Page 60 of Burn this City

Then:But I changed my password.

No point. And no, nobody else can see this and connect it to you. No need to freak out and run away. Keep enjoying the site.

You shot amateur porn?

I’ll tell you the story someday. This video is going away now, but I have more.If he told Jack how many more, he might be shocked. It was one of those things that people should be eased into slowly, if at all. Though his guess was that, since Jack’s whole sexuality had focused only on porn, he appreciated it for what it was.

Not sure I can take more.

Sal laughed. With anybody else, he’d have called and ramped up the teasing, but he didn’t want to steamroll Jack, and yet, he did want to drive him out of his mind and then show him that watching wasn’t nearly as intense as actually involving another person in his orgasm. At least now Jack had a pretty good idea how Sal gave head.

He shared another one the same way.

Feel free to go at your own pace.

No response, and Jack remained “inactive” on the site, but when Sal checked the next morning, that video had been watched and then deleted itself.

No text messages, of course, and considering Jack’s online habits, all texts had been deleted and erased. He wasn’t the kind of person to send an explicit photo back to prove how much he’denjoyedthe clips, unlike other guys Sal had hooked up with. But how circumspect Jack was about the whole thing, while clearly being more inexperienced than prudish, was terribly endearing. It made Sal smile as he stood in the bathroom, getting ready to—finally—kill some people.

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If it was weird to begin the day watching the man who was now at war with his family have sex with another man, and relive the best bits under the shower, Jack didn’t care to be normal anymore. He’d never have imagined watching a “performer” he knew outside of the videos could be hot, but Sal Rausa fucked pretty much the same way he fought—whole-heartedly, passionately, and fiercely.

“Feel free to go at your own pace.”

The video was shot with the same man. Though, arguably, determining whether the owner of that cock from the first video was the same guy who held Sal Rausa down on the bed while piledriving into his body in the second was impossible—angle and all. Whoever he was, he was very nice to look at, but Jack found that 95% of his attention was on Sal—every breath, sound, twitch, groan or thrust.

What made Jack even more breathless was that the video featured kissing. It was impossible to tell whether the man was a boyfriend or lover or one-night stand, because if he could tell one thing, both from experience and after watching Sal, it was that he seemed to consider kissing simply part of sex. Even in the middle of a brutal onslaught, he slowed down to grab his partner’s head and devour his mouth.

His partner was into it, and if anything, Sal’s sole focus seemed to be on blowing the man’s mind. That was what surprised him about the video—if pressed, Jack would have assumed that a guy like Sal Rausa would seize and keep control, but the blowjob video and the one where he got fucked showed Sal in a very different light, and he seemed to enjoy that too. A lot.

Jack had questions.

He shook his head, then checked his phone for theothertext message. This one from Andrea.

Breakfast, my place, @10

He didn’t have to confirm that he’d be there. Andrea assumed he would be, and in all those past years, Jack had never disappointed. Turning it over in his head, the text message was no different from hundreds of others. On the surface, there was no need to be anxious, and yet …

Getting a solid eight hours of sleep had recharged Jack’s batteries, and so had Sal Rausa’s teasing and flirting. He had to force himself to hold back—the next few days would be dangerous for everybody—but Sal made him believe that there would be a future, and Jack couldn’t figure out how he did it. For the first time, there seemed to be something to look forward to, instead of constantly re-evaluating the past and, clinging to the moment because the endless now had to be endured for as long as possible.

The possibilities were dizzying.

He arrived at Andrea’s house at ten o’clock sharp, and for what felt like the first time took conscious note of the security personnel in the outsized grounds. The house had already been too large for Andrea’s father, and that was before Andrea had torn down part of it and then added two wings, filled in the original pool, and added a heated pool that was three times the size of the previous one.

Ironically, considering Andrea’s house was large enough for a televangelist’s ego and a harem of toys, it remained largely empty. Of the thirty or so bedrooms, only three were used regularly, and a fourth seemed to be used whenever Petra or Andrea weren’t using the master bedroom. Once upon a time, Andrea had imagined that some rooms could serve live-in nannies or live-in security, but all personnel left at the end of their work day. Security wasn’t so tight that the men couldn’t go home when the night shift or the day shift had arrived. Jack lived so close that he didn’t have to stay overnight when Andrea and he worked late—in all those years, he’d stayed four times in total, and every time he’d woken up, gotten dressed, and headed home before Andrea stirred.

Security was light because nobody in their right mind would consider touching Andrea’s property, so while the security firm was qualified, they’d never had to deal with a real, live threat. Jack usually checked in with the current team head and asked for an update. Very rarely was there anything of note, but Jack made a point of showing interest.

He continued on toward the house proper, where a maid informed him that Mr. Lo Cascio was taking breakfast on the terrace on the first floor. He gave her his own breakfast order and went up the stairs to one of the tastefully decorated sitting rooms that were never used for anything but as space to walk through on the way to the terrace. The double doors were open.

Andrea lounged at a formally set round table, along with a tablecloth and silverware, and acknowledged him with a startled frown. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

Jack grimaced. “Slipped getting out of the Jacuzzi. Banged my head, and was damned lucky I didn’t knock out a tooth or two.”

“The fuck. You look like you’ve been in a car wreck.”

“No, the car is fine. So’s the Jacuzzi.” Jack shrugged and sat down where the second plate was laid. “I don’t know, I could pass it off as a battle wound?”

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