Page 5

Chapter 2

Anthony

In the elevator, Anthony kept his hand planted on the chorus twink’s ass. It was the perfect balance of squishy and firm, and he had plans for it. The smell of lemon-scented cleaner filled the metal box as they ascended to the twenty-first floor. The chorister, just tipsy enough to really loosen his tongue, was going on about his own career.

“I know that it doesn’t happen very often, but people do move from the chorus to principal roles. I tried to get Barry to hire me as your cover, but he said I wasn’t ready for it. Said my coloratura wasn’t up to snuff. My coloratura is excellent, thank you! He said that he’d consider letting me cover Don Ottavio in Don Giovanni next season, which would be amazing. But not as cool as if I’d been able to cover you.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened onto Anthony’s floor.

“We’re here.” Anthony grabbed the chorister’s hand and pulled, hoping the jolt would shock him enough to stop talking about his operatic ambitions. Anthony doubted he was principal role material, and even if he was, didn’t he understand it would put them in competition?

“Oh my god, everything’s so nice.”

The chorister looked around at the hotel hallway, which, in Anthony’s opinion, was only okay, a fairly ordinary attempt at an elevated mid-century modern design. The guy’s eyes traveled down to the carpet, where he became entranced by the geometric pattern. Anthony pulled again. The chorister would focus once he had Anthony’s dick in his mouth.

Anthony waved his key card in front of the lock, flipping the light to green. He pushed the door open and brought the twink inside.

“Holy shit.” The chorister stopped in his tracks, his eyes like saucers. “This place is amazing.”

It should be. Anthony had fought for it in his contract. It was the hotel’s penthouse suite, and it had a full kitchen. Not that he cooked when he was on the road, but it was nice to have the option. One entire side of the suite was a gorgeous view of the lake. To the far right, the gleaming lights of the Chicago coastline jutted out into the waters of Lake Michigan. Views like that were one reason that Anthony loved to sing in different cities.

But this was no time to admire the skyline. Anthony had other things to admire.

He wrapped his arms around the taut, toned body of the blonde twink, embracing him from behind. Anthony’s hands traveled up under his shirt and grazed the soft skin of his torso. The twink leaned back against Anthony’s body as Anthony kissed his collarbone, making his way up his neck. When Anthony nibbled at his ear, he moaned, soft and deep.

Anthony’s cock began to harden, and the twink pushed his perfectly round ass back against Anthony’s crotch. Feeling Anthony’s rigidity through his pants, he groaned, rubbing up and down against it.

Anthony sucked harder at the chorister’s neck, who shivered uncontrollably at the assault.

“Oh god…yes…”

Anthony loved this, loved when his partner lost control at his touch. He always put himself in the driver’s seat in these kinds of interactions. Technically, he was versatile, but he couldn’t imagine bottoming for some stranger he met on the road. It required a vulnerability that he wasn’t willing to give.

It wasn’t just about topping and bottoming. He relished the power to make someone fall apart in his hands. Sometimes he imagined letting someone else have that control over him. He wondered if he would feel a sense of freedom, finally giving over everything to another person. Not that it mattered. It couldn’t happen. He didn’t trust anyone that much.

“Sir?”

The word snapped Anthony into the present moment. The blonde knelt on the floor in front of him, his once-innocent face filled with lust. His hands were on Anthony’s waistband.

“Can I?” the twink asked.

Anthony reached down and ran his hand through the man’s floppy blonde hair. He moved back a few steps until he was leaning against the kitchen island. “Go ahead.”

The twink scooched forward, squeezing Anthony’s erection through his pants before tugging at his belt buckle. He was so eager, so willing to please. His soft hands pulled the length of Anthony’s cock out into the cold hotel air. Anthony relaxed his head back, letting it fall to the side.

That’s when he saw it.

A single, large white peony lay against the black granite, and next to it, a piece of expensive cardstock covered in ornate silver calligraphy.

“Shit.” Anthony reached down and removed the twink’s hands from his dick. “Stand up.”

“What?” The chorister had a sad, hurt look on his face, like a kicked puppy. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Anthony answered, waving him off. The twink stood awkwardly as Anthony leaned over the paper. He knew what it would say.

Dear Anthony Lorenzo Bianchi…

The chorister’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind, and Anthony tensed. He grabbed the twink’s wrists and pried off the body of his would-be lover.