Page 18 of The Professional
“Hey, thanks for joining me.” Then he leaned and nearly collapsed against the blue tiled shower wall.
Rourke saved him from harm, and together, they washed Forrest’s body. He stuck to washing Forrest’s chest and back, while Forrest took care of his semi-hard junk and ass. That didn’t stop him from wiggling his bubbly asscheeks in Rourke’s direction.
“Want a smack?” Forrest pressed his chest against the tiles, legs spread and ass pointed teasingly in Rourke’s direction.
“Don’t tempt me,” Rourke mumbled in return. It made him think about those bruises again. There were about ten, and they were the size of Rourke’s thumb, as though someone held on so tightly, they’d left behind the evidence. Sometimes these things happened because clients would get so wound up in what they were doing that they forgot how strong they were, but these were something more. Forrest actively avoided any questions about them.
Rourke ran a washcloth over Forrest’s shoulders and down his spine, the bubbles of soap building against Forrest’s flawless skin, the scent of lavender filling the space between them. The water ran hot on their flesh and it soothed sore muscles Rourke didn’t know he owned.
“Do you like taking a shower with me?” Forrest wiggled backward, and Rourke clutched at him before his sweet ass could meet Rourke’s already hard cock, trapped in his wet underwear.
“No.” Rourke’s mouth twitched and warmth filled his chest, with some of it spreading to his lower regions.
“You’re a liar.” Forrest licked his bottom lip slowly. “I told you that you can do anything you want to me.”
“And I won’t, not while you’re drunk, and especially not while you’re my whore.” Yet even as he said it, his balls drew closer to his body, heavy and full.
“You’re so mean, showering with me and not doing a damn thing.” He grabbed the base of his boner and swung it side to side, and Rourke’s eyes dipped down to it before he could stop himself. He quickly looked away again.
Rourke didn’t say anything as he twisted off the knobs, and then helped Forrest out of the shower. He dried him off. Forrest, the tease, stretched his arms above his head and rocked his hips from side to side, making his cock swing and those cheeks jiggle. He knew exactly what he was doing to Rourke, and Rourke was going to hell with the thoughts in his head. He wanted nothing more than to push Forrest forward over the bathroom sink and drive his painfully hard cock into Forrest’s hole, fucking him until he remembered only the shape of Rourke’s erection.
He didn’t do that, of course. By the time he placed Forrest back in bed, snuggled beneath the covers, Rourke felt like he’d explode. He went to his bedroom and into the attached bathroom, one of the few rooms which had one. There, he tugged on himself until his release splattered across the floor of the shower and swirled down the drain with the excess water.
Rourke leaned against the shower wall, water tumbling over his head and down his body as a tremble worked its way down his spine. “Fucking, Forrest.”
A two-word curse in its own right, he said it far more than he should have.Fucking Forrest.
Chapter Five
Forrest’s mouth tasted like shit. He’d woken up with a dizzy head and a fuzzy tongue. He hadn’t been drunk enough that he didn’t remember what happened last night, how he’d practically humped Rourke up on the roof, and how Rourke had helped him in the shower.
He groaned, letting his forehead thump against the glass of the shower.Idiot. A complete idiot. From the moment he’d met Rourke, he’d wanted him to see him as a temptation, a man who could rock his world, but he had acted like a teen tasting alcohol for the first time. He’d made a fool of himself.
Someone slammed their fist on the bathroom door, and he recoiled away from the glass.
“Forrest, hurry up. I have a client coming at eight. He’s an early riser, if you know what I mean.” Jagger laughed at his own joke.
While the bathroom connected to Forrest’s room technically belonged to him, he let some of his sort of friends use it, too. He imagined having a communal shower sucked, but that’s what happened when you didn’t earn the big dollars.
“Coming,” Forrest mumbled.
“I hope not, I’m on a schedule.” Jagger chuckled again.
Forrest switched off the knobs of the shower and sighed, stepping out and grabbed his towel. He didn’t bother to dry himself, just moved out the door and into his room.
Jagger sat on the edge of Forrest’s bed, knees crossed and lips pressed in a thin line. He was attractive, as blond as Forrest, with a heart shaped face and big blue eyes, but while Forrest took every type of patron, Jagger’s clients preferred being a daddy to their baby-faced boy. Little did they know, Jagger owned a mean temper and was engaged in a weird power play with most of the other workers. He liked to show dominance over them.
When he saw Forrest, his eyebrows reached for his hairline. “What trash were you lying in last night?”
“None.” Forrest waved a hand at him and headed to his walk-in closet. “I drank too much.”
“Does Rourke know that?” Jagger’s voice irked Forrest this morning, and he chose to ignore the question. But Jagger, being the annoying person that he was, followed Forrest. His fingers danced over the lines of hanging clothes and whistled. “I’d die for this collection.”
Forrest shrugged and sat on a fluffy light green bench they’d put in the closet last year. It’d been a nice touch and helped when he needed to wiggle into pants that felt, and looked, like a second skin. “Become a bigger earner.”
“Bitch, please.” Jagger skipped over to sit beside him and nudged his shoulder against Forrest’s. “I’m making my way up. More men are getting into the daddy/boy play.”
Forrest believed that, too. Men begged him to call them daddy, and Forrest complied because that’s what his job required. “I thought you were on a time limit.”
