Hard For My Boss

“My dick isn’t very smart,” he whispers back, “and obviously doesn’t know better. Are we in danger?”

“Maybe.” I give his crotch a squeeze.

Trevor groans as he gets harder, his eyes rocking back, and then he snaps them to me, his full lips parted. “B-Ben. Really. Are we in danger? Shouldn’t you have goons who do this for you?”

A smirk of amusement twists my face. “Goons?”

“Y-Yeah. Big muscly bald dudes with shades who—” I squeeze again, interrupting the poor guy. He grunts, bites his bottom lip, then resumes with a strained voice. “—who look like Shrek and do the shakedowns for you?”

“Trevor, Trevor, Trevor.” I lean across the seat, bringing my mouth right up to his ear. “I am the shakedown.”

He squirms under those words. “Ben …”

“I want to taste you again.”

He turns to me, his face right in front of mine. “What?”

“I can’t get enough of you. I want your hard cock in my mouth right now. Every inch of it.” I still have Trevor cupped in my palm as he swells bigger by the second. His cock keeps flexing and throbbing against my grip, like it’s trapped and wrestling to get free. “It’s obvious you want it, too.”

“I also want to survive tonight, thank you,” he breathes after a nervous glance out the car window.

With a twist of my fingers, his pant button opens. Then his zipper comes down. I descend over his lap, intent to swallow him whole.

“Ben …” he warns me.

His cock slips right out of his sexy black briefs. We meet again, I think to myself with heart-thrumming joy as my eyes feast on the sight of his perfect cock—not too big, not too small, and throbbing desperately for my warm, wet tongue.

“Someone’s approaching,” he hisses.

I lift up so fast, my head hits the rearview mirror. Nursing the back of my head with a soothing rub, I wince and peer out in front of us. Sure enough, I see a teenager in a backwards red cap, black polo with the collar popped, and khaki shorts cut off above the knee. He stands under a nearby streetlamp, fidgety and stiff.

He came alone? He seriously came totally alone to a trade-off of cash—presumably lots of cash? I almost feel sorry for the kid.

Almost. “Show time,” I murmur.

“W-Wait. My pants are—are—” He zips himself up at once, out of breath. “Do I come, too? What do I say? Can I stay here?”

I give a nod at the teen under the light. “You think that little sixteen-something shrimp can take me? Sorry, have we met?”

Trevor frowns at me. “Don’t get cocky.”

My phone buzzes. I glance down at it to see a message from Jazz telling me “the friend” has arrived. A bit late, my kinky cohort.

I slip out of the car, then let the door shut softly behind me. I have the teen’s attention in an instant, his eyes so wide, I see the whites of them from ten feet away. I approach calmly, but keep a casual air about myself, walking the way I’d advance on a half-spooked cat. I don’t want Lukas to find me threatening; not yet.

Closer up, Lukas is quite modelesque, his features chiseled and his cheekbones high. A small tuft of bleached blond hair sneaks out the front of his backwards red cap, almost eclipsing the two chips of sapphires he has for eyes. Fake. Contacts, likely. Though his popped collar and general appearance give him the look of some arrogant spoiled Beverly Hills brat, his face registers nothing but wariness at the moment.

I stand before him, just a hair above eyelevel. He’s a tall fucker, this teen. “Lukas.”

He studies me for a second before responding. “Charlie.”

Might have helped to know the original buyer’s name ahead of time. I give him a short nod. “That’s me. You have the phone?”

Lukas sizes me up for a minute too long for my liking. Then, his face tightens. “Do you … Do you have the money?”

“Hand me the phone, and you’ll get what you’re owed.”

“It’s in my car.”

“Where’s your car?”

His lips purse. The discomfort is evident in the way his back stiffens. After a single second of deliberation, he gives his head a curt shake. “No. I’m not down for this.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“The deal’s off,” he states, then turns around.

“I wouldn’t turn away if I were you,” I warn him, my voice gaining depth. “When you make a deal, you honor it.”

He stops and faces me again, his face twisting with smugness. “Is that so, Charlie?”

Charlie. Why’d Lukas emphasize the name?

Then it hits me: it was a test. The real buyer’s name must’ve been something else. I gave myself away. Fuck.

“Dude, seriously,” I say, my tone turning soft, like I’m just one of his disappointed bros. “What were you thinking, meeting a guy out here you don’t even know, totally alone, to sell some videos of your ex? That’s just poor thinking.”