"Just like that," he says, before bringing the camera to his face and moving around the room. My nervous breath and the shutter is the only thing I can hear in my quiet room. I watch him as he works. I don't know what I look like, but the way he moves, finding angles and switching from landscape to vertical is hot. He's confident, competent, and clearly knows what he's doing.
I watch as the muscles under his dark skin bulge and flex as he moves around like a panther, wearing nothing but his tight boxer briefs.
"Arch your neck."
So, I do. It's awkward because it presses my head further into the mattress but lifts my upper back off of it, but I hold it. He'd tell me if it looked bad.
For what feels like forever he positions me with gentle touches and his deep voice. It feels like time has stood still. That the world outside of my room doesn't exist anymore. It's the strangest form of foreplay. My cock attempts to rally, but fails. So, I just watch and admire and appreciate the man in front of me, and how beautiful he is. How strong. How competent. How, in this moment, he feels like he could just be mine. There's no one to judge us.
When he yawns, I look at the clock on the nightstand and read that it's nearly three AM.
When I look back to him, he's looking at the clock, too, seeing the same thing that I am.
"I... uh... can pay you... for the extra time?" I offer quickly. The last thing I need is for him to feel like I'm somehow screwing him out of money or taking advantage of him.
His face softens. "I should be paying you for being my model for the last few hours."
My relief is instant.
"You... uh... probably shouldn't drive home... if you're tired?" Jesus, I sound like a fumbling teenager again.
His smile is soft and indulgent. "You asking me for a sleepover, Brockman?" he teases, and I love this playful side of him. He's completely comfortable with me.
"Fine, go die. Forget I offered," I tease back, turning over and giving him my back.
His answering chuckle is deep and rich.
I'm glad I'm turned away from him because the smile that splits my face when I feel the mattress sink behind me is ridiculous and maybe a little manic. It's just a night together.Not even a night, a handful of hours. But he's not leaving.He's not leaving.
"Never knew you were so dramatic, Brockman," he says, sliding in behind me and wrapping an arm around me, dragging my back to his chest. He's huge and warm and his legs slot in behind mine perfectly. As if it was always meant to be.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face for the first time in years.
Chapter nineteen
Trey
Fuck.
This is bad.
Jim and I went out to Olde Ebbotte Grille for a boyfriend experience. We do these a few times a month, and it serves a few purposes - he gets companionship he hasn't been able to find since coming out of the closet, and it gives him practice being comfortable "out" in public.
Jim's a nice man. I've caught longer, lingering glances from him when we're together, but he hasn't gotten the nerve to ask for more. So, I'm perfectly happy to continue booking his appointments.
But then Gareth walked in for happy hour with his coworkers a few minutes ago and it feels like a powder keg is about to go off. I feel bad - guilty. Like I've somehow cheated on him, even though we never had that conversation. Things may have progressed into less than professional with him - spending the night is definitely something I don't do with my clients. But we're not together, so I'm not sure why I feel so awful.
Jim's tucked into my side, his lithe body fitting snugly under my arm. His hand rests on my thigh as my hand rubs up and down his bicep. We take turns spoon-feeding each other tiramisu, looking at each other lovingly.
Gareth's laughing with his coworkers at the bar, completely unaware that I'm even here, let alone on a date. But it's as if he can feel me, because his eyes sweep the room and find me. I watch in slow-motion horror as his eyes go from surprised, to happy, to slide down my side to Jim, then my hand on Jim's bicep. His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. I can see from here the muscle in his jaw tick as he grinds his teeth.
This is a nightmare. When it's just the two of us it's easy to forget what I do for a living. I never wanted him to see me with someone else. I'm sick to my stomach at the hurt and anger I see flash across his face. I need to get out of here.
I flash my gaze to his, willing him to look at me and widen my eyes in warning. He looks around at the buddies he walked in with and continues their joking and jostling. Half of them look drunk already.
A wave of anger rolls through me. I don't know who I'm angry at right now; me for hurting Gareth, or Gareth for continuing to pretend he isn't hurt.
The waiter comes and delivers the check, and I drop my credit card on the tray. As the waiter leaves with a promise to return shortly, I give Jim a kiss on the cheek.