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Instead of answering, I reach around, take hold of both of his hands at my waist, pull them around, and slap them onto my ass.
The hungry curl of his fingers tells me he got the message loud and clear.
Then I take hold of his polo and slowly untuck it from his pants. I sense his arousal at his increased (and now considerably uneven) rate of breathing. I slowly slip his polo up his body, working my hands underneath it. It’s barely a thought when I find his belt, unbuckle it, and open his pants. They nearly slide down themselves, like his own clothes can’t wait to come off. I’ve never done a striptease where it’s someone else’s clothes vanishing instead of my own.
From the way he’s kneading my ass, I have a feeling he’s wanting to feel more than just the tight material of my slacks. An idea sparks in my brain. “Hey, Captain,” I mutter against his lips. “I’m going to need you to sit on the edge of this bed.”
“The edge? This bed?”
“Now, Captain.”
With his pants pooled at his ankles and his polo shirt hiked halfway up his chest, he turns and drops his ass right onto the bed, out of breath. After stabbing him to that bed with my eyes, I pull out my phone, thumb through it, tap a song, then set it down on the dresser. A rhythm thumps out of it, in all its baseless cell-phone-quality glory.
Richie’s lips curl up. “Bringing the club to Casa Del Zak, are we?”
Taking the soul of the music in, I perform a slow, teasing saunter back to the bed, then place myself between his legs. “I am the club,” I say with a smirk—then thrust his legs apart with my own.
Richie gasps, then gazes up my body.
I smolder him with my eyes, my lips curling with devilish fire as I gently, slowly, tauntingly tug on my tie, loosening it at an excruciating pace. It at last comes off, and I toss it at Richie, who catches it with his awestruck face before it drops to his lap. Then I start to unbutton my shirt from the top down—in the same taunting, glacial manner he is so used to, being a frequent enjoyer of my stripteases. His eyes are trained on my fingers with breathless anticipation, despite knowing very well what lies under my dress shirt.
“How bad you want it?” I tease him.
He reaches up and grabs my hand suddenly.
I stop, surprised. When his eyes meet mine, suddenly all of my swagger is gone. I’m connected to him, human to human, eye to eye, and a part of me lets go, a part of me so attuned to performing, I don’t know when I’m doing it. A part of me that is always on a stage, somewhere in my mind …
He rises off the bed. The music keeps playing, but it sounds different now. Suddenly, we are two men in a bedroom. He’s not my customer. I’m not his paid-for webcam boy. Why does it feel so strange? Have I forgotten how to do this? Do I even know who I am without Zak Attack?
“This,” he says, seeing the walls dropped in my stunned, clueless eyes. “This, right here. You and me, Isaac. This is what it feels like.”
I don’t have to ask him to clarify that sentence.
I know exactly what he means, somehow.
Suddenly, it’s no longer me in control. Richie takes hold of my hand and presses it to his chest. I let him take over, feeling his heart beat against my palm, ripe with need, heavy with understanding.
Then he descends on my lips, cradling my face so tenderly as we kiss. The kiss gains strength. More strength … and then I lose all of mine.
Our hands work in unison as we softly pull off the rest of our clothes one piece at a time—his polo, my pants, my underwear, then his—and then I’m painting his body across the bed with mine like a paint roller. I hover over Richie as our lips stay attached, kissing with deep and urgent need.
Suddenly, everything happens so fast.
He whispers something in my ear.
I bite the lobe of his and growl my reply, my body craving exactly what he’s asking for.
My nightstand produces a condom and lube.
I slicken his hole with my lubed fingers, feeling as his body relaxes with my touch, hearing his sigh of pleasure, watching his eyes rock back.
I work him up, teasing his hole until he’s just a melted puddle of meat and impatient yearning. His eyes practically implore me to slide inside him.
Everything I’ve been taught about taking my time, making it last, teasing my sexual partners to the point of madness … I abandon it all, plunging forward, gripping him, and bringing the tip of my hard, throbbing dick to his ass.
