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It is not soft. It is not a reward. It is his mouth on mine like he has sealed the deal and hates that he wants the rest of it, and still takes it anyway. His hand stays on my jaw. Mine finds his waist, over the shirt, and I feel him pull in a breath he has been holding since the mask came off. The phone stays on his knee. He does not pick it up. When he breaks the kiss, it is only far enough to look at me, close, wrecked, still deciding.

“Stay,” he says.

“I am staying.”

He kisses me again, slower this time, and that is how the hour starts.

15

Cruz Maddox

Friday, October 31st. The hour.

The second kiss is slower than the first, and it does not stay slow for long. His mouth opens under mine and I take it, tongue and teeth and the sound he makes when I bite his lower lip. His hand is still on my jaw. Mine slides from his waist to the front of his trousers and finds him hard already, and thick behind the cloth, and he sucks in a breath like he might stop me.

He does not stop me.

“Bedroom,” he says against my mouth. “Not here. I sat on this couch with that phone on my knee. I am not doing this in the same place.”

“Then walk,” I order.

He stands. The phone stays on the cushion. I follow him to the glass stairs and pull the zipper on the coverall as I go. I watch the back of him as he goes up, shirt still on, trousers tight over his ass, and I want my mouth on him before we even hit the top floor. The main bedroom is dark until he turns on one low light. The bed is wide and white. The window takes the whole wall. Harrow Mills is a scatter of orange and white down the mountain. He looks at that glass and I see it land on him, the fact that anyone in those trees could look up if they wanted to.

“Clothes,” I say. “All of it. I have watched you take a suit off in that gym and pretend it was nothing. Get it off.”

He stares at me for a second like he is still deciding if he meant the deal. Then he pulls the shirt over his head. Olive skin. Slight dark hair on his chest. The body I have put my hands on three times a week and called work. He opens his trousers and pushes them down with the shorts and his dick springs out, already wet at the head. Forty-two and built like he was made to be ruined in a room like this. He hates that he is hard, I can see it in his face. He leaves it anyway.

“You next,” he says. “I want you. Not the grey. Not the gloves. Just you. All of you.”

The coverall is already half off by the time we reach the bedroom. I finish it. Hood. Zipper. Gloves last, because he asked for my hands. I strip the rest and stand there naked in his bedroom with my cock up against my stomach. He looks at it, then he looks at my mouth, and he looks like a man who might still pick up a phone.

“If this is a mistake,” he says, “say so now.”

“It is not a mistake. Come here.”

He comes. I put him against me, skin to skin, his dick against mine, and I kiss him dirty. I spit into my palm and wrap both of us in one hand and stroke. He swears into my mouth.

“Fuck. Cruz.”

“That is it. My name. Not the other thing. Say it when I have my hand on you.”

I walk him back to the bed and push him down on the edge. I go to my knees between his thighs and look up at him.

“I am going to suck your fucking cock,” I tell him. “I am going to take it all the way down my throat until you forget you run a building. You are going to watch every move. If you want me to stop, you say stop. If you do not say stop, I keep going.”

He swallows. “Do it.”

I lick the head first, slow, just to make him twitch. Then I take him into my mouth and go down until my nose hits the hair at the base of him. He is heavy on my tongue. He tastes like skin and soap and the fact that he has been hard since the couch. I suck him the way I have wanted to since the first month in that gym, messy, wet, my hand on what I cannot fit, and his fingers go into my hair and hold. He does not yank. He just keeps me there.

“Jesus. Your mouth. Fuck, your mouth.”

I pull off long enough to talk. A string of spit hangs from my lip to the head of him.

“You like that. You like your trainer on his knees in your bedroom with your dick in his throat. Say it.”

“I like it.” His voice has already gone rough. “I know I shouldn’t but I do. I fucking love it.”

I go back down. I hum around him. I let him feel teeth, just enough, then soothe it with my tongue. His hips jerk. I pin them and take him deeper until his thighs shake.