“Like that?” he asked with a knowing grin before doing it again. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was too busy trying to catch my breath as he teased my nipple with his tongue, his lips, and even his teeth.

  About the time I’d gotten the hang of breathing while he did that, he moved to the other nipple, and I lost it all over again. Were my nipples actually that sensitive, or was he just that good? Or was—

  “Oh, fuck!” I stared down, slack-jawed and completely breathless, as Hunter ran his tongue up the length of my cock. I’d been so turned on and out of my head, I hadn’t even realized he’d shifted position, and now… “Oh, wow.”

  He grinned again, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he held the base of my cock in his hand, and he worked all kinds of magic with his lips and tongue from the head all the way down. Plenty of guys before him had sucked my dick, and they’d been good at it, but by the time Hunter had made it south of the border, I’d already been so turned on I was climbing the walls. He probably didn’t even need to be all that skilled to have my back arching off the bed right now; all my nerve endings were on crazy high alert.

  And he was that skilled, because wow, I didn’t think anyone had ever done the things he did with his mouth. I wasn’t even sure what he was doing, only that it was hot, and I didn’t want him to stop.

  Except I hadn’t just brought him here to suck me off. I loved blowjobs, but there was something indescribably hot about being inside another guy. That was also something I’d found indescribably shameful, and I was bound and determined to enjoy it—tonight— without feeling bad about it.

  It took some work, but I found my voice: “I want to fuck you.”

  Hunter gave the head of my cock another teasing swirl with his tongue before he looked up at me. Stroking me slowly with his hand, he said, “Do you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Hell yeah.” He moved up beside me. “How do you want me?”

  I was tempted to ask him to stay just like that and ride my cock, because oh my God, the view would be spectacular. And despite fantasizing about it for years, I’d never had a man that way. With one long ago exception, I’d never fucked someone in a position where we could see each other. Doing that tonight sounded seriously hot.

  But…

  I couldn’t. It felt too exposed in ways I couldn’t articulate or get past. So I murmured, “Turn around.”

  The way he grinned suggested he wasn’t bothered by the change of position, but I was. It felt like a defeat. Two steps forward and three steps back. I’d let myself get into this, but I still couldn’t look a man in the eye while I was fucking him.

  I’d get there. Just not tonight.

  I could, however, handle topping him from behind.

  I curved a hand over his hip. “How much, um…” I hesitated. “How much do you need beforehand?”

  Hunter shrugged with one shoulder. “Not much, as long as you take it slow.”

  “Okay. Just tell me if you need more.”

  He nodded. “I will.”

  Fortunately, I was more or less confident with this part. I’d been terrible in bed for all this time, and I knew it, but I’d been careful not to actually hurt someone. A couple of fingers to make sure he was ready, pushing in slow until I knew he could take me—that kind of thing. I may have been up in my own head and used escorts as outlets for all those desires I was ashamed of having, and I may not have given a damn if the man I was with enjoyed himself, but I wasn’t that much of a bastard.

  Tonight, I was determined to be better than just “not a bastard.”

  Using plenty of lube, I fingered him gently. Some of the guys I’d hired before just needed a few strokes, if that—more to get the lube in place than anything—and some even got impatient because they wanted to get to the real thing. I’d been with a few who’d seemed to like being fingered. Not that I’d done much to make it enjoyable—as far as I’d been concerned, this was just a means to an end. I did it enough to make sure they could take me comfortably, but I hadn’t really cared if it turned them on.

  From the soft moans and whispered curses, Hunter really did seemed to enjoy it, though, so for once in my goddamned life, I ran with that. I kept going long past the point when he was relaxed enough for my dick, and I tried different speeds and angles to see what made him shiver or whimper. I could fixate later on over how much I’d missed in the past; right now, I was completely focused on how hot it was right now. On how utterly amazing it was to have this gorgeous man trembling and swearing from just my fingers alone.

  I slid my free hand up his back, and he arched like a cat, pressing against my palm. Irrationally sure I sounded as nervous as I still was, I asked, “That feel good?”

  “Uh-huh.” He rolled his hips slightly. “Ungh, that really feels good.” His low voice gave me goose bumps. “Tell me what… What you want.”

  What did he mean, tell him what I wanted? This was what I wanted.

  “You want to fuck me?” he whispered.

  Ooh. Right. I’d been getting him ready so he could take me. Jesus, where was my brain tonight?

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” As I withdrew my fingers, I glanced at the condom, which I hadn’t even opened yet. “Give me a sec.”

  “Take your time.”

  When I was this turned on, the condom should have been a nightmare to unwrap and maneuver, but for once, it wasn’t. Usually the wrapper was frustratingly difficult to tear, and my hands were never quite as steady as they needed to be while I was rolling on a rubber.

  Then again, I was usually in a hurry to fuck, get off, and send the guy out the door before all my self-loathing came crashing in and refused to be ignored. That was still a concern tonight—I’d be paying for this mentally after Hunter left and I knew it—but I was steadier than I’d been most nights. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, and I didn’t have the brainpower to think about it right now because the condom was on and there was an incredibly gorgeous man who was ready and waiting for me to top him.

  With a hand on his hip, I guided myself in. Even when I was in a hurry, I always took this part slow, but I experimentally teased him—just barely pressing in with the head, pulling back, pressing in a little more—to see if he liked it.

  Hunter’s muscles rippled as a shiver went through him. When I pulled back a third or fourth time, he groaned in frustration and tried to lean back against me. I let him, curious what would happen if I gave him the reins. I stayed still, and he rocked back, taking me deeper each time until he was moaning happily and riding my cock from below. I had no idea if the enthusiasm was an act and just part of his job, but dear God, I liked it.

  I stared down, mesmerized by the sight of him taking me, by his muscles contracting and relaxing as he drove me deeper. He was moving slower, far slower than I ever had, and it was as hypnotic as it was intoxicating. Experimentally, I rocked my own hips, trying to sync up with his rhythm, and the whispered, “oh, fuck yeah,” made my head spin.

  It wasn’t as freeing as I’d hoped, but maybe I’d get there too, just like I would with facing each other or kissing. One thing at a time.

  It was anything but disappointing, though. For years, sex with a man had meant thrusting as hard as both of us could handle and getting off as quickly as possible. Sometimes in the dark. Sometimes with my eyes squeezed shut as shame burned almost as hot as the need for release. Once I’d found that release, the shame would come crashing in before I’d even pulled out, and the self-loathing would be downright nauseating.

  I wasn’t letting that happen tonight. I knew those emotions were coming, and they were gathering around the edges like storm clouds, but I wanted to want this. I wanted to feel him—really feel what it was like to be touching another man, moving inside him, being turned on by him.

  I wanted, I realized with a shiver, to feel him come.

  In fact, just the thought of that—of feeling him, hearing him, making him come—brought me so close to the edge I almost lost control right then and there.

  “Oh God,” I breathed, holding his hips tighter. I fucked him a little faster, drawing a delirious moan from him that didn’t help me hold back at all. “I’m gonna come.”

  Those words may as well have been a starter pistol. As soon as I said it, Hunter started moving faster too, complementing my thrusts and rolling his hips just right to blur my vision. In seconds, I cried out, pushed all the way into him, and held him against me as I came so hard I thought I was going to melt right onto the mattress.

  “Holy…” I kept a tight grip on his hips as my own jerked a couple more times. Then I closed my eyes and exhaled, pausing just to enjoy the bliss of release and the sweet silence where all those nagging voices usually were.

  I just fucked a man. And I loved it.

  More. Please, more.

  More, like making him come. Yes, that sounded hot as hell, even if it was completely alien to me. This was usually the point when I wanted a man to leave—quickly—so I could feel like trash in peace, but not this time. I’d always been so wrapped up in punishing and hating myself, I’d never been considerate of the men I was with, and that was changing tonight.

  I managed to open my eyes, and as I pulled out, I murmured, “I want to make you come.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me. “Yeah?”

  “Uh-huh.” I thought fast, running through all the ways I knew to get a man off and narrowing it down to the very few ways I was comfortable with tonight. “Lie on your back.”

  He turned over, and as he lay against the pillows, he lazily stroked his mostly hard cock.

  “Give me a sec to get rid of this.” I gestured at the condom. “Be right back.”

  Hunter just grinned, still stroking himself. I was tempted—so, so tempted—to say to hell with the condom and just go for it, but I wanted the rubber gone.

  I made quick work of ditching it and washing my hands, and I returned to the bedroom where Hunter was waiting.

  As much as I wanted to get back into bed with him, I paused to take in the sight of him. He seriously was sexy, lounging like that, grinning up at me with his hand on his cock and his naked body on full display—I’d thought I could will myself out of being gay, how? Because it was impossible to look at him and not want him.

  Hunter moistened his lips, and I swear my knees almost buckled. I needed to touch him, damn it.

  Without a word, I lay next to him on my side, put a tentative hand on his stomach, and slid it downward. Hunter closed his eyes and bit his lip when I wrapped my fingers around his cock. He was thick and fully hard, and I had a flicker of temptation to run my lips and tongue all over every inch of it.

  I wasn’t ready for that, just like I wasn’t ready to kiss his gorgeous full lips. I’d get there, but not tonight.

  A hand job, though—I could do that.

  I paused to put some lube on my hand, and then I did to his cock what I liked doing to my own—slow, easy strokes at first, with a little bit of a twist at the head.

  “Oh, yeah,” he breathed, squirming beside me.

  “Like that?” Did I sound as insecure as I was?

  “Uh-huh.” He covered my hand with his, raising the hairs on my forearm. I thought he might be guiding me or changing the way I was holding or stroking him, but he didn’t. It was like he just wanted to touch me while I was jerking him off, and to my surprise, I liked it. He squirmed, pushing his cock into our hands, and he murmured, “Do that a little harder, you’ll make me—oh. Yeah. That. Fuck.”

  I did it harder, and he arched, biting his lip, and barely muffling a choked whimper. I was kind of amazed I didn’t start getting hard again just from watching him. Being able to see his face this time wasn’t as unnerving as it would’ve been while we were screwing, especially since his eyes were closed, and I loved watching every twist and stroke register in his expression.

  I want to see your face when I’m in you.

  The thought made my breath hitch. Yeah, I did want that. First, though, I needed to get over my weirdness over him being able to see my face. While I was doing that. With a man.

  These demons aren’t forever, are they?

  Hopefully not. For tonight, I focused on making his breath catch and getting those little moans and whimpers out of him. His cock started hardening even more in my hand, and before long, he was thrusting up into my fist, his fingers twitching on the back of my hand.

  “I want you to come,” I whispered, marveling that I could still form a coherent sentence.

  Hunter shuddered hard. “Keep… like that. Mmm, yeah. Fuck…” His hips jerked. I thought a wince flickered across his face, but it was there and gone so fast I couldn’t be sure, and the “oh, Jesus” that slipped off his lips was definitely not a sound of pain.

  I pumped him faster, and his eyes flew open. His back arched off the bed. Then his hips jerked again, and he gasped, shuddered, and came with a low, ragged moan, and holy hell, that sound gave me a rush that even the goal horn couldn’t rival. Then and there I decided that making a man come was the single sexiest thing on the planet.

  And oh my God, I wanted more.

  By the time we’d finished showering, Hunter’s two-hour window was almost over. Disappointing, but maybe not such a bad thing. We were both tired, and he was moving kind of slowly and gingerly.

  “You okay?” I asked as he got dressed.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He pulled on his shirt, quite possibly unaware of the mirror that caught his wince as he lowered his arm. Schooling his expression, he turned to me. “I’m good. Question is, do you feel good?”

  “I do, yeah.” I managed a smile, mostly because my answer was the truth. Even with the chorus of disapproving voices in the back of my mind, I felt great, which was weird as hell after an evening between the sheets with another man.

  I put on a pair of shorts, and I surreptitiously watched Hunter getting dressed. He was definitely moving carefully and not all that comfortably. I’d spent too many years around pro athletes—and being one myself—to not notice when someone was trying to hide the fact that they were in pain.

  What could I do, though? He’d come here tonight because I’d paid him for sex. I was a little sketchy on where the boundaries were for conversation with escorts since I’d never bothered talking with any of them before. Kind of seemed like prying about his health could make things unbearably awkward for him, though. At the same time, I wanted to be sure I hadn’t hurt him.

  Except I didn’t think I had. He’d been tender in places when we’d started, and I’d been slower and gentler than I’d ever been in bed with anyone. He didn’t have that hitch in his gait like he’d been fucked without enough prep or lube, or like he wouldn’t be sitting comfortably on the ride home. In fact, if I had to guess from the way he was moving, it had more to do with his back, his neck and/or shoulder, and maybe his knee or something.

  I didn’t ask, though, and he didn’t say. Neither of us said much of anything, actually. We went downstairs, made our way through some semi-awkward goodbyes, and he left.

  After he’d gone, I returned to my bedroom, and I lay back and stared up at the ceiling. The typical maelstrom of shitty emotions was present and accounted for, but so was a sense of relief. Satisfaction.

  And, I realized, hunger for more.

  Instead of berating myself about how it should be out of my system (it never was) and I shouldn’t need to book anyone again any time soon (I always did), I was finally honest in a way I never had been. The desire for sex with a man was not out of my system. I didn’t want it out of my system.

  I wanted to be with a man again. I wanted to do even more and get completely drunk off enjoying sex without shame. Hell, I wanted to look at him and meet his eyes while we moved together—something I’d always shied away from. Maybe the more I indulged and the more I drowned out those voices with another man’s moans, the less they’d be heard at all.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled.

  I was still a long way from making peace with being gay.

  But tonight, that peace felt just a little bit closer.

  Chapter 4

  Hunter

  My ex-wife grimaced as I hobbled into the kitchen the next morning. “How are you feeling?”

  I groaned and went to the freezer for an icepack. “Like it would be super awesome if I could afford some actual effective treatment.”

  “Ugh. Sorry to hear it.” She tugged a teabag out of her cup and set it aside. “How did last night go?”

  “It wasn’t bad.” I eased myself down into a chair and tucked the icepack against my lower back, which had apparently won the daily which random body party will hurt the most? spin of the wheel. “At least we we’ll make rent.”

  “Thank God. But are you sure you’re okay to be working again?”

  I nodded even as I shifted gingerly. “I have to do something, and this is the only job that doesn’t mess me up for days on end.”

  “True.” She sighed. “Honestly, I hope you get more bookings for the sake of the bills, but I also kind of hope you don’t. For your sake.”

  I offered a tired smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  “Rachel.” I tried not to get impatient. That was the pain and lack of sleep talking, not my actual frustration with her. “We’ve been through this. Every other job out there wants me on my feet or at a desk for eight hours a day or more. Yes, this is physically demanding, but when you consider how long I’m with a client versus how long I’d be at a normal job, I’m coming out ahead.”

  It didn’t make sense to a lot of people, but it was true. As long as clients didn’t get too rough (and so far, no one had), I was fine. Unlike a forty-hour job, I had legit recovery time. I didn’t have to come home after eight hours, try to sleep, and then get up the next day and do it all over again until it was finally the weekend and I could collapse, only to have to return to work on Monday before I’d had a chance to fully recharge.