Heat sprayed over his cock just about the time he shot, both of them moaning and crying out like fools.
Evan just stood there and shook, staring at Kyle like he'd never seen him before. And he hadn't until today, had he? Shit. His chest heaved, his cock still jerking a little. What the fuck?
"Mmm. That was a fine dance, man.” Kyle grinned against his temple, nuzzled a bit.
"It was. Thank you.” That sounded trite, but what else could he say? He was still holding the man's cock.
Kyle stilled, took a half step back, eyes searching his face. “You okay, man?"
"I am.” Grinning a little wryly, he patted the shoulder he still held, too. “A little like, uh ... paradigm shifty. But good like you wouldn't believe."
"Paradigm shifty.” Kyle grinned, tilted his head. “I like that. I ought to use it as the title for my next album."
"As long as you wear my corset.” Oh, God, this man was going to look fine in his corset. Black leather and a silver brocade that had a subtle, masculine shine to it, the channels done in black light glow...
"Anything that'll make a person look at me like you're looking at me now, honey? Is going to be perfect."
"Oh, I imagine your fans will love it.” Not like he would. He was fucking inspired.
"Yeah? You'll have to see, first hand.” One hand slid down his spine. “Make sure it fits."
"We might need more than one fitting.” Just because. At this point Evan couldn't imagine not seeing this amazing man again.
"Promise? I like the way you ... fit.” Kyle waggled his eyebrows and they both started laughing, hooting with it.
"Promise. One thing everyone says. You can definitely count on my customer service."
Secret Skin
By Sean Michael
Dillon Walsh walked through the huge chrome doors of the After Hours Club like he owned it, smiling and greeting his fellow businessmen like he was the evening's host. He wasn't, on this particular occasion, though he'd hosted many of these informal get-togethers himself as head of DWH Inc. The Hours was the perfect place for these soirees—classic and expensive, exclusive enough to be attractive, and hip enough to warrant a regular spot in the Society column.
Tonight's host was Tad Bremmer, President of AcTel, who, if the scuttlebutt was accurate, were drowning and looking for money to shore up the holes. In fact, there was Tad now, making a beeline toward him and trying not to be obvious about it.
Tad offered him a glass of champagne and laughed too loudly, nerves very close to the surface, unless Dillon'd read him wrong. Reading men wrong was not something that Dillon did. There was a reason he was the owner and CEO of a multi-billon dollar holding company, and his business acumen was only part of it.
He accepted the drink from Tad, and elicited far more information from the man than Tad had no doubt meant to share, while managing to keep his own cards close to his vest.
It was a typical evening. A boringly typical evening.
At least it was until James Stutton, CEO of one of his subsidiary companies asked him if he'd met Scott Daly yet.
Dillon turned and smiled. Oh yes, he'd met Scott before. The man was a broker—one of the best, to be honest—and they traveled in many of the same circles, often found themselves at the same events.
Scott was a prim, proper, button-downed businessman with short dark hair and dull brown eyes. He carried himself very precisely, never said the wrong thing, never drank, and made both himself and his clients a ton of money. He was imminently forgettable.
Except that Dillon knew Scott's little secret.
Dillon knew that beneath the plain brown contacts blazed bright blue eyes that danced with wicked, wanton thoughts. He knew that the tight lips could open, that they were the gateway to a mouth that knew more things about sucking a man's cock than most men could dream of.
He also knew that the dark suit with its tight tie hid a beautiful body. And he also knew it hid more than that. For Dillon knew that beneath the wool and cotton blend was a leather corset, holding Scott's waist in waspishly tight, hugging the fine muscles like a second skin. He didn't know what color it was, though he hoped it was the dark blood-red one, but he knew it was there.
It was only one of the secrets that Dillon knew about the various men who attended tonight's cocktail party, but it was the only secret that he truly cared about.
He took Scott's hand and shook it lightly. “How do you do, Mr. Daly?"
"Mr. Walsh.” Scott offered him a half-smile, possibly the most anyone had ever seen from the man in public. “I hear your trip to Athens was fruitful. Congratulations."
"Yes, very, thank you. And I understand that you're responsible for the Electrico takeover. Very impressive.” His voice stayed smooth and even, but he couldn't keep his eyes from seeing past the outer shell to the man he knew hid within the bland business suit.
The chatter continued on around them, James excusing himself to go speak to another contact. Dillon shifted slightly, bringing himself close enough that he could feel a hint of Scott's heat. “Are you staying for dinner?” he asked casually.
"I hadn't made plans. The chef here is talented, but I was intending to grab something small and make my excuses.” Dillon knew that perfectly tailored jacket hid the most luxurious skin, the edges of the corset squeezing tight.
His prick began to press against his briefs, the cotton holding it in beneath his slacks, and he had to work to keep his arousal from his voice. “I was considering saying my goodbyes myself. I flew in early this morning and haven't done more than check in to my room. Business meetings and such.” Though he hadn't seen his room, he was sure the bed was large, the walls amply sound-proof. For the money he'd paid out, they should be.
"Well, I hope you sleep well, Mr. Walsh. It was pleasant to see you again.” He got that cold fish handshake, that odd, empty stare, then Scott turned, let him see the hint of that amazing ass as it sashayed toward a darkened hallway.
Oh, fuck him raw.
His cock surged in his pants and he turned toward the bar, putting his glass carefully on the marble top and nodding as the bartender asked if he wanted another drink. “Whiskey, neat. No chaser."
He downed the shot, focusing on the way it burned down his throat and set the warmth in his belly on fire. The shot helped him get a hold of himself, and he shook off his distraction. He had to stick around a little longer. If he left right after Scott, someone might notice.
And this was one secret that belonged to the two of them alone and always would.
* * * *
It was nearly an hour later before Dillon escaped the clutches of Tad Bremmer and his cronies. He'd managed to line himself up as first in line for the pickings though, so it had been well worth it, business-wise.
Now though, his business interests could be put the back-burner.
He flipped open his cell-phone as he made his way to the elevator. There was a text message there, short and simple. “Have a meeting at 8:15.” There was no signature, but he recognized the number as belonging to Scott Daly and, when the elevator arrived, he pushed the button for the eighth floor instead of the fourteenth, where his own room was located.
The elegant lift didn't make a single noise as it sped him upward, and in moments he was at room 815, knocking lightly on the dark wooden door. He glanced left and right, assuring the hallway was deserted.
The door opened and ice-blue eyes met his. Dressed in those perfectly fitted slacks and an unbuttoned dress shirt, Scott had been getting ready for him, pink nipples caught in tiny golden clamps, eyes lined with black, a white leather corset bound tight around the fine body.
Dillon bit back his groan and stepped in, locking the door as it closed behind him.
His eyes closed for a moment, his groan turning into a growl as he let go of everything but the beautiful man in front of him and the time they had together.
He opened his eyes, his pet name for his constant addiction and sometimes lover sliding off his tongue. “
Dal...” Reaching out, he flicked one of the clamps and then let his finger ride along the top edge of the corset, Dal's skin so much finer than the soft, supple leather that clung to it.
"Hey, stranger.” Dal shuddered for him, lips open and wet. Wet and hungry and perfect to wrap around his prick, suck him dry. “You decided to skip supper.” It wasn't a question. It never had been with them.
"I'm not hungry for food.” His mouth landed on Dal's, their teeth clicking together as they kissed, weeks of pent up need crashing the barriers that had held it back.
His fingers slid up over Dal's shoulders, taking the open shirt with them and pushing it off. The only thing he wanted between him and that smooth skin was the corset, the leather an extension of Dal, a part of him.
He wanted to see Dal bent over, ass framed with the ties, waist squeezed impossibly tight. Those two little shiny rings would be waiting for him, hidden behind those heavy balls, needing to be tugged and twisted before he sank into his favorite play toy, balls deep.
Just the thought made him groan, his cock throbbing, straining against his briefs and slacks. He pushed his tongue deeper into Dal's mouth, his hands sliding over Dal's back. The leather was warm from Dal's body, and almost as soft as the silky skin above and below it.
His fingers got tangled in those damned pants, the slick material hiding that tight little ass from him, from his fingers.
"Take them off,” he growled, stepping back to watch.
He licked his lips at the sight Dal made, lips now swollen from their kisses, blue eyes bright with need.
"You don't like them? They're new...” Dal spun, ass swaying in a boring, if well-fitted, pair of slacks that probably cost the man two hundred dollars and didn't suit nearly as well as skin.
"Take them off.” He repeated the order and loosened his tie, pulled it over his head and rolled it carefully. He put the tie on the dresser, neat and deliberate, the motions belying the need that coursed through his blood. “Don't make me say it again."
Dillon could smell the excitement pouring from Dal, the hint of danger, the pure need. All those long weeks of repression and control and it all came down to these stolen, accidental nights. “Or what?"
Fuck, he loved that. Dal just never rolled over and played puppy. Not ever. It was that combination of need and strength that really got to Dillon, that kept him coming back again and again. “Or I'll have to take them off for you. And then I'll bind you and not let you come until morning."
"You don't have anything with you.” No, but Dal did, and Dillon'd been fucking that sweet ass long enough to know it.
Not only that, but he needed to see Dal naked, needed to see that fine, pale skin encased in just the white leather. He needed to see how naked it was without any of his marks, and then he needed to mark it up again. Only Dal would make him wait when they both wanted so desperately.
"So I'll improvise.” He wandered over to where Dal's overnight bag sat next to the dresser. It was black and plain, one of those little suitcases on wheels that every businessman had as a carry-on these days. He wondered how many of those businessmen packed theirs with corsets and lube, nipple clamps and cock rings. Only his Dal, he'd wager.
He heard the zipper of Dal's trousers go down and he grinned as he found a sweet, well-used plug, a white leather cock ring to match the corset, the lube. Practical man, didn't want to sacrifice the slacks.
He put his prizes on the dresser next to the bed, let them sit there so Dal could see them. Then he turned and moaned, Dal finally naked for him, only the corset left on, cock hard and reaching up to leave a wet stain on the white leather.
"Oh, fuck.” His voice was low, husky. His cock was so hard it hurt. “One of us,” he had to clear his throat to continue, “is wearing far too many clothes."
He didn't care though, he couldn't wait to touch. He closed the space between them and ran his hands over Dal's body, fingers sliding on leather, on skin, and loving both. Dal's ass filled his palms and he squeezed, brought Dal's body up tight against his.
Dal worked his shirt open, those amazing icy eyes dragging over his skin, making him shiver. “Need it."
"I've got what you need, Dal. I always do.” He didn't think his voice could get any huskier, but the desire coursing through him just twisted everything up in the most delicious ways. “Gonna fuck you raw, baby."
"Promises, promises.” The kiss fucking burned him and he squeezed harder, fingers digging into Dal's ass and bruising that milky flesh.
He walked them over to the bed, rubbing his slacks-covered groin against Dal's prick as they went. “I always deliver."
"Yeah.” His arms got trapped in his shirt as Dal groaned into his lips. Fuck him, yes.
He worked haphazardly at freeing himself, more interested in the taste of Dal's lips, in the way their bodies rubbed and pushed together. Good thing Dal had focus. His pants fell, the cotton briefs pushed down with a rough hand.
Then Dal took one of his hands, brought it to those clamped nipples.
Groaning, he slid his thumb around the hard, clamped flesh. He teased, threatened to touch the clamp, but drew back again and again as their pricks slid together, rubbed: skin on skin and skin on leather, it was enough to make him shudder and groan.
At last he flicked his finger across the clamp, making it dance.
The scream was short and sharp, Dal pulling away, then pushing right back into his arms as if they were attached.
"Like that, baby?” He did it again, watching the heat and need in Dal's eyes go from flaming hot to inferno.
"Evil bastard. Fucking burns.” Uh-huh. He knew.
He hit the other one with his finger, making Dal gasp and jerk against him. “I could stop.” It was an idle threat and they both knew it.
"You won't.” Those nipples were red and swollen and Dillon knew they had to be throbbing, aching.
He shook his head and bent, licked around one and then blew against the wet flesh. “I won't."
He nibbled Dal's skin where it met the corset, humming as flavor of salt and leather and Dal mingled in his mouth. “Oh, fuck, baby, I need you.” With a growl, he pushed Dal back onto the bed.
Dal's long prick slapped against the leather, loud enough to hear. Oh, that had to sting. It didn't matter though, Dal knew what he wanted, what he needed, that fine ass offered to him as the man got on hands and knees. His fingers went automatically to the little rings embedded in Dal's flesh between balls and ass, tugging and twisting them as he rubbed his cock along Dal's crack.
"You're ready for me.” It wasn't a question, and he didn't wait for an answer as he pressed the head of his prick against the perfect, tight heat of Dal's ass.
Slick and pink, the ring of muscles squeezed the tip of his prick for a second before opening and letting him in deep.
"Fuck. Oh, fuck.” The words tumbled from him, and his hands slid around Dal's waist, the leather of the corset caressing his palms, his fingertips. He pushed in until his hips were pressed tight against Dal's perfect ass.
They stayed there together for a moment, the muscles around his prick rippling and teasing him, a maelstrom of motion inside that deceptive stillness.
"Dal...” he murmured his lover's name, and then began to move. Keeping it slow to start with, he pulled out, feeling every motion of Dal's body as it clung to his cock, begging wordlessly for him to stay buried. He pushed back in just as slowly, knuckles going white as he held Dal's hips in a brutal grip, just barely holding on to his control.
"Yeah. I need. Harder.” Demanding little slut. No wonder Dillon adored him.
"I know what you need, Dal. And I'll give it to you. I always do.” He always did. Dal was his addiction, the one who fed his need. With a sharp cry, he let go, hips snapping as he pushed harder, deeper, filling Dal with a hard, rough thrust.
He could see the leather pinching that smooth skin, knew that Dal was fighting for a deep breath. He gave his lover a moment, just another second to draw that breath as best he could, and t
hen Dillon pulled out again, thrusting back in with that same strength.
"Yes!” He did it again, and then again, Dal's body hot and grasping and welcoming.
Bruises were popping up around his fingers, the pale skin going a deep red. Coupled with the white of the corset, the sight made his cock throb, his balls aching with his need. He moved faster, groaning each time his cock sank deep.
It was good—wonderful, amazing—he didn't have the words for how it felt, but something was missing. Dal's uncontrollable groans and cries.
Dillon shifted slightly, spread Dal's legs just a bit more and angled his prick to slide it right across Dal's gland.
"Fuck!” Mmmhmm. Right there. Dal squeezed him tight, head coming up as Dal rode him.
"Uh-huh.” He nodded, even though Dal couldn't see him, and pounded in harder, faster, giving everything he had, wanting to make his lover scream.
The flush moved up Dal's ass, then was hidden under the corset until it appeared on the broad shoulders. He could hear the breathy cries getting louder, felt Dal getting closer.
He reached around, hand grabbing at Dal's prick, his thrusts pushing the hot column of flesh along his palm. “Yes! Dal! Mine!” Single syllable words were all he could manage, his voice harsh as he moved. He could hardly catch his breath, and his hips snapped over and over again, any semblance of rhythm lost in his passion.
Spunk splashed on his fingers, as he bit down into one shoulder, Dal's cry echoing in the room.
The scent of Dal's come, the feeling of that hot ass going tight tight around his prick was enough to have him roaring against Dal's skin, his own orgasm strong, making him shudder.
He rested against Dal's back as he tried to catch his breath, still buried deep, skin and leather fine as any silk against his skin.
Dal groaned, squeezing him nice and easy. “Been awhile."
He kissed Dal's spine, tongue and lips moving soft and lazy. “Been too fucking long.” He slid his hand over the covered stomach, petting the flat belly beneath the leather before following whalebone up to the top of the corset.
Toy Box: Corsets Page 3