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I watch my cock sink into him again and again, and it gets me hotter—so hot, I swear I could heat the Met. “Drew, I…”
“Yeah, me too…”
“You’re not even touching yourself.”
“I don’t need to when you’re like this. It’s so good.”
Fuck. “You’re killing me.”
He gets a new, more urgent grip on the pillow and buries his face in it, growling until his body jerks beneath me, his hole milking my cock in steady, rhythmic contractions.
I lose it—absolutely fucking lose my shit—and I thrust through my bursting orgasm, pumping him full of a heavy, seemingly endless load of hot cum. “Oh, God!”
“Shh!” he hisses.
Fuck. Did I yell? “Shit,” I grit out, the orgasm draining my balls until they’re aching with pulses they can no longer deliver on, and I collapse on top of Drew.
He’s panting heavily. A sheen of sweat coats his back, his shoulders, his neck, all simultaneously covered in chill bumps. I run my hands up his arms while I’m still stiff inside him and kiss his nape with an open mouth. He reaches back and shoves his hand into my hair. “We’re not alone here, dickhead.”
“Sorry,” I whisper.
He gives the back of my head a pat and then lets his arm fall limply to the mattress. “It’s okay. He works nights, too.”
I slide off his back, and Drew flips over to face me. The heat radiating off both of us keeps us separated slightly.
“That was too good,” he says.
I give him a cocky smirk. “Is there such a thing?”
“Yes,” he grumbles, looking more depressed than elated.
“Does this have something to do with your shitty news?” I ask.
“I have to leave New York,” he says, the words detonating in the space between us like one of those hidden landmines he mentioned.
I let the words sink in a moment while I chew the inside of my lip and stare at him. He’s watching closely for my reaction. I wonder if he’s expecting something in particular. “Explain,” I say softly.
“Eric moved out. Silas is moving out. Chris found some place to stay—I can’t afford this town.”
I slide my hand over the one he has resting on the mattress. “Blackmail me. I’ll pay.”
His eyes close in what looks like complete defeat.
“When?” I ask.
“Couple weeks.”
What?
I need to be cool here, but I have no clue how to be. A couple of weeks? That sounds an awful lot like two weeks to me. “Let me do something,” I say.
“It’s been a long time coming. It was a mistake coming here in the first place.”
“Look—” I force myself to swallow, a sense of urgency, and something not unlike panic tightening my chest and squeezing the words out. “I get that you’re not anemic, androgynous New York model material, but you’re fucking gorgeous, Drew. You can get work here. It just might not be the kind of work you had in mind when you came.”
“I’m thirty years old. Have you looked around this town? I’m old news. And unless I wanna live in fucking Jersey and commute to my fabulous job as a doorman, I don’t see another option.”
“But, like, where are you gonna go?”
