Page 11 of His First Time
My cock throbbed. My blood raced south.
No. No fucking way. I was not getting a boner from a dude. Yeah, it had been a few weeks since I’d been with a woman, I mean, since I was so busy with closing this deal, with making this sale. I hadn’t been out in a while. But that was no excuse.
Mr. Hunk eyed me. “More room now. Slide your bag in right here.” He patted his barstool, right between his legs. Right at his crotch.
I did what he said. I didn’t even hesitate.
Was I imagining it, or did his knee just press against my leg? No, it was probably the crowd. I was probably bumped. Or he was. It wasn’t him rubbing my inner thigh. Definitely not.
Mr. Hunk called for the bartender. In seconds, two of them were there, almost sprinting behind the bar to get to him. The first was a perky blonde with a mile-wide smile, someone who looked like she came in first in every college track meet and earned straight A’s to boot. She was the kind of woman I always wanted.
She didn’t even look my way. She only had eyes for Mr. Hunk.
So did her partner, a guy, obviously gay, flamboyantly so. He practically drooled, falling across the bar top and asking what he could get for Mr. Hunk as he licked his lips.
“Whatever this gentleman is having. Put it on my tab, please.”
The gay bartender sent me a withering glare. He pulled back, coiled tight like a snake about to strike, and flounced away after I stammered out my order. Bourbon on the rocks.
“Make it a double,” Mr. Hunk said.
He held out his hand. “Tyler,” he said. “Where were you headed?”
“Seattle.” I shook his hand. God, were my palms sweaty? “And I’m Luke.”
“Nice to meet you, Luke.” Tyler smiled.
My bourbon slammed down on the bar top. I jumped. The bartender flounced away again, glaring at me.
“Yikes,” I said, laughing softly. “Guess it’s been a rough night for them.”
“All these people.” Tyler sipped at his beer, his lips closing around the bottle, pursing, suckling the beer into his mouth.
I watched his jaw work, his throat. Swallow. Swallow. Dark stubble ghosted over his tan skin. His white button-down was undone around his neck. A few strands of chest hair poked out.
“Like what you see?” Tyler winked.
I jerked. Bourbon splashed over my hand, down my leg, soaked into my suit. “Shit!” I tried to wipe it away. Tyler moved in, brushing the spilled bourbon away. His palm landed on my leg and stayed.
I hissed.
“Are you alright, Luke?” Tyler’s knee stroked up my inner thigh, past his hand. He leaned in, our faces inches apart. “You seem… flustered.”
“Look, man.” I shifted. Tried to back up. The fat man was there and he wasn’t budging off his stool. “I think you have the wrong idea…”
Tyler’s knee slid up again until it brushed my balls. I jerked. Made some kind of strangled noise, a whine and a grunt mixed together. “You sure?” he whispered.
“I’m- I’m not gay.”
His hand closed over my crotch. Hidden in the crush of people, in the mess of humanity in the bar, and with me almost straddling his leg, no one noticed. He cupped my bulge. His thumb stroked down the side of myveryhard,veryerect, andveryinterested cock.
“You may not be gay, but you’redefinitelyinterested.”
My breath shook. I trembled. I heard the ice in my bourbon glass clink. He reached for my glass, guided it down to the bar top.
“What are you doing to me?” I whispered. “I’ve never…”
“Never wondered?”
