Page 67 of Blackmail
With that out of the way, I head for the bathroom. Knowing that Simon isn’t a hundred percent healed and still needs his rest doesn’t stop me from peeling my clothes off as I go.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
SIMON
I’m a weak man. I can tell myself all I want that I let Sebastian join me in the shower because he paid for a boyfriend experience, but the truth is much worse. It wasn’t until he climbed in, kissed me, and palmed my ass like he owned it that I finally remembered the money at all.
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of touching you.”
The flu didn’t kill me, but his words might.
I manage to put some space between us, saying, “I need to wash my hair.” Then I add, “I think you’re only saying that because your kind of love hurts, and I let you beat the shit out of me.”
I didn’t mean to say love. I was thinking of that song. There’s a song about love hurting, right? Whatever. Lucky for me, Sebastian doesn’t seem to notice.
“Mmm. Maybe you’re just perfect for me.” He turns me to face the wall, pressing kisses into my shoulder. Every couple of kisses, he turns it into a gentle bite that makes me shiver despite the hot water.
“Look, I like the direction you’re taking this, and the customer is always right and whatnot. But I think with our height differences, fucking in the shower won’t work in our favor.”
Without a word, Sebastian pumps some conditioner from the wall dispenser and takes my hardening cock into his hand. It’s a slow slide, a sensual dance as his hand teases and glides over my sensitive skin. His chest presses against my shoulders, his hard cock riding my spine.
I gasp and groan as the punishing water pressure beats down on me, as his hands tease me mercilessly. The fingers on his free hand roam from my lips to my nipples to my balls and everywhere in between. My shoulders burn from the pounding hot water.
It hurts so fucking perfectly. Nobody’s felt this fucking good touching me before. Why in the hell did he have to be a client?
It doesn’t matter. This isn’t a movie. You don’t get the guy. Enjoy the sex, take the money when the week is up, and go nurse your broken heart in private.
I don’t want to, though. That’s stupid, right? I’m the one who said we shouldn’t see each other again. But every new facet of Sebastian I see makes me wish things could be different.
His left arm comes around me, holding me up, holding me against him. So, just to punish him for being someone I want and can’t have, I put my arm over his, and then I dig my nails into his wrist. His hiss in my ear makes my heart race.
His teeth sinking into that spot on my shoulder sends tingles all through my body. I feel myself floating away on them, awash in something I haven’t felt until him. Something I think I came close to with Elijah, but it was never this good.
“Jesus Christ, why can’t I get enough of you?” His voice in my ear is raspy and rough. Almost tortured.
I don’t know how to answer him. I couldn’t if I wanted to.
His grip is firm, almost painful on my cock. I swear it’s like he found some manual entitled How to Make Simon Come Harder Than Ever and studied every page, including the extra credit sections.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It’s too fucking good, and I’ve learned the hard way that something this good always comes with a price.
The thought slips away as fast as it entered my head. Sensation keeps dragging me under. His thumbnail is abusing my nipples. His stubble against my face. His hard cock rubbing against my ass. His low murmurs of “Nothing feels as good as touching you” and “I could sink my teeth into every inch of skin and still want more” reach me in this pleasant floaty place and threaten to turn my brain inside out.
He strokes me faster, my orgasm building and building. Every time I think I’m ready to go over, he brings me higher.
Until he whispers the words, “Your cum is mine, Simon. Did you know that? Give it to me.”
And then I’m in a freefall. It’s a rush like nothing else. From a fucking hand job.
I’m still coming down when he pins me against the wall and unleashes a mighty groan, shooting his load all over my back. It’s degrading and demeaning and I fucking love it.
I think, maybe, I fucking love him.
Or maybe I’ve been in this business too long. I’ve spent so much time being a fantasy for other people that I think I’m in love with the first man who knows how to meet my needs, but wouldn’t it be nice if this were real?
Idiot. I can practically hear Brennan laughing at me.
