Episode 1
God. I want.
The twenty pushed into the tall guy's tight shirt was the single thing that sealed the deal for Josh.
Now. I want him now.
Meetings with his divorce lawyer had taken him away from the suburbs of Charleston into the city itself—away from his soon-to-be ex-wife, and the only good thing to come out of their marriage—their son. Encouraged into a union by well-meaning parents, he had tried to be a father in a battleground of recrimination and war—tried so damn hard to be a good straight husband.
It may have been the alcohol, or the high of knowing tomorrow he’d be closer to full custody but tonight, worse the wear for the beers he had downed in quick succession on an empty stomach, meant that for once, he wanted to be himself. So he stood here, in a gay bar on what the cab driver said was the wrong side of town. The bar had shadowed corners and the smell of sex in the air—he watched.
He watched the man at the bar; saw him leaning back, veiled eyes scanning the heaving late night crowd. He stood in sinfully tight leather pants and a T-shirt that rode up every time he moved, revealing a tantalizing inch of beautiful, golden-toned skin. He didn't talk to anyone, just inclined his head when people approached him. Josh imagined the whispers of money in exchange for sin that poured from people's lips, but the hooker shook his head every time. His hair was short and tousled in a just-out-of-bed look, and as he lifted a foot to rest on the bar wall behind him, he ran a hand through it, pulling it off his forehead and letting it fall back in the same artful disarray. His eyes were smoky and dark, lined with black, the harsh lights of the dance floor casting shadows over high cheekbones, and he was obviously there for trade, with the way people were approaching him.
Beautiful.
The hooker teased them. Leaned in close to them, offering them views of what they couldn't have. A short guy in an ill-fitting suit approached, dollars held in a sweaty hand. He poked the notes into the top of the hustler’s too tight T-shirt, his body language needy.
How pathetic is that guy?
Sex-on-legs reached long fingers into his top and spoke briefly to him, who then stiffened and backed away, shaking his head and grabbing back the money he had offered.
What the fuck? Is no one good enough for him? Is no one offering him enough money?
Something primal had driven Josh from his blank-walled hotel room, some itch inside him that twenty-four-hour porn did nothing to scratch. He wanted…jeez…he didn't know what he wanted…just wanted something…more. Another man holding him down. Skin stretched over hard muscles.
That man.
Seeing this god, this sin, jutting his hip into the room, pants leaving nothing to the imagination, made Josh harder than he remembered ever feeling. Lust and need built inside him, suppressed the emotions knifing his heart. If he was going to do it, if he was going to give in to the lust, it needed to be now, and it needed to be with him, the personification of everything Josh wanted, everything Josh needed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another person make a move, but this time, some inexplicable force drove Josh Anderson, accountant extraordinaire, to stand and walk from the shadows.
My time. My turn.
He got up, bottle in one hand, knowing he had about six hundred dollars on him and hoped it was enough to give his offer credibility. He slid onto the stool next to the guy and leaned into him, causing the oh-so-fucking-beautiful hooker to glance left, lower lip caught between his teeth, eyes narrowed.
"How much?" Josh stared at six-foot-plus of seduction, finally resting back on the kohl-lined hazel eyes and at the heat and smoke he saw there.
"You've been watching me," he answered, just as softly, turning to lean against the bar. His arm brushed Josh's, and a frisson of heat sparked at the casual promise in the touch.
"Me and everyone else," Josh pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "How much," he repeated, "…for the whole night?"
"You couldn't afford me," the guy answered, looking Josh up and down and smirking.
"Try me." Josh put on his most confident voice.
Please try me.
"I'd want at least two," he said, brooking no discussion, lifting a beer to his lips, running his tongue over those same gorgeous lips to catch stray drops of the cold drink. Josh stared, fascinated, as the guy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He watched the hands, and the bottle, his dick threatening to break through his jeans.
"I don't have two thousand on me," Josh admitted. The set of his shoulders was lower, an edge of disappointment in his voice, can I hide it, get to the cash machine, two thousand dollars, can I get it past her?
The hustler leaned into him, his warm breath on Josh's face as he spoke, beer and whiskey, a scent of cologne, the tang of sweat from his sheened skin, the sum of it all so intoxicating.
"You have very pretty eyes," he said, a thoughtful look passing over his face.
Josh blinked, he had pretty eyes? Jeez, had this guy checked in a mirror recently?
"Josh," he blurted, blushing and squirming on the stool, waiting for some comment, some comeback. What the fuck do I need to know your name for, you waste of space, useless, fucking useless. But nothing.
"What do you want, Josh?" he asked. The words were so low that Josh had to lean into him. The guy's body radiated heat.
What do I want?
My lips on yours.
Your hand wrapped around me, at this bar, in front of everyone. Now.
"Want?" Josh asked bemused. He wanted S.E.X. surely, he was being obvious about this? He had never done it before, but surely… surely the professional knew?
"Who do you want me to be for you?"
"For me?" Josh thought about what he was being asked. He wanted to get off, he wanted to get off a lot. He wanted to lose himself with this heavenly body, and for just one night he wanted everything to feel real.
"Who do you want me to be?" The hooker continued with this strange line of questioning, his voice so freaking sexy. "Dom? Sub? Lover? Whore?" Jeez, this guy was insistent, his lips mere inches from Josh's.
"I need… to…" Jeez, shit, what answer was he searching for?
"See if you are gay? Cheat on the wife? Scratch the itch? Whatever. Look me in the eyes…" He paused as Josh did just that. "Who do you want me to be for you?" he repeated, no hesitation in his voice.
Josh frowned, he just wanted the guy to fuck him, hold him down and help him lose six years of tension that had built inside him. "I just want you to fuck me," he said, pulling back, feeling that he had blown this. Was this guy a hooker who topped? Did hookers even top? Josh just knew somehow that he hadn't answered correctly when a thoughtful expression crossed the other man's face.
The hooker waited, watched, and then he stood, uncurling his frame from the bar and standing tall—shit—so tall. He tugged him away from the bar. Josh followed, aware that people were staring. He imagined that they were wondering why he had chosen Josh, why Josh was different?
Why am I different?
He was led to the no-tell motel across the street. Streetlights cast surreal shadows as they walked, the heat in Josh starting to manifest itself in a tangle of worry and fear. He had never done this before; never picked up a prostitute, never been free of obligation to his wife to be with a man, whatever his career. What if no one knew he was here and this guy was a killer? What if…?
"Stop thinking," the hooker commanded. He guided Josh through the lobby, not stopping to talk to guy on the desk who didn't even look up.
"Do you have a room here?" Josh asked. His head was spinning as they climbed one flight of stairs, the carpet thinning its awful pattern of green on gold.
They reached a door that his companion just pushed open. Josh stumbled in after him, blind in the sudden darkness of the room. The door shut behind them, leaving them standing in the half-dark as Josh's eyes adjusted.
What did he do now? This was so not him.
What the hell do I do next?
He turned and stopped panicking, all conscious thought fleeing his mind as this image of sin that had chosen him at the bar flicked on a bedside lamp and proceeded to tug at his pants. His erection was outlined beneath the supple leather, hard and ready. He slid the zipper down oh-so-slowly, revealing skin, and more skin, until that magnificent uncut dick was on display under Josh's hungry stare.
Holy fuck.
"You're on the clock," the prostitute said conversationally. Piece-by-piece, he revealed more skin, legs that went on forever, and muscles, sculpted muscles, hard muscles…
So fucking hard.
His words broke through Josh's daze, and in ten seconds flat he was just as naked, his shoulders rounding, kind of embarrassed at what he was revealing to Mr. Gorgeous-guy-for-sale and his perfect pecs. Tall guy looked impatient, and Josh found it in him to drop his hands and stand loose-limbed in front of his destiny.
What now?
"What now?" he repeated, this time out loud, hoping against hope the hooker would just do something already.
"I fuck you. It’s what you are paying me for," he said, and moved closer to Josh, his hands resting on Josh's hips. "Tell me what you want. Do you want me to pin you to this bed?" he whispered into Josh’s ear. He dropped a hand and gripped Josh’s dick just this side of too hard, and twisted his hand on the upstroke.
Josh was caught up in the erotic push-pull of this hooker’s touch, feeling as if he could come there and then. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, what he could touch, what he couldn’t, what he had paid for, what he hadn’t.
Finally, he settled for grasping the drawer unit behind him for balance. He didn’t know what he expected, but he hadn’t expected the talking, and it wasn’t like he was stopping, his voice dripping with sex into his ear, "…so hot for this, aren’t you, so desperate for my cock in your virgin ass?" He smirked, using his free hand to tilt Josh’s chin so Josh could see into the hustler’s eyes, demanding honesty, and Josh assumed this talking was all part of his service. It didn’t matter that it was only a step up from bad porn talk; it was enough to make him hot. "You want me to take you dry, hmmm? Maybe you wanna be punished for wanting a man, instead of wanting the little wife at home, huh?"
Josh listened and was lost in the hooker’s words, but he reacted with a startled gasp.
Not dry, not dry, jeez.
He must have said something coherent, the hooker looking into his eyes with something akin to curiosity, and then an acknowledgment of what Josh didn’t want.
"Didn’t think so," he said. Instead, he leaned into Josh from thigh to hip, the back of Josh’s legs pressed into the faux wood of the cabinet, and used the fingers of his free hand to twist the hard nub of Josh’s left nipple. Josh couldn’t help the noises he made; he was hot under this professional’s hands, begging for more with every taunt and suggestion that the hooker threw at him. He froze as the hooker took the bottle of lube from the unit behind him and pumped a generous amount into his hand, and then smoothed it up and around the velvet-covered steel of Josh's cock.
"So fucking slick and easy for me. You wanna come here and now. So fucking hard for this…you want me to push you on the bed, hold you so you can’t move. Fuck you until you can’t feel anything but me. You want me to show you how it’s done?" He brushed his own erection against Josh, who was harder than he had been for a long time with this stunning, forceful god taking him to the edge. The hooker chuckled darkly, lowering his mouth to the shell of Josh’s ear. "You wanna know the name of the guy who is gonna get you on all fours on this bed, and fuck you ’til you can't walk?"
Josh nodded and heard himself whimper "yes, fuck." His words were jumbled and staccato short.
"Ethan," the hooker said firmly. "My name is Ethan. Call me Ethan."
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