“Uh-huh.” I turned away from him and adjusted my garments.
Carlos busied himself with straightening the rubber mats on the floor, coiling the ropes, wiping excess chalk off the handholds—simply keeping an eye on me.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. “I’ll go change.”
I’ve been molested in the line of duty.
Actually, truth be told, it didn’t feel so bad. Guilt welled up within me at the realization. Jack would be meeting me in two hours, worried sick, and here I was, enjoying the wandering hands of his prime adversary. Just thinking of Jack made me flush with anticipation. I took my time washing my hands and splashing cold water in my face, thinking of how much fun it was to anticipate Jack’s presence again and then berating myself for getting attached to Jack so easily.
I walked out into the lobby. Craggs stood behind the counter, poring over some numbers with his punked-out daughter, Rosalie. I didn’t nod to him because Risby was waiting for me.
“Hey, Wyatt! How about we grab some lunch?”
I looked surprised at first, then embarrassed, then mournful. “Sorry, not today. I already promised to be somewhere.”
“How about dinner, then?” Risby’s wide grin looked both inviting and predatory.
“Well….” I let the idea roll around in my head for a while. Perhaps a challenge would deter him. “Do you even know how to cook?”
He shot me a victorious gleam. “Sure as hell I know how to cook! Italian okay?”
I nodded. “I’ll need your address,” I said, eyes downcast. Quickly I summoned the image of him touching me
there
, in public, and my blush bloomed obediently on my already rosy cheeks.
He wrote the address down for me. “See you at seven, then.”
Risby pushed the glass door open and left. As soon as he was gone, Craggs and Carlos were on me like wasps on a fallen pear.
“Are you fuckin’ nuts? You’re goin’ to visit a murderer? And what about yer new boyfriend?” Craggs leaned against the counter, staring down his beaky nose at me.
“Yeah… what about Jack, Wyatt?” Carlos said, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
I twiddled with my backpack straps, so reminiscent of that conveniently tight harness. “It’s just dinner, guys. I just needed to know where he lives. It’s not like I’m staying the night.”
I
CALLED
Jack on my way to the Loose Rock, letting him know the rumors of my death had been greatly exaggerated. He agreed to meet me at the gym and, furthermore, he agreed to stop and buy sandwiches for lunch.
Not twenty minutes later, we sat in the empty locker room, straddling the bench in the middle, facing one another while digging into our subs and drinking soda. I gave him the full report between bites, omitting nothing.
He held his cool pretty well until I got to the stuck harness part. He growled, looked around, grasped the paper sandwich wrapper, and threw it against the nearest locker. We watched the wadded-up piece of paper fall to the ground. It lacked the satisfying crunch of broken crockery. It was, in fact, gentle and almost silent.
“Shit. What can I break?”
“Not much, around here.”
“Wyatt,” he growled in my direction.
I got up, picked up our garbage, and disposed of it. Then I fished around in my backpack and produced a flat, square, crinkly package. “I have a problem that needs to be taken care of,” I said as I held it toward him. My eyes must have had that darkened, molten chocolate look he said before he loved so much.
He got up and came to me, picked up the condom by the corner of its wrapper, and slid it into his pocket. “Wyatt… Goldilocks….”
It was a week and a day since last time. Our eyes locked.
“Where?” he said in a raspy voice.
“In the gym, under the last top rope.” Then I went and locked the front door.
My preparations took me less than two minutes. I walked into the cavernous, brightly lit space where sounds echoed like in a canyon in the wild back-and-beyond.
He was standing there, leaning against the plywood climbing wall and letting his body yield to its artificial contours. The rope hung right in front of him. The sound of my bare feet slapping on the industrial rubber mats enticed him to lift his head. He straightened, eyes wide, lush lips slightly parted.
I lowered my eyelashes and gave him a coy smile, letting the towel around my hips slip as I crossed the floor.
His nostrils flared and his breathing quickened at the sight of my attire, or rather, the lack thereof.
I was clad in nothing but a climbing harness.
“Wyatt.” His voice rasped in his throat. He reached for me, and the heat of his hands singed the surface of my skin, leaving trails of desire in its wake.
Our lips met. He pressed my naked body against the rough, fake stone surface, and I felt every grain, every crevasse. My eyes rolled back when our tongues touched and danced. Pleasure pooled in my belly as I grew hard, standing there on suddenly shaky knees.
I gasped a lungful of air. “Here….” I reached for the rope and tied it to my harness. Then I climbed three feet up, pulled on the other end of the rope, and looked at him. “This is how you tie me off.” I demonstrated the knot and attached the line to a mooring in the wall. Then I let go. I spun free in the air, suspended not far above the ground. My legs arched, extending the curve of my spine as I drew my head back, my eyes at half-mast, my gaze stroking Jack like a hot caress.
A low sound emanated from his throat as he ripped off his T-shirt and slid out of his jeans.
A sway of the rope and a lazy half-turn; my languid arms stretched toward him, beckoning. Ravel’s “Bolero” echoed in my mind.
His black boxers tented over his groin. I felt strong arms under my back, sensuous lips on my abdomen. When he licked a trail all the way to my throat, I gasped.
“You’re so… beautiful.” The sentiment took me by surprise; the feather touch of his hand up my thigh made the rough chafing of the climbing harness easy to ignore.
I relished the delicious suction on my throat, a grazing of teeth on my clavicle, an ardent kiss. A tender, restrained nip on my shoulder. “Jack.”
“Yeah.”
“I want you.”
“I know,” he said with some effort, his wild smile a pale shadow of its former self. Then he parted my knees, holding my buttocks steady from underneath as his lips encountered the already outgrown stubble, and all I could feel was his soft, moist heat anywhere but the place I really wanted it.
His movement echoed the crescendo of the sultry music in my mind, intensifying, building up. He finally licked my erection and I gasped for air, trying not to scream.
“You can be loud—you locked the front door,” he said as the cooler air hit my wet, sensitized cock. Then he set my legs over his bare shoulders and, bending over, he did dark magic with his agile tongue and firm lips, purring as I howled in ecstasy, letting the echoes rip through the cavernous space. A slicked finger slid between my cheeks and breached me.
I bucked and shuddered, holding on to the climbing rope with my head cast back and eyes shut. The air of the open space reminded me of our location, and the strap of my climbing harness dug into my bare flesh, but I couldn’t care less at the time. My body was eager to welcome Jack, merge with him, have him share in the pleasure I had been enjoying in my pendulous position. “Whenever you’re ready,” I whispered.
I felt him let go of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a slip of black silk hit the soft ground. Then there was a rip of a wrapper and a hiss as he rolled the slick, double-lubricated condom onto his length.
“Wyatt,” he said in a plaintive voice.
I sat up and held the rope that kept me suspended in midair. My feet didn’t quite reach the ground. “Push me to the wall.” He did, and I held on with my bare hands and bare feet, hiking my left leg to a higher hold, exposing the parts where sun don’t shine.
His smooth hands kneaded my cheeks; a spit-slicked finger caressed the soft tissue underneath.
“Hurry,” I said in a frustrated tone. “I can’t move up here.” He toyed with me from behind until my muscles trembled and I had to let go, floating through space on my pendulum like a failed Cirque du Soleil audition. The music in my mind moved into the wailing minor chords; or was it just blood rushing in my ears….
He caught me and stepped between my legs.
Aaaah. Better.
I held the rope with both hands, holding myself parallel to the floor with my head thrown back in abandon as Jack pressed himself inside me. I grabbed his waist with my legs and pulled him in, deep and fast.
He gasped, his legs buckled, and then my world went spinning in wild circles. Overcome by sensation, Jack fell and now was lying below me, the condom still covering his erect length.
Dissonant cymbals crashed.
“This kinky shit’s dangerous,” he gasped, amusement warring with frustration.
We tried a few things without success until Jack leaned against the climbing wall and anchored his upper back against it, spreading his legs forward and out. Our fingers touched, and he pulled me in as though we were underwater, yet I had no fear of drowning. I was so free, straddling him in midair, climbing the wall by his sides with my feet as he grasped my harness with his strong fingers and pulled me in.
We joined. Our rhythm was smooth and gentle; the slow thrust and even slower drag went on for an eternity, punctuated by moans and whispered endearments that reverberated in the acoustic space only to echo back to us.
The languid clarinets dictated the luxurious pace; the rest of the orchestra followed.
Including us.
“Jack… Jack I’m gonna….” His hips canted as he hit my happy place again. I wrapped my legs around his back and pulled in hard. Wanting him. All of him.
Now.
“Jack!” Tears of frustration leaked out of my eyes. “Please… oh…!”
He let go with one hand, wrapped it around my hard length, and stroked up and down a few times. I spilled and let the sound of my pleasure splash against the hard walls in an echo of loud, urgent moans. I felt my body spasm around Jack, who grabbed my hips tight again and buried himself to the balls several times with impressive force.
Our eyes met.
He gasped, tensed, and almost bit through his lip as he came. He was beautiful that way, too, and I let go of the rope and allowed my body to lean back and relax, holding onto Jack with my feet alone. I enjoyed the view for a few moments, and then I let go of the rope and let my arms and torso arc backward. I was still impaled. My arms were worn out from the effort of holding on.
Only the gentle echoes of an ageless rhythm now. Then silence, followed by the applause of the audience. The music in my mind was over.
Jack unfastened the rope off the mooring in the wall, let me down as smoothly as a feather, and knelt by my side. “Here, let me.”
And I let him, rejoicing in the sensation of his caring hands loosening the knots and buckles. I didn’t say anything but merely observed him with quiet curiosity.
He handed me my towel and slipped into his shorts. “You will want to shower, Wyatt.”
Oh, that. My jizz made a crazy splatter pattern up my chest. I felt a delicious, postcoital flush color my face as a sheen of drying sweat cooled my body. I sat up and he held me close, nuzzling my hair with those magical, thrilling lips.
“Wyatt….” He trailed off, his body tense.
“Yeah?” I mumbled, my face buried against his sculpted chest.
“Wyatt, I— Hell, this is hard.” He hit the floor next to us with a tight fist.
“Shh, Jack,” I soothed him. “No need to worry.”
“No, this is important, dammit! I just wanted to say that I… that I l-l—” His sudden, uncharacteristic stutter was interrupted by a rude howl.
“Hey, you two, get a room!”
A chorus of jeering voices reverberated through the cavernous space, disturbing our languid bliss. The blush on my face intensified as I thought back to how loud we’d been. They showed up over half an hour early: an unheard-of occurrence. But how did they get in?
Wrapped in my towel, I picked up my harness and stood next to Jack. “Now we will walk to the showers like nothing happened,” I said and looked at Jack with a sly smile. “You didn’t roar for me this time, though.”
“Fortunately.” Jack grinned. “At least you still have a cell phone ringtone that sounds just like me.”
O
NCE
Jack and I were showered and dressed, all six of us sprawled in the middle of the gym, making good use of the comfortable, padded floor. My head was in Jack’s lap, my eyes closed, and I had absolutely no desire to move, not for any reason and not anytime soon.
We weathered our share of knowing smirks and stupid jokes. Jack had been made to stand against the wall where we made love, and Reyna traced his outline with a fat marker.
Tim made some off-color remark about not wanting to be exposed to such depravity, and a debate sprang up about whether his elusive and mysterious Paige would ever swing on a line for
him
.
“Maybe I should get Auguste interested in climbing, since he’s gotten me into tennis,” Reyna wondered aloud.
“Hey, Reyna,” I snapped at the spirited redhead. “How the hell did you get inside? I locked the door on purpose.”
Reyna’s sparkling eyes slid toward me as she gave me a sly smirk. “Remember telling me about your special hobby? It occurred to me that not needing a key is a useful skill. I’ve been practicing every day since.”
Jack groaned. “The last thing I need is have you get in trouble, too. Wouldn’t that just make Auguste happy?”
“Who do you think showed me how?” Reyna challenged. “Whose picks do you think these are?”
I stared at her in amazement. My old, soft-spoken boss, Auguste Bernard Pillory the Third, knew how to pick a lock. “But why?” The question flew out of my mouth.
“He’s absent-minded and keeps misplacing his keys.” Reyna shrugged. “He finds it’s a practical skill.”
Tim interrupted, eager to divert us off our tangent. “All right, then. What have you learned about Haus, Wyatt?”
I gave them a somewhat sanitized account.