Page 35 of Steam

And the more this guy protests, the more Henry finds himself wanting to ride Logan’s cock until he’s begging and weak for more.

He wants to fuck this guy in ways that the client has only heard of and waltz out of that condo door knowing without a shadow of a doubt that it was the best sex the man has ever had. He wants to leave the guy with dreams so sweet and vulgar that he’ll wake up in a hot sweat for years to come.

Besides: what kind of asshole rings up Henry goddamn Reese only to reject him?

Not possible.

Not gonna happen.

* * *

The kid is definitely persistent, Logan can give him that much.

He straddles Logan’s lap lightly, the weight of him not unpleasant, and Logan can feel how warm he is even through two layers of denim. He slides his hands up to rest on Logan’s shoulders.

“I think you ought to let me stay awhile,” Henry says warmly, but not lapsing this time into the kittenish voice from before. He lets his hands slide lazily now to the top button of Logan’s shirt. “It would really make my week to see the rest of these tattoos.”

Slowly and carefully, he begins to unbutton Logan’s shirt. Logan watches the kid’s eyes as they dart from where his hands are working back up to Logan’s face, assessing him, trying to figure out whether or not Logan still wants to kick him out.

Logan hasn’t decided either, but it’s getting more tempting by the second to just give in and let him stay.

And yet.

Something in Logan’s gut—or in the escort’s attitude—doesn’t want to give this kid the satisfaction of turning him on. He steadies his breathing and sets his face into a neutral expression.

* * *

Henry drawsout the process of unbuttoning the other man’s shirt, making himself enjoy the sensation of heavy cotton and substantial buttons.

Logan is watching him, but he doesn’t react.

Doesn’t stop him, either. Which is the important part.

When Henry finally undoes the bottom button, he smiles and pushes the sides of the shirt away from Logan’s body, exposing his torso. Logan still doesn’t react. Henry ventures a hand up to trace the edges of the tattoos along the man’s shoulders. Each sleeve spills out across his upper chest, stopping only at the borders of his nipples.

His talk about wanting to see the man’s tattoos wasn’t just talk. So many of Henry’s clients are straightlaced—and yes, painfully fucking boring, both mentally and physically—that it’s really a treat to work for someone who actually has a sense of style.

And although Logan won’t so much as crack a smile, Henry watches as he gets goosebumps under Henry’s touch. Henry shifts his weight in the other man’s lap, subtly grinding his ass against the man’s thighs. Their stupid stiff jeans were going to make much friction impossible—but there was still plenty more time for that.

Henry finally stops watching for a reaction and leans forward, replacing his fingertips with his mouth. He doesn’t even kiss at first—just lets his lips go slack and drags them along the outlines of the patterns above the other man’s pecs.

Logan’s breath is steady, light.

Henry begins to give the skin dry, chaste kisses. Silent and ghosting along the tattoos. He shifts more weight into the man’s lap as Henry makes his way lower on Logan’s chest. As a force of habit, he’s almost salivating as he kisses across his chest, and Henry gives into his body’s response, beginning to lay longer, wetter kisses onto the other man’s skin, finally letting his tongue go to work. He follows the dark line of a tattoo until it leads him to the man’s nipple—which he laps before daring to take the hard bud into his mouth, sucking lightly.

The guy’s a statue. If his breathing has changed, it’s almost imperceptible.

Henry sucks harder, and the man inhales—immediately trying to disguise the reaction with a sniff, as if he were congested.

It’s a small victory but it will do for now.

Henry disengages and he pulls the shirt the rest of the way off, discarding it beside them on the couch before letting his hands roam the other man’s chest freely. His skin is smooth, warm, well cared for, his lower torso gone soft with age but bisected with a pretty trail of neat hair. His hands find the trail after a moment, playing and stroking, as Henry begins to kiss him again—working upwards this time to kiss into the man’s neck.

Logan reacts only slightly, tilting his head away to offer up more skin.

Henry begins to wonder if he’s just going to sit here like this the whole time.

* * *

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