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Not that I find doormen in general all that interesting except for sometimes.
But a doorman who chokes me while I get off? I mean, I guess he’s upped the interest factor.
“I’m meeting her for dinner,” I say.
“The snow finally stopped,” he says. He’s never been this conversational before.
I scowl at him and drop my arms to my sides. He beats me to the door as always. “Have a lovely meal,” he says and his voice—the low rumble of it, stirs a memory.
Suck.
I swallow a small gathering of drool in my mouth. “I won’t be out late,” I say, not that it’s his business. Or he cares.
Our gazes catch, and I freeze halfway out the door. Something flares behind his cool blue eyes. Rage? Authority? Desire?
Whatever it is has a confusing spark igniting in my core.
He clears his throat and nods to the sidewalk. I take the hint and leave.
This is definitely new territory.
9
DREW
Ijerk awake, having nodded off for a third time this shift. It was not a restful day after I left here this morning. I thought maybe since I’d come so hard, sleep would be no problem, but yeah—wasn’t that simple.
I let a dude suck me off—correction, I let a dude I fucking hate—I let The Heir suck me off. What the fuck? It didn’t help that both bedrooms were occupied when I got home, and I was stuck with the couch. I was half-tempted to join Silas because he was alone, but given what I’d just done, I thought maybe it’d be better to stay out of men’s beds until I figure out what the hell came over me this morning.
It frustrates me that I can’t use porn as an excuse. If I’d had the urge to get my cock sucked the day those women were going at it on his flat screen, maybe I could pawn the urge off on that—all the sex sounds.
I’ve never been into anything much kinkier than letting a woman tie me up, and I’ve certainly never wrapped my hand around anyone’s throat with the goal of—what’s it even called—? Erotic asphyxiation? Never occurred to me. I can safely say the urge to strangle His Highness was pure violence. Zero sexual intent whatsoever. What’s more fucked up is I had no idea what I was doing, and I really do think I could have accidentally killed him.
I don’t want to kill him, just to be clear. Not really. I don’t have some latent murderous urge coming to life inside me. But I found something in doing it I hadn’t realized I do have an urge for—an outlet. And he was in the wrong place at the right time.
All that excuses the first time. This last time, however? When his frantic body fought both for survival and release? I still hadn’t wanted to kill him, but I had wanted to use him.
Use him so much it hurt.
As I lay awake on the sofa bed earlier today, Silas had emerged from the bedroom, and I asked him, “If a straight man lets another man suck his cock, does that make him bi? Or gay?”
Silas had frozen on the way to the coffee maker and arched a brow at me. “Did said man seek out the other man?”
“Not really.”
“Would he like to seek out the same man or another man again?”
“He’s still processing.”
“If I let a woman suck my cock, would that make me straight? Or bi?”
I’d scowled at him while I thought about it. “A mouth’s a mouth, right?”
“Pretty much,” he said.
“Hm. But have you?” I asked him. “Let a woman blow you?”
“It’s never come up. But I’m not saying I wouldn’t if the circumstances were right.”
