Income inequality, eat the rich, grumble, grumble.

  But one of the rich was going to give me the means to eat, so I’d keep my grumbling to myself tonight.

  Especially since I had arrived at my destination.

  All right. Here we go.

  The meds I’d taken were helping, but they weren’t magic bullets. As I stepped out of my car, my breath caught with the red bolt of pain that shot up my back, and a twinge in my neck and shoulder which announced tonight was going to be fun.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d be all right. At most, I’d be here for two hours, and then there’d be the thirty-minute drive home, and then I could wallow in a hot bath or curl up in bed until I felt less like I was going to die. Okay, it wasn’t quite that dramatic, but it fucking hurt, and pain was exhausting. Odds were, I’d either sleep or try to sleep for most of tomorrow.

  Two hours. I shut and locked my car door. I can do this.

  I looked up at the house. Lavish homes weren’t exactly unusual among my clientele, and this one was no exception. It was, as a lot of newer homes in Bellevue were, an ultramodern style. Kind of like some different colored and irregularly sized blocks with windows had been stacked together. Given the location and the aesthetics, I’d have bet my right nut this place had at least a seven-figure price tag.

  So a client who hated himself for being gay and was probably so deep in the closet his passport was issued by Narnia, and he was loaded enough to buy a house like this and hire guys for sex…? That meant he was probably richer than God.

  A self-loathing rich dude. They were always fun.

  Before I headed up to the house, I sent my location to Rachel. That was wildly against Emerald City policy, but we did it anyway as a safety measure.

  Then I followed a marble—seriously, marble—path up to the front door, where I rang the doorbell. As footsteps came down the hall, I indulged in a moment to twist a crick out of my back and roll a kink out of my shoulder, and by the time the door opened, I had on my professional I’m-totally-pain-free exterior.

  And then…

  Oh. Wow.

  The man on the other side of the threshold was not what I’d expected. Houses like this usually belonged to guys who had combovers and wore suits, or maybe on a warm day, golf shirts and khaki shorts. That pretty easily described a lot of guys I’d worked for who hated themselves and made escorts feel like trash. A stereotype, sure, but spend some time in my world and patterns start emerging.

  Anyway. Looking tonight’s client up and down, I couldn’t picture him with a briefcase or using buzzwords like “synergy” and “core competency.”

  Holy shit.

  He did have on a golf shirt and shorts, but he also had several visible tattoos, shoulders that could occupy an entire doorway, and hips and thighs that looked like solid muscle. His sandy blond hair was cut short and neat, and he had a scar in his eyebrow and another on the side of his jaw. I mean, maybe he was a businessman, but he sure didn’t look the part.

  My gaze went to the tattoo on his forearm, and I immediately recognized the Seattle Breakers logo.

  Oh. He must’ve been the other kind of rich guy who booked Gentlemen on the regular—the pro athlete.

  He cleared his throat. “You’re, um… Hunter?”

  “Yeah.” I extended my hand. “You must be Scott.”

  Accepting the handshake, he nodded. “Come on in.”

  There was always a touch of trepidation the first time I stepped into a new client’s home, and that intensified when he had a profile full of warnings from other Gentlemen. Even if nothing indicated he was dangerous or threatening, I had my guard up.

  He led me down a short hall to his kitchen, and as guys often did, he offered me a drink. I declined, and this was usually the part where clients started telling me what they wanted. Some were a bit more suave about it, and we’d go through the motions like I was a hookup they wanted to seduce instead of someone they’d paid to fuck. I always ran with it—they were paying for a fantasy, after all. Others cut right to telling me why I was here, and we’d usually proceed to the bedroom and do our thing. It could be almost comically businesslike sometimes, but as long as they paid me at the end of the night and didn’t push my boundaries, I didn’t care.

  Scott seemed to lose the script after the offer of a drink, though. He leaned against his kitchen island, fingers tapping on its edge as he chewed his lip. Nervousness radiated off him; I swore it was a genuine miracle he wasn’t shaking or wringing his hands. This was the guy the other Gentlemen had warned me about?

  Well, when a client got nervous, it was my job to take the reins.

  “So, what do you have in mind for this evening?”

  “Um.” He swallowed, shifting his weight. “Your profile says you prefer to keep things slow. A bit more, um…” He actually blushed as he quietly asked, “Sensual?”

  I nodded. He didn’t need to know that my preferences weren’t a marketing gimmick or anything like that. Just something that had become necessary after my body decided that rough sex wasn’t doable anymore. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yeah. I’ve never gone that route before.” He seriously sounded shy. Almost timid. “I’d like to try it.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. After the comments on his profile, I’d expected someone gruff to sneer at me, tell me to drop trou, and do his thing. Especially for someone who’d obviously been with a number of Gentlemen, he seemed incredibly uncertain, as if this really was something completely new for him. “Okay. Tonight’s about whatever you want.” I studied him. “And to be clear—you’re a top and you don’t kiss on the mouth?”

  Swallowing, he nodded.

  It was tempting to point out that the whole “sensual” thing would be a lot more fun if we could kiss, but I wasn’t here to talk him past his boundaries. Even if Emerald City hadn’t forbidden it, that wasn’t my style.

  “So, is that what you want tonight?” I asked gently. “Sex? No kissing?”

  “Yeah.” He exhaled. “I guess I just want to, um, slow things down a little. I think.”

  I studied his expression and body language, trying and failing to read him. All I was picking up from him was nerves. Lots and lots of nerves. And I had a gut feeling it wasn’t just performance anxiety like some of my other clients had. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to back out.”

  “No, I don’t want to back out,” he said quickly. “I do want to do this. Just, um… I’m just nervous, I guess. This is… I’ve, uh… I’ve done this before. Hired someone, I mean.”

  “But this is a change of pace?”

  Scott nodded. “Yeah. It’s different.”

  “Okay. Well, you’re in charge.” I smiled as pleasantly as I could. “Whatever you have in mind—I’m here to serve.”

  He looked at me through his lashes, then nodded again. Jesus, he really was nervous. I mean, I got that it was a change of pace for him, but it wasn’t like we were about to dive into some intimidatingly hardcore kink. It was just gentle and sensual. How did that scare someone?

  What I did know was that nothing about him came across as threatening. His vibe didn’t quite match up with what I’d gathered from the comments on his profile, but maybe those were bad nights. It wasn’t unusual for the bad comments to outnumber the good, because a lot of us didn’t bother to post unless we wanted to warn the other guys about a client. So maybe I just hadn’t gotten the full story.

  Still studying him, I quietly said, “Do you want to go someplace else?” I nodded at his living room. “We can sit. Or if you’d prefer your bedroom?”

  Please, someplace where we’re not standing for much longer.

  Scott shifted again, and he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s…” He motioned toward the stairs. “Let’s go up to the bedroom.”

  I swallowed my own nerves. Up to the bedroom. Okay. We were doing this.

  I reminded myself that I was safe. Scott wasn’t doing anything to make me think I wasn’t. That, and in addition to me sending Rachel my location, she had my phone on the Find My Phone app. If I didn’t check in within three hours (sometimes bookings went a little over two hours), she’d call me. If I didn’t answer, she’d call the police and have them come to the location I’d sent her and—if my phone was in a different place—wherever my phone was.

  We’d never had to use that little backup system before. None of the bad experiences I’d had with clients had ever involved them trying to hurt me, refusing to let me leave, or otherwise getting into dangerous territory. But it made Rachel feel better.

  And tonight, it made me feel better.

  So with my heart thumping and my phone in my back pocket, I followed Scott up the stairs.

  Chapter 3

  Scott

  Heading for my bedroom with Hunter on my heels, I was way more on edge than I’d been with any of the guys I’d hired in the past. I was hardly a virgin, but tonight was different. Or at least it was going to be. I wanted it to be different. I’d taken everything Luca had said to heart, and now instead of going through the familiar motions of getting an escort and getting off, I was walking on eggshells. I didn’t know how to do this.

  As I pushed open the bedroom door and gestured for Hunter to go inside, I stole a moment for a deep breath. This couldn’t be that difficult.

  Except it was.

  Everything I’d been fighting against all these years was still there. Those voices were as loud as ever:

  You’re disgusting.

  What’s wrong with you?

  Men don’t do this with other men.

  I wanted to ignore them this time, and damn it, I tried. One minute, I tamped them down and forced them away. The next, they were back full force, and I was genuinely questioning if I should listen, same as I had for my entire goddamned life.

  Oh, but it was tough to give those voices much attention when there was a seriously attractive man in the room, and right now… good God.

  Hunter was a little shorter than me—maybe five-nine or so to my five-eleven—with dark, wavy hair that I wanted to run my fingers through. I’d already been nervous and off-balance before he’d arrived, and after one look in those rich brown eyes, I was surprised I didn’t forget how to speak. Raking my gaze up and down his lean body, it was a whole lot easier to get onboard with letting myself give in to a lifetime of desires. Hunter had the kind of gorgeous face and sexy body that would have caught my eye even during the periods when I’d been deepest in the closet. When I’d almost believed I was straight, but then some fantastically attractive guy would enter my field of vision, and my resolve would wobble.

  Being in his presence on a night when I’d given up on being straight and was trying like hell to embrace being gay—I never wanted to close that closet door again. No way.

  I knew it wasn’t that simple. That I could bolt back into denial like a spooked horse. But right now, I wanted to believe there was no turning back.

  Hunter watched me, his expression warm but faintly guarded. “So, we’ve got a couple of hours.” A grin curled his lips and screwed with my balance. “And you do want to take things slow, yes?”

  “Yeah. I’ve always kind of jumped in, gotten off, and been done with it. I, um…” Heat rushed into my face. I’ve always been such an inconsiderate asshole. “I want to change that up a bit.”

  “Okay. Slow is my speed.” The grin broadened and his eyes narrowed. “You’re calling the shots, though. Do you want to jump into the part where we…” He tugged at his shirt.

  Oh, wow. The thought of seeing this man naked almost made me sway on my feet. I’d paid plenty of hot men for sex, but something about Hunter—possibly those mischievous brown eyes and full lips—made me want him more than those who’d been here before him. Or maybe that was just my whole attitude tonight. Maybe I’d have felt this way about any man I’d booked from Emerald City, because goddammit, I wanted to want a man tonight.

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat and started unbuckling my belt. “Let’s lose the clothes.”

  It was a good thing I took care of my belt first. Once Hunter had his shirt off, I was lucky I could remember how to work a zipper. A lot of the Gentlemen were ripped in the same way my teammates were, and that was hot and everything, but Hunter had a softer look to him. He was slim, his stomach mostly flat, but he didn’t look like he spent hours a day in the gym. I’d always found guys like that hotter than the ones with chiseled six-packs.

  Whenever I’d let myself indulge in gay porn, it was always the amateur stuff with guys who looked like normal dudes. Because the ripped ones reminded me of my teammates, who I really didn’t want to think of that way? Because I just had a type and that didn’t require any explanation? Hell if I knew.

  What I did know was that Hunter was sexy as hell with clothes on, and he was fucking mouthwatering when he was naked.

  Being gay is disgusting.

  He’s a man, Scott. What are you doing?

  I tamped those thoughts down as I gestured at my bed. We pulled back the covers, and my heart slammed against my ribs as we lay in the middle of the mattress, facing each other on our sides.

  This is wrong. You know it’s wrong.

  Hunter’s eyes flicked to my mouth before meeting my gaze, and his grin sent a shiver through me. When he ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, the voices in my head went quiet.

  And my God, more than I had in a long, long time, I had to fight the temptation to lean in and press my lips to someone else’s. I was so curious how soft his lips would be against mine, and what it would be like to just kiss naked in bed.

  Not yet, though. I couldn’t explain why, but I wasn’t ready for that.

  Hunter’s forehead creased. “Like I said, you’re calling the shots.”

  Oh. Fuck. Was that a subtle hint that I was just staring at him when we should be doing something? We were limited on time, too, so why was I just waiting around?

  I swallowed. “I kind of want to…” I let my gaze drift over him, following the smooth planes and contours. There were some scars on his shoulder and the side of his neck—some small, fine ones, others that were thicker and longer—and there was a freckle on his arm that was fascinating for some reason. Were all men this interesting, and I’d just never let myself look?

  “Scott?” Hunter prodded gently.

  “Sorry. Sorry.” I looked in his eyes again. “I’ve never, uh…” My face was on fire, but I managed to get the words out: “I’ve never really spent time, uh, exploring a guy.”

  Christ. Could I sound any more awkward?

  But Hunter smiled. He reached for me, unaware of the way my pulse jumped when he did, and he gently closed his fingers around my wrist. He guided my hand to him and placed it on his side.

  Oh, God.

  It wasn’t much—just my palm against his hot skin—but it was enough to make my nerves and arousal spike. I wanted more, damn it.

  Pretending my heart wasn’t about to slam right through my ribs, I leaned closer, and for a heartbeat, considered going in for that kiss after all. But no, we’d agreed no kissing on the mouth, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it tonight.

  So instead, I moved in and kissed his neck, and I didn’t know what made my pulse surge harder—the warm softness of his skin against my lips, or his quiet gasp. His arm wrapped around me, his hand drifting across my back, and I loved that. The heat of his touch, the way his fingers twitched as my lips skated along his throat. Getting a little braver, I kissed up and down the side of his neck, along the underside of his jaw, over his collarbone—just lazily exploring him and enjoying a man in ways I’d never let myself before.

  I ran my hand up his side, focusing on the soft warmth of his skin and how good it felt to be touching someone without hating myself.

  As my hand crested his shoulder, though, he tensed, sucking in a quiet but sharp breath through his nose.

  I lifted my head and pulled my hand away. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head, but the slightest tightness of his lips said otherwise. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Hunter nodded, and when he met my eyes, he smiled. “Just, um… A little ticklish.” Something about the way his brow pinched begged me to believe him.

  “Ticklish?”

  Another nod.

  I returned it, and I slid my hand over his side again. Something was hurting, that was for sure. He wasn’t pulling away or trying to stop, though.

  As I started kissing his neck again, I stayed mindful of where I was touching him and how he responded, carefully avoiding the place on his shoulder where I’d made him flinch, and I kept an eye out for other signs that he was in pain too. So far, so good. In fact, he relaxed into me, hands drifting all over my body as he tilted his head to expose more of his throat.

  That brief exchange left a cold feeling in my chest, though. It was mortifying to imagine how oblivious I would’ve been had I booked him before my conversation with Luca. When I’d been completely focused on my own internal tug-of-war between my need for release and my adamant denial of who I was.

  That wasn’t to say I’d been so oblivious that I’d actually hurt someone, or that I wouldn’t notice if they didn’t want to be there. I was a basket case and had admittedly been an asshole, but there were lines, damn it. I just wondered if I’d ever been so far up in my own head that I hadn’t noticed someone trying to knuckle through pain.

  Then Hunter nudged me gently, and when I realized what he wanted, I rolled onto my back. He sat up and straddled me, sitting over me as he ran his hands up my abs and chest.

  “If it’s slow and sensual you want, you came to the right place.” He leaned down, and his breath warmed the side of my neck as he murmured, “Because slow and sensual is what I do.”

  Then his lips touched my skin, and I gasped. Holy shit, no wonder he’d been trembling so much when I’d done this to him.

  And he didn’t stop at my neck. He kissed my shoulder. My collarbone. My chest. One circle of his tongue around my nipple, and it was a legitimate miracle I didn’t levitate right through the skylight above my bed. Holy. Fuck.