Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Trevor laughs, then folds his arms tighter, blushing. “You’re just like a dog. No wonder you have one.”
I look over at Lance still sitting at the foot of the stairs. He still hasn’t touched his food since that first lick. Maybe I should bring it upstairs for him so he can eat in peace.
“I mean, I’m sure he’s a nice fellow,” Trevor adds suddenly. “I didn’t mean to sound like a dick just now.”
“Oh, no. I’ll totally own that. I’m a fuckin’ dog.”
He laughs, then faces me head-on suddenly, his expression turning serious. “What are we doing, Ben?”
I lift an innocent eyebrow. “We’re hanging out after dinner.”
“After you blew me on your breakfast bar,” he adds. “Let’s not leave out the crucial details, here.”
“In that case, I blew you and jerked you off until you came all over our bodies. Then we cleaned off our sticky chests in my bathroom, and I put on a new shirt because I used mine to wipe up our mess on the counter.” I smirk superiorly. “Crucial details.”
He stares at my chest for a second, as if forgetting that all of that just happened. “I … like your new t-shirt. I didn’t take you for an oldies fan.”
“Oldies?? Dude, it’s Guns N’ Roses. I’m a huge fan of all types of music. I have a whole room of band memorabilia, in fact.”
Trevor blinks. “A whole room?”
“Yes. I own this whole floor. Come, I’ll give you a tour.”
Trevor reluctantly follows as I move around the couch toward the hall that runs off from the side of the living room. I also figure this tour might give Lance an opportunity to eat his meal in peace, if the presence of this “stranger” in our home was filling him with too much anxiety to stomach anything past that first lick.
And considering I finally got my first lick of Trevor, it’s only fair that my dog is afforded the same chance with his food.
The hallway is lined on one side with doors and the other with the same floor-to-ceiling windows from the living room. I show him the enormous guestrooms—of which there are no less than four—each of them with themed décor, and each with a window and door that opens to the terrace with plants, chairs, and tiny lights that turn on in the evenings. The building is L-shaped, and it’s at the end of this leg of the “L” that we arrive at the final room, which is my music-themed gym—completely lined with floor-to-ceiling windows (with the exception of one wall of mirror) and a big glass door emptying onto the end of the terrace.
“Holy crap,” breathes Trevor as he wanders around the machines. “You have your own personal 24-hour gym in here. You could sell memberships.” He runs a hand along the bench press, upholstered with a Metallica logo, then strolls up to the dumbbell station, the rack of which has a giant red-on-black Nine Inch Nails logo painted up its side, the second N backwards.
Of course, all I’m really looking at is his ass. Sure, I made him come good and hard, but I abstained; I want him to see how much of a gentleman I can be, even if it means blue-balling myself for the night—assuming I don’t lose my resolve in the next ten minutes.
“Nine Inch Nails? Sounds familiar. Is it referring to the ones used to crucify Jesus? Is Nine Inch Nails a Christian rock band?”
Oh God, he’s so young. My heart aches. “You’ve seriously never heard their music before?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t listen to much,” he admits.
I suppress a laugh, not wanting to mock him. “I’ll play a song for you sometime and let you come to your own conclusion about how Christian and wholesome Nine Inch Nails is.”
He smirks, picking up the tone of my voice. “No need to tease me for my … naïveté.”
“No teasing here. Just admiring the view,” I say to his butt.
He turns around and gently leans against one of the machines. “What view?”
I come up to him. “The one you just hid from me.”
Trevor looks up into my eyes, then takes in his bottom lip with his teeth. He lets it go with a pop—which does nothing to ease my animal desire to descend on those plump lips and suck them until they’re cherry red—then suddenly volunteers a factoid. “I’ve never really had a boyfriend.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Never?”
“Not a real one. Not one who’s lasted for more than, like, a month, tops. And it’s not that I haven’t wanted one,” he adds. “It’s just that I’ve been so busy with school. My priority is always … A’s, studying, and getting enough sleep for a test in the morning.”
He lowers himself onto a bench in front of the dumbbell rack. I sit on another across from him. “I bet your GPA thanked you.”