by Jaime Samms
Was he thankful for the teasing, or saddened that the only link he did have to his past was the household cleaning staff? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to figure it out, and maybe was glad he only had to deal with Marcello remotely. Penza Cleaners had many crews cleaning the houses of the obscenely rich, so Conrad didn’t have many opportunities to talk to Marcello directly. He figured the crews were all tightly scheduled, but with any luck, Conrad could convince Marcello to give him more of Dusty’s time.
“He’s a miracle worker, Marcello,” Conrad said. “He had my CDs all on the shelf for nearly an entire week.”
“The poor, poor boy. How badly did you mess up his hard work?”
Conrad chuckled. “Very, I’m afraid. But in my defense, I couldn’t understand his filing system.”
“He doesn’t use any great, mysterious system, Conrad. He uses the alphabet. Trust me when I tell you, the boy does not go in for complicated schemes. He has a very simple mind.”
Conrad frowned, unsure exactly what Marcello meant by that but not liking the implication. “Regardless, I will speak to him, and we will come up with a system that makes it easier on us both. Will you consider my request in the meantime?”
“I’ll tell you what. You show him the place and see what he says. If he agrees, he is yours. I’ll shuffle his other clients to other cleaners. If you can convince him to take you on after he gets a look at your apartment, more power to you.”
“Wait, I don’t want to cost him work, or pay.”
“No, no, he will be working with you. If anything, I might consider a raise.” Marcello laughed. “Not to worry. I take care of my people, and he is one of the best workers I’ve had in a very long time.”
“Good. Okay, then.” Conrad allowed a small smile and nod. “Good. Thank you.”
“Do not thank me until he accepts the job. Once he sees what he is up against—”
“He saw the place already. I can convince him, I’m sure.”
A snort from the other end of the phone brought Conrad up short.
“No doubt you can, Mr. Kosloff. You can talk the birds down from the trees, I’m sure. It has been your gift your whole life. I know a few who would not argue the point with me.” He chuckled.
Conrad flushed, not so sure the assessment was meant to be complimentary. “Thank you, Marcello,” he said, wishing to end the conversation before it got any more personal than that. “I really appreciate this.”
“We shall see,” Marcello said cryptically. “We shall see.”
Conrad left the conversation there. Either Dusty would come back the next day exclusively working for him for a while or he would not. He hurried down to the studio to make sure his cleaner wasn’t overdoing it on his foot and found Dusty once more organizing CDs in their cases.
“I am sorry about that,” he said as he entered the echoing room. “I never meant to cause you so much work.”
“It’s fine. I should have asked how you wanted them organized. I thought by composer would make sense.”
“If it was all ballet music, maybe. But some is for modern class, and the pop and rock stuff is for jazz.” He picked up the CD Dusty had just closed. “Then there’s this type of stuff arranged specially for classwork, and there are mixed CDs I have for the same sort of thing in modern and jazz.” He shook his head. “It’s all over the place.”
“Then we will have to schedule time to sit down and figure out what goes in what category and then go from there. I’ll just have to see if I can squeeze a few hours away from my other clients.”
Conrad smiled to himself, hoping that would cease to be an issue after today. “It’s a lot of work. I suppose I can group it all for you and then you can do….” He waved a hand at the half-empty shelves, realizing that even if he might soon have Dusty all to himself, finding a chunk of time when he wasn’t teaching and the studio wasn’t being used for rehearsals or some other thing would still be tricky.
“I just have to find the time,” he muttered.
“I guess it isn’t pressing.” Dusty frowned at the stacked CDs. His fingers twitched, and he pushed at his glasses. The room was already heating up with the morning sun coming through the tall windows along the east wall. A light sheen of sweat glistened on Dusty’s upper lip, and Conrad had a nearly irresistible urge to lick it away.
He blinked, realizing how close he had to be standing to see that, and took a step back. “Between classes and rehearsals for the fundraising performance next month, it could be tricky. And I rent space to an artist group on Wednesdays starting in June, since they can’t use the college art room. They lock that up in the summer. No access. Then there is the Pilates that will start on Sundays. I’m not teaching it, but—”
“It’s fine.” Dusty had turned, and he laid a hand on Conrad’s arm. When Conrad took a breath and gazed down at him, Dusty’s eyes were wide and warm. He was looking up over the top of his glasses, and there was a twist to the outer corners of his eyes from squinting, probably to see better.
Careful not to scrape the plastic nose bits along Dusty’s skin, Conrad eased the glasses up so Dusty was looking through the lenses. “Better?”
Dusty nodded. He seemed to have stopped breathing. His lips were parted, and Conrad instantly forgot that he didn’t kiss strangers—or near strangers—or—employees? Was Dusty an employee? Oh. Fuck it. He bent and pressed his lips firmly over Dusty’s.
Chapter 7
DUSTY SHOULD stop this. He should not be kissing his boss. Well. Not his boss, exactly. His employer? His… fuck. Conrad was a stellar kisser. Dusty closed his eyes, drew in a breath, because if he didn’t he’d have to stop kissing, and that was so not going to happen.
The air he pulled in was scented with coffee, sweetness, and the faded residue of sleep. The touch of Conrad’s fingertips on his cheek kept him in place when he might have pulled free, and he dug his own fingers into the dancer’s waist.
If he didn’t stop now, he might never stop. He might sink into whatever faint swirl of rhythmic inner music Conrad constantly moved and spoke to. Even in the midst of a kiss, he was not still. His upper body swayed, and Dusty clung to him, latching on to his movement like the dance could be passed to him through osmosis.
“Dusty.” Conrad’s whispered word fluttered over his lips. “We….” Nothing more came but a trail of kisses down his jaw and throat, and how did the immensely tall man suddenly fit to nuzzle beneath Dusty’s chin like that?
“Hey.” Dusty tugged at Conrad’s hair. “You there?”
Conrad lifted his head, peering with a hazy, satisfied expression at Dusty’s kiss-damp lips. “Yes?” He smiled, and it was a lazy, sultry expression that flowed over his face, deepened his dimples, lighting a spark deep in his eyes. “You should be kissed often,” Conrad whispered. “It looks good on you.” He touched Dusty’s lips with a finger. “So pretty. Red. I could nibble on them all day. Can I?” His lids drooped, hooding his eyes. “There’s a lot I could do to you. Head-to-toe licking and kissing.”
He paused as Dusty kissed his jaw.
“Lots of sucking,” he went on when Dusty didn’t stop at his jaw but moved lower, cupping his ass now, and suckling at his throat.
“You’re stronger than you look. Like a dancer. Dancers are always stronger than they look.” He sighed as Dusty ran a hand up his swaying back and clamped strong fingers over the back of his neck to hold him a little stiller so he could pay proper attention to Conrad’s pulse point.
“Better than a dancer, though.” Conrad’s voice had faded to breath and fluttered wings of words that barely rippled the air. “No angst. No meanness no—oh! Oh… fu… sh….”
Dusty raked fingers into Conrad’s curls to pull his head back and closed his mouth over Conrad’s throat. Conrad’s sudden inability to form words thrilled Dusty, and he sucked a bit of skin up between his teeth to mark properly.
“Ngh.” Conrad’s constant sway became even more fluid, and he bent, dropping willingly when Dusty maneuvered him
to his knees. He nuzzled at Dusty’s belly, nudging his shirt up to lick at his stomach.
Dusty let him have his way, pushing his groin forward to meet Conrad’s questing mouth. “More,” Dusty whispered, pressuring Conrad’s head closer and undulating his hips.
Conrad made not a word of protest but slipped strong fingers under the waistband of Dusty’s loose jeans and tugged. He popped the top button with his teeth, and the jeans slithered easily enough over Dusty’s hips. They were thrift-store specials. Fit wasn’t always a guarantee. In that moment, he couldn’t have cared less about wearing a stranger’s castoffs if it meant easier access to the heat and insistent pressure that was Conrad’s mouth on him.
“God, fuck, Con. You sure you want—to—to—to do that?” He gulped breaths between words as Conrad peeled away his pants and shorts and freed his raging-hard dick.
Conrad was silent, and Dusty had to force himself to keep his head on straight to look down, see Conrad, and assess what, exactly, was going on.
Conrad’s eyes were dark, no longer hooded and hazy, but intent, filled with need and now.
Dusty gently undulated his hips again, nudging Conrad’s chin with the tip of his dick. “You want it?” he asked, with barely enough breath to utter the words, fascinated by the bigger, older man’s acceptance of their positions.
Conrad licked his lips and nodded. “Please.”
A grin curled Dusty’s lips. He almost never got the chance to lead. It was a rush to see how deep the want burrowed into Conrad the longer Dusty watched him and held back what he wanted. “Con.”
Conrad whimpered and moved closer, rubbing his face at Dusty’s groin and drawing a groan from Dusty. Conrad wasn’t the only one who wanted. Clutching a handful of Conrad’s hair, he hauled him back, gripped the base of his own cock, and drew it across Conrad’s lips. “Take it,” he whispered, and to his wonder, Conrad opened his mouth and allowed Dusty to push into the dark, warm suction.
Conrad’s gaze locked with his. The want burned hot, more of a turn-on than the drag of lips and tongue on his cock. Dusty cupped Conrad’s face and rocked his hips, taking every inch Conrad gave, holding him with his palm on his jaw, his fingers tangled in his hair, and their gazes fused. Lost in the feel of Conrad’s capitulation, the actual blowjob was the gravy of the act rather than the meat.
“Con, I can’t—I’m so close.” Dusty moaned, trying to keep himself steady, calm in the face of Conrad’s trust. He had to keep his cool. He had to stay controlled when he wanted to thrust deep. He couldn’t take when he wasn’t sure how much would be allowed.
Conrad grunted around him, reaching into his own stretchy sweats and digging out his cock. He curled long fingers around himself and pumped, hollowing his cheeks and groaning as his body stiffened and his come spurted onto Dusty’s toes.
The heat of jizz and the slackening of Conrad’s lips as his orgasm took over his motor control was all Dusty needed. He pulled Conrad off, stroking his dick and releasing his taut control. His orgasm gripped every muscle in his body, including the fingers in Conrad’s hair. Come splashed over Conrad’s chin and the floor between them, and his vision hazed over. His glasses slipped so he was staring down at a fuzzy image of satiation at his feet. When he slumped against the table, it shuddered backward, unwilling to hold his weight. He unsteadily lowered himself to the floor instead.
Conrad caught him, easing him onto his ass and claiming a deep, heady kiss. He curled hands into Dusty’s hair and around his throat in a claiming, controlling touch that sparked a deep, hot yearning through Dusty that had nothing to do with the physical release.
Dusty got a glancing taste of his own come and pulled back enough to lick the rest from Conrad’s face. By the time he returned to the kiss, Conrad had gentled, his touch turned tender and his lips soft. He broke free and tucked his forehead against Dusty’s neck.
“I—” Conrad still didn’t seem up to the task of conversation. A flutter, delicate and indistinct against Dusty’s skin, had him imagining Conrad’s long lashes brushing against him. “I don’t usually….” Conrad pressed lips to Dusty’s throat instead of completing the thought.
Dusty moved back to cup Conrad’s face in both his hands and look at him, catching his eye and holding his attention. “Was it okay?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
Conrad nodded. “Better than.”
Relief washed through Dusty and he smiled. “Good, then. It’s good.” He kissed Conrad’s forehead, then placed his lover’s face back against him. “Better than good. I don’t even know what that was. It’s usually the other way round for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Con, I’m a shrimp. A janitor with no education because I wasn’t smart enough to finish high school. Rich, prestigious dance instructors don’t blow me. If I’m really, really lucky, a guy like you lets me—”
This time, it was Conrad cupping his face, looking into his eyes, grave and stern. “Stop.”
Dusty blinked.
“I did exactly what I wanted to do. If you want to know the truth, I’d do far more to please you than give you an impromptu, barely acceptable sucking off. I don’t think for an instant you’re just a janitor or just anything at all. You are far more—”
Dusty placed a finger over Conrad’s lips. “Please don’t.”
Conrad’s eyebrows drew into a tight V. “Don’t what?”
“I am a janitor. I didn’t graduate. I am what I am, and you are what you are.” Dusty untangled himself from Conrad’s sprawled form and stood, pulling his jeans up as he did. “Let’s not make it more than it is, okay?”
“Or less,” Conrad insisted, getting up and dressing as well. “Don’t make it less.” His voice bridged to a sharper key, and Dusty looked up at him from buttoning his jeans.
“Con?”
Conrad’s eyes were too soft. His lips turned down at the corners, and Dusty was close enough he didn’t need his glasses to see the uncertainty.
“What is it?” Instinct prompted him to place a hand on Conrad’s arm before Dusty was aware he wanted the connection, but off in the office a phone rang, and Conrad’s attention tore in two. His throat worked.
“I have to get that.” He twisted his arm free of Dusty’s grip.
“Wait!” Dusty hurried around to block his exit. “What did I say? What did I do?”
Conrad touched his face, trailing his fingers along Dusty’s cheek, then he bent and kissed Dusty hard. “This isn’t over.” A twist of his body, a sharp spin, and he was past Dusty, hurrying to answer the phone.
Chapter 8
THAT ONE phone call was the beginning of the cascade. Summer dance camp registration began then, and over the rest of the day, Conrad found himself constantly fielding calls and greeting drop-ins. Every time he thought he might have a moment to talk to Dusty, another parent vied for his attention. He scheduled auditions for older students enrolling in the summer intensive. For the younger children, he and the studio were the ones on display.
He had no problem with that. Dusty had used his weeks of employment well, even if Conrad had barely seen him over the past two of those weeks. The studio and office were immaculate. He knew the parents of the young children hoping to find a place in his school over the summer would be pleased with the facilities. He’d never questioned his own teaching.
If the child was right for his school, he’d offer their parent the regular schedule. If they were not, they would have a fun summer experience and never come back. He wasn’t worried. He’d rarely had a shortage of students, and in the past few years, most classes had been filled to capacity. His reputation as someone who could turn out superior dancers was well established, and he had hired some very adept assistants for his youngest students.
By lunch time, he had a full schedule of auditions and walk-throughs for the next three days and was heartily sick of answering the phone. He did notice that the studio was spotless, though, and the CDs roughly organized by music genre on the table. He wandered into
the room, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.
“I brought this.” He held out one of the cups to Dusty. “Touch of cream and some brown sugar.” Dusty thanked him and took the cup, but Conrad didn’t release the handle right away.
“Are we okay?” he asked, hoping he managed to hide how much he needed to hear Dusty say what had happened was okay. “I ran out rather quickly this morning. So many things to do before the summer classes start. Auditions for the older students. If they want spots in my intensive classes, they have to make me believe they can handle it. And the little kids. I love those classes. We do dance, crafts, singing, if I can find someone to teach them a song. The parents love a little show at the end. We try to incorporate song, dance, and art, little costumes or a backdrop or props or—”
Dusty pulled a smile onto his face, but it seemed to take effort. “You have a business to run. And I have work to do.” He gave his mug a slight tug.
“Work you do beautifully,” Conrad said, relinquishing the drink. “I never worry about new parents coming in here or wonder if they notice all the cobwebs and dust on the upper shelves, or if I’ll be able to find a piece of music….” He gazed at the piles of CDs. “Well….” He offered a lame shrug and a small smile. “That was nice while it lasted.” And the dust and cobwebs and CDs were so not what he wanted to talk about. But maybe that was his answer right there. What he’d done wasn’t okay. He should have known better. People expected him to be in control, not—not what he had been earlier. That had been a mistake. Wasn’t it always his mistake, though?
Glancing around, Dusty frowned slightly, not quite covering it with his mug quickly enough. “It’s a living. Not as complicated a one as teaching children to dance, but still. It all needs doing.”
“You sound like Marcello.”
“Marcello is a wise man.” Dusty glanced at Conrad. “I can borrow a bit of his wisdom. I think he wouldn’t mind.”
“And I think you have plenty of wisdom of your own.” Conrad sidled nearer and set his coffee on the table. “You seem to think otherwise.”