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“Oh my fucking God,” he said, shuddering. “I could come just from this.”
“Oh yeah? Show me,” I said, then went to town eating his ass with my lips and teeth and tongue, probing and nibbling and kissing his hole like it was my favorite thing in the world. And maybe it was quickly becoming that, especially with the way he was responding with grunts and sobs as his hands tugged at my hair.
My fist curled around his cock, stroking him at the same time, and though it was sloppy, I didn’t think he was complaining. When Lachlan cried out and spurted all over his stomach with my tongue deep in his ass, it was so goddamned sexy.
And I was stiff as an iron rod as I sat up and started jerking my cock.
“Come on my face,” he said in a ragged voice.
I knee-walked closer as I pumped my shaft, near enough for him to stick out his tongue every other stroke and lick my glans. A litany of stars sparked behind my eyes as I exploded partway in his mouth, partway on his cheek and chin.
He pulled me to him, and we lay there warm and clammy, with our come sticking to our skin, completely sated.
27
LACHLAN
As soon as Foster left for his flight this morning, it felt lonely without him. Which was wild, since I’d been sleeping outside in a tent barely over a month ago. But I had quickly gotten sucked into this domestic routine with him, enjoyed his company, and would never be able to repay him. And fuck, the way he kissed me and made my body sing…talk about being shot to the stars.
I’d watched him slip into his suitcase the hoodie we sometimes shared between laundry days, and the gesture warmed me to my core, but I didn’t call him on it.
“I’ve grown pretty fond of you.”
I tried to shake off the melancholy feeling. I had interviews the next couple of days, which I needed to focus on, and I was nervous as hell. I felt out of my element despite this being the only career I’d ever known.
Foster had encouraged me to use a car service, but a bus was much cheaper. I looked up routes and would use his pass to ride the west-side line to Rocky River.
I gave Oscar one last scratch beneath the chin for good luck, then went out the door. I was dressed in black jeans with a simple blue button-down Foster said brought out my eyes. I’d trimmed my hair to chin length last night and had made sure my beard was neat and presentable.
I looked tame compared to the old me. I’d worn all sorts of posh designs—not anything too pricey, but on trend. Looking back now, it felt superficial. None of it mattered anymore. Not like it did to live life on my own terms.
The bus ride took thirty minutes but was pretty efficient given where I needed to go. I exited on Detroit Road near the locally famous pink building, then walked the rest of the distance to Le Chic salon. The area was a mix of quaint and trendy, and though it was a struggle, I held my head high as I stepped into the lobby.
Tiffany, the manager, greeted me near the front door, and I followed her to a back room, where she conducted the interview.
“What have you been doing the past year?” She looked up from behind her computer, where she’d pulled up my résumé.
Living on the street, lady.
“I took a break because I was going through something personal.” It was the response Foster and I had come up with, and hopefully it worked. “But now I’m ready to get back to doing what I love.”
She scrutinized me as if searching for what I could possibly mean, but I was not obligated to tell potential employers anything personal.
“I see you were employed at A Cut Above in Akron for several years. I know a Marcie Smith who works there.”
I felt a stitch in my chest. “She’s great. It was a nice place to work.”
I could already see the wheels spinning in Tiffany’s head. She would definitely contact Marcie to ask about me, and Marcie would tell her I was a mess and was fired because of it.
She asked me more questions about my work experience and skills, then showed me around the salon, but it felt insincere on both parts. No way I’d get the job after that interview. I had left her with too many questions.
On the way back to the city, I went over my responses, wondering what I could’ve said differently, but it only made me angrier. People went through shit in their lives. It didn’t mean they were bad news. Maybe it would’ve been better to admit everything. Would I feel any worse than I did now?
