Page 49 of Work: Strictly Professional

Water splashes and then levels as I lift myself out of the tub and sit on the edge, legs still in the water. The weather is balmy, warm, and still. The temperature in the tub and out of it are almost the same. The LED lights in the tub change color from electric green to yellow. Wyn’s skin glows gold where the light touches it. He’s standing still, one hand clasped in front of him, low down, like he needs to rearrange himself but isn’t fully aware of it yet. I brush his hand aside and worry the pale-pink tie. I ask the question with my eyes, and he nods and moves his hand out of the way. I untie it slowly. My hand is steady, but I’m shaking inside. The tie comes undone, loosening and offering me the access I long for. My fingers splay out on his stomach and his breath catches, skin pebbling under my touch. I watch as he pushes his shorts down. It takes forever, a split-second, a lifetime. His dick is half-hard and rapidly growing, gold like a statue. A sculpture. I watch, transfixed, as it thickens and juts out from his body.

I like what I see in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s one of those things that just makes sense to me. It feels right to see his dick now and it felt right to hold it earlier. And God, it felt rightwhen it exploded in my mouth. It felt so right that if my own cock weren’t straining in my swim trunks, insistent and needy, I’d retract my offer right now, get four hundred and eighty-two dollars out of my wallet, and beg Wyn to take it.

Things being what they are, I hold out my hand and guide him as he lowers himself into the water. He kneels on the bench seat between my legs as I peel off my trunks. His hand is wet and warm when he touches me. He slides it up my shaft and then down again, circling me firmly at the base and angling me toward him. I feel it everywhere. Cock. Balls. Brain. He’s barely touched me and a pit of pure pleasure has already formed at the base of my spine. I blink, and a ragged breath fills my lungs as I try to push my orgasm back.

No!

Jesus, no. Surely, surely to God, I can’t come from that. He’s hardly touched me.

He pauses, and when I go still, he sinks his head down. He takes me lightly, gently swallowing my head, teasing me with puffy lips and lashings of tongue, and then releasing me again. He must sense that I’m close, that I’m lost, that I have dynamite running through my veins because he waits until I’ve recovered before doing it again. He takes a little more each time he leans down, and by some miracle, I survive it without losing my mind or dissolving completely. His head bobs up and down and there’s something impossibly sweet about how he looks, almost like a good boy at prayer. He has the base of my cock in both hands now, holding it reverently as he devours me. His eyes are closed. The lights in the water change from yellow to orange. My heart rate skyrockets.

Soft, helpless moans escape me and make new homes in the palms and the ferns around us. Wyn keeps working. My dick thickens and strains beyond anything I’ve ever felt. I’m helpless, a weapon, a bomb, a vessel full of nothing but pleasure.

“Wyn.” It’s my voice, but it’s broken. “Wyn, Wyn.” He hears my call and answers, eyes tracking lazily up my body until they meet mine. “Wyn,” I say again. It’s the only word I remember. The only word I still know.

He releases my cock with a soft, filthy pop and rubs his face all over it. This cheek, that cheek, lips, nose. I reach down and card my fingers through his hair. Words, all of them, come rushing back. “You’re so pretty,” I say, broken and drunk now. “You’re so pretty and sweet, and you’re mean, and you’re sexy, and you have”—he takes me back into his mouth—“audacity…the audacity…you have all of it.All of it’s yours.”

I groan like I’ve taken a fist to the solar plexus as my insides clench.

Wyn jumps up, quick as a cat, one hand on my chest making me arch back, the other holding his dick and mine in a sure, steady grip. The light changes from orange to red. The water is lava. An inferno. Wyn’s body is painted red, his features crimson and hot. The temperature spikes. His dick, slick and wet and hard, God, so hard, snakes against mine. I howl at the first contact and the second. And the third. I don’t stop until pleasure hits, and even then, I don’t stop. I cry out as I drown, as I fly, as I die. I cry out until I’m lying back on the paving, twitching and shaking, as Wyn cleans our mess with his tongue.

Later, I’m in bed. Wyn’s breathing softly beside me, and I’m waiting for gravity to find me. It always seeks me out after an intense release of emotion. I feel heavy, but not like usual. I feel aware of my body. My hands, my feet. I can feel my heartbeat, steady and slow, and I’m aware of my chest rising and falling. I feel strangely present. Comfortable in my own skin. I feel other things too. Excitement. Joy. Relief. It’s not unexpected. I expected to feel a lot. I knew I would. What is strange, what I didn’t expect at all, is the complete and notable absence of the two emotions I thought would pull me under for good. Twoemotions that have ruled me. Emotions I dread and fear more than any others.

Wyn gurgles in his sleep. It’s not a laugh exactly, but close. It’s a laugh stuck in his chest, unable to find its way out. I roll on my side to face him so I can see his eyelids fluttering gently. He’s dreaming.

A beautiful boy with beautiful dreams.

A beautiful boy who’s taken my guilt and shame away.

The light wakes me, baking hot and bright, bold mid-morning daylight, not the weak offering of early hours. It’s been so long since I woke at this hour that I find it a little disorienting.

I’m alone in bed, and I find that disorienting too.

I find a coffee, slightly cooled but still decent, and a bowl of granola with yogurt and fruit on the bistro table. I eat and get ready at leisure, peaceful and more relaxed than I’ve felt in years.

The peace is shattered by a drawn-out “Derek” that somehow manages to be sharp and a purr at the same time. Barbara Anne and Sage join me as I walk down the path to the venue.

“So, tomorrow’s the big day, huh?” Sage says rather unnecessarily.

Barbara Anne sighs and nods as though he’s said something deeply profound. “It is.”

It’s not that I mind Barbara Anne being with someone else. It’s not even that I mind Sage, diaper pants notwithstanding, per se. For years, after a bad day between Barbara Anne and me, I’d lock myself in my study and fantasize about her leaving me for another man. It felt like a perfect solution. She’d be the bad guy, but she’d finally be happy. I wouldn’t be the one who broke up our family, and I’d be free.

So no, it’s not that I mind that she’s moved on. What I mind is that I know shewantsto upset me. To one-up me. To beat me. To win. We’ve played like this for years. I take her pawn. She takes my knight. She attacks. I retreat. It’s been a long, endless game. A game that’s gone on for years. We’ve chased each other around and around the board, and I’m tired. I’m so tired.

Barbara Anne and Sage are to my left, holding hands and leaning into each other, unable to walk like normal people, as we enter the venue. There are flowers and people everywhere, an army of people, and they’re moving at speed. Their general is a man of short stature, wearing an earpiece in lieu of a helmet, a notepad clenched to his chest instead of a shield. Still, leagues quake as he directs them.

He turns as I approach. Slowly, almost as if I said his name upon arrival and he heard me. He taps his earpiece roughly, ending the call he’s on, and breathes in my direction. Time slows and drags out. The ride I’ve been on comes to an abrupt halt. Things aren’t black and white. It’s the earth beneath me, not a big checkerboard. This isn’t a game. It’s my life.

There’s a soft ripple when our eyes meet. A quiver of lips. A deep flicker and then a shadow. Pale-blue swirls and turns to water.

“Wyn!” I rush to him, knocking into an errant chair and sending it skidding across the floor. “What’s wrong?” I reach for him and take his face in both hands. “Tell me.”

“It’s the photographer.” Soft, puffy lips crumple. Tears start flowing, tracking down his cheeks in hot, salty tracks. “He isn’t coming.”

I don’t even think about it. I grab him and pull him toward me. I wrap my arms around him, and he not only lets me, but he goes soft and melts into me. His face is buried in my chest, one hand knotted in my shirt and the other around my waist, as he clings to me. I’m instantly activated. Heightened. In amurderous rage that anyone would dare upset him and, at the same time, weak with relief and honored, grateful to whatever deity or dumb luck threw us into the situation that led to us being here. To Wyn being in my arms. To me being in a position to hold him and make him feel better.

“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper into his hair. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of this.”

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