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I’m giving something up here. I know I am. All the times we’ve done this before, I’ve never come out and let him know deep my need for him goes.

This feels like the end of something. Like I’m handing him the last piece of me.

And once he has it, what will he do?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Michael

The funny thing about doing boyfriend experiences is that most of the clients are weirdly controlling. The ones who can pay that kind of money for me to spend the night, the weekend, maybe even longer, they don’t want the illusion of love. They want ownership.

They want a pretty accessory.

Hell, the senator even carefully lays out what he wants to have happen before we fuck. It’s not a pretend relationship. It’s choreography.

So, after I’ve let Dean suck on my silk sock-covered foot for a second, I check in with the client. “You want me to fuck him here or on the bed?”

Honestly, there’s a strangeness swirling in my gut that I hadn’t anticipated. Returning to our old dynamic felt important going into this. Dean wanted me to stop being sweet, after all. Now, doing this in front of an audience? It’s more uncomfortable than I’d anticipated.

But it’s a bit late for that revelation.

The client, who’s got his whiskey in one hand and his dick in the other, doesn’t seem to care about my question. He only gestures vaguely, which I take to mean the rest of this is up to me.

Good. Great.

Pulling my foot away, I tell Dean, “On the bed.”

He’s wary, standing and backing away slowly. I slip off my jacket and hang it over a nearby chair while Dean arranges himself awkwardly on the duvet. First sitting, then lying down. I’m glad he chose that position, because whatever he chose, I was going to make him move.

“Hands and knees.”

He complies, facing me.

“Face him.” I angle my head toward the client.

I can almost feel Dean’s sigh, but he doesn’t complain as he moves yet again. It’s a risky decision, perhaps. I don’t know this client well enough. If we arrange ourselves perpendicular to him, then he can see us easily. He’d have a view of both our profiles and could easily see my dick sliding in and out of Dean’s body.

Since he doesn’t seem to want me to ask, I’m making my decisions based on what I want. What I want Dean to feel. “Look at him.”

I’m thinking about my own wants and needs as well. Looking Dean in the eye right now? It’s too much.

And what I want is for Dean to know that my first time inside of him, he’s got to look another man in the eye and own exactly what we’re doing here. He’ll burn with the knowledge. He’ll probably also shoot like a damn geyser.

Dean’s eyes blaze as he looks up at the chair while the client idly strokes his dick. When I climb onto the bed, I allow myself a moment to drape my body over his.

“Keep your eyes on him. I want you to watch what he does. I want you to remember what a pretty, fucked-up whore you are.”

The sharp inhale, the way his body shakes against me, is something to savor. I settle myself behind him, but I make him wait another minute, smoothing my hands along his back, down to his ass, still sculpted and muscular even though he’s not in training anymore.

I like him better this way. Leaner. Softer.

Dean gasps when I massage his cheeks, pulling them apart and exposing his hole to the air before letting them go again. What I want to do is grip his hips, leave my finger marks there for the world to see. For him to see, at least.

But he doesn’t like bruises much, and I understand why. Even ones his clothing could cover would still make him anxious. It’s obviously a thing between us, me treating him with disrespect behind closed doors, but I’d never fuck with anything related to Ella.

I grab the supplies that have been so helpfully placed already on one of the bedside tables. “You want me to stretch you first?”

Dean shivers. From the AC, probably. Though I’d like to think it’s from my words.