Page 92 of The Key Holder

"I'm talking about my moon roof." Ford pointed upwards at the soap-coated glass. "What about you?"”

My grin widened. "Your cum when I'm trying to hold it in my ass."

Ford’s laughter filled the car for a moment. “You're impossible." He seemed to consider something, then said, “Is it really like that?”

“Tell me you’ve never bottomed before without telling me.”

He leaned over and said, “You know, I could shove a plug up there and solve your little problem.”

I pushed him back on his side of the car. “It’s not little. Your cock is like a fountain.”

He ignored my compliment. “You’re right, though. I’ve tried it a few times, but no one’s ever bred me.”

“I can change that for you later if you want.”

He pulled his necklace out from his shirt, dangling the key. “Actually, no…you can’t. I’ll let you know the next time I need your cock.”

Fuck, I liked when he said shit like that.

He continued, sliding his hand up my thigh and across the front of my jeans. “Maybe we should get a size smaller?”

“R-really?”

“I’m not sure”—he glanced over at me, a mischievous grin on his face—“but I like the butt plug idea.”

“You should not be making me this horny before we tour apartments.” I slammed my head back against the headrest.

My suppressed erection had subsided by the time we arrived at our first stop, though I could not get Ford’s suggestions out of my head. Trying to decipher which ones he really meant was a delicious mindgame of possibilities.

I didn’t need more than ten seconds; I knew right away it was a no.

The kitchen was the size of a postage stamp, and the living room had only one window. It felt like a prison. As the property manager continued to try to pump air into the deflated balloon that would make even Thumbelina feel cramped, I whispered, “Would it be rude of me to start sucking your dick right now?"

Ford snorted, suppressing a full-on laugh. "Well, not to me," he whispered back. "But probably to the other occupant of the room."

“That’s exactly what this is—a room. We are not living here.”

“No, we are not.”

Luckily, the next one was the one, and our planned procession for the rest of the day could be canceled. I literally gasped when I walked through the door—I hadn’t remembered seeing it before. “We can afford this?” I asked, blurting out my first thought. We were alone this time—apparently at The Riverside, they did self-guided tours.

“Yes.”

I didn’t believe him. “How?”

Ford sighed and smiled. “One of my long-term clients owns the building. I told him we were looking for a place, and he suggested we take a look.”

“So…you’re blowing him?” I joked.

“Other way around, nub boy.”

What?!

He must’ve seen my face because he quickly said, “I’m kidding. I’ve known him for years and I may have let slip that we’ve been struggling to find a place that we like.”

“A likely story.” I shrugged him off me and refocused on the apartment.

It was bright, modern, and flooded with natural light from a wall of windows that looked out over the Chicago River. I walked over to see the view and–“There’s a balcony!”