Starting From the Top (Starting from 5)

I grabbed a fistful of his hair and bucked into him, gritting my teeth when my balls drew up and that tingle of pleasure warned me that I was close.

“Johnny, I’m gonna come.”

My orgasm pulled me under and nearly drowned me in a sea of intense pleasure. I trembled wildly, grasping at his hair, then his shirt for purchase. Just as I caught my breath, he pushed at my chest and wiggled free. I stumbled a step, blinking in surprise as he sank to his knees on the concrete floor.

“Take off the condom. Let me taste you.”

“Holy fuck.”

I rolled the rubber off in a manic hurry. A moment later, he swallowed me whole, humming around my overly sensitive shaft when his own release hit him. Then he pulled off and roared. Cum shot in an impressive arc, landing on the concrete floor and no doubt splattering my Hugo Boss suit pants and Prada loafers.

And no, I didn’t mind at all.

I sucked in a gulp of air and chuckled. What a sight we made. We were half-dressed with our button-down shirts open and our pants around our ankles.…I was the shameless older businessman, and Johnny was my bad-boy punk counterpart. I studied the scripted ink on his lower abdomen, thinking it would be hot as fuck to lick his sweat and cum from his—

“What are you thinking?”

I scratched my beard as I surveyed the scene. “How the fuck did this happen? And what did I do with that condom?”

Johnny barked a laugh. “In a twist, it appears that I’m irresistible to you. As for the jizzy condom, you dropped it…there.”

He picked up the spent latex and tossed it into the trash bin under my desk, scrambling to his feet. He pulled tissues from the box next to my computer and handed a few to me, then cleaned himself.

The thump of dance music seemed louder than ever now. It filled the space, offering a medley of excuses if we wanted one. Too tired, too stressed, too out of it…I didn’t need any of them, but I’d let Johnny take the lead here.

I tucked my shirt and finished buckling my belt before rescuing the used condom from the trash. I wrapped it in tissue along with the wrapper and dropped the bottle of lube in my desk drawer.

“Ready to go?”

Johnny narrowed his eyes in bewilderment as he fussed at his collar. “Gross. What are you doing with that?”

“I can’t leave this in the trash. The cleaning staff will think I had sex in here.” I closed my palm around the wad of tissues in my hand, making sure I had my phone and keys before heading to the door.

“You did have sex in here.”

“And it was amazing. But I’m not advertising it.”

I meant that in more than one way.

Johnny inclined his head, indicating he understood. “Hmm. Now what?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

He moved to my side and grabbed a handful of my junk through my suit pants, flashing a mischievous grin. “I want to go back to your house or mine and do that again. You in?”

I pushed him against the door and shoved my tongue down his throat. He didn’t hesitate. He threw his arms around my neck and gave as good as he got. We broke for oxygen with a laugh and took one last measuring glance at each other. I wondered what he saw in me. A divorced dad who excelled in keeping people at bay. I was no catch. But he didn’t seem to want more than sex anyway, so perhaps he was the perfect distraction.

“Yeah, I’m in.”

9

Sean

Superstitious folks knew better than to let their guard down. Smooth sailing was a temporary state, and a storm was always brewing over the horizon. I didn’t have to see trouble to know it would come for me eventually. But I wasn’t a complete moron. I’d learned to count my blessings and enjoy the hell out of the good times before it all went to shit again.

And I had to admit…life wasn’t terrible at the moment.

I glanced over at the sleeping man beside me, loving the contrast of his raven hair on the white pillowcase. His lips were stained red and his eyelids were smudged with black pencil. I was sharing a bed with a goth male version of Snow White—and I couldn’t believe my luck.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind. I’d spent my days schmoozing investors with fiscally attractive spreadsheets or poring over plans with city officials, and my free nights with Johnny, fucking like rabbits. We were very casual about our time together. We weren’t dating. This wasn’t a romance. If anyone was curious about our unlikely friendship, they’d probably buy our story that we were just neighbors who’d bonded over mutual friends. Oh yeah, and guitar lessons for Parker.