18. Ryan

No, I’m not okay. Why do you ask?

I’m about as far from okay as I could possibly be. Despite the fact that almost all my life experience has left me absolutely positive that I can’t handle shit, I seem to have willfully placed myself in a position that strongly implies that I know what I’m doing.

To clarify, nothing could be further from the truth.

The insanity of what’s about to happen is hitting me in waves. Lukewarm splashes that hit me on the side of my face and run down my body. Left side, then right side, then left again. Each wave soaks me, drenching me. Drowning me. Filling my cock and making it rock solid.

I’m in the bathroom, freshly showered, and recently recovered from an activity I think could best be described as unpleasant. Unpleasant and humiliating. The humiliation was greatly exacerbated by the fact Miller was waiting a flimsy door and a few feet away from me and is fully aware of what I was doing in here.

Don’t think I haven’t tried to talk myself out of doing this. Bitch, please. Of course I have. I’ve spent most of the week doing little else. I went so far as to write a list of pros and cons. The con list was long. Believe me, it was long.

For reasons now unknown to me, I’ve chosen to distract myself from never-ending pros and cons by spending the week devoting an inordinate amount of time to overthinking my pubic hair situation.

Actually, I can explain it. It’s Miller’s fault. Obviously, it’s his fault. He has a tube of hair-removal cream in his side of the bathroom cabinet, and every time I use his moisturizer as lube, I’m faced with the knowledge that he probably keeps his hole smooth and totally hairless. The thought of that is enough to drive anyone to distraction.

Anyway, much as I’d love it if I was immune to thinking about Miller’s asshole, I’m not. I’ve gotten so severely distracted by the thought of it that I went and used his product on myself. Now I feel bald and stupid on top of all the other kinds of stupid I usually feel.

Letting Miller fuck me is obviously a terrible, terrible idea. You don’t need to tell me that. I’m well aware, thanks. I know it’s insane. I know it’s reckless and idiotic. And I know it’s a horrible lapse in judgment. It’s clear as day.

So why am I doing it, you ask.

It’s called money, Susan.

It’s called making a thousand dollars, okay?

And yes, I want to know what it feels like. I’m a bisexual man who wants to know what it feels like to have a dick up my ass. Sue me.

I’ve gone round and round on the matter, ad nauseam, and it really is that simple.

I’m curious.

I want to know what it’s like to get fucked by a guy. I’ve wanted to know for years, and I’ve always been too scared to try it. I’m not what you’d call brave on a good day, and if Miller hadn’t thrown himself headlong over every boundary I’ve ever put up, I’d probably have spent the rest of my life wondering.

It’s not like I’m happy about the fact it’s him. I’d rather it was almost any other dick-owner on the planet.

I mean, physically, he’s not that bad.

Fine, he’s attractive.

There, I said it.

He’s hotter than hell, and his dick is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Are you happy now?

Jesus.

There’s a soft tap on the door. My entire body tenses from the sound. I steady my breath and give my hair a last rub with my towel. That’s the hair on my head, in case you were wondering.

Then I open the door.

The only light in the room comes from Miller’s study lamp. Long shadows reach through the light and fill the space with an eerie foreboding. Something acoustic and bluesy is playing, wafting through the air and making it heavy. Miller is stark naked. Of course he is. He’s standing near my desk, one knee bent, hip cocked in my direction. Loaded, hard cock cocked in my direction too. Light bounces off him like he’s a god. He lets it. He stands there and smiles as if he knows exactly, precisely how attractive he is.

And fuck me, that makes me angry.

And horny.

“Ready?” His brows are arched high, and hope and excitement are carved into his features. He looks so different, so much softer than the Miller he shows other people. I have to fight the urge to smile.

I manage to. Just.

I’m naked except for my jeans. I know, I know, it’s ridiculous to put your pants on when you know damn well you’re walking straight into an activity that requires them to be around your ankles at a minimum, but I didn’t have the balls to saunter out here nude. I’m not Miller fucking MacAvoy.

The jeans situation made sense in the bathroom. I was pleased with myself when I thought of it, but now it’s making me feel stupid. Stupider than I was already feeling. Overdressed and silly. To make matters worse, Miller has moved to stand close to me, and he’s started touching me through the fabric. He’s not talking, but he’s tracing the line of my waistband with his fingertips, tugging at my belt loops and smiling as his nails bump over the stitching. I step in place as he inches closer and closer to my dick.

“So, no condom, right?” he says after an uncomfortably long silence.

I nod and try to stop myself from swallowing. The reasons behind this particular decision are vague and nebulous at best. Unprofessional at worst. I’m not sure I can fully explain it except to say that when Miller made reference to a fire hydrant going off in my ass the other day, something about it didn’t seem like a terrible time.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Plus, this is the only time I’m ever, ever letting him do this, so I may as well add all the bells and whistles.

“Hey.” He taps a finger lightly under my chin, making me look up at him.

I know Miller well enough by now to be able to tell he’s about to start smiling. I’m right. His eyes flicker. Metal sparking and beginning to dance. Perfect white teeth peek out from pillowy lips. Not the full constellation. Just a glimmer. A glint.

I can’t stand it. I seriously can’t. I can’t stand here and see him like this, and I can’t possibly let him see me as I let him do this to me. There’s no fucking way I can do that. The way he looked at me when he fingered me made me feel like my brain was going to implode. There’s no way I’m letting that happen again, so I unbutton my fly, pull my zipper down roughly, and push my jeans down in one uneasy motion. I step out of them and kick them away from me as Miller looks on. His chin draws down and his eyelids drop to half-mast.

My dick throbs at the sight.

I spin around and lean heavily on my desk. The sudden, rapid movement gives me a headrush. My elbows press against the wood, and I find myself looking down at tightly balled fists.

Miller breathes behind me.

“I thought you’d want to lie down so you’d be comfortable ‘cause I’m going to take my sweet time with you.”

“No. Nope. We’re doing it like this. Get in, get out, and pay me my money.”

His smile is quiet. Quieter than usual, but I hear it and hate it.

“Okay, but you know some people find it hurts more when your legs are straight, right? It can help to pull your knees to your chest.”

I did not know that, no.

“Are we doing this or not?” I ask snippily.

His smile is louder now. Smug and brash. “Oh, we’re definitely doing it.”

“Then put the money where I can see it and get on with it. You have—” Oh shit. What’s a reasonable amount of time for something like this? Fifteen minutes? No. Thirty? I don’t know. I have no idea. I’ve never had anal sex before. How long does it take?

When you think of it, it’s shit like this that’s the exact reason I shouldn’t be doing this.

“One hour.” Miller says it with such assurance that my eyes slide shut, and I find myself nodding.

I hear the scrape of a drawer opening and closing, and then something drops on the desk in front of me. It’s an envelope. One of those long, narrow ones you usually get wedding invitations in. It’s crème and matte. High-quality cardstock. Black ink and block letters that lean toward the right. He’s written my name on it and drawn a little heart directly above it.

It’s the heart that does it. A rampant, hysterical feeling surges inside me. It stretches me out and makes me feel like I’m unraveling at the seams. I can’t tell if I’m about to collapse laughing or if I’m going to punch something. Or someone.

“Wanna count it?” he asks.

I don’t dignify that with an answer. “Do what you have to do,” I say, nose high in the air. “Just don’t touch my dick.”

“No deal,” he says firmly. What? “I mean it, Ryan, no deal. I am going to touch your dick, but how about this for compromise: I’ll only touch it if you ask me to. If you beg.”

I’d laugh my ass off at that, as if said ass wasn’t currently quivering with nerves.

“H-hey, Siri,” I stammer, “set a timer for one hour.”

He chuckles softly. “Like that, huh? Okay, I get it.”

I feel the heat of his skin on the back of my thighs. I flinch on contact and then start to melt. His skin is hot. I’m expecting him to touch me. I know it’s coming. I’m ready. I’m prepared for it, but I have no idea where he’s going to touch me, and that’s jarring and arousing in a very strange way.

Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have bent over.

Who in their right mind turns their back on a guy like Miller?

“Open your legs,” he says.

It takes me a second, but I do as he says. I shuffle my weight from one leg to the other as I widen my stance, burning in shame and something that turns muffled and thick when I hear him suck in a sharp breath. He licks his lips. I can’t see it. I don’t even think I can hear it, but I know he’s doing it.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I liked your hole hairy. I liked that dark swirl. Liked having to work my way through it to find what I wanted.” I feel unsteady. Why is my head so fucking heavy? “But this? Damn, boy. This hole is so pretty. So little. So pink…”

I can’t have him talking like this. I just can’t. I can’t take it, so I say, “I used your product.” When he doesn’t react with the shock I expect, I tack on, “I do that. I use your stuff whenever I want.”

“Hmm…” He smiles. “I’ve noticed someone’s been getting into my moisturizer.” I balk. What the fuck!? Why am I telling him this? This is dumb even for me. “The level’s been dropping so much that I’ve started thinking you might be using it for something other than your face.” He walks his fingers down my spine as he speaks, moving lower and lower with each word. “Been thinking, gee, I wonder what my good friend Ryan does with this shit?”

It’s a rhetorical question. It’s clearly a rhetorical question, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I hear myself answer. “I jerk off with it.”

A soft, machine gun cackle fills the room. “Oh. I got that, Ry. Believe me, I got that. What I don’t know is why.” His hands slide slowly up my thighs and cup my ass, shaking my cheeks and humming with pleasure as they reverberate under his touch. “Is it the product you like, or is it the fact it smells like me?”

Fuck, he’s the worst.

I want to argue or tell him to piss off at least, but it strikes me distantly that picking a fight with the man currently poised to shove his dick up my ass might not be the best idea. Instead, I shift my weight onto my arms and arch my back slightly.

He hisses and his knees make contact with the floor behind me. His lips are on my ass cheeks in an instant. They’re all over me. Soft and warm, dropping tiny kisses all over me, caressing my skin each time he plants one. Rubbing each kiss in. Rubbing me until my insides feel soft and warm too.

His kisses get harder. So does his touch. He paws at my flesh and uses both hands to pry me open. He lets out a long, shivery sigh.

“Fucking fuuuck,” he says softly. “I swear I’ve never wanted a hole as much as I want yours.”

Then he licks me. No fucking around. He goes straight for my asshole, lapping at it hard and hungrily, slowing and teasing when I start shuffling on the spot. It feels unreal. Like he’s found a tiny thread that I had no idea existed. A thread that’s been holding me together all my life. He picks at it with his tongue, finding where it starts and where it ends and making it come undone. He takes his sweet time about it. He doesn’t stop until I’m groaning and all but pounding my fists against the desk.

I hear the click of a lid and feel the quick shock of something cold and wet on my ass. Miller strokes my back with one hand and uses the other to open me gently. He works one finger into me, sliding it in and out slowly. A slippery sting that quickly morphs into pleasure. He doesn’t give me a second digit until one of my hands finds its way behind me and starts clawing at him, digging into his side and pulling him closer. I gasp and jerk forward as two fingers spear me. I feel myself stretching. It feels different this time, not teasing or coy. This time, we’re playing for keeps. He’s not doing this to torment me, or play with me, or even make me feel good. He’s doing it so I can accommodate him, to open me, to ease his entry into my body.

It feels good, but mainly, it feels like more.

Like I want more.

Like I need it.

“Miller,” I pant. I hear his name on my lips. It sounds like it’s coming from far away. It’s distant, but it’s still a full sentence. “Miller. Miller.”

Thank fuck he seems to understand what it means because I’d hate to have to interpret for him. He pulls his fingers out of me, and the lube cap clicks again.

“Money or not, you stop me if you don’t like it.” His voice finds me through dense fog. “You got that, Ry?”

I say something that sounds like “Nggh,” but a little less intelligent.

A soft schlick-schlick warns me what’s about to happen. I bend all the way over, holding my head in my hands as I wait. Time stops and drags out. The moment lasts forever. Tiny lifetimes exist in several short seconds. I’m acutely aware that now is the time a decision is made. No part of me doesn’t understand that. All of me knows what I’m bent over and waiting for.

I’d love to say I at least consider stopping him. I’d love to say I think about standing and moving away.

I don’t.

My blood has run thick. Pure arousal pulses through arteries and veins, weighing me down, rooting me to the spot. Rendering me completely immobile. Paralyzing me to the thought of anything other than accommodating Miller’s perfect cock.

One hand grips my hip, squeezing it reassuringly. The other guides his dick to my hole. He taps his cockhead gently against me. Two, three, four times, till I hiss at him and start squirming.

His smile is the loudest I’ve heard yet. It tells me he’s glowing. Radiant with the knowledge that he finally has me right where he wants me. It should piss me off. It really should. Tomorrow, it probably will, but right now, any thought or emotion that isn’t directly related to lust seems to have dropped clean out of me.

“Ready?” he says softly.

I nod, and a scrambled series of vowels leaves me.

He strokes my opening. It’s a gentle warning. “Try to breathe deeply.”

Then he thrusts.

I clench, even though I’m actively trying not to. He holds firm, edging his tip in, applying just enough pleasure to force me open. His head slips in, and I’m stunned silent. I thought I was prepared. I thought I could take him. I thought he’d slide in like his fingers. I was wrong. It’s more than a quick sting. Much more. It’s enough to make my spine arch and drop my mouth open. I’m silent for two beats, and then I’m not.

He’s quick. He knows what he’s doing. It’s not his first time, after all. He taps me firmly behind my right knee and says, “Bend your leg.”

I take my weight off that leg and do as he says. He folds it forward and places my knee on the desk. Opening me grotesquely. To my amazement, it helps almost immediately. The sharp sting in my ring subsides as he rocks himself gently in and out. Not deep, probing just past my first muscle. When I relax, he slips past the second one too. Something inside me releases. Pain fizzles out and turns into pleasure. Deep, heady pleasure that rolls my eyes and my head back. He keeps rocking his hips, and now, mine tentatively buck back to meet him.

He stills and leans forward. I feel the weight of him on my back. Warm lips find the sensitive skin just below the shell of my ear.

“The next one is going all the way in,” he whispers. “Deep as I can get it, okay? Want me to count you down?”

I should hate that. I should be furious about it. I should probably push him away and tell him to shove his money up his own ass. That’s what I should do.

I do the exact opposite. Nodding and grunting, I arch my back as hard as I can and open my hole to take him.

He counts down softly, sexy baritone numbers that land on my shoulders and caress their way down my back. “Three…two…o—.”

Big hands circle my hips like a vise as he glides home.

The sound I make is long and low. Desperate and not in the slightest bit sorry about it. The sounds he makes are the same. He starts moving in time with the beat of my heart. Quickening as my pulse picks up the pace. Once he’s mounted me fully, he straightens my leg and guides my foot back down to the floor.

Full isn’t the word. Good isn’t either. It’s painful and perfect. Brutal and beautiful. It’s everything and more than I thought it would be. Much more. I writhe in pleasure, squirming and twitching to get closer to him. Scrabbling at the desk and reaching behind me to dig my fingers into any part of Miller I can find. I can’t get enough of him bent over enough like this, so I straighten and lean back against him for more contact.

His hands are everywhere. They’re in my hair, on my neck, on my nipples, and on my belly. His touch is electric. Shocking me, making me buck and cry out. My dick strains at the sound of his voice saying my name. His fingers dance over my skin, dipping lightly into the gentle slope of the V that leads to my dick. My dick throbs, aching for relief. Aching and aching. It’s so full it hurts. I’m so full it hurts. Miller slides his hands downward again, teasing. Not touching. Not stopping until the deepest part of me, the small, darkest part of me, the part I keep hidden, breaks free.

I grab his wrist roughly and shove his hand down to my cock, grinding against his open palm wantonly.

“Wanna come?” he rasps.

I will neither confirm nor deny that begging takes place, but suffice it to say that when Miller holds his open hand to my mouth and says, “Spit,” I do.

I don’t even think about it.

There’s pressure everywhere. Every cell in my body is screaming. Miller is hitting my gland like his life depends on it, and the second he wraps his hand around my dick, he makes me believe in magic.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t throw me over the edge and watch as I fall. He holds me steady, cocooning me in ecstasy. Making me suffer through every ounce of bliss that exists in the world until, at last, I’ve absorbed it all. I vibrate with it as he circles my crown with the pad of his thumb, wailing loudly from the excessive sensation. Then he pumps his hand up and down my dick at precisely the same time he drills his thick shaft into me.

It breaks me.

Everything I’ve ever hidden or held in, every doubt, all the shame, all the lust, all of it, all of it blasts out of me.

It’s endless.

Euphoric.

Easily the best thing I’ve ever felt.

I’m hugging the desk when I come back to myself, cheek smooshed against the smooth surface, a trickle of drool pooling near my mouth, as Miller steadfastly fucks me. My hole quivers, sensitive and sore, but I keep still, and I stay open until Miller’s thrusts lose their stride and he plants his load deep inside me.

Even after he’s done, I don’t move. I don’t think I can. Can’t remember how to. I think it involves legs, and I can’t feel mine. All I can feel is Miller’s hot, ragged breath on my back and the heat of his semen spilling out of me.

Eventually, he pulls me up, and though it takes a second, I find my balance. My vision is hazy, and for some reason, I can’t seem to close my mouth. I don’t think it matters. Miller looks exactly the same. Maybe worse.

He doesn’t speak, but he takes me by the hand and leads me to the shower. I can’t find it in myself to complain, so I follow him meekly, standing by and watching as he turns on the water. I get in with him and let him wash me, lifting my limbs robotically as he washes my arms and then my legs. His hands graze my skin, and to my amazement, they set it alight again. By the time he crouches to wash my feet, my dick has the audacity to be swelling again.

He smiles when he sees it, bringing his mouth tantalizingly close to my head. I jerk away from habit as much as anything else, though I make a horrible, hungry sound as I do it.

Miller sticks his head out of the shower and says, “Hey, Siri, how much time is left on the timer?”

“There’s a timer with four minutes and thirty-three seconds left,” chirps Siri.

I groan and lean back against the icy wall of tile behind me.

Miller looks up at me innocently, a bow wrapped around a picture-perfect smile. “You’re still on my time, Ryan. I paid for you. I have four minutes left.”

His eyes wrinkle at the corners and tiny rivers of water run down one side of his face, down his neck, down his chest, all the way to his beautiful cock. He parts his lips, dropping his jaw and showing me the soft pinkness inside.

I groan again, and this time I grab onto the faucet for balance with one hand and guide my dick into his mouth with the other. He takes it. He takes me too. He transports me quickly to a place between pleasure and pain. A place between sensitive and oversensitive. A place where my abs tense with each breath and my teeth clench, and I moan just as loudly as I did when he fucked me. He doesn’t stop until the jarring sound of the timer all but gives me a lobotomy.

He pulls away instantly, hands open at the sides of his head. The sudden loss of sensation leaves me winded. My face burns with frustration as my sore hole clenches around nothing.

“Don’t stop!” It’s a growl. A whine. A growl and a whine rolled into one. And it’s mine.

My fingers knot in his hair, and I shove my dick as deep into his throat as I can. Deeper than I thought I possibly could. Deeper than I’ve ever been. He takes it, choking and smiling, moaning with me as he starts stroking himself. I thrust into him again and again, pulling out only when his neck reddens from lack of oxygen.

I drag him onto my dick and then off again by his hair. He looks up at me and begs for more. He begs with his eyes. And his words. His chest is heaving, his hair wet and darker than usual, his lips stained bright red.

He looks happy. Happier than ever.

Much as I hate it, I can’t deny he looks beautiful. He smiles sweetly and latches back onto my dick. Then he sucks my soul clean out of my body.

His eyes don’t leave mine the entire time. Not once. Not even to blink.

I guess mine don’t leave his either.

Afterward, we dry ourselves, or we dry each other, I’m not sure which. One way or another, we end up dry, and our towels end up crumpled and wet on the floor. We stand side by side at the sink. He puts toothpaste on my toothbrush and hands it to me, and then he does the same to his brush. His hands are shaking almost as much as mine are. We lean against each other for balance, or something. His free arm starts out slung loosely over my shoulder, but when he leans forward to spit, it slips down, hand trailing down my back, cupping my ass and squeezing it rhythmically as he watches my reflection lazily in the mirror.

I watch his too.

He’s smiling, obviously. He’s never looked happier. That doesn’t surprise me. I expected that. Miller always smiles when he has sex. And God only knows, we just had sex and then some.

What does surprise me, what shocks the unholy shit out of me, is that there, right next to Miller, I see my own reflection, dazed and confused, with a big, dumb smile plastered all over it.