I tugged lightly at my tie in the elevator, carefully loosening the knot so that it began to show the button at my collar. It looked, I hoped, as if I'd tightened it that morning and then launched myself into a busy day of meetings and firm handshakes. Using both hands to hold my jacket away from my sides, I scanned myself. The shirt I had ironed an hour ago would still be crisp looking around my shoulders when I took my jacket off, but some deliberate slouching on the train had imprinted fine wrinkles into the fabric over my stomach. I pinched the side of my shirt over my left hip, tugged gently a couple times, then, satisfied with the new asymmetry, let my jacket fall back into place.
The polished metal of the elevator doors mirrored and warped my frown as I considered what to do with my hair. I didn't want to look unkempt, but neither did I want to look as recently showered as I was. When Ray invited me over I always took a quick shower after work, but I'd keep my hair dry and climb right back into the clothes I'd been wearing all day. He liked my body fresh, but my clothes smelling lived in. He never said so, but I think he liked the illusion that I had come directly from the office to fall into his bed. If my hair was too squeaky, if my undershirt and my underwear smelled too much like detergent and not enough like me, the illusion frayed.
Taking inventory in the elevator, I knew the illusion would be thin tonight. My hair looked fresh and recently styled. The sheer trunks that hugged my dick had been in a drawer until two hours ago. My undershirt hadn't had time to take up the smell of my skin, my sweat. When the bell rang and the doors opened I ran a hand through my hair, smoothed it back over, and sighed. I'd considered taking a few flights of stairs, but it didn't seem worth the effort. I hoped the small lapses wouldn't dampen Ray's enthusiasm. I needed his vigor, his abandon, to take me out of myself after another long week that looked like the beginning of a long month.
I hoped it'd only be a month.
Ray answered the door almost immediately and he smiled as he always did, his teeth straight and white. I smiled back and the tensions of the past week began to melt away.
"Thanks" I said, as Ray stepped aside and held the door for me. He stood almost in profile and I appreciated once again the trim slenderness of his waist, the thickness of his arms, the broadness of his chest. His five o'clock shadow, usually light, looked a shade darker in the dimness of the front hallway and the sight of it made the front of my pants grow tight. My body remembered all the things he could do with his mouth as his scruff rasped along the skin of my neck, my stomach, the insides of my thighs.
"It's been a little while," I said. I tried not to sound petulant, failed in my own ears
Ray leaned around me to close the door. "I know," he said. "It's been one thing after another." He clapped me on the shoulder. "You know how it is."
"Absolutely," I said. I tried to keep the resignation from my voice, failed again.
Ray's smile faded slightly and he made a gruff noise. "How's the job search going?"
"I was hoping you could help me forget."
His hand, warm and strong, kneaded its way along my shoulder to the back of my neck. "We'll see what we can do." His smiled broadened as his gaze moved around my face. "Head on into the living room. I'll be just a minute."
For a moment I watched Ray walk down the hallway. I had never asked, but I wondered again if he had ever played sports. He looked like he had just come from the office himself, still in his tie and missing only the jacket, but whatever he wore worked less to conceal him than to draw attention to the muscles rolling across his shoulders, down his back, and over the length of his legs. I wondered how a man who could move so athletically during sex chose to exercise himself in less heated moments. He had the short brown hair, parted on the side, and the square features of the men I associated with lacrosse, but that was a college sport. Not soccer. Swimming, maybe? Or handball. That seemed bougie enough.
I walked down the hallway in the faint trail of Ray's cologne and resisted the urge to step quickly up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. All I wanted was to bury my face in his neck, breath him in, and slide a hand down past his belt. But I let him move down the hallway unmolested. Ray was a creature of habit and we hadn't even sat down to talk yet. I pushed the thought of his body, sweating with exertion, from my mind.
As Ray took a left into the kitchen I continued down the hallway into the living room. It shared one wall with the bedroom and another with Ray's office, but the farthest two walls were two great sheets of glass. Over the last few months I had grown accustomed to the view, but that evening I stopped with my hands in my pockets and looked out into the glittering heart of the city, just as I had the first time I'd seen it. Towers rose all around us. Between them, maybe half a mile away, the sunset shimmered on the river.
I wondered, not for the first time, how much it would cost to live in one of the tallest towers in the world. I thought about my own place, two bedrooms, a roommate recently moved out, my job pulled out from under me, and decided I didn't actually want to know.
I sank down onto the couch and lifted one arm across the back, letting my suit jacket drape open around me. Ray walked in as I was settling and placed a bottle of wine on the glass coffee table in front of me. Beside it he placed two long stemmed glasses and then sank into the lounge chair behind him.
"Ah. Feels good to be off my feet." He sighed and sat still for a few moments, then leaned forward to reach for the bottle. "Thirsty?"
"Always," I said.
He told me the name of the wine, the grape, the year, but I let it all spin away before it settled into my brain. I would never drink these wines with anyone else, and when I realized that Ray didn't seem to care whether I knew what we were drinking, I stopped giving myself a headache trying to remember.
We raised our glasses in a silent toast. As I swallowed I watched Ray drink, watched the glass press lightly against his bottom lip, watched his mouth open. I imagined the pressure of his lips on my skin, the insistent tracings of his tongue. On more than one occasion on the train that evening, when I hadn't been creasing my clothes to show signs of industry, I'd slipped into daydreams and found myself anticipating those lips. I'd been forced then to discretely conceal the hardness tenting the front of my pants, but I didn't hide it now. I sat with my feet flat on the floor, legs parted, and tried to be patient.
"That color suits you," Ray said.
I smiled again but didn't say anything, just sat and let him enjoy his own view [at the end of the night he asks a question that signals his appreciation for Charles as a partner who could so easily help him build his scenes, not because they're complicated, but because he has the nascent mind of a designer]. Ray always worked me over with the same penetrating, proprietary stare as he pondered the evening's topic of conversation. It moved lingeringly over my thighs, my crotch, then up to my chest and the collar of my shirt. I had learned early on that he liked it when I looked a certain way: not just a tie slightly loosened and a shirt that hugged my waist, but pants that put my ass and my thighs on display, neatly framing my crotch; long, soft black socks that didn't bunch around my ankles; stylish shoes; a belt with a buckle that drew the eye; colors that were bold, but not garish. Still, he was fairly easy to please, and who was I to say no when he handed me clothes on my way out the door? I wore them on my next visit and put them in the rotation if he signaled his approval.
My roommate once remarked that I had a sugar daddy. I'd laughed, told him he didn't understand. Ray wasn't luring me into bed with the promise of clothes. He was enhancing the experience for himself. His tastes were expensive and since he could afford to augment out trysts with designer clothes he'd only see occasionally, he did.
But it wasn't just the clothes. For whatever reason, when we sat together in his living room drinking his French wine and talking about his work, he spoke to me like a colleague and something about that excited him. He got off on a man in a nice suit, that I knew, but beyond that I could only speculate. Maybe he liked to imagine I was a co-worker and that our meetings were forbidden. Maybe he had a subordinate at work who looked like me, straight or otherwise untouchable, and I was just a stand in. Maybe he just liked fucking younger guys in suits. Ultimately it didn't really matter. I got mine, he got his, and neither of us got attached. I just had to play my part, and that meant looking like a young professional and making intelligent conversation. Then I could get on my knees.
I swirled the wine in my glass, took another sip, and waited for Ray to speak. I didn't have to wait long.
"I'm having trouble with Keegan again," he said.
"How so?" Always important to act interested. A colleague would be invested. A junior associate would be eager to offer insight.
"He's missing deadlines."
I listened for a while as Ray described both Keegan's potential and his failings, but I had heard it all before. Ray had hired Keegan a year ago after poaching him from a marketing firm in Cincinnati. I had never heard the story of how they had crossed paths or what would have taken Ray to Cincinnati in the first place, but he had decided Keegan could be a star if given the right opportunities. So he'd dumped some cash in his lap, moved him to New York, and given him an office. But now, it seemed, Keegan was out of his depth.
I listened for a while longer as Ray explained how Keegan nearly cost them a contract with one of what Ray called the "Big Twelve in-houses." I had no idea what they were and he never used company names, but I knew they were the only firms he believed truly appreciated his services, and he prioritized their projects over all others.
"For all they complain about deadlines, people need them," he said. "Sometimes it's productive to disrupt a schedule if a client isn't able to appreciate your design, but that requires prep work, foreshadowing. You build it into project plan. Keegan is just blowing through his own deadlines and it's making us look bad." Ray's expression darkened, his straight, dark eyebrows drawing together. "Yesterday I got chewed out for twenty minutes by this director of narrative relations because they had to readjust their entire release schedule. And that was the first I heard of any trouble." He took a sip of wine. "I don't like being scolded." He took another sip. "That asshole's job wouldn't even exist if it weren't for me, and he's lecturing he about lost narrative opportunities."
I had never met Keegan, but I didn't like him very much just then. Ray used these conversations to help build the fantasy he most enjoyed, and over time he worked his way from collegial to carnal. But simply having the conversation wasn't enough. The quality of the conversation, of my contributions, mattered just as much. He liked to be surprised, enjoyed perspectives he hadn't considered. When I asked questions he hadn't thought to ask, I could see him catch fire, watch his gaze move from casually appreciative to charged and possessive. But just then Ray's dark mood was far from intimate and his thoughts were far from me. I had my work cut out for me.
I understood the terminology Ray used less than I understood his wines, so in an effort to end this line of thought I concentrated on the things I did understand. "Have you talked to Keegan yet?"
"Scheduled a meeting for tomorrow."
"Are you going to fire him?"
Ray swirled the wine in his glass. "No," he said finally. "Not yet. He's an investment. He might take longer to mature than I anticipated, but..." He trailed off, looking through me. "He comes up with incredible stuff. And he's earnest. Maybe a little too nice, but that's the kind of thing the Twelve tend to look for when they outsource. It irritates them, but they need it and they can't replicate it in their own designs--not yet. They look outside when they've scraped the bottom of their own souls and found nothing but the cynicism that's given marketing such a perennially malignant reputation." Ray drained his glass. "Besides, they still like his idea. I can't fire him if there's a chance he can complete the contract."
Ray's tone had gone flat, peremptory. I tried again.
"Do you want to fire him?" If I could rule out the negative, I could steer him toward the possible.
Ray frowned as he reached for the bottle. "No," he said. He didn't appreciate the question. Ray was assertive, decisive, but he wasn't hardhearted.
"All right," I said, keeping my tone casual. "Why is he missing deadlines?"
Ray poured himself more wine and then held the bottle between us. I lowered my glass and allowed him to fill it. "He's having trouble prioritizing," he said. "I gave him his choice of projects, opened the waitlist to him. He's taken on an ambitious portfolio, but he hasn't finished anything in the last six months."
"Any idea how he's spending his time?"
"Not entirely, but last week he spent an entire afternoon making copies. One o'clock until six." Ray frowned and tasted his wine. "Making copies," he repeated.
Silence. I couldn't think of anything to say and Ray just let the room fill up with quiet.
I resisted the urge to rub my eyes and swallowed my sigh. I usually had more patience, but being out of work during a recession made it difficult to sympathize with the worries of the gainfully employed. I had come to see Ray for exactly one reason: I wanted him to fuck me until I could taste colors and see sounds. Normally I would stick it out, meander through the conversation until I found an angle that intrigued him, a question that excited him--most nights I actually enjoyed it--but this evening I didn't have the patience for it. I just wanted to fuck.
So I gave up. Even when our conversations thrilled him less than he may have hoped, at one point or another the talking ended and Ray took possession of my body. So why not move right along?
I thought for a moment and then offered him the first solution that came to mind, wrapped in a tone of cheerful optimism. "Maybe he's just overworked. You'd probably get more out of him if he had help. Hire someone to take care of the little stuff, copies and filling and scheduling, so he can focus on the big stuff."
I expected him to reject the idea out of hand, since somebody at Keegan's pay grade probably already had at least one assistant, but Ray's eyebrows arched and he let his wine sink down to his lap. "Hire someone," he said slowly, finally looking at me.
Progress. This wasn't quite the reaction I preferred--a narrow line had worked its way between his eyebrows--but he was thinking now instead of brooding.
I shrugged. "Why not?"
Ray said nothing, so I continued.
"Give him an assistant to get a few low level tasks off his plate, let him follow through on his designs without getting bogged down with minutiae. See how he does." I waited, but still Ray said nothing. "Set him up to succeed," I said, leaving off the end of the cliche. "If you're so sure of his talent, if you want to maximize returns on your investment, give him an assistant." I took a sip of wine to give him a moment to think it over.
Still nothing.
I glanced at Ray's chest, realized he was staring at me, then looked up into his face. His expression was unreadable. His wine hung just below his chin, halfway to his pursed lips. He was waiting.
But waiting for what? What else could I say? I hadn't thought the idea through completely, didn't expect it to impress him. I was only hoping to move the conversation in a more productive direction.
And then I realized. 'Hire someone,' I had said.
He wasn't waiting for more insight, for me to think the idea through--he was waiting for me to pitch myself.
I kept my face placid while I strung ugly syllables together in my head. In my impatience to skip to the moment when Ray would let me undress him, let me unwrap my prize for playing dress up and wading through his jargon, I'd pushed the moment farther away. Maybe even permanently, if he thought I was angling to take advantage of our relationship.
Asshole. Maybe he imagined I thought it was my due. In his mind had I just become the type who felt entitled to something because I moaned when he put his hands on me? Because I let him lick the sweat from my neck while he held my knees up by my ears?
I returned his flat stare.
"Promote Derek," I said.
Ray's expression, closed a moment before, cracked. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he tried not to sound too surprised.
"Derek?"
"Why not," I said. "Take him off the front desk and give him a title. He's smart, enthusiastic, capable. You like him almost as much as you like Keegan and he knows the firm." I paused to drain my glass. "But he's also young," I said, "and eventually another opportunity will come along." Leaning forward, I placed my wine on the table with a heavy clunk, sat back and returned his stare. "If you don't give him a reason to stay, he'll leave." I tried to keep the edge out of my voice but couldn't quite manage it.
I leaned back and rested my arms casually on the back of the couch, let my jacket fall open as I looked out over the city again. I had never spoken to Ray that way before. It felt good. I couldn't decide it if the implied parallel was melodramatic or if it had gone over his head, but I'd said it and decided I was happy I had. I didn't know Derek and I had no idea whether he would ever leave Ray's company, but I might. Maybe. I didn't need to be there. Didn't need to keep coming back. His money meant nothing to me and I hadn't set out to fuck may way into a job. He ought to know that. Ought to know me by now.
My irritation was deepening, curdling into anger and resentment, when Ray laughed. I barely had time to look up at him as he moved around the table--surged at me--and pinned me to the couch with his mouth. He tasted like wine and his stubble, scraping lightly, made his lips feel all the softer. He kissed with calm, focused intensity, opening my lips with his tongue.
I tried not to moan. He stood with his legs straddling my left knee and no part of his lean, muscled body touched mine, but he had me pinned as effectively as any wrestler. I lay under his power, legs spread, arms wide, locked in place by the demands of his mouth. A small part of me noted how quickly my anger disappeared into a faintly remembered shadow and I resented him again, but more than anything I just wanted him on me, wanted his weight, the heat of his skin, the kneading of his hands all over me.
When he pulled away and looked down at me from the height of a few inches, my lips remained parted and a feverish heat rolled through me.
"Well," he said, his eyes flickering between mine, "it's certainly a proposal worth considering." He leaned forward again, kissed me with his wine soaked tongue and undid the clasp of my belt. He pulled it free with a whipping noise, then he stood and brought the bulge in his pants to my eye level.
"Take your jacket off," he said, tossing my belt onto the chair where he had been sitting. "Let's watch the last of the sunset while we finish our wine. I need to think on something." He divided the last of the wine between us then walked to window, glass in hand.
Slightly bewildered, I watched him go. I couldn't account for the shift in his attitude, but decided not to over think it. We'd watch the sunset, then we'd fuck. That's all that mattered.
I stood and slipped out of my jacket, hanging it carefully on the back of Ray's chair. As I moved to join Ray at the window I was still mostly clothed but already feeling half dressed without my belt. Anticipation pushed me forward and the hardness in my pants lead the way.
I wondered how long we would stand there. Ray's usual approach to sex was measured and methodical. He took his time and never cut corners, never rushed anything, but occasionally he became all impulse like he had just then on the couch. I thought about the time, maybe a month ago, when he had thrown me backward onto his bed, straddled my hips, then used two fists to wrench every button off my shirt in a single Herculean surge of passion. It had been one of the most powerfully erotic things anyone had ever done to me. Maybe I could look forward to more of that tonight if he didn't cool off for too long by the window.
I took a sip of wine and widened my stance slightly on the carpet.
"Pretty," I said.
Ray nodded absently. "I don't get to see it as often as I'd like."
We stood like that for a while, silent, savoring our wine and watching the liquid gold of the sunset glide across the river and flood the room with light as it burnished the buildings all around us.
I'm not sure how long we stood there, but when I swallowed the last of my wine and Ray took the glass from my hand, the gold was leeching out of the adjacent buildings. When he returned, I felt his breath just behind my right ear. He slid his hands down my sides to my waist, forward over my stomach, down to my hips. He framed the bulge he found there and pulled me back into him, rolling his hips forward to meet me. Through the thin fabric of separating us I felt his hardness grinding against me, probing. I tilted my head back onto his shoulder with a sigh.
Finally.
Ray shifted one hand to palm the front of my pants, applying pressure to the hardness he found there and pressing my ass back against the zipper that barely contained him. When I arched my back, instinctively opening myself up to him, he brought his other arm up to my chest and crushed me back into him. We stood that way, his arms holding me in a cage of heat and muscle, while he he sucked leisurely, intently, on my neck. Each time my dick pulsed he squeezed, making it jump again. He settled into a slow rhythm as he ground himself against my ass and let out low sighs and growls that sent shivers the length of my body. My mind began to recede into a haze filled only with the smell of his skin, his hair, the subtle spice of his cologne. I wanted to melt back into him, let him possess me and thrust into me until I knew nothing but the long hard length of him and the pounding of his hips.
"Go get on the bed."
I would have stumbled when he released me if he hadn't put his hands on each side of my chest and pointed me in the right direction. I walked to the bedroom door and bent over at the waist to untie my shoes. I knew he was watching and I wanted him to see the shape of my ass through the thin fabric of my pants. My asshole twitched at the thought of him taking me right there, forcing me to brace myself against the living room wall as he yanked my pants down and pushed slowly into me.
No such luck. I kicked off my unlaced shoes and went into the bedroom. It was dim, the blinds drawn and the lights off, but I could see the big bed in the middle. When I felt Ray step into the doorway I climbed onto the bed and lay on my back in the middle.
Ray climbed onto me and I met him with my mouth. He used his knees to spread my legs apart and broke our kiss only long enough to slide his arms under my legs. When he leaned down again I folded beneath him, ass up, knees by my ears. I moaned up into his mouth as he ground his crotch against my ass. We rocked back and forth that way until he released me with a grunt and let me lay flat again. He reached down between us and unbuttoned my pants, then tugged at my zipper. It stuck, so he tugged again, then a third time. It didn't budge. I reached down to help, but he knocked my hands away and growled into my mouth, yanking once more. I tried not to sigh through my nose as he continued to struggle. I felt a quick exhalation of his breath as he leaned his forehead against the bed just above my shoulder. He gave the zipper a sharp jerk, beginning to lose patience.
"Easy," I said. "You'll break it."
"Doesn't matter," he said, "I'll get you a new pair." He sucked my ear into his mouth as he strained at the zipper, applying steady pressure now instead of jerking at it.
"Maybe," I said, "eventually. But I need these." When he tugged again I heard a thread break somewhere and I grabbed his wrist. "Easy!" I said, my anger spiking, my voice louder than I had intended.
Ray stopped his fumbling and looked up at me. "What?" Exasperation in his voice, puzzlement on his face.
"This is my interview suit." I freed my arms from between us and let them flop to the bed on either side of me. "For when I finally have one."
As soon as I said it I felt my hard on begin to wilt. It wasn't what I had intended to say, but it came out anyway. Ray's life was a fantasy world, a land of impossible wealth, high rise condos, and expensive wines. I came here to forget everything I didn't have, everything I would have to do in order to earn just a portion of what he could lay hands on before he walked out his front door, but today he was making it too difficult. Ray would never have to look for a job again, would never have to wonder how he would pay rent if Keegan lost his contract, but I couldn't think of anything else. That night I would go home and spend hours submitting my resume to people who would never read it, and as I remembered the look he had given me when he thought I would be so audacious as to ask for a job, for the first time since I began visiting Ray, I wanted to be someplace else.
"Right," Ray said. "Ok."
I looked from dim spot I had been contemplating on the ceiling to see him edging backward off the bed.
"Come here."
I hesitated, then slid to the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, and looked up at him.
"Stand up."
I did. I wondered if he was about to send me home, if I'd been too great a bother for one night. I decided I wouldn't mind. I could eat the left over pizza from the fridge and get myself off in my own bed. But Ray didn't say anything else. Instead he began working methodically on the buttons of my shirt, starting at the top and working his way down. When my shirt lay open, he pushed it off my shoulders and slid it down my arms.
"Let me have it."
I hesitated only briefly then shrugged the shirt off and handed it to him. He walked to his closet, opened it, and found an empty hanger. He hung the shirt, buttoned the top button to keep it closed, then came back to me and started on my pants. He worked gently at the zipper until it finally released and slid down. As my pants slid to the floor I felt a rush of shame I couldn't account for. Maybe it was Ray's calm in the face of my anger. Maybe it was the thought of this suit, wrinkled with a partially broken zipper hanging next to the row of freshly pressed designer items in Ray's closet. Maybe it was both. I looked over his shoulder while he hung my pants and thought about my own half empty closet at home, the hoodies and t-shirts that hung there next to the only other suit I'd ever bought for myself, cheap and off the rack. Everything else was Ray's.
When Ray had hung my pants with my shirt he came back to where I stood waiting by the bed in my undershirt and trunks.
He grunted softly, grabbed me by the hips and pulled me to him.
"Can we get on with this now?"
"Yes," I said. I decided the heat of his grip was better than cold pizza.
Ray ran his hands over my ass, then squeezed. He ran his hands slowly up my sides, lifting my undershirt up and then off, leaving me almost naked against his fully dressed body.
Normally this excited me, this inequity of exposed skin, but at that moment I just felt small before him. I reached for his belt, but he brushed my hands away and kissed me, his hands exploring my body. He massaging my ass then gripped the hardness that strained against my trunks. He liked this too, I knew; we started this way often, he in his shirt and tie, me naked and pressed against him. But I wasn't in the mood just then to feel so exposed and solitary. I wanted him on me, bare, skin to skin and thrusting. But I let him continue. Even through his shirt the muscles flexing and rolling against me had a magic I couldn't resist.
Ray repositioned us so that my back was to the bed, then he reached up with one hand to hold the back of my neck as the other slipped down the back of my trunks. With one finger he began to probe my hole, the pressure crushing our dicks together. I broke the kiss, resting my forehead on his shoulder as I enjoyed the sensation of his finger pushing against me, into me. My dick leapt and jolted as he massaged my hole, but then the cold metal of his belt buckle pressed against my stomach and I jumped. I pushed him away, slid my underwear off and crawled backward into the center of the bed. There I propped myself up on an elbow and watched him as I stroked myself back to attention.
"Take your clothes off," I said.
Ray didn't say anything, didn't argue, just walked to a chair standing in the corner of the room and stripped. He watched me stroke myself while he pulled his tie out of his collar and then unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled his undershirt off, unbuckled his belt and let his pants pool by his feet.
I admired the bulge that stretched his scarlet bikini briefs before he slid them down to his feet, and then I admired the heavy manhood that swung before him as he walked back to the bed. Above average in both size and girth, it stretched me each time Ray held my hips and leaned his way into me, but it was a challenge I enjoyed. Now that I saw it again I wanted nothing else. I watched it as Ray walked, watched it bobbed and sway, pointing almost directly at me. For a moment I ignored the man behind it, beautiful as he was, but then his slow approach drew my attention back to the hard lines and lean curves that would soon be dripping sweat down onto me.
Ray climbed on top of me and slowly lowered himself until our hips pressed together. As he considered me he shifted slightly, his dick throbbing and burning against mine. He smiled as he watched my lips part involuntarily.
"Now, can I fuck you?"
Despite his faintly mocking tone my legs shifted as if on their own and slid apart. I lifted them until I could wrap them around his waist, pressing his dick harder against mine. His perfect ass, round and hard, flexed beneath my heels.
"Please," I said.
Ray smiled, rolled off me long enough to grab a bottle of lube from the table beside the bed, then positioned himself between my legs. He pushed them up toward my chest and I held them there, waiting.
I stared at the ceiling as I felt the first cool squirt. Ray massaged it in with one finger, then added more, then a second finger. I gasped as he slid both fingers all the way in, hitting my prostate.
"Is that what you've been waiting for?"
"Oh my god. Yes."
"Tell me," he said. "Tell me what you've been waiting for."
"God," I said again. "I've been waiting for you to fuck me. I want you inside me. I want to feel all of you slamming into me. Use your dick to make me come."
Ray rose up on his knees and pulled my legs down. "We'll get there," he said. Pulling his fingers from my ass he straddled my chest. He used his thumb to push his dick down until it was level with my lips, then he pushed inside my eager mouth.
I moaned as the soft underside of his dick slid along my tongue, in, out, then in again. With each thrust he pushed in a little more, stretching my lips. I tried to reach up and grip it around the base, but Ray caught my hands and guided them instead to my legs, positioning them so that I held my knees up against his thighs. Then he leaned back while his dick worked its way down my throat, and slid his fingers back into my ass. I moaned as he rocked us back and forth that way, his dick fucking my mouth and his fingers widening my asshole. With each thrust pleasure radiated outward from my ass and my dick throbbed, the sensation of being filled at both ends sending tremors through my body.
Just when I thought I was close to coming Ray pulled his dick from my mouth and climbed off me. I watched his member recede, huge, veiny, and glistening, until he knelt between my legs again.
"Fill me up," I said. "Please. I want to feel every inch of you." I wasn't always so verbal, but my need pushed the words out of me. I wanted him inside me.
Without a word Ray plunged his fingers back into my waiting hole and I threw my head back, moaning.
"Is that what you want?"
"Yes. No. God. Give it to me. Fuck me. Please."
Ray worked my ass for a few more minutes, hooking his finger so he hit my prostate every time his arm pistoned forward at the shoulder. My body rocked slightly with each thrust until I lost myself in the sensation. I let me arms fall to the bed and my legs to each side of Ray. I lay tensed, moaning each time Ray hit the button of pleasure that sat behind the base of my dick.
Then he sucked me into his mouth and I cried out, arching my back. He released me just before I hurtled over the edge.
"I think you're ready," he said.
I could only moan.
Ray leaned forward as he used both hands to push my legs up to my chest, and I knew that he was aiming his thick, iron hard member using only his hips. I held still, mouth open, waiting. When I felt the blunt tip connect with my hole, I moaned and reached down to spread my ass open wider with both hands. Ray pushed into me with slow, relentless pressure. I arched my back as he stretched me wide, the slight pangs of adjustment nothing compared to the sensation of him filling me up. After what felt like an eternity I felt his hips press against me and his balls rest on my ass. I opened my eyes, not realizing I had closed them, and looked up at Ray. His face hovered just a few inches from mine before he leaned down and filled my open mouth his his tongue. While we kissed he began to pull out of me. I moaned against his lips, then grunted as he reversed direction and pushed all the way back in.
"Do it," I said. "Hard. Fast."
That was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, Ray drove his member into me again and again. Already half delirious from his fingering, I just lay back with my legs over his shoulders, my hands stretching my ass open, and let him fuck me.
I lost myself in the sensation of him sliding in and out of me. His dick filled me to overflowing and sent waves of pleasure radiating out from my ass to the tip of my dick, up my back, down to my toes. After one perfectly angled thrust hit me just right and sent all my breath moaning out of my lungs, I shifted a hand between us so I could put a finger on each side of my asshole. There I felt Ray's shaft gliding in and out with each thrust, slick and hard. It slid between my fingers and deep inside me until the short dark hairs at its base pressed down on the back of my hand. Ray lifted himself up until he leaned over me in a push up position, a long plank of muscle and heat and gathering sweat, so he could watch my hand as his dick disappeared inside me.
We stayed in that position, Ray's hips slapping down onto my ass as he admired his own performance, until the soles of my feet began to tingle. I closed my eyes and threw my head back. My whole body grew tight and I slid my hand up from my ass to my dick.
Then he stopped. Before I could protest he grabbed both my wrists and pushed them over my head, then lifted my legs back over his shoulders. Pinned, I stared up at him, open mouthed and aching.
"You won't need your hand," he said, and he rammed his dick back into me from tip to base.
I cried out and then lost myself in an unbroken chain of moans and gasps as Ray set a brutal pace. He pulled out only halfway before plunging back in, the force of each thrust rocking me against the bed. I writhed under him, desperate for release but unable to free my hands. Then I felt Ray groan and begin to buck wildly. The sensation of his dick pulsing and throbbing as he shot his load within me finally pushed me over the edge. Arching my back in an effort to force even more of him inside me, I rode the crest of his orgasm as my world flashed white. I came in a torrent, long arcs splattering between us, some onto his chest, some onto mine as I worked my ass up and against him.
Then I collapsed.
Tremors moved through me as Ray pulled out, leaving me feeling empty but satisfied. He lay down on top of me with his forehead over my left shoulder, his forearms keeping him from crushing me. With my come sealing us together we rested and caught our breath.
I only realized I had drifted close to sleep when Ray rolled off me and the cool air of the bedroom slipped between us and made me shiver.
"Can I rinse you off," he asked, his hand playing over the slickness on my chest.
"You go first," I said.
I stared up at the ceiling while I listened to the water run in the shower, then slipped by Ray into the master bathroom when he walked out naked, toweling his hair. I showered quickly and stood under the heater until my hair was dry. When I walked back into the bedroom I headed straight for the closet and my suit.
"Don't get dressed yet."
I turned to find Ray still naked and walking toward me with something between his hands. A soft tape measure, I realized.
He stepped close and slipped his hands under my arms so he could loop the tape around my chest.
"You already know my measurements," I said.
"Mm," he said. "Just checking."
I stood still and let him run his warm hands over my body, surprised he would bother but content to let him perform the ritual. I enjoyed the casual intimacy of the way he studied the dimensions of my body, the length of my legs, the thickness of my chest and the width of my waist, and I let the resentment I'd felt earlier on the bed fade away.
When he finished, Ray rolled the tape measure back into a small disk and tucked it into a drawer built into the closet. He turned to face me and with a gesture at my wrinkled suit let me know I could get dressed.
"This one will be a little bit special," he said, watching me step into my underwear. "It'll be at your apartment in two days."
I nodded. If it had been a gift I would have thanked him, but whatever made it special would matter more to him than to me.
"I'll see you next week then?"
"Not here," he said. "I want you to wear it on Wednesday to your interview with Keegan."
I froze, my arm halfway to the hanger with my shirt on it.
Ray smiled and ran a hand down his toned chest. "Another glass of wine before you go?"
Thanks for reading! Unlike most of my other stories, this one I plan to continue into a short series. You'll get to meet Keegan and a small cast of other characters. So stay tuned!
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