So when Rufus tenderly and very deeply began kissing him, it was a surprise, a delightful, perfect surprise. Wren kissed back ardently, wrapping his arms and legs around Rufus’s thrusting body, all hard and growing slippery from their sweat.
Wren stopped kissing Rufus long enough to bring his mouth up to his ear, to lick it, bite the lobe, and finally whisper, “I need you to fuck me. Right now. I don’t think I can stand another minute without you inside me.”
Rufus pulled away and looked down at him, their gaze coupling, locking the other in a psychological embrace.
Wren nodded.
Without taking his eyes away from Wren’s, Rufus wriggled his hips, positioned his legs just so, until at last Wren felt the head of his cock pushing against his ready asshole.
Wren had never, not in his most drunken moments, fucked raw before. Oh sure, he had been tempted, and there had been more guys than he could count who attempted to slide their bare dicks inside him, but Wren always had enough presence of mind to make sure that latex barrier was in place.
Now, as he felt Rufus’s cock slipping between the tender cheeks of his ass, he didn’t know if he could stop him. He didn’t know, really, if he could stop himself from simply wriggling down on his pole, gobbling it up as though he was using his mouth.
There was a small voice inside him, distant, cautioning.
You might be falling for this dude, but think about what you’re doing. This guy is an escort, a prostitute, a whore, really. Are you going to take this risk, knowing where he’s been? Cute as he is. Charming as he is. Nothing changes the fact that he could be infected.
But that voice was small.
The bigger voice was the hungry one, the one that urged him to push up against the cock, open up to it, draw it deep inside where it would fuck and fuck and fuck until Wren would look up to see Rufus’s beautiful face contorted in pleasure as he shot his seed deep inside him.
That would be heaven.
That would be worth the risk.
He wanted it so bad it almost made him cry.
And the only thing that stopped him, them, was having the decision wrested from their hands.
There was a cough from the shadowy corner of the room, and Wren could hear the squeak of a drawer sliding open. He felt something very light hit the mattress near his head, then another. He looked over and saw two shiny foil squares.
Without a word, Rufus pulled back, grabbed one of the condoms, and ripped it open with his teeth. He grinned down at Wren and winked, which almost made Wren shoot.
Rufus quickly unrolled the rubber over his dick and returned to his position.
This time he didn’t hesitate, and he buried himself to the hilt inside Wren. Wren grunted. He gasped.
But all he felt was pleasure. He bit his lips to keep from crying out for Rufus to fuck him hard, instead grinding himself up against Rufus’s pelvis to draw him in deeper, reaching down with hands that had a mind of their own to roughly grab Rufus’s ass to again draw the man as deeply inside Wren as was physically possible.
They began to fuck, and this time Wren vanished, lost on a cloud of pleasure so intense and deep he didn’t even know he had come until Rufus pulled away and Wren looked down to see his stomach and chest shiny with his own semen.
Rufus, on his knees, pulled off the condom and upended it above Wren’s chest, shaking the come out of it so it rained down on Wren’s chest, mixing with his own seed.
Wren knew.
He was in love.
The man in the corner got up suddenly. “Your payment is on the dresser. Feel free to use the en suite shower.”
THEY HADN’T
said a word to each other on the cab ride home from Edgewater. Wren was keeping his own counsel, because he was afraid if he said anything to Rufus he would break the spell—the magic that had been conjured up in the darkened apartment where, it seemed to Wren, they had been paid handsomely for simply falling in love.
Although Wren’s asshole throbbed and he felt completely drained of seed, all he could think right now was that he was in love with Rufus. The tall, lanky guy sitting next to him in the cab, staring out at the high-rises lining the western side of Lake Shore Drive had, within even less than a mere twenty-four hours, become the man of his dreams, his Mr. Right, his knight in shining armor. Dare he say it? Rufus could very well be his soul mate.
The one.
A cynical voice, which sounded very much like his mother’s, reminded him that what he was feeling could quite possibly be the result of what had been a highly superior fuck. Wren grinned into the darkened taxi, remembering how perfect their physical union had been, how completely satisfying, how unbelievably hot.
But, his mother’s voice reminded him, he didn’t really know Rufus. He didn’t know, for example, what he liked to eat, what he did when he had a few spare hours to kill, what his dreams and aspirations were beyond working as an escort for À Louer. He had no idea what his family was like, what kind of movies he enjoyed, what happened when he got mad.
But oh, that face, that body. That dick. Wren shook his head. He knew it was all physical, but he also respected, even at his young age, the fact that we sometimes “know” people and come to like or dislike them before we have any logical basis for doing so.
He had felt close to Rufus almost right from the start. And now he couldn’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else.
“Little man, we’re here.” Rufus’s voice roused him.
Wren had been so caught up in his reverie he hadn’t even noticed the taxi slowing, turning into the wide circular drive fronting their high-rise, or stopping. He gave Rufus what he knew was a sheepish grin, watching as Rufus tossed a few bills over the seat to their driver.
“Keep the change, bud.”
They exited the taxi, and Wren suddenly had a moment where all this felt like a dream. The cab speeding away behind him, the elegant marble-tiled lobby before him with its potted palm trees, scattered Oriental rugs, and uniformed doorman, all seemed surreal suddenly, as if Wren had stepped into someone else’s life. Part of him thought he should be turning around and heading for the ”L” to take him home to Rogers Park and a modest two-bedroom apartment.
Except that home no longer existed—not for him, not anymore.
He had grown up seeing these glimmering towers along the lakefront and had always admired them, sometimes wondering about the people who lived in them, what life must be like up there, near the clouds, with expansive views.
But Wren had never imagined himself actually living in one. That dream seemed always firmly out of reach, like college, something for other people, people who had the kind of money Wren knew he would never have. So he had never allowed himself to dream that he would one day be living in one of these places himself.
You don’t really, dude
, his more rational self chimed in.
This is just a loaner. Don’t get too used to this.
Wren wanted to tell the voice to have the courage to dream. Yes, this was a loan from Chillingsworth, but if he worked hard, he could someday maybe afford something like this himself. Hadn’t Dave promised him just that?
Would Rufus still want to live with him?
He looked over then, taking in Rufus’s tall frame, and noticed he was staring at Wren. The night was warm, too warm, but there was a little tepid breeze blowing over them. At the moment there were no other vehicles in the high-rise drive and they were alone.
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Rufus asked.
“Dude, it’s like you’re reading my mind.”
“It’s because I’ve been in your shoes. Not so long ago. You ready to go in? Or do you want to stay out here and catch a smoke?”
“You really can read minds, can’t you?” Wren fingered the hard pack in his rear pocket and realized he hadn’t thought about a cigarette until this very moment. But the mention of one ignited a need in him that was fierce enough to shut out all else.
“Nah. I just know an addict when I see one. I’ll see you up there.” Rufus turned and headed through the revolving doors.
Wren lit up, thinking he would have to give these things up, maybe as soon as he finished the pack he held in his hand.
He knew Rufus didn’t like it.
Upstairs, Wren found Rufus lounging on the bed, remote control pointed at the flat-screen, surfing through the channels.
“What are you in the mood for? Comedy? Crime? Reality? You want to watch
Crazy Ex-Girlfriend
?”
Wren wanted to say he was in the mood for another fuck, for the feeling of Rufus deep inside him once more. But he knew, somehow, that would not be the right thing to say, so he simply sat down on the bed next to Rufus, their shoulders touching. “I don’t know. You pick. I’ll probably just fall asleep anyway.”
“Not on my bed, you won’t.” Rufus nudged him, pretty hard, off the bed. “Let’s just chill for now. You in your bed. Me in mine. Cool?”
Wren felt a wave of hurt rise up in him that he did his best to conceal. “Cool.” He crawled into the bed opposite Rufus’s, feeling a lot more of a divide between them than the simple couple of feet that actually separated them.
Wren tried to appear absorbed in the television. Rufus had picked an episode of
The Golden Girls
for them to watch on the Hallmark Channel. It seemed an odd choice for a couple of whores coming down after a night of wild paid-for sex, but maybe it was actually the perfect antidote. Wren lay quietly on his own bed, unable to interest himself in the goings-on of Blanche, Dorothy, Rose, and Sophia, but he could hear Rufus chuckling every so often.
The quiet—watching TV like this—should have been companionable, but it wasn’t. Wren hoped it wasn’t apparent to Rufus that he was sulking. But Wren hadn’t liked it that Rufus had forced him out of his bed. The action had sent a message to Wren—that what had happened tonight in that darkened bedroom in Edgewater was simply work.
Wren didn’t want to believe it, but why else wouldn’t Rufus want to be close to him? They had shared such hot intimacy. It seemed only natural that they would lie side by side while they watched TV, fall asleep touching.
Maybe, Wren comforted himself, Rufus was like most guys, and he wanted some distance after sex. Wren had witnessed it more than once—that need to just get away after fucking, almost as if you wanted nothing to do with the person you had just shared your most private and vulnerable parts with.
Maybe it was just a man thing, Wren told himself.
And perhaps you shouldn’t take it personally.
But I’m a man, and I don’t feel that way.
There was no winning this argument with himself. Wren turned away from the TV, the quips and barbs and Rufus’s laughter a kind of background music, and tried to disappear into himself, seeking the elusive and oblivious arms of slumber.
The landline phone ringing jarred Wren. He had finally drifted off. He turned to see Rufus hop off the bed and pick up the cordless on the breakfast bar.
“Yeah?”
Wren sat up, wondering who could be calling now. It was after midnight. Did Chillingsworth expect them to be on call at all hours? Was he about to be sent out on a call?
The thought of it made Wren, surprisingly, sick to his stomach. He didn’t know if he could do it. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He had to pee. He hoped he wouldn’t come out of the bathroom to find Rufus telling him one—or both—of them had a date.
What would happen if Wren said no?
That was something Wren hadn’t considered when he agreed to work for Chillingsworth.
When he got back into the main room of the studio, Rufus had hung up the phone. He had slid on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans over the plaid boxers he had been clad in before, and he was looking into a mirror, finger combing his hair.
Oh no. He’s going out on a call.
Wren felt a twinge, a stab really, right to his heart and gut.
“That was Chillingsworth,” Rufus said into the mirror that hung near the front door, meeting Wren’s gaze in the glass.
Wren closed his eyes, his gut dropping what felt like a couple of feet lower. He knew what Rufus was going to say next. It was one of two possibilities, actually. The first, as he had already assumed, was that Rufus had a “date” and that he would be leaving Wren there alone, which would make sense, because Rufus appeared to be making at least a marginal effort to make himself presentable. Of course, when you were as young and hot as Rufus, it didn’t take much.
The second was that Rufus was about to tell Wren
he
had a call and that he would need to go out into the night and satisfy some man waiting in a hotel room or apartment or house on the North Side, someone who would want things Wren was no longer sure he was prepared to give.
Obviously, a lot more had changed this night than Wren had fully absorbed. But before he had a chance to ponder, Rufus said something he wasn’t expecting.
“He’s on his way up. You might want to put on some clothes.” Like Rufus had been, Wren was clad only in a pair of boxers. He hurried to slide into the jeans and T-shirt he had left on the floor at the foot of his bed.
“He’s coming here? Why?”
“Says he has news.”
Wren cocked his head, confused, and stared out the window at the night sky, noticing how the city lights gave it an almost orange glow. He turned back to Rufus, who hadn’t moved away from the front door. Like a dog awaiting its master, it appeared he was standing at attention, waiting for a knock.
“What’s going on? Is this usual?” Wren expected that Dave would be contacting them mainly by text or phone call, with occasional meetings. He didn’t expect him to show up, unannounced, in the middle of the night.
This gig seemed less appealing with every passing moment.
If it weren’t for meeting Rufus….
Rufus barked over his shoulder, “It’s not usual at all. He’s never done this.”
If Rufus was waiting for a knock, he was mistaken. After a few seconds of silence, Wren heard a key being inserted and turned in their front door lock.