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A few minutes later, when we’d arrived at my house and were walking down the hall to the den, I told him, “Since you spend the night here occasionally, I got you a few things to make you more comfortable. They’re in a basket on the kitchen counter.”
I’d started with the idea of buying him some warm, comfortable pajamas, since the seasons would be changing soon and I didn’t want him to be cold. That spiraled into an online shopping spree that resulted in six pairs of pajamas, some wool socks, a fuzzy blanket, a robe, and a fancy assortment of teas and hot chocolates.
I expected him to chuckle when he saw that very unsexy gift. Instead, he sounded emotional as he grabbed me in a hug and whispered, “You’re so sweet, Aleksei. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” I kissed his forehead, and when he let go of me, I said, “Want me to make us something to drink while you get changed?”
He nodded and selected a box of lemon tea. Then he scooped up the blanket and a pair of blue flannel pajamas and kissed my cheek before going upstairs.
When I followed with two mugs of tea a few minutes later, I found he’d turned the bed into a nest of blankets and pillows. I put the tea on the nightstand, then hurried to get changed so I could join him.
I figured he’d probably be tired, so all we’d do was cuddle. But when I kissed him, he deepened it and moved my hand to his hard-on. I massaged it through the soft fabric of his new pajamas before sliding them down and taking his cock in my mouth.
I’d dreamt about sucking cock for years before finally making it a reality with Timothy, and even weeks later, it still felt like I was living in a fantasy. I liked everything about it, from his soft sounds of pleasure to the way his cock felt in my mouth. Combined with the subtle taste of his precome, the familiar scent of his skin, and getting to watch his blissful expressions, it was a full sensory experience.
When I brought him to orgasm a few minutes later, I felt a sense of accomplishment. He arched off the bed, crying out and reaching for me with both hands as he thrust into my mouth. A tremor ran through his slender body, and I wrapped my hands around his waist and kept sucking him until he was totally spent.
Afterwards, he looked groggy as he pulled up his pajamas and shifted around. He burrowed into my arms and muttered, “I just need to rest my eyes for a minute, then we can watch a movie.” Then he promptly fell asleep.
As I held him and studied his beautiful features, one thing was totally undeniable—I was developing some very real feelings for Timothy. There was no way I could tell him that, though. This had been going so well, and a confession like that at this stage of the game was bound to ruin everything.
11
Timothy
“I don’t get it,” Daniel said, one totally dead Saturday night as I watched the door and waited for Aleksei to show up for dinner. “Why are you still waiting tables? If I had a rich sugar daddy, I’d quit this job so fast, it’d make Alan Allen’s head spin.”
“He’s not my sugar daddy.” I’d explained exactly what he was, but my friend still insisted on calling him that. “And I guess I keep working here because it provides structure and normality.”
“Screw structure and normality! This job blows, and by now, you must have enough money to fill a pool and swim through it like Scrooge McDuck.”
“Funnily enough, I haven’t tried that.”
“But it must add up to a fucking fortune after a month and a half, right? Even though you won’t tell me what he’s paying you, I’m sure it’s a truly staggering amount.”
“I’ve tried not to think about it.”
Every time I came home with another fat envelope from Aleksei, I stuffed it in a suitcase at the back of my closet. I not only didn’t count it, I also tried not to mentally add up how much I must have by now.
Daniel raised a brow. “Why is that?”
“Because I feel guilty for taking so much money from him.”
“Here’s the problem,” he said. “You haven’t run it through the rich guy currency converter.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s like when you travel outside the US and need to figure out the value of a dollar compared to a pound, or a euro, or a peso. Money to a rich guy is way different than money to you and me. Let’s say you’re dating a fellow waiter, and he takes you out and buys you a five-dollar latte. You wouldn’t feel guilty about accepting that, right? And I know you and your sugar daddy aren’t dating, but I’m trying to make a point here.”
