and no representatives of the movie.

  84At first glance, I thought I’d hit what countless women

  in the world would have considered the jackpot. The star was sleepy-eyed, barefooted, and wearing sweatpants and an undershirt. He sported day-old stubble that only accentuated his million-dollar smile. His hair had that styled/messy look that so many people try but rarely pull off. In short, he looked like he just crawled out of bed after a long night of sex.

  “I’ll be back in about an hour, Mason,” said his manager. She turned to me. “I have a thumb drive with photos, screen shots, and the movie poster for you to use in your article. I’ll just leave it on the desk here for you to pick up when you go.” I admired her efficiency.

  She walked out of the room and left us alone, which was completely unexpected.

  “Nice to meet you, Dominic,” he said. He stood from the sofa and shook my hand. He had a firm grip, soft hands, and piercing eye contact. “Can I get you a drink? Tea? Soda?”

  “Anything cold would be great.” I hoped that whatever he brought would cool the sweaty palm he just shook. I wasn’t usually the starstruck type, but this man’s magnetism and good looks had me hooked.

  I watched his back as he headed over to the minibar. As he bent down to the minifridge to collect a Coke, I saw no signs of underwear lines against his ass. I could see he’d gone commando when he turned around and walked back to me. I tried to hide the fact that I was watching his thick cock swing in the sweatpants. He spun on his bare heels and headed back to the minibar to drop a couple of ice cubes into a glass.

  He motioned for me to take the chair opposite the sofa as he sat down and poured the Coke into a glass. He glanced

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  at me while the fizz settled, then handed it over. He was a considerate host without airs or graces. I knew this was a sign the interview would go well. I thanked him, set my tape recorder on the long coffee table between us, and settled back into my seat.

  “Long day so far?” I asked.

  “Yes, but it will be worth it if the film’s a success.” “I saw it last night. It’s pretty remarkable. Very different

  from what we’re used to seeing you in.”

  “Thanks,” he replied. “I really appreciate that.” “How do you feel about doing a different kind of

  interview today?”

  “How do you mean?” He looked puzzled, but intrigued. “I know that you’ve been asked the same questions God

  knows how many times in the past couple of days, and on some level that must be tedious. So, I propose that you tell me what you really want people to know. Why don’t we let you pick the questions this time?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. This interview will be the entire arts and entertainment section this weekend. The only thing I ask is that you stay on the subject of the movie.”

  A look of surprise slowly spread across his face.

  I knew what I was doing. He was one of the biggest film stars in the world. Once he knew I wasn’t going to ask him anything about his personal life, he’d relax. The more relaxed he was, the more candid he would be. The more candid he was, the more intimate the interview would read. Plus, I knew that when his next blockbuster film came out, I’d be contacted—at his request—to interview him again, which would have much more exposure than this film.

  “That’s great. Where do we start?”

  86“You can start wherever you want. Maybe with the

  background of the script? Was it developed from a novel? Have you met the writer? What made you want to get involved and tell this story? We’ll take it from there. I’ll obviously have to edit the interview down, as I only have so much space, but I’ll send you a copy before it goes to print. I don’t usually do it, but will this time.”

  “Sounds great!” Mason recounted the story, from the first moment he learned of the novel, to the script he commissioned, and up to the last day of editing. His personality flowed as I let him talk. I only had to ask a couple of follow-up questions to keep him on course, but otherwise he recounted the process quite well. The man who sat in front of me was charming, easygoing, down-to-earth, and obviously passionate about his craft.

  But as I listened to him, I couldn’t get that damn fake photo out of my mind. There I was, alone in a hotel room with one of the world’s sexiest men, wondering what the repercussions would be if I simply interrupted him and said, “Excuse me, would you mind if I got on my knees and sucked your cock until you shot down my throat?”

  Probably a tad unprofessional. Thank God the interview was being recorded, because I was playing a different movie in my mind from the one he was talking about.

  His manager returned just as we were wrapping up. She seemed surprised that I was still there, and almost a little nervous. An hour of unsupervised chat could lead to untold damage. She handed me the thumb drive and was about to show me out when Mason walked across the room and shook my hand again.

  87“Thanks, Dominic, that was great,” he said. He gave me

  one last smile before he headed back into the living room area. I watched him walk away, lingering on his ass until he turned the corner.

  My mood brightened considerably from the morning, but I found myself as randy as an alley cat. The porter at the hotel flagged me a taxi, and I headed back to the office. On the way, I switched on my phone to check e-mails. There was a message waiting in my Outlook account.

  To:BritBiker121@outlook.com From:UpperEast90@outlook.com Subject: Tonight.

  Are you free tonight?

  He’s got some nerve, I thought, still pissed that he’d scarpered when we were almost caught in the stairwell. My initial impulse was to tell him to go to hell. But after an hour with one of the hottest men on the planet, I was horny as hell. And the silver-haired man was one great fuck. Against my better judgment—which was becoming the norm—I decided I’d rather get my rocks off than take the high road.

  “When? Somewhere safe this time.”

  Just as the taxi pulled up at the office, I received his reply.

  “Financial District. Corner of Whitehall and Bridge. 11pm.”

  88

  I paid the driver and headed toward the elevator to my office. Visions of Mason Russell and the silver-haired man mingled in my head.

  I ARRIVED at the appointed place just before eleven o’clock. As I stepped from the taxi, I saw the silver-haired man waiting on the corner. He was still dressed in business attire, but without his suit jacket, and his shirt hugged his broad shoulders and muscular frame perfectly.

  He smiled in acknowledgement and beckoned me to follow him. He must have worked there or at least had something to do with the building, as he nodded in recognition to three security guards standing outside the front of the tall black building. The façade of the ground floor was black marble with a huge glass-front entrance. He led me through the lobby as the clicks from our shoes echoed on our way toward the elevators. He pushed the top button, and we rode in silence. His hands tapped casually against his pockets in time with each beep as we passed another floor. I noticed the bulge in his trousers already was getting bigger.

  Finally, the doors opened onto what looked like a maintenance corridor. We walked through it until we came to another stairwell.

  “At least we’re at the top this time,” I said, but he carried on walking up a short flight of stairs and through a door. I followed him through and onto the rooftop of the building. The view was magnificent.

  The million late-night lights of New York City flickered before us. He led me toward the edge, where a four-foot high

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  wall ran the perimeter of the building. The sounds of the streets rose dimly from far below us. He turned and faced me, with the now familiar grin on his face. Without speaking, he lean
ed forward and kissed me. I reached down and felt his cock pulsing through his trousers. At my touch, he kissed harder and tugged at my trousers before he pulled out my hard dick and fell to his knees.

  There was no worrying about dirtying his clothes this time. He voraciously licked my shaft while I took in the spectacular view. I felt like I was on top of the world. I looked down and saw he’d pulled out his own thick dick and was stroking it while he stared up at me. I wanted him. I pulled out of his mouth and pulled him up until he was standing in front of me. I kissed his neck as he stacked our cocks on top of one another and stroked them together.

  I needed to taste him. I bent down and licked the precum from the head of his dick. He moaned, so I took the whole shaft in my mouth, dancing my tongue around the tip with every stroke in my mouth. He reached down and searched the pockets of his trousers and pulled out a small brown bottle. I watched him as he held the poppers to his nose and inhaled deeply.

  He tapped my shoulder and handed me the bottle. I took it and stood as he returned to his knees. In between long strokes of my cock, he dipped his finger into his mouth and then found my asshole. He rubbed the spit around it until I was wet. He did it again and again, until I could feel saliva dripping off my ass. He stood up, took the poppers from my hand, and sniffed at them again. He left the top off the bottle and motioned for me to turn around. I didn’t protest. I bent over the wall and felt his cock slide between my cheeks until it found its target. Then I felt his weight on my back. He

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  pulled his hand around in front of me and held the small open bottle under my nostril to inhale. The giddy sense of my heart thumping in my ears returned after the six years since I’d last used poppers. Everything was sharpened for a spilt second, but then slowly faded out. My body relaxed and my inhibitions were swept away as I pushed back onto him, taking every inch of his cock in one go. The sensation was incredible, but I knew it would only last a matter of seconds. I took another hit of poppers and felt him fucking me hard from behind as I stared over the city. I leaned over the small wall and gripped the edge as I took everything in. The harder he pounded, the farther I was pushed forward. I looked down and suddenly realized my head was over the edge of the building.

  Vertigo set in as I imagined plummeting fifty floors to my death. It felt like I was slowly being fucked off the side of a cliff. The poppers were no longer the only thing making my heart race. I tried to shove my way back, but the silverhaired man was thrusting hard and fast. As the effects of the poppers faded, I was abruptly very aware of my surroundings. The fuzziness had gone. I became conscious of the buildings standing at the same height or taller, all of which were situated very close to us. Square blocks of light illuminated the offices of late-night workers. An expensivelooking apartment block was only a couple of buildings over. Could they see us? Was there a man in the apartment building sitting in the dark with a pair of binoculars? Was someone watching? Did they think we were fighting on the rooftop? Had they called the police?

  The fear of the attention and the prospect of being caught were intense. But he felt so good. He slowed his pace to long, deep drives into me. I could feel my body tense,

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  strangling his cock with my ass. Thick lashes of my cum burst against the wall as he held his cock inside me. He slowly slipped out of my ass and stood directly beside me. I watched as he jettisoned his load toward the side of the wall, the first and strongest shot actually launching over the edge.

  I didn’t mean to start laughing, maybe it was the ridiculous aftereffects of the poppers, but for a second, I imagined a businessman on the sidewalk reaching for his umbrella after feeling what he thought were the first drops of rain on his head. The same thought must have crossed his mind, too, as he also began to crack up.

  His laughter was strong and masculine and changed his face. I’d never seen him laugh, and the anonymity of our hookups seemed to crack in that moment. For the first time, we were sharing more than just sex. It was a very brief glimpse into our personalities. Our laughter faded, and he passed me a handkerchief to clean my hands.

  We dressed in silence, but still glanced at each other with awkward smiles. Once reassembled, we made our way back to the elevator and once again rode in silence. We walked out of the lobby, past the security guards, checking each other for any obvious signs of our tryst.

  “Thanks,” he said. I got the feeling he was more grateful for the laugh than the sex. We reached the sidewalk, and he hailed a cab. “I know I don’t know you, but you seem like a great guy.”

  “I like to think so,” I said as a taxi pulled over. He opened the door and stood to one side like a gentleman on a date.

  “Let me know when you’re free again.”

  “Definitely,” I said, though I knew it was a lie.

  92I once again suffered from regret on the ride home.

  Though he was amazingly hot, the situations I’d put myself in with him were crazy. Each time, it had been risky. Although I enjoyed the excitement, I was worried how far he would push it. A vision of us fucking on a Saturday night in the center of Times Square for all to see popped into my head, and a shiver ran through me.

  I also had some regret about meeting him again because I was just starting to accept that I liked Alex, probably more than I cared to admit.

  The way his friend had reacted when we’d met at the bar gave me a glimmer of hope that he might be interested. I knew it was silly, but meeting the silver-haired guy kind of felt like I’d cheated on Alex, though neither of us had ever expressed real interest in one another.

  But, then again, was that what I really wanted? A new relationship when I was still so fucking angry with Richard? I had a new life and a freedom that, after my appointment tomorrow, I would have branded on my arm.

  The last two years with Richard had been terrible. What if I pursued a relationship with Alex, only for it to end badly, too? Working in the same office with him, day in and day out, would be far too awkward. I struggled with the thought of gambling the richness of a friend and great colleague against the possibility of finding new love.

  Love. I was getting way ahead of myself. But it was definitely something more than “like” I felt for Alex. It wasn’t just the fact that he was so damn sexy he distracted me all day, or that he held the notion of truth so dear, but there was a kind of gentleness about him that I trusted, like he would never hurt me.

  93I could almost hear Jackie’s voice. “Jesus, Dominic, get

  out of your head!” 94

  Chapter Seven

  Wednesday, May 10, 2017 IT FELT like the tip of a lit cigarette was being dragged slowly across my flesh. The pain was so sharp, so intense, that each time he removed the weapon of voluntary torture, I felt a wave of immediate relief. I never could have imagined my skin being so sensitive. My natural instinct was to flinch or flex my muscle, to keep it taut. But my tattooist, Eddie, had warned me against any sudden movements.

  I was shirtless and in a pair of work trousers, lying back on what resembled a modified dentist’s chair. The chair sat in the large, open-faced window of the tattoo parlor. Every few minutes, middle-aged tourists, students, or locals stopped to peer through the glass. I felt like I was in a glass box on display, and their attention and stares were beginning to make me feel uncomfortable.

  My hands were behind my head, exposing the inside of my biceps. At a glance, I probably looked like I was in a relaxed pose, as though I should be lying in a hammock, ready for an afternoon nap. In reality, I’d interlinked my fingers behind my head so tightly that I could feel the pressure of the blood trapped at the end of my fingertips. I tried hard not to let the pain show on my face, but I couldn’t help but wince.

  95Eddie had only gotten as far as the letter F in a bold

  italic font, but he looked at it with the eye of an artist to make sure it was perfect. He must have been used to people stifling their pain, so he didn’t address the look of anguish on my face. He probably knew it would ju
st draw attention to it. Instead, he tried small talk. With his huge muscular frame, shaved head, and full sleeves of ink, he looked like a force to be reckoned with. He had an ’80s look, with his white tank top and tight jeans, though somehow he pulled it off. But he also brought a softness and charm. He tried to put me at ease by telling stories about growing up on the streets of Brooklyn. I never would have guessed this side of him existed if we’d just passed on the street.

  As he began the second letter, a lower case r, a chime sounded overhead. I heard a muffled conversation with the pink-haired girl at the desk, and then a man poked his head around the corner. It was Alex. I suddenly became very aware that I was shirtless.

  “How’s it going? You okay?” he asked with a voice of concern. He turned to Eddie. “Am I in the way?”

  Eddie shook his head and motioned to bring the wheeled stool in the corner of the room over to the left-hand side of my body. Now I had two men lording over my bare torso, leaving me feeling very exposed.

  “So, you boys lovers?” Eddie asked out of nowhere and in a very nonchalant way. Though I was embarrassed, it made me like him even more. Considering the characters he must have had in his chair, a gay guy must have been pretty tame to him. “Husbands?”

  “No,” Alex said a little too quickly. I think he realized the speed of his response, as he added, “Future rafting buddies.”

  96Eddie completed the third and fourth letters and wiped

  away the mixture of jet-black ink and claret-colored blood from my arm with a folded piece of paper towel. Alex read aloud the word that was being permanently etched into my skin.