“Aren’t I a little old to be a rentboy?” I whispered.
“It’s called role-play for a reason, baby.” He pulled a wad of bills out of his wallet—I’d have to make sure he got those back later, because there was only so far I was willing to go for role-play—and stuffed them in my tight front pocket, easily dropping back into character. “As a paying client, I call the shots. You wear what I want and do what I say. Are we clear?”
I knew I must be blushing to the very roots of my hair, in no small part because I could now hear Jace quite clearly behind me, damn near choking to death trying to contain his snickers. If he didn’t stop, he was going to rupture something.
“Yes.” I nodded, ducking my head.
Robin’s voice took on a stern edge I was beginning to recognize all too well. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Client, sir,” I shot back. Fuck it. If I was going to be a rentboy, I was going to be a fucking sassy one.
Robin’s lips twitched, but I ignored him, leading the way out the door and adding some wriggle to my walk for the hell of it. I heard him ask Jace to stick something in the freezer, which made me stop and turn around. I hadn’t seen anything in his hands but the briefcase. I supposed a bottle of wine or the like could have fit into the soft-sided bag, but why would that go in the freezer? Before I had a chance to figure it out, he murmured a courteous farewell to Jace, then closed the door and quickly caught up. His hand clamped roughly on my ass cheek as he fell into step alongside me.
“That was cute, but I warn you: I will make you regret it if you get too mouthy.”
He wasn’t doing that dangerous, chilly thing that froze me in my tracks. In fact, he seemed awfully damn cocky himself, as if daring me to try him.
Which was really rather annoying. If he wanted me to do it, that stripped all the satisfaction from attempting to provoke him.
The restaurant he took me to was nice: dark and cozy but not excessively elegant. Too conservative for my attire, not fancy enough for his, so we both stood out, which was all sorts of awkward. Especially with the way he kept one hand riding the small of my back and clutched a briefcase with the other. Suddenly I wasn’t sure about this game. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on me, even though the restaurant was dimly lit and maybe a third of the tables were occupied.
At Robin’s request, they seated us at a booth in the far back corner. He urged me into the seat facing the wall, rather than the one facing the dining room. He slid in beside me instead of across. The dividers between booths were high enough that each was like its own little cubicle. No one except a person standing right beside the table could see us tucked in there. We might as well have been in a private room. The overhead light was low and an oil faux-candle burned beside a small vase, providing just enough light for us to see our menus and adding to the intimate atmosphere.
That was good, at least. No one could gawk at me.
“I’ll be ordering for us tonight,” Robin said.
The waitress appeared, cheerfully asking for our drink orders. He ordered two virgin margaritas, which made me cringe.
I stopped the waitress before she could leave. “Can I just have a water, please?”
She nodded and left. Robin turned to narrow his eyes at me. “Did you not understand the part about me ordering for both of us?”
“I don’t order virgin drinks.” I shifted uncomfortably, the lube I’d worked into myself slick between my bare cheeks.
His eyebrows lifted, and he wore that arrogant expression again. “Oh? I don’t recall asking your preference, but do enlighten me as to why virgin drinks are beneath you.”
“It’s humiliating, that’s why,” I hissed. “If you order water, you might do it for any reason. Maybe the drinks don’t appeal to you, or maybe you’re just in the mood for water. No one knows. But if you order a virgin drink, you’re advertising that you’d rather be having a real drink, but you’re a candy-ass who can’t handle booze.”
If his eyebrows crept any higher, he would look like he’d had disastrous plastic surgery.
“Ah. Your issues with not wanting to be seen as weak are showing.” Then a corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’ll notice I ordered drinks for both of us. Am I a candy-ass who can’t handle alcohol?”
“No, that’s even worse.” I shot him a baleful glare, wondering what I’d done to make him think I couldn’t handle my liquor. “I don’t even know why you ordered virgin. Hemophiliacs can drink, you know.”
“Obviously, since you had a beer the other night. Thank you,” Robin said to the waitress, who appeared with the drinks—my glass of water, but also the two margaritas Robin had ordered. He turned on the charm and handed her the menus we hadn’t even glanced at. “We’re going to have the marina dinner, and please make sure to space out the courses. We’d like to take our time and relax tonight.”
“Of course!” She bounced away, and Robin gave me a long stare.
“The reason I’m not drinking—” he took a leisurely sip of his margarita; I had to admit, my mouth watered a bit at the thought of its tart lime bite “—is because I happen to like margaritas with seafood, but I need to be in full control of my faculties if we’re going to play the way I intend to play. And so do you.”
“Oh.” Well, fuck. Now I felt like an idiot.
He tapped his finger against the base of his glass, then gave a nod. “I believe our agreement was that, as the client, I get what I want. I think you need a better understanding of who is in charge here tonight. Get up. We’re taking a trip to the restroom.”
He slid out of the booth, clearing the way for me to rise. I glanced around the sparsely populated dining room with more than a little anxiety.
I got to my feet and leaned close to him, hissing, “I am not going to let you fuck me in the men’s room.”
“As long as I’m the client, you’ll let me do whatever the fuck I want.” He reached over to the opposite bench and grabbed the briefcase, which I’d assumed he carried inside because he didn’t want to risk it being stolen from his car. No one in their right mind would leave a case like that in the car in Boston, LA, or Chicago. “Go.”
Trying not to appear conspicuous (yeah, right), I wove between the tables. I didn’t dare look and see who might be staring. There were two restrooms, both unisex, and when I opened one, I saw they were single-room lavatories. No lines of stalls—and best of all, the door locked.
Robin slipped in behind me and flipped the latch. An instant later, the briefcase was on the floor and I was pinned against the wall, being kissed brutally.
Despite my resolution that we were not going to fuck in the john, I melted into it. Damn, but he tasted good, his lips and tongue tangy with lime. The spicy musk of his cologne was so subtle as to be practically subliminal, but he smelled absolutely delicious. His hands made quick work of my fly—being careful with the zipper, thank God—and reached inside to grasp me.
“Fuck,” I whispered, biting my lips against a moan as my head fell gently back against the wall.
“Well, at least you’ve followed one of my instructions.” Robin worked my dick until I was rigid and groaning. “You choose a safeword?”
I nodded, trying to focus my thoughts. “Bodysuit.”
His eyebrow lifted, and I blushed. “Bodysuit?”
“Tattoos. Neck to wrist to ankle. It’s called a bodysuit.”
“Okay.” He gave me a tight smile. “Turn around. Grab the railing there.”
Panting, I obeyed, insensible of any objections I might have had. I needed him inside me now, and I didn’t care where or how or who figured it out. Grasping the stainless-steel rail intended to assist customers with disabilities, I bent forward, pushing my ass back in offering. Robin slid my jeans down and caressed the taut halves of my ass, then pulled away.
I expected the sound of a zipper and the rustle of clothing. Instead, he bent to dig in the briefcase beside my feet. Right. Condoms, I reasoned, and closed my eyes.
After a moment,
something slick pressed against my asshole. Too cold and unyielding to be human. Shit, was it—
“Whoa, wait.” I tried to push myself up to standing, but he shoved me back down.
“Client, remember?” Robin said darkly, reminding me again of our roles, which frankly kept slipping my mind. “You’re just a whore who’ll do anything I say for money, and I say this plug’s going up your ass. How long you have to keep it there depends on how well you adjust your attitude.”
I whimpered, trying to relax, then blew out a slow breath and arched my spine to open myself a bit more. He worked that lubed plug in and out, going a millimeter deeper at a time. Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick, this was so incredibly bent. What did he intend to do, make me eat supper with that thing in there?
“Precisely.” Robin’s smug rejoinder brought my attention to the fact that I’d spoken aloud. Staying silent became more difficult the more intense the stretching became. He patiently worked until my ass allowed the plug to sink in. As it approached the widest portion, I gripped the bar with white knuckles and rested my head against the wall, shaking.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck . . .” God Almighty, how thick was that thing? If I hadn’t lubed and stretched before I got dressed, it would have hurt.
“Just a little more.” Another gentle push and it slipped inside, my body drawing it in, clamping down to squeeze that narrow stem before the flange.
“Christ!” I gasped, feeling my muscles clench, working to expel it.
Robin casually wiped some of the excess lube from where the plug was seated and turned away. “Go back to the table and sit. I’m sure the soup is already served, but wait for me before you begin to eat. I’ll be there shortly.”
Scarlet with humiliation, I did as I was told. I fastened my jeans with trembling fingers as he turned on the water and began to wash his hands.
“Yes, sir.” Overwhelmed, I fled.
Geoff
If I thought I felt conspicuous before, it was nothing compared to trying to stroll casually through the restaurant without walking like I quite literally had something up my ass.
Then I sat down, and it was all I could do to keep from groaning loudly enough that the whole dining room would have heard. Jesus fuck, I was sweating—my hairline growing damp and beads rolling down my temples. It was a large plug, and I felt so fucking stretched and full. Each little shift sent a bolt of sensation through my cock. Every brush of denim was unendurable friction against the exposed head of my dick.
Our soup and salads were there, but I waited as I’d been told. There was no fucking way I was going to disobey anything Robin said ever again. Call me a wuss, but if he had worse than this up his sleeve tonight, I didn’t want to test him. I really, really didn’t.
Why was I putting up with this? I hadn’t even considered using my safeword. Why wasn’t I telling Robin that this was way over the line?
Maybe because I’d been more turned on these past couple of days by Robin than I had been by anyone in my life, ever. This shit might not have been what I’d intended, but it still felt. So. Damn. Good. Robin was clearly no novice, but for me, having gone from nothing to this in the course of a couple of days was amazing.
Robin returned and set his briefcase on the opposite bench, sliding in next to me, pinning me in the booth. I stared at the leather case suspiciously, wondering what other methods of torment he might have stashed away.
“Please, help yourself.” He picked up his role of magnanimous client easily as he gestured to my soup.
“You expect me to be able to eat like this?” I asked under my breath.
Robin’s lips curled up at the corners, making him dimple. “You have no idea what I intend for the rest of the night. It might be advisable to keep your energy up.”
With a frustrated sigh, I tried to focus my attention enough to eat.
As Robin had requested, they paced the meal so that I didn’t eat so fast I felt stuffed after the first course. We had time to enjoy our soup and salad before the appetizers arrived, during which Robin seemed to break character to make conversation.
“So, you said you have an adopted sister?”
I nodded, smiling because I couldn’t help but smile at the mention of Ling. “I do. She’s amazing. We were close all through high school and even once I left for college. She chose to study art like I had. Well, she’ll be the first to say she can’t make art worth a damn—you and she are alike that way—but she has a good eye, and she’s working on her graduate degree in art history. She might go into restoration and preservation, maybe become a curator.”
Robin watched me as I spoke. My sappy smile never faded, except when I moved and thereby reminded myself of the plug up my ass.
“She sounds like a great sister,” Robin said softly, mirroring my smile.
“She is.” I looked down at the table, blushing. “She says if I decide I want kids with someone, she’s going to be our surrogate, because she wants to make sure she gets to have a niece or nephew.” I chuckled lightly. “Her heart’s going to be broken if I end up with someone who doesn’t want children.”
“Wow. You miss her a lot?”
“Yeah, I do. We haven’t lived near each other except for summer breaks for eight years now. We talk or email or text at least once a day most days. I hope someday we can settle down close to one another.”
“And where is that going to be?”
“I have no idea.” I sipped my margarita thoughtfully. “I don’t think either of us is interested in returning to Colorado, but I’m not sure where I can really make it as a tattoo artist. I think in a large city like LA or Chicago, I’ll get lost in the shuffle, no matter how good my work is. I don’t fit most people’s idea of a tattoo artist. I might have better luck going somewhere smaller and more conservative. I don’t know.”
Whatever Robin might have answered, it was interrupted by the arrival of a platter of deep-fried calamari, which I hadn’t had in forever. But I barely had time to enjoy a few bites before Robin’s hand slipped under the table to stroke the inside of my thigh and cup my crotch.
And just when I’d nearly forgotten my predicament, too. The erection that had slowly flagged began to swell back to life under my fly.
“I think you need a different appetizer.” He had that smug look again. “Get down under the table.”
“What?” I yelped loud enough for the closest tables behind our booth to hear. I couldn’t help it. No. No fucking way did he expect me to—
“The waitress will be back one time in the next fifteen or twenty minutes before our main course arrives, to check on our drinks. She won’t look down anyway, but even if she did, the tablecloth is long enough that there won’t be anything to see.” He arched an eyebrow at me. “I’ve been hard since I stuffed that plug up your ass, which I only did because you seemed to have forgotten our arrangement. Since it’s your fault, you should be responsible for dealing with the problem. So get on the floor and deal with it.”
“But—” I looked frantically around, searching for some excuse that he couldn’t counter. “I can’t—”
“You will.” He continued to give me that calm, challenging stare, telling me without words that I had two choices: obey or safeword.
I was so close to choosing the second, but that taunting gaze mocked me. Damn it. I wasn’t a submissive. I was too fucking moody and irascible to be submissive. But despite that, I was harder than I could ever remember being.
I was sure if I refused, we would go back to the hotel and have a perfectly satisfactory fuck. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted rough and dangerous. I could either take this chance while I had it, or give it up.
Robin leaned close enough to kiss, whispering, “Humiliation is just another brand of pain, isn’t it?”
Fuck. Oh fuck, yes.
My dick was stiff and hot beneath the denim separating it from his stroking hand, and my ass was full, driving me slowly insane from the pressure. Finally, whatever it was within me that had been
resisting this game threw up its hands and said Fuck it. I wanted to find out what he had brought to the table tonight, and the only way to do that was to go with it.
Moaning softly as the plug pressed against my prostate, I glanced around to make sure nobody could see, and slipped into the cramped space under the table.
Robin parted his legs to make room, and reached down to open his fly and pull out his cock. I grabbed for it, but he batted my hand away and threaded the fingers of his other hand through my hair, drawing me in and feeding his cock to me.
I don’t know why that made it hotter than if I’d gone after his dick myself, but it did. That little loss of volition nearly had me moaning before I remembered not to. He slipped between my lips, deliciously salty, the heavy scent of musk surrounding me. I sucked with an eagerness that belied all my earlier protestations. As in the restroom, my reservations lasted only as long as it took for him to get his hands on me.
His fingers rested on my scalp, guiding me. I didn’t even need that much pressure. Once I had him in my mouth, I was completely absorbed. I wished he would use more force, though I knew this wasn’t the time or place for something that rough. I let him urge me up and down, his other hand above the table. I could envision him up there, eating calamari and pretending to be nonchalant while I worked myself into a sweat down here.
I nearly banged my head on the bottom of the table when the waitress spoke above me.
“How’s the calamari?”
“Perfect, thank you.”
“Your date doesn’t care for it?” There was a smile in her voice.
“He’s just in the mood for something else tonight,” Robin answered casually. “I’m sure he’ll finish it when he comes back to the table.”
“Would either of you like another drink?”
“Absolutely, for both of us.” I could imagine the charming smile Robin wore to brighten his tone in that way. Unable to resist the sudden surge of mischief that tickled me, I sucked harder and faster.
“All right, I’ll get those out to you, and your entrées will be along shortly. Will you want to see the dessert menu tonight?”
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