Chapter 8

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SKYLAR

SKYLAR STUMBLED down the street to his ratty old car, feeling drunk on Ward's kisses.

Holy Toledo in a hurricane . He touched his lips again, still feeling the pressure of Ward's mouth on him there. Hell, everywhere. Ward kissed like there was no tomorrow. It was an all-consuming passion, the likes of which Skylar had only read about in the sappiest of romance novels. Not the sort of thing one ever actually experienced in real life.

Except he had.

“Fuck,” Skylar gasped. He unlocked his car, tossed his garment bag into the back, then sank heavily into the driver's seat. Skylar had just enough presence of mind to lock the doors before he let his head fall back with a sigh, closing his eyes and mentally reliving his last sight of Ward.

He had to hang onto that. All of it. Chances were, he'd never see the man again. And even if he did, it wasn't like there could ever be anything truly real between them. Ward was a client. Nothing more.

But it sure had felt real.

Skylar whimpered, clutching the sides of his seat with both hands, fighting the urge to walk right back up to Ward's room. The man had made him feel so seen . Like he was an actual human being instead of just a dirty whore. Skylar had never been on a real date in his life, but he imagined this was how one would feel.

The thrill of something new. The excitement of discovery. Being someone's complete focus, like the rest of the world had simply disappeared. Charlie was the only other person in his life who made him feel that way, but even he didn't take it to the level that Ward had done. Skylar almost pinched himself, certain that he had to be dreaming.

Except he didn't want to wake up.

His phone beeped from inside the glove box, shattering the moment. Damn it . Skylar dug the phone out and checked the screen.

Fuck . He definitely wasn't dreaming now. The sight of a new text from Uncle Zeke was enough to ruin his good mood.

Skylar squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. Nine more months . Provided nothing else went wrong between now and then, he only had to get through nine more months of this life. Then he'd be free. No more escorting. No more Uncle Zeke. No more playing Sarah for dirty old men who saw him as nothing but a hole to fuck. Nine more months, and he would finally be able to afford a hysterectomy. Then his transition would be complete, and he could move far away and start over where nobody knew him.

In the meantime, though, he still had to play the role.

Skylar took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and read Uncle Zeke's text.

Boss Man : Come by whenever you're done.

Skylar winced. Shit . He slammed his head back against the seat's headrest. Why? Why tonight, of all nights? The man couldn't have done this two nights ago, when Skylar was already feeling dirty after dealing with a repeat client? Why now, when Skylar felt reborn?

Damn it! He almost flung his phone across the car, except he couldn't risk any damage to it. Skylar deliberately set it down, then clenched both hands into fists.

He considered lying. Go home, go to bed, 'find' Uncle Zeke's text the next morning, explain that he slept right through it. But they had a deal. Whenever Skylar saw a new client, he had to check in afterwards. All the escorts did. It was the first layer of safety for all of them. If Skylar didn't check in, Uncle Zeke might start rallying emergency services, just in case Skylar was hurt. A text reply wouldn't be enough. Uncle Zeke would want to see him in person.

Skylar had no choice but to obey.

He jammed the key into the ignition, almost wishing his car would pick this moment to die on him. The damned thing started right up just fine, though. Skylar sighed. So much for that excuse . He pulled on his seatbelt, put the car in gear, and headed for his apartment.

No way in hell was he going straight to Uncle Zeke after having just been with Ward.

But the thought of taking a shower almost made him sick. Skylar didn't want to wash Ward's touch away. He wanted to savor it. Revel in it. Drown in the memories of the man's gentle hands all over his skin. He could still taste Ward on his lips. Still smell the man's scent all over himself. Why couldn't he have had this night to cling to those things? Why did Uncle Zeke have to go and ruin it? I mean, I know why , he told himself. Uncle Zeke always wanted to check that he was safe, especially after being with a new client. But still. Jumping Jiminy on a pogo stick, this isn't fucking fair!

He reached his building, climbed the stairs to his fourth-floor apartment, and let himself inside. The studio space was chilly, but Skylar didn't dare turn on the heater. He had to save every penny.

Skylar crossed to the bathroom in the dark. He hung the garment bag over the bathroom door, then stripped out of his clothes and got the shower running. The bathroom window afforded just enough light from the streetlamps for him to see what he was doing. Skylar hesitated, sticking out his hand to test the water.

Even that made him wince. Ward had touched him there. Now, the water was rinsing that touch away.

Skylar took a deep breath, holding it as he closed his eyes. Maybe he'd have to think of it differently. Instead of the shower washing Ward off of him, maybe he could scrub Ward's touch into his skin. Push it down deep where nobody could ever reach it. Where nobody could ever taint it or dirty it or take it away. Skylar would keep Ward's touch locked inside his body, safe and treasured.

He stepped into the shower and went about methodically washing himself, keeping his eyes closed, picturing Ward's touch sinking down into his skin, absorbing it into his body so it would always be a part of him. Skylar scrubbed extra hard on the back of his neck, where Ward had traced those feather-light kisses. On his hands, where Ward had covered them with his own. Across his chest, where Ward had explored his scars. All down his back, where Ward had blanketed his body, making him feel safe and surrounded and warm.

Skylar soaked it all in, locking it deep inside himself, in a place nobody could ever reach. The place he went to mentally escape his life. He added Ward to his fantasy of a quiet home surrounded by trees. Somewhere far from this cursed city, where nobody knew him. Where he could finally be his true self. Where he could be free to live an authentic life, loving and being loved.

He'd never have that, but it was one of the few thoughts that kept him going.

Skylar got out of the shower and dried himself off, eyeing the sleeve of tattoos that covered his left arm. They represented all of his favorite things. The simple joys that made life bearable. Things like music and trees. Like mists and coffee. He wore them all upon his skin, making them part of him, a constant reminder that there were things worth living for.

There was one spot left blank. One spot Skylar wasn't sure he'd ever be able to fill. He'd considered having Charlie's name put there, but something always stopped him.

Not that he didn't love Charlie. And not that Charlie wasn't one of his joys. Hell, Charlie was easily his greatest joy. But every time he was on the verge of deciding to have the ink done, something always made him wait. Like a gut feeling that he simply couldn't explain.

Skylar traced the empty spot, suddenly tempted to put Ward's name there, too.

He pushed the thought down before it could really take shape. Before he dared to allow himself to dream.

Skylar brushed his teeth, swallowing down the touch of Ward's tongue, absorbing the man's deep, drugging kisses. Once that was done, Skylar flicked on a light and studied his reflection in the small mirror over the sink. He didn't look like he'd just been wrung dry with mind-blowing pleasure. There wasn't so much as a mark on his body to show that Ward had ever been there. A part of him wished he could have gotten a bruise or a hickey or something , some visible sign that Ward had claimed him, even for a few short hours, but the man had been too gentle with him. So wonderfully, achingly gentle.

Skylar sighed and closed his eyes. He gave himself one more moment to live in the memory of Ward's touch, then he forced it all down deep, putting all thoughts of the man aside. For the next few hours, he couldn't think about Ward at all. He wouldn't dirty those precious memories by trying to hide in them while he was in Uncle Zeke's bed. He'd keep them safely locked away inside his mind, only to be brought back out once he was clean again and alone.

He got dressed, first pulling on a lacy, long-sleeved, black shirt. It itched like hell, but he knew Uncle Zeke would want to see him in it. For one thing, it was girly. For another, it covered his tattoos and his surgery scars. Skylar's transition had been a source of endless arguments over the years, and the ink had only made things worse, but Skylar had refused to back down.

It was either transition or suicide.

Besides, he was so good at his job and made Uncle Zeke so much money that the man had ultimately relented. Still, that didn't mean Uncle Zeke wanted to see any of it, so Skylar knew to keep it all hidden.

The rest of his clothing didn't matter since it would all be coming off anyway, so he dressed for comfort, wearing threadbare flannel pants and an old hoodie he'd gotten from Charlie years ago. He dragged on a pair of socks, stepped into his worn-out sneakers—the only shoes he owned for himself rather than for work—got back into his car, and headed for Uncle Zeke's apartment.

It put him almost back in the same area where Ward's hotel had been. Skylar had to shove that thought aside and focus on navigating the dark streets. He found a place to park—around the corner and out of sight, so his car wouldn't spoil the nice neighborhood—and walked the rest of the way. Once inside the building, Skylar considered taking the stairs just to delay the inevitable, but Uncle Zeke lived on the fifteenth floor. He'd be a sweaty, panting mess by the time he got there.

He rode up in the elevator, forced his footsteps down the hallway, and knocked on the familiar door.

Uncle Zeke answered almost right away. The man leered down at him, making Skylar feel instantly dirty. He held a whiskey tumbler in one hand and used the other to reach out and finger Skylar's hair.

“You showered,” Uncle Zeke said, pointing out the obvious. “Good girl.”

Skylar forced on a smile that made his cheeks hurt.

“Are you okay?” Uncle Zeke asked, studying Skylar's eyes.

“Yeah,” Skylar replied. His boss might be a sleaze in many respects, but Skylar knew Uncle Zeke actually cared. The question and concern were genuine, and not just because Skylar was a business asset. “Easy night.”

“Good. Go get on the bed,” Uncle Zeke ordered, stepping back to hold the door open for him. “You know the position. Leave a shirt on.”

Skylar did as he was told. He headed for the master bedroom, stripped down to just the lacy shirt, tucked his clothes into a neat pile underneath a chair, out of sight, and climbed up onto the luxurious bed. At least he might get some decent sleep once Uncle Zeke was done with him. The man's bed was a thousand times more comfortable than his own. Not a sagging, lumpy mattress and a threadbare blanket on the floor, but a nice, plush pillow-top with silk sheets. Skylar tried to hold onto that thought as he positioned himself in the middle of the bed, braced on his forearms and his knees, head down, ass in the air.

He listened to the familiar sounds of Uncle Zeke coming into the room. Setting down his drink. Ripping open a condom. Then the bed dipping behind him. A hand groping his ass and rubbing between his legs.

“You're always so wet for me, aren't you, baby girl?” Uncle Zeke murmured.

“Yes, Sir,” Skylar replied, making his voice sound needy and breathless.

Uncle Zeke chuckled. “You sure you don't want to stay for Christmas?” the man asked while probing him with two fingers. “I know a few clients who would make it worth your while.”

Skylar hesitated. The holiday season was always a great time to make money. Lonely workaholics paid outrageous sums for a few hours of companionship and escape from their hectic lives. Skylar was sorely tempted to take on extra jobs like he always did this time of year. The money added up quick.

But he only had nine more months of this life to endure. Nine months until he'd be free and could run far away, leaving everything behind.

Including Charlie.

Which meant this was his last chance to celebrate Christmas with the boy. He was going to need all of those joyful memories to sustain him once he left. He could maybe cut his time down to eight months if he took on some extra holiday jobs, but this was too important.

The money sure was tempting, though.

“No,” he finally answered. “No, I have plans, remember? I requested the time off months ago.”

“I know. Just thought I'd check again. We always have fun at Christmas, don't we?”

Skylar nodded. Yeah, we do , he thought. Every year, Uncle Zeke had spoiled him rotten, going all out with the decorations and the food, besides lavishing Skylar with gifts. Granted, most of it was girly clothing and accessories, but Skylar was able to use the items for his jobs, which meant he didn't have to buy the clothing himself, allowing him to save up even more money.

Plus there was the Christmas movie marathon and hot chocolate and even more food. Compared to his cold, cramped apartment and empty refrigerator, Christmas at Uncle Zeke's was a godsend. All the benefits were more than worth the price he had to pay, being the entertainment when Uncle Zeke had his single friends come over.

But Skylar wanted more than what Uncle Zeke had to offer. Much more. He wanted a real Christmas. He wanted love and family and friends of his own. This Christmas would be his last chance to experience that with Charlie. Who knew how many years it might be before he could settle down and have someone to share the holiday with again, if ever?

He was just a whore, after all. Who could possibly want him long-term? Who would want to share a life with him? Charlie might, but the boy deserved far better.

It would mean a lifetime of either loneliness or lies. Either way, he had to grab what opportunities he could while he had the chance.

Just this once, he wanted something real.