Nowhere Man

Chapter 1

Bobby stared at the address scrawled on the hotel stationery. It couldn’t be right. There was absolutely no way Dr. Parley Taylor, author of The Smoke Seekers and Little David, two-time finalist for the National Book Award, one of the most brilliant literary minds in contemporary culture, could live in this rundown tenement in the worst slum of Kansas City.

A homeless man jostled his elbow. Bobby stepped out of his way, but the grizzled figure cursed at him anyway, shooting a dirty look from beneath eyebrows more Brillo pad than hair.

Inconceivable.

But all his research from the past four months had led him to Kansas City. And the private detective had been adamant this was the same man. Bobby had no choice but to follow it through to the end.

Tucking the paper into his jacket pocket, he glanced up at the overcast sky before climbing the steps to the apartment building. Though there was a security pad to the left of the doorway, the broken handle said it probably hadn’t worked in years, maybe even decades. Bobby pulled it open and gritted his teeth against the stale scent that assaulted his nose as soon as he crossed the threshold.

Dr. Taylor had a basement apartment. Bobby descended the narrow stairwell, staying as much to the center of the risers as he could. Dust coated the walls, but at least the smell seemed to dissipate as he reached the lower floor. It was a small comfort as he found the door marked 4B.

The green paint was chipped, and the peephole had long been covered. In spite of his reservations, Bobby’s stomach lurched in excitement. This could be it. He could finally meet the man he’d been studying, the writer he’d been analyzing, face to face. All it took was a single knock.

And nearly three minutes of waiting. Bobby wondered if he should knock again. Maybe Dr. Taylor wasn’t home? Maybe he didn’t hear him? The wait was just long enough to start doubting himself, and he began to concoct a cover story in case he had the wrong apartment.

As soon as the door opened, Bobby knew it was not the wrong apartment. The occupant peered at him from blurry eyes. Deeply etched lines made him look older than his forty-one years, and his clothes had seen better days. They were free of any gross stains, and the man didn’t stink, but his T-shirt was faded and tattered, and his jeans were almost threadbare. But there was no doubt in Bobby’s mind. This was Dr. Parley Taylor.

“What do you want?”

He’d practiced how he would approach the man from the moment he made his decision, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of addressing him in the bowels of a building’s carcass, looking like he hadn’t seen daylight in months. There were shades of the sharp attraction that had graced his book covers—the angular jaw, the slightly aquiline nose, the full lower lip that was as ready to pout as it was to smile—but those were masked by pallor and wary belligerence. This was the man whose picture had driven Bobby into a bathroom in order to jerk off the first time he’d seen it? It was almost as unbelievable as his living conditions.

“To find you, actually. You’re a very hard man to find, Dr. Taylor.”

“Yeah. Imagine that. A man who doesn’t want company is difficult to find. If I owe you money, call my lawyer. If you’re asking for money, I haven’t got any.” Taylor raked his eyes over Bobby’s form, his expression unchanging. “You don’t look like you’re here to tell me about the Glory of Heaven, but I’m not really interested in that, either.”

“No, no glory from me,” he tried to joke.

Taylor didn’t even crack a smile. It left Bobby wondering how he was going to get through to the man. Flattery probably wasn’t going to work. Bribery even less so. And if he came out and asked for the help he was looking for, Bobby was pretty sure the door would get slammed in his face.

So he just had to make sure he was on the other side of it before that happened.

“I never expected to find you in Kansas City,” he said, shouldering his way into the apartment. He knocked the other man slightly off balance, but that was inevitable when you had six inches and thirty pounds on someone. “All your family’s still on the west coast, isn’t it?”

Bobby expected the apartment to be as cluttered and dirty as the rest of the building, but the space was surprisingly clean. Well, maybe not so surprising—Dr. Taylor didn’t seem to have much in material possessions. He had a television against the wall, and a computer beside it. DVDs, books, CDs, magazines, and newspapers were stacked in straight rows against the wall. The kitchen consisted of a sink, a two-burner stove, and a small fridge. Bobby wouldn’t be surprised if Dr. Taylor subsisted off takeout and delivery.

But the floors were clean, and the walls might have had a fresh paint, and the couch looked almost new. It may have been Taylor’s cave away from the world, but it was far from a hovel.

“It sounds like you would know better than me.” Dr. Taylor stayed beside the open door, like he expected Bobby to leave very soon. “What else can you tell me about my life?”

He leveled a steady blue gaze that had intimidated more than one freshman in the basic lit classes he taught. “I know you wrote Little David in six weeks, and got it accepted for publication in three. I know everybody expected The Smoke Seekers to win, and there was an outcry when it didn’t. And I know you haven’t published anything in almost eight years. Your ex-agent said she hasn’t even heard from you since you left California. Can you tell me why a man as brilliant as you would try and hide from the world at the height of his career?”

“For giggles. I got bored. And I’m about to get bored with you, too. Why do you have such an interest in my life? Seems a bit unhealthy to me. Perhaps you should go see a shrink.”

“It’s not your life I’m interested in. It’s your work. Your books are the only reason I’m about to get my MA in modern American literature.”

“Wow, it’s worse than I thought.” Dr. Taylor shook his head. “Sorry, not even a good shrink can help you now. If you were going to get an MA, you should have at least studied something worth knowing.”

Bobby frowned. “I don’t think it’s a waste of time to appreciate brilliant writing.”

“Yeah, well, call me in ten years when you realize you’ve wasted your youth on so-called brilliant writing.” Dr. Taylor gestured at the door. “I’ll make a note of it in my date book, I promise.”

“Is that why you’re hiding? You think you wasted your youth?”

Taylor snorted. “Yeah, sure. That’s exactly it. Somebody told me I could recapture it in a basement in Kansas City. I was skeptical at first, but things are really looking up for me.”

“Well, then, what was it? Because I haven’t been able to figure it out.” Bobby swept a more discerning gaze over the other man. His body was lean, the forearms muscled. He might look sick, but he wasn’t wasting away. “Are you even writing anymore?”

The corner of Taylor’s mouth lifted. “Sure, I write all the time. The grocery list. Checks. An occasional grumpy letter to the editor.” He kicked the door closed. “As for why I’m here, it’s none of your business. Besides, your reason for being here is far more interesting. You can write your thesis or your seminar papers or whatever the hell it is you’re doing without traveling all the way to good ol’ KC.”

He took the click of the latch as a sign to relax. He wasn’t getting kicked out. Not yet, anyway. But he couldn’t give Dr. Taylor the answer he was digging for. Somehow, he was pretty sure, Hi, my name is Bobby Kendrick, and I’ve been in lust with you since I was fifteen, would elicit a stronger response than anything else he’d done so far. It didn’t matter that he was twenty-three now, or that he’d had his fair share of lovers since first realizing he was gay, or that he mostly believed it was as much jealousy about how damn talented Taylor was. Telling the man you’d hunted down that you wanted to split his ass until he screamed your name usually came with an immediate restraining order.

“But I can’t interview you if I’m not here,” he said smoothly. “And you don’t have a phone.”

“Here’s the funny thing. Most people would see the lack of a telephone as an indication that I don’t want to be bothered, not an invitation to come knock on my door.” Taylor advanced toward him, but Bobby refused to take a step back. He wasn’t going to let the other man intimidate him, even if he did look a little like a predator about to corner his prey. “What do you think?”

Bobby shrugged. “I think anything worth its salt is worth working for a little harder. No phone could have meant any number of things.” He smiled. “Call me an optimist. I chose to believe you were a technophobe, not a coward.”

“A coward? What do you think I’m afraid of? Some know-it-all little s**t will invade my home and ask a bunch of dull questions about dull books that everybody stopped caring about years ago? The fear of that eventuality positively keeps me up at night.” Taylor stopped moving, but not until their chests were nearly touching. “Is it fair to assign motivations to you? I choose to believe you’re looking for something a little more basic than conversation.”

He might be young, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew Taylor was trying to drive him away, test boundaries in order to freak him out or some other s**t like that. But he didn’t back away from anything. Especially when what Taylor offered sounded exactly like what he’d been fantasizing for years.

“If you really didn’t want me here, you’d call 911. Maybe there’s a little bit of pride still in there someplace. A piece of you that remembers just how right your words really were.”

“You don’t get it, do you? I haven’t been pining away the last several years, waiting for somebody to finally see me for who I am and rescue me from my basement. There’s only one thing I want anybody around for, and I don’t think you’re up to it.”

Bobby paused. Dr. Taylor had never made his sexuality a secret; it was yet another reason why he had admired the man so early on. Taylor acted as if being gay was the same as having brown hair, or being double-jointed, or being able to curl your tongue. It was just a fact of nature, and he’d never cared about condemnation or ridicule that it might cause. But he didn’t know Bobby was gay, did he? He couldn’t. Nobody ever did.

It was another test. It had to be.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” Bobby said. “You know nothing about me. You don’t even know my name.”

“I don’t really care either, but since you’re here, you might as well enlighten me.”

“Bobby.” It was ground gained. “Bobby Kendrick.”

“Bobby? What are you? Twelve? Do you have a grown-up name?”

“No, I’ve got a mother who admired Bobby Kennedy. Did yours have a thing for pirates?”

“I don’t know. Too bad I didn’t think to ask her before she died. Is there anything else you feel I need to know about you?”

“Yeah. I don’t give up. No matter what.”

“That’s extremely admirable. Really, I’m impressed. Well, Bobby Kendrick, it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance, but I think you should go find somebody else to harass. Unless you want to stay and keep me company.”

“It’s funny, but you’re not acting too harassed. Annoyed, maybe.” Without looking away, he crossed the few feet to the couch and sat down, stretching his arm along the back as he lounged in the corner. “I don’t have to be anywhere. Do you?”

“I’m wondering if I should be flattered that you’ve cleared your whole schedule to spend time in my basement, or just sad for you.” Taylor towered over him for a moment before settling on the other side of the couch. “But I don’t have anywhere else to be. I didn’t have any plans today, except downloading some porn later.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I stopped by.” He could play this game for as long as Taylor did. “Because unless you’re willing to pay for the really good sites, most of the porn online is shit.”

“Of course I’m willing to pay for it. I’ve got to do something with all those royalty checks, right? Besides the booze and cigarettes.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“How do you know?”

“You never did. And if you do now…” He made a point to sniff the air. “You’re doing it outside.”

“Well, I’m not smoking cigarettes at any rate. So what? Do you have my whole biography memorized?”

Bobby shrugged. “I was fifteen and in love with Little David. I don’t think it’s a crime.”

“Not a crime, but probably something you should have outgrown by now. I sure as hell have.” Taylor narrowed his eyes. “How old are you? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? I started that book before you were even born. Christ.”

Making Taylor feel his age was the last thing Bobby wanted. He wanted to draw him out, not push him back even deeper into his closely guarded shell.

“All the more reason to admire you.” He straightened and leaned forward, hoping to convey his sincerity. “Why is it so hard for you to accept the fact that someone like me could find inspiration in your work? I would’ve thought you’d love that idea.”

“It’s not the thought of somebody like you finding inspiration in my work. I wrote those books before I had any good understanding of the world. Maybe the prose is lyrical and I managed to make a few good metaphors. But the books aren’t honest. I’d be more impressed if you recognized that fact.”

“And what’s so dishonest about them?” Maybe if he understood the answer to that, he’d understand the answer to why Taylor was hermiting himself.

Taylor studied him for a moment, as if debating whether or not he should answer Bobby’s question or finally just toss him out on his ass. “They’re manipulative. I wrote the books so people like you would find them inspiring. Every word, every sentence, every image was meant to play you.”

“Why? Because you could?” Bobby shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“No. Because I wanted to be the next, great American writer. I wanted to be successful. I can’t really have too much respect for anybody who has decided to participate in my egotistical nightmare.”

“A nightmare?” He sounded more than a little silly repeating Taylor’s phrasing back at him, but that was how wrong it sounded coming from his mouth. “You were a success. Critically, financially. How is that a nightmare for any writer?”

“Well, I guess when you put it that way, I can see the error of my ways. I’m cured. Congratulations. But there is a reason to be careful what you wish for.”

Something had happened. No amount of sarcasm or snide comments could hide that. The pallor Dr. Parley Taylor wore had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with that mysterious event.

“And I suppose you’re not going to tell what that reason is,” he said carefully.

“I’m not in the habit of spilling my guts to strangers, no. Of course, I’m not in the habit of spilling my guts to people I know, so either way, I won’t be telling you the reason.”

“So we’ll find something else to talk about. I’m easy. How about those Broncos?”

Taylor stood. “I’ll give you a helpful hint. Don’t ask strangers that question in Kansas City. And since you’re desperately reaching for topics, I think this conversation is over.” He gripped Bobby’s jacket and yanked him to his feet with surprising strength. “Go write a paper about what a f*****g hack I am, and I guarantee you’ll make a name for yourself in the field.”

Taylor might have succeeded in surprising him once, but now that Bobby wasn’t startled upright, he had no intention of being dragged out by the shirt collar like a little boy. Planting his feet, he clamped his larger hands around Taylor’s wrists, a little amazed that his fingers could touch around the slim joints.

“For the last time,” he ground out, “you’re not a hack. Not now. Not then. Not ever.”

Taylor tried to tug his hands free, but Bobby wouldn’t let him. Each time Taylor attempted to pull away, Bobby tightened his grip. “If I agree that you’re right, will you leave?”

“No, because I’ll know you’re just humoring me.”

“Then it seems we’re at an impasse.”

He shook his head. “I don’t get it.” And he really didn’t. “You’ve given up, and I don’t know why. And fine, you’re not going to tell me, but damn it, I never expected to see the man who got me through some of the roughest times of my life feeling sorry for himself.”

“Why do you keep ascribing your feelings of inadequacy to me? First you accuse me of being a coward, and now you think I’m feeling sorry for myself? Just because I don’t live my life the way you think I should? Or do you expect me to apologize for disappointing you?”

“You’re better than this. You deserve better than this.”

“Now I know you don’t know me at all. If you did, you wouldn’t say that.”

“And if I needed any proof at all that you’re exactly like I said, that would be it.” It dawned on Bobby that he was still holding Taylor’s wrists, and he looked down at them in mild surprise. Taylor saw the path of his attention, but when he tried to take advantage of the distraction to yank away, Bobby just pulled him forward.

Their bodies collided, and though it was just a brief crush of hard flesh to hard flesh, Bobby felt the heat seeping through Taylor’s thin clothing. It was enough to make his breath catch—only for a fleeting second, but a second nonetheless. A knowing glint appeared in Taylor’s dark blue eyes, and Bobby hastily released him, taking a step back.

Taylor didn’t let Bobby have the space he wanted and needed. His step back resulted in two steps forward from Taylor, and his eyes glittered. “I’m beginning to think you had an ulterior reason for knocking on my door, Bobby Kendrick.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s not like that.” But there was nowhere else to retreat, and Taylor wasn’t stopping, matching each stride until the couch hit the back of Bobby’s legs. “I admire your work. What you had to say. That’s all.”

“You’re not a very good liar. You sound convincing enough, but your eyes give you away. And your eyes have been crawling all over me since you walked in.”

“Because you look like shit.”

Taylor chuckled. “Even if that were true, it wouldn’t be enough to dissuade you. I think that’s what you like the most. You’re wondering how you can get close enough to fix me.”

Bobby tightened his mouth. It was the only part of his body he seemed to have any control over. Taylor stood right in front of him, and though he’d already proved he was more than strong enough to take the older man, the instincts to do so failed him.

“That’s not true.” But not even he was convinced by his weak assertion.

“You know you’re not the only one, right? I’ve had young men look for me, seek me out, before. Some of them because they just wanted to talk about the damned books. Some of them wanted to make me come back to the world. But a few…a few of them wanted to know if the stories were true. You know the ones I mean, about all those nights and all those clubs, and all those boys.”

Oh, Bobby knew, all right. They had been a big part of his fantasies at the start. The tales of a young Parley Taylor, partying all night, f*****g all day, writing on scraps of toilet paper and club napkins whenever the spirit took him. He’d even seen people trying to hawk some of the written snippets on eBay.

And, yes, maybe once upon a time, he’d imagined what it would be like to be the one Taylor chose. To be the one to get fixed by those piercing blue eyes, watch the Man Himself prowl through the crowd like he owned the joint so that you were hard and ready for him by the time he reached you.

But not now. Not in years. This wasn’t what he wanted at all.

It was too bad his body had different ideas.

“I want to help.”

“Oh, you can help.” He brushed against Bobby, and his arousal was obvious. “If you’re willing to go that extra mile. You know, you’re just the sort of kid I would have sought out. Of course, the hunt makes it more exciting, but I’m not going to complain too much that you just showed up on my doorstep.”

“I’m not a kid,” he blurted, and immediately felt ridiculous. Taylor was playing him again. He knew that. So why the hell wasn’t he stopping him?

“So what are you going to do? Stay here and prove it?” Taylor reached between them, his fingers tracing the line of his erection. He hardly applied pressure, but the contact still seemed to sear him. “Or get out while you can?”

He reacted, because it was the only thing he could do. His hand shot out, gripped Taylor’s shoulder, and shoved him sideways, sending him sprawling along the length of the couch and pinned Taylor to the cushions.

The new position ground their c***s together. Bobby groaned as he began to rock.

“You’re an asshole,” he muttered.

Taylor grinned, his hand going to Bobby’s hip. Instead of stopping him, the tight grip just encouraged Bobby to build the pressure between them. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you since you walked through the door. You’re just getting the message now?”

His jaw locked. Each rub made his jeans burn along his c**k, his boxers nearly soaked with pre-come already. If they kept this up, he was going to come in his pants, because this was Parley-f*****g-Taylor he was grinding against, Parley-f*****g-Taylor looking up at him with pupils blown and nostrils flaring, Parley-f*****g-Taylor hard for him and his c**k, his presence.

Bobby glanced at the man’s mocking mouth. His watered. God, he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to slam their mouths together, just like their bodies were, and devour him, bask in each ounce of brilliance, know what it was like to hear his name fall from those lips. As soon as he did, though, he knew Taylor would deride the sentiment. Maybe not the old Taylor, but the new, definitely not improved, version would.

Instead, he slipped a hand beneath Taylor’s neck and curled his fingers painfully into the man’s hair. Pulled until it forced his head back. Lowered his mouth to suck hard at the taut sinew of Taylor’s neck.

Taylor gasped, his body stiffening beneath Bobby’s, his free hand going to the back of Bobby’s head. He held him in place, his muscles trembling with each hard suck, and Bobby knew that he would leave a vicious purple mark on the Taylor’s skin.

“Is this all you want to do, Bobby? Or do you want to make good use of that hard c**k?”

No, it wasn’t all he wanted. He wanted to tear those threadbare jeans off Taylor’s legs, lift his knees to his head, and plough into his ready ass until they were both shaking. He wanted to sink his teeth into Taylor’s flesh, make him scream and beg for more. He wanted to come, and then he wanted to feel Taylor come, and then he wanted to start all over again, maybe let Taylor ride him the second time.

He didn’t say any of that. Because admitting it would make it happen, and in spite of Taylor’s assertions otherwise, Bobby wasn’t like those boys he used to pick up.

Licking over the spot that now pounded with Taylor’s rampaging pulse, Bobby dragged his tongue along the edge of stubble just barely peeking through, over his Adam’s apple to the other side. His mouth clamped over the mirrored spot, and as he pulled hard enough to dare the blood to the surface, he increased the force of his hips, making each grind almost painful.

Taylor’s nail dug into the back of Bobby’s neck, and he rocked with Bobby, matching his pace. “Oh, I can tell what you want. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been f****d? Long enough to be tight for you. And grateful. Don’t you want to hear me begging for it? Don’t you want me to tell you how much I need you?”

He did. God help him, he did. But what he wanted more than that was for Taylor to mean it. He didn’t want this to be a game, a way to get to him, a war to see who would win and who would lose because that wasn’t what it was supposed to be about. At one point, Bobby was certain Taylor would have agreed with him.

Reluctantly, he eased up on the suction, lifted his head, stared down at black eyes that made every part of him feel like it was flying apart. “You’re humoring me again. Stop it.”

“Not humoring you. Well, maybe a little.” He guided Bobby’s mouth close his, and the first touch of his full lips against Bobby’s mouth sent a thrill down his spine. The caress was far too short, and over far too quickly. Taylor dragged his mouth along Bobby’s jaw to his ear, and his breath was hot as he spoke. “But you’re going to make me come in my pants if you keep this up, and that’s not fun for anybody.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Coming sounds like fun to me.” Easing his hips up, Bobby reached between their bodies and found the cool metal button of Taylor’s jeans, flicking it open expertly. “But I’m not f*****g you. Not even if you beg.”

Taylor’s hand moved from Bobby’s hip to his c**k, and he squeezed him through his jeans. “I doubt I’ll have to beg for it.”

He gritted his teeth against the sudden surge of electricity that went straight to his balls. “I’m still not f*****g you.”

Taylor unzipped Bobby’s fly and pulled his shaft free from his pants. He glanced down, a small smile pulling at his lips. “What are you going to do then?”

The heat was relentless, excruciatingly thorough as Taylor deliberately spread his fingers as wide as possible in order to cover as much of Bobby’s prick as he could manage. In that moment, with the one man guaranteed to always make him come writhing underneath Bobby like he hadn’t wanted anyone ever as much as he wanted him, Bobby couldn’t remember exactly why he wasn’t going to split that tight ass so both of them screamed. He only knew the fire, and the want, and oh so torturous need to get even more.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he growled. Abruptly, he sat up, yanking Taylor with him. Reaching in past the open flap of the man’s jeans, he fisted his c**k with a powerful enough squeeze to make Taylor groan. “Suck me.”

Taylor’s grip tightened, and he pumped his wrist, stroking Bobby’s smooth shaft. “If you want it, you’re going to have to take it.”

He couldn’t ignore the challenge in Taylor’s eyes. He also knew that Taylor wasn’t joking. His skin burned. Everything burned, even the space behind his eyes. And his balls throbbed, pain and heat flaring with every heavy beat of his heart. He released Taylor’s c**k and took his shoulder instead, forcing him to the floor between Bobby’s feet. Bobby wrapped his fingers around Taylor’s hair, and dragged Taylor’s mouth to his waiting c**k.

He sighed the second the crown slipped past the warm, wet, full lips. This was better than anything he had ever imagined, hotter, tighter. It was even better because he was the one in charge. Though Taylor coiled his slippery tongue around the head, Bobby refused to pull him down his length just yet. He needed to feel the rapid breath fanning over his skin, see the hunger in those eyes as Taylor gazed up at him through his lashes.

“Did you do this at the clubs?” he asked. “Get on your knees for the boy you picked out and suck him dry?” He didn’t care that Taylor couldn’t answer. He just wanted to watch the way the man reacted to the accusations. “You know what I would have done if you’d found me back then? I wouldn’t have filled your mouth up. I would have f****d you against the wall and made you recite Little David at me.”

Taylor’s eyes darkened, his brow drawing together. His tongue didn’t slow, and his lips were still tight, but Bobby could see the warring emotions on his face. Bobby could imagine what Taylor’s response would be, so instead of easing his grip, he increased the pressure, forcing him down, filling more of his mouth. Taylor shifted slightly, and over the soft sounds of his wet mouth, he heard Taylor stroking himself. He pushed for a little more but paused just before Taylor’s nose brushed against the hair at the base of his c**k. He moaned in protest, but Bobby held him, sighing as Taylor moaned a second time.

“You don’t get this anymore, locked away in your little hole, do you?” His heart was racing. He had no idea how he wasn’t f*****g Taylor’s face the way he wanted to, but somehow, the control held him back. “And you want it. I can see how much you want it. But you know what? Knowing all this doesn’t change a single thing about what I think about you.” His tangled fingers pulled at the loose strands of hair as he tightened his hold. “Nothing’s ever going to change the fact that I know you’re brilliant.”

Taylor’s eyes narrowed the moment before Bobby pulled him down, burying the head of his c**k in the other man’s throat.

Taylor’s throat constricted around his c**k as he swallowed again and again. His shaft twitched against Taylor’s tongue and the roof of his mouth, and chills rolled down his spine. He didn’t let Taylor move until his balls started to tighten, and then he only allowed the other man enough room to move a few inches. But those few inches were enough to create an exquisite sort of friction, and when Taylor scraped his teeth across his shaft, Bobby thought he would break.

The rhythm he established was erratic and short-lived, vicious thrusts where mouth met hips, Taylor’s throat a growing torrent of trembling. On the third stroke, Bobby shouted, slamming upward so roughly that Taylor barely had time to accommodate him, and he blasted shot after shot down the man’s throat as everything tunneled around him. His head slammed back against the couch, and his eyes squeezed shut, and even as the shudders wracked through his body, all Bobby was aware of was the torment of those tight muscles around his c**k.

And the fact that it was Taylor sucking him dry.

Bobby could tell the moment when Taylor’s orgasm overtook him. He tensed, the vibrations from his shout echoing through Bobby’s c**k. Taylor eased away from him slowly, lapping at his slick skin, like he couldn’t quite get enough of him, and catching each thin strand of come with his lips. But when Taylor finally looked up at him, his eyes were shuttered once again.

Hot shame burned away the euphoria of the orgasm. What the hell was he thinking? He hadn’t come here for s*x, as much as he might have fantasized about it. And yet, he’d done exactly as Taylor had predicted, acted like a c**k-crazed teenager eager to just get off. It didn’t matter that Taylor had come, too. It didn’t matter that he was still semi-hard at thoughts of where else he could f**k the man.

All that mattered was that he’d proven Taylor right. That, more than anything else, killed off any remaining desire he might have had.

Taylor’s piercing gaze tracked him as he jerked to his feet. It watched every flutter of his fingers as he shoved his prick back into his jeans, did up the fly with a hasty yank. It followed him all the way to the door, unspeaking, all-knowing.

Bobby even felt it as he fled back into the streets. All he could think was, At least something escaped.