When the guy in the suit pulled his pants down, Trystan hardly had to fake his usual reaction. “Damn, hon,” he said. “That's a lot of cock you got there.” It was. Nine inches easy and thick as a flashlight barrel. A nice change from the skinny-dicked, desperate loners he'd been pulling tonight--not that he minded them either. “You want a suck or a fuck?”
The john flashed a crooked, embarrassed smile. “I don't, ah...”
“This your first time?” As if he couldn't tell from the wedding band. The more experienced usually took them off long before this point, before they even went out looking for his brand of love. Probably didn't even bring lube or a condom, but that was all right. Trystan came prepared.
“Yeah.” Another endearing little smile. “What's better for you?”
Trystan's lips quirked up. The poor sweet thing. “This is about you, hon. You're paying. But if you want a suggestion, I'd say you should take the total-immersion package.” This guy was gonna need some TLC. And with two hundred cash already tucked in his pocket--payment up-front for new-to-him johns, especially for these quick and dirty bathroom jobs--he could afford to give it.
Besides, he wanted to be fucked with that nice, thick appendage. He loved cock. Was practically addicted to it. Real useful in his line of work.
“All right.” But he didn't do anything. Just stood there with his big dick jutting from his groin and his hands hanging in limp contrast at his sides.
Trystan moved closer. He only needed a step to do it in the dingy stall--the handicapped one--but there still wasn't room to spit. “Let's get this off,” he said and slid the guy's jacket from his shoulders. A little moan crept from the john's throat. He turned, draped the jacket on the rusty hook on the back of the door, and snagged an extra-large condom from his pocket. He held it up. “Want me to put it on?”
He tore the package open, pinched out the coiled ring, and rolled everything into place. A nice smooth fit, the rubber slick under his fingers and the cock beneath twitching at the contact. That done, he handed him a lube tube. “Here. You know what to do, right?”
The john swallowed and nodded.
“Relax.” Trystan gave him an encouraging smile and turned away. He slid the latex pants he wore down to his ankles, shuddering a little when the damp air slithered across his hard cock. The john sucked in a breath. Must have liked what he saw. Trystan bent over the toilet and stuck his ass out, shimmying his hips.
There was a pause behind him, a shifting of fabric and flesh. A hand that trembled a little smeared cold lube on his hole. Some of it slid down his balls in slow, thick rivers. The john grabbed his hips, and the tip of his sheathed cock settled against him. But no farther.
“Go on, hon.” Trystan bumped back and spread his legs a few inches. “Take it all.”
A longer pause. “My name's Mike,” the john whispered.
“Okay. Mike,” he said, because he knew the guy wanted to hear it. “I'm all yours. Take me, Mike.”
Hearing his name must've broken his paralysis, because he drove himself all the way inside with a single thrust and a grunt through his teeth. Trystan hissed in pleasure and wiggled on the shaft. “That's it, Mike. That's good. Just like that.”
Mike drew back and thrust again. He picked up speed fast, puffing out grunts and sighs with every pump of his cock. Trystan settled for a low moan and pushed back in opposing rhythm, until he had to brace his head against the wall to keep from being crumpled over the toilet stem with the force of the fucking.
But it was good. So good. He might even come with this one.
An explosive groan washed over him as Mike buried himself deep, jerking with his climax. Damn. He'd been close to spurting, but not close enough to finish himself with a few discreet strokes. Have to take care of that later.
Mike shuddered and pulled his softening cock out. He made an inarticulate sound. Outside the stall, the bathroom door banged open. Mike whimpered and grabbed too fast for his pants. He would've fallen over if Trystan hadn't caught him.
“Easy,” Trystan whispered. “Everyone expects this stuff in here.”
Footsteps crossed the floor. A stall door creaked open and slammed shut. Urine streamed.
Mike, flushed and sweating, gave him that crooked little smile again. He dressed with a bit less urgency, and Trystan did the same. When they finished, Mike produced a billfold and pulled out a fifty. “Thanks,” he said softly.
“You already paid.”
“Yes, but...you were good to me.” He pressed the bill into his palm, insistent, smiled again. “Good-bye.” He unlocked the door and left. Didn't even stop to wash his hands.
Trystan stared at the money for a few seconds. His attempt to turn it down had been reflexive, but he did need it right now. He'd been dog sick for almost three weeks, huddled in Talia's rundown apartment up by Harlem, puking out everything that passed through his lips--which wasn't much, since Talia didn't keep food in the place. Hell, she'd only let him stay with extreme reluctance and the promise that he'd clean up his own mess. Three weeks without turning tricks left him flat broke, and tonight was his first night out again.
That was why he'd come to Frankie's, where the bathroom quickies usually flowed like water. But even here the pickings had been slim. It was like all the horniness in New York had scuttled back inside its dark corners and tucked its head firmly between its legs while he was laid out. And before that, the few reliable regulars he'd maintained had hooked up with legitimate lovers. He didn't begrudge them their happiness, but it wasn't exactly good for his cash flow.
Shrugging, he tucked the bill in a pocket and left the stall for the sink. A glimpse in the mirror had him frowning. He still looked sick--pale, drawn, waiflike. Maybe it added to his charm. But he had to eat something solid, and soon. His legs were shaking like twin earthquakes in the aftermath of Mike's affections. Probably couldn't take another john tonight. He'd eat, grab a cheap room somewhere, and try to sleep off the dregs of the sick. No partying for a few more days.
The stall door at the far end opened as Trystan turned the faucets on. He threw a quick glance over, figuring he could do a blowjob even with a case of the shakes if the guy seemed the looking type. He didn't--he made a beeline for the sinks and never so much as twitched an eye in Trystan's direction.
But he was holy-shit hot. Tall, fair, and sculpted as hell. Trystan's already hard cock strained against his pants. One more reason to get a room--he had to whack off soon.
He shut the water off, shook his hands over the sink. And the guy spoke.
“You like men?”
“Yeah.” Maybe there was another quick buck here after all. Trystan turned a seductive smile on him...wasted, since the guy still wasn't looking his way. He fed the line anyway. “Do you?”
The guy straightened slowly and faced him. His eyes were bright blue, piercing. “No. But I've a friend who does.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “I've seen you. You've known Cobalt, have you not?”
A flash of heat skewered his gut. Cobalt. One of his former regulars--a favorite. Smoking hot tattoo artist, recently hooked up permanently with some radio deejay. This guy's almost lilting speech pattern matched Cobalt's perfectly. “Do I know you?” he said. “I mean, have I seen you around the Grotto or something?”
The blond frowned. “Grotto?”
“Um, yeah. Cobalt's place?”
“I've not met him personally.”
“You sure? What's your name?”
The guy looked irritated. “Morven. And you've not answered me. Have you known Cobalt?”
“I did,” he said carefully.
“Good.” The other corner drew up to match the first. “Good.” A smooth pink tongue moistened his lips. “Trystan.”
His jaw dropped, and he worked to put it back in place. Lots of people knew his name in certain circles. No reason to believe this guy wasn't one of them. “That's me.”
“Yes.” A step forward. “How would you--Trystan--like to earn one million...dollars?”
He barely noticed the way his name coiled from the pink tongue like a snake, or the way he said dollars
like he wasn't sure what they were. The amount knocked away logical thought. “I'm listening.”
“My friend needs an escort. You'll stay with him, pleasure him, do as he commands for one month.” Those eyes almost burned. “For this you'll receive one million dollars.”
His brow furrowed. “So your friend wants a sub for a month? That the deal?”
“A submissive. Yes.”
Trystan nodded faintly. He had plenty of experience subbing. He'd enjoyed most of it, except the one john who'd decided to burn him with a cigar when he was tied up, despite the rules they'd agreed on beforehand. He had a huge thing against fire. Afterward, he'd paid a couple of Talia's boys to lump the bastard up and record the session so he could listen to the screams. It helped him beat back the nightmares.
The mark was waiting for an answer. Fuck, how could he turn down a million bucks? It was a goddamned fortune, more money than he'd ever hoped to see in his lifetime. With that he could afford to take some time off and recuperate when the month was done. Somewhere nice, where they changed the sheets every day and room service wasn't a bag of stale chips and a can of generic soda.
“No cutting, absolutely no burning, and I want a down payment,” he finally said.
“Agreed.” The guy reached in a pocket and extracted a thick wad of bills. Hundred-dollar bills. He held them out. “This is, I believe, ten thousand.”
Jesus. Ten thousand just for saying yes? Trystan took the cash and thumbed through it. All hundreds, not stiff and sharp counterfeit. His breath caught in his throat. He shoved the money in a pocket before the tall blond could change his mind.
The guy held a long-fingered hand out. “A handshake to seal the deal. I believe that's how it's done.”
“You're right.” Trystan took it.
A jolt traveled up his arm--not the heat and sizzle of lust, but something else. The dank, cool air in the bathroom changed, became warmer, laden with heavy scents of musk and wet wood and cut grass. Dizziness crept over him. What the hell...?
The guy let go, and everything was normal again in a blink. Except his palm. It itched like crazy. He glanced at it but saw nothing unusual. “Um. All right. So when do we meet your friend?”
This time, the smile edged into creepy territory. “Now.” He walked over to the far wall, raised a hand, and brought it down slow in a straight line. And unzipped the bathroom.