Page 2 of Veiled

“That’s not the point,” he says, moving even closer to me. So close, I close my eyes and remind myself that Justin is a client. He’s untouchable.

I’ve known, or at least suspected, he’s interested in men for a long time—even though he’s never said it out loud. He’s had girlfriends—high profile ones—and I don’t think it was for show, but I’ve seen him glancing longingly at men too. A curiosity or a wanting—I’m not totally sure. But I see it. I’ve seen it.

I’ve never asked him to talk about it because he has to know if he wants me to know, he can tell me. I’m openly gay and have been my whole damn life. Grady Bell, his own damn band member, is married to a man.

I open my eyes now, standing a foot away. And I could be wrong. But the way he’s looking at me right now makes me think I’m right—how his eyes are homed in on my lips, his breaths coming faster and faster as he crowds against me, and his nostrils flaring. “What is the point?’

“The point is, I don’t want to be Justin St. James anymore. I don’t want to be that guy from Immoral anymore.”

I poke his chest with my finger, and let me tell you, that’s a mistake because his chest is solid. “You are Justin St. James.”

His eyes flare with anger, but then they’re right back on my mouth. I know—I can feel it—that if I leaned into him right now, I’d be met with the kiss of my life, and I absolutely cannot do that.

I won’t.

I’ve worked too hard and too long to get to where I am to throw it all away on someone who doesn’t seem to know who he is or what he wants. He’s lost. That’s for damn sure.

“I don’t want to be.” His voice sounds so damn tortured, the sound strained as it falls from his lips. And goddammit, I lean in. I shouldn’t. It’s so damn stupid, but I do it anyway.

I tell myself it’s just to comfort him. That maybe when I reach my hand around the back of his neck and wrap my fingers around it, it’s to give him a sort of hug. But it’s all a damn lie.

I use that hand to pull his mouth forward, and when his lips meet mine, the spark that ignites into a full-blown inferno is my own damn fault. I know that, but I can’t seem to stop it as he grunts against my lips as we connect.

We kiss hard, both pushing against the other one for dominance. Years of pent-up frustration, back and forth, of having to fight him to get him to do every fucking thing, comes to the surface. And when my tongue moves over the seam of his full lips, he opens for me, letting it sweep inside and take the taste of him I’ve been dying to for years now.

We’re around the same age. I’m two years older, but I’ve been babysitting his ass for years, and he’s been pissing me off since day one. So when I thread my fingers through his perfect hair, I grip it maybe a little too hard, making him grunt again, but he doesn’t push me away.

No. He leans into me, his hard cock pressing against my erection through our pants, making us both pant and moan. I should stop this, but I can’t.

I’m tugging at his jacket before I can stop myself, and it falls to the floor. His shirt follows before he starts working on the tie around my neck. “I hate this fucking thing.”

“No, you don’t,” I breathe against his lips, my fingers still in his hair, holding on tight as I kiss him hard again, commanding him with my mouth. He removes the tie and then starts to work the buttons on my shirt.

I pull my suit jacket off and let it fall to the floor—a crime against designer fabric, but I’m not really working with my brain at the moment. He removes my shirt as we work to get each other’s pants off.

Before I can take my time and take in the sight of his nearly nude body before me, his hand wraps around my aching dick, and his mouth is on mine again. I grip his hard shaft at the same time as we kiss and rut together.

It’s rushed and frantic, like we couldn’t slow down for even a second, like we’re afraid it’s a dream, and if we blink, the other one will be gone.

His mouth slides down my jaw to my neck, his teeth leaving little bites as he goes. It only intensifies with each moment. My head falls back as his big hand drags over my dick, twisting when he reaches the engorged head, then using the pre-cum to slide back down. I pull his lips back to mine and kiss him hard, my fingers in his hair.

He cries out just as I feel his hot cum dribbling down my hand and landing on my hip. It sets off my own orgasm, and I nip and kiss his lips in a hard punishing kiss as my cum shoots from my dick and gets all over him.

We both stroke each other until we’re too sensitive to the touch, and he rests his forehead against mine, still breathing heavy.

“You need to go.”

I almost don’t hear him, too lost in the ecstasy of an intense orgasm, my knees wanting to give out and my body wanting to succumb to the tired, satisfied feeling.

“What?” I pull back to look into his eyes which are intensely watching me.

“You heard me.” He steps back, and I watch as he tucks his wet dick in his pants and fastens them. He grabs my shirt and tosses it to me. I catch it, but I don’t move or speak. I just watch him.

He grabs his shirt and jacket from the floor but doesn’t put them on.

“Go.”

I slowly pull my pants up and grimace at the mess, tucking myself away. “So that’s it? You aren’t even going to talk to me?”

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