Page 115 of The Liar's Reckoning

“Hey.”

I turn toward the whisper in the shadow of the farthest aisle. “This is a bad idea,” I say, hurrying toward him.

“Better than a bathroom stall.”

That was where I’d cornered him last year when I’d been drunk and unhinged with lust. God knows how many people came and went when I was fucking him that night, but the good news about tuxedos and black shoes is that we were able to remain anonymous. It wasn’t like anyone was going to try and break up what was obviously an intimate moment between two men in a toilet. I got lucky in more ways than one that night. It makes me panicky just thinking about how reckless I’d been.

“You’ve more than made your point about that,” I say, following him toward the stage. “You don’t think the dancers are still back there?”

“The show ended an hour ago.”

“How’d you manage this?”

“I asked a dancer.”

“Was he cute?”

“She was adorable,” he says.

Passing the orchestra pit, we make our way onto the stage and then quickly behind the side curtains. It’s utterly quiet back here, and I take the opportunity to grab him, push him into the wall and devour his mouth.

“We need to make this quick,” he breathes, but his hands are already roaming. He squeezes my ass. “Come on.”

Like he’s got a map of the place, he leads us straight into one of the principal’s dressing rooms. It’s clearly a woman’s with tutus, sparkling tiaras, and pointe shoes. What it’s lacking are surfaces on which to fuck.

I look at Silas, his lips already swollen from the voracious kiss backstage. I feel like I have a fever and he’s the cure—like the only way to feel warm again is inside him. “Drop your pants and put your hands on the wall.”

“Someone let himself out of his cage,” Silas says, eyeing my bulging erection. “Did you bring lube, too?”

I pull the packets out of my front pants pocket and show him. He grabs one, holds it in his teeth, and unbuckles his tuxedo pants. I watch with greedy eyes as he exposes himself, his hard cock jutting forth as soon as his tight black jock comes down.

He dresses like such a slut when he’s got a client. I secretly love it, but openly fucking hate it. If we weren’t in a hurry, I’d make him fully undress, but we have less chance of looking suspicious if we keep our upper body clothing intact.

I open my pants just enough to pull out my dick and lube it. Silas turns, planting his hands on the wall. He parts his thighs, and I step in. My hands immediately slide up the front of his shirt, my fingers finding his nipple piercings—his Christmas present to me last year that I had to wait for weeks to use while they healed.

I tug them as my cock finds its own way into his hole, knowing his body and the way we fit so intimately that when I let myself think about it too much, I start regretting every choice I ever made that wasn’t him.

His head turns as his hips buck back. I kiss him deeply.

My groans are loud as he works my cock with his expert ass, but he swallows them all and lets out a few of his own. My fingers flick and twist the bars through his nipples, and this makes him fuck back onto me even harder. I grind into him, lapping hungrily at his tongue, an orgasm already building, tightening my balls as they slam against his.

He’s in pro mode—too busy trying to get me off to get himself there. “Are you planning to finish inside me?” I gasp as my cock gives a telltale throb.

“If I have to leak your cum on my date, you’ll damn well have to leak mine while you’re sitting like a good little boy next to your parents.”

Fuck…that should not be the thing that gets me off, but it is. I shudder hard and come, making his hole hotter and slipperier. I grab his pecs and bottom out inside him while I force his body still. My hold doesn’t stop his ass from milking me until I’m trembling and incoherent.

When I finally settle, he slaps my hip. We trade places, and I gratefully lean on the wall and breathe while he rips open the packet of lube and stuffs two fingers full of it into my hole. “You’re not even trying to stop me,” he chuckles.

Apparently, I’m “loose” or something. I’ve assured him my asshole works properly under all other circumstances, but when I’m with him, it opens wide.

“Bad little gay boy,” he says, teasing my prostrate and slapping his dick on my ass. “Does it make you feel guilty how much you want my cock inside you?”

“Yes,” I pant, desperate for him to fill me.

“You need to make a confession?”

“Forgive me baby. I need to sin.”

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