Cuthbert Lewis, aged twenty-eight, senior finance officer for Simla Inc., was the only one remaining in the large booth at Pinky’s gay bar. All his friends had left. He was one of four partners in The Paint Store. He’d been so pleased and excited for his gay friends as one by one they’d found their Mr. Right. Now he was the only one left. But would he ever find his own perfect partner?
Because Cuthbert had a secret.
Deep in his heart he liked his sex a bit rough and a little bit bad. Not broken-bones rough. And not drug-dealing outlaw motorcycle gang bad. But some nice deep-purple bruises on his ass rough. And maybe some pushed up against a wall and fucked right there and then bad.
He stared down at his charcoal-gray suit, starched white shirt, and shiny black dress shoes in despair. How the fuck would he ever find Mr. Naughty when, as an SFO, he had to look and dress like this? He’d considered getting a tattoo, but to keep his job it would have to be where no one at work would ever see it, so what would be the point of that? No one in a bar would ever see it either.
Morosely he took another sip of his sparkling water. And that was another thing. People looking for sex didn’t drink sparkling water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than a single alcoholic drink when he was out for an evening. The fear of losing his driving license ensured that was his limit. Even at home he almost never had more than two drinks, because he wanted to be absolutely sure any effects of the alcohol were gone from his bloodstream before work the next morning. Damn he was boring.
Maybe he should go online to one of those dating sites and try to find himself a hot bad boy there. But from what he’d heard, far too many of the people there lied terribly about who they were and what they wanted, and some of them were already in steady relationships and were just looking for a bit of fun on the side. There was no way Cuthbert ever intended coming between partners. That was totally against his beliefs and standards.
“Dance with me.”
Cuthbert looked up, startled. It was a statement, not a question, and the man who’d made the statement had the most unusual amber eyes Cuthbert had ever seen. He was just about to say he didn’t dance, when he noticed a tattoo peeking out from under the edge of the tight black T-shirt Amber Eyes was wearing. He put his water down and stood up, sliding out of the booth and following the other man onto the dance floor.
“My name’s Sam.”
“Cuthbert? Do they call you Bert?”
“No.” No one shortened his name at work, and his family had never shortened it either. Occasionally Basil, one of the co-owners of The Paint Store called him Cuth.
“Are you serious? It’s a bit of a mouthful. I’m actually Samuel but most people just say Sam.”
Cuthbert swallowed and said, “I do have a friend who calls me Cuth.”
“I don’t know what your problem is with Bert, but Cuth will do. So, Cuth, what do you do?”
To say senior finance officer seemed like too much information, or bragging, so he said, “Accountant. And you?”
“Landscape gardening. Own my own company. Work when and if I goddamn feel like it.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Cuthbert knew he’d never be brave enough to do that. He could be assertive if the company was heading down the wrong pathway with their financial decisions, but never about anything else. He’d never be brave enough to tell a client to go away just because he didn’t feel like working. He’d be too terrified they’d take their business to a competitor. Yeah, he was a wimp. And not just a wimp in his work life, but also a wimp in his personal life.
Like now. Samuel’s amber eyes were filled with lust and appreciation, but was he going to touch the man? Maybe hold him as they danced? Hell no. He was too worried about acting like he was encroaching on someone else’s personal space. He bet if Samuel wanted to touch him he wouldn’t stand back.
I need to be more assertive. To ask for what I want.
But somehow he knew he wouldn’t do it. He liked the look of Samuel. He had just the right hint of bad boy about him. That tight black T-shirt, and biker boots under his skinny leg jeans. But would Cuthbert have the self-confidence to ask for his cell phone number? Probably not.
Sam Gosling hadn’t come to Pinky’s tonight expecting to pick up a one-night stand. He’d simply wanted a couple of beers before heading back home to bed. Fortunately he had tucked his tiny travel tube of lube and a couple of lubed condoms into his wallet. He guessed that made him look like some kind of sleaze always out for a quick, random fuck, but that wasn’t him at all. Sure he’d had one-night stands. He was thirty, at the height of his sexual prowess, and still didn’t have a permanent partner.
Mr. Repressed in his neat dark suit was exactly what he needed. The buttoned-down ones were always the best fucks, and came the hardest. They were so unused to meeting a man who knew how to give the ultimate pleasure that he couldn’t be bothered fucking any other kind of man anymore.
No, Mr. Repressed was an ideal end to the evening.
Sam gripped the other man’s wrist tightly and walked fast out the rear of the bar and into the alley behind it. He looked around carefully. He’d fucked a man here before with no trouble, but it never hurt to check. All was quiet and calm. Good.
“Cross your arms, put your head on them, and stick your butt out. I plan to give you the best ass reaming you’ve ever had.”
“What? Here? I thought—”
“Why go to a hotel? This is perfect.” Sam unbuckled Cuth’s belt and unzipped him, reaching inside a pair of boring black boxers to grip his cock. Cuth had a nice dick. It was thick and hard and ready for action. Good.
He let go just long enough to unzip his own jeans and take the lube and a condom out of his wallet. He rolled the condom on his dick. He was more than ready for action himself. Then he squeezed lube all over two fingers. With no warning he pushed the fingers at Cuth’s back door, forcing them inside, slicking up the entryway. More lube, a little rubbing around the doorway, some massaging of the inside, and he was done. Thank Christ for lubed condoms. They took all the work out of fast sex.
Sam gripped Cuth’s hips and pushed his prick at the entry to heaven. He had to push hard, but the sphincter opened and let him in. He held his partner’s hips in a tight grip, and then used his own pelvis to slam himself deep inside. He didn’t wait for Cuth to adjust. Fast was good. Hot was good. Mr. Repressed would soon get with the program.
Sam pulled out, and gripped Cuth’s dick with one hand, keeping hold of his hip with the other, and slammed back in. This time Cuth pushed back on him, wiggling his ass.
“Ha. I knew you’d like this.”
“Yes.” Cuth’s reply was the faintest whisper but Sam’s hearing was damn good. He took that for the assent it clearly was, and began pounding in and out of Cuth’s ass, pulling and tugging on his partner’s dick with every stroke. His own cock was in heaven. Cuth was tighter than he could every remember anyone else being, and hotter than hell.
Cuth was pushing back into every stroke now, snapping his hips hard and fast with Sam’s rhythm. Sam’s prick was full of seed, his balls drawn up tight against his body, and the tingling at the base of his spine told him this was going to be all over really soon. He added a vicious little twist to every tug on Cuth’s dick, then swiveled his hips, aiming for his prostate gland. Hitting that hard little ball should send his partner soaring.
After that, things happened all at once.