Page 3 of Caged By the Stranger (Bad Decisions #1)

The following Friday

This week was brutal. Twelve-hour days. Phone calls every damn night. I must have put two thousand miles on my car. Granted, it’s the company’s car, but the people up at corporate probably give little thought to how much time an ass in a seat can drain a man.

Amor . What a joke that I work for a chocolatier company named Amor and feel little love, except for my paycheck.

Tugging the zipper of my leather jacket higher against the cold, I take swift steps across the parking lot of Illusion.

I know it’s only been a week since I’ve been here, but I’m headed to Sacramento first thing Monday morning to work my circuit there.

There are only a few more weeks until Valentine’s Day, our biggest sales holiday.

I’m going to sink this one in the bag this year.

I want it to be my best sales quarter yet.

My division is going to smoke all the others—I know it.

Despite my exhaustion and mental burnout, it brings me a satisfied smile.

Call me competitive. Whatever. It’s what I do.

It’s all I have to do, even as much as I bitch about it sometimes.

The only hang-up is… this . Sometimes a guy needs to blow off some steam.

Wrapping on the door, the privacy window slides open after a few seconds. This guy is slow on purpose, I swear. I tell him the codeword, and a moment later the door opens.

I don’t understand why he makes me show him my freaking ID each time. Does he think I have a twin brother?

When he checks his list to ensure that I’ve messaged ahead of time to reserve a spot and sent proof of my clear bill of health, he finally hands my ID back over.

“Back so soon? Liked your session last time that much, did you?”

I refuse to engage, refuse to ask him any questions.

I’m realizing it’s a game he plays. My pulse is kicking with an answer, all right, and maybe he can tell given that amused twinkle in his eyes.

I remind myself that when Wednesday night rolled around, I didn’t feel like talking myself out of coming back any longer.

Only half a week before I’d caved and scheduled this visit.

That’s a record for me. It has nothing to do with my session last time.

Nothing at all. This is about being overworked.

It doesn’t matter who they send back there tonight, anyway. I’ve already accepted that it won’t be that amazing guy from last week. That’s not how these places work, is it?

I don’t care. I just need to get off and am in one of those moods where it’ll feel better if someone else does it for me rather than myself. I need to go to Sacramento with a clear head and a low stress meter if I want to clinch breaking my sales record.

“Room ready, or do I need to head to the lounge?” I ask, trying to sound unconcerned.

Smiling, he leans over from his stool and opens the door that leads to the private rooms. “Head on back. I’ll make the call.”

Waltzing through like I’m not in a hurry, like my heart rate isn’t accelerated, I head down the hallway.

After a few steps, I realize he didn’t tell me which room number.

I’ve always been in number three. Glancing to my left, the first two rooms have the red bar of occupancy showing on the locking mechanism.

Maybe they give returning visitors the same room each time.

The slider on door number three is green.

Oddly, it makes me feel a sense of coming home, or at the very least, welcome.

How did a club that features glory holes ever become a place of normalcy for me?

The anticipation and the unnerving hope that I’ll be treated the way I was last time have me brushing the question from my mind as I enter the room.

Adjusting my eyes to the dark blue lighting, I zero in on the cover of the opening I prefer and unzip my jacket. Zipper halfway down, I stop.

It’s open. The cover is already open.

Odd.

Hanging my jacket on the hook by the door, I keep my eye on the darkened circle as I undo my fly. I hope to hell they didn’t forget to clean the thing after the last pair left. Unless…

Unless you can open them from either side and…

Swallowing, I step up to the tufted paneling and swear I sense movement on the other side. It’s so damn difficult to detect any sign of shadows with the blue lighting in here. That familiar fear mixed with excitement courses through me as I angle the head of my cock to breach the opening.

This is the worst part—the waiting. Those initial seconds when your cock is exposed through the portal, unaware of what awaits you. And yet, it makes everything after the best part. When your fear is crested by pleasure. Your bravery, rewarded by desire.

A breath…slow and hot breath dusts my exposed flesh. I shudder instantly.

It’s him . I know it is.

Any remaining doubt is erased when the faintest of kisses touches down on my tip. It’s featherlight. It’s innocent. It’s almost nothing, but it makes my breath stutter, like I’m going through hypothermia.

“Yes,” I whisper, thanking any higher being for this good fortune.

I feel his hand next. Gently, it palms the side of my shaft, steadying it. For what, I’m unsure, until soft stubble presses against the other side. A cheek. A jawline.

It’s like how a cat rubs seductively against someone’s leg.

I can feel the curve of his earlobe, a lock of soft hair.

His lips press against the warm skin of my groin, right next to my root.

A delirious puff of air leaves my mouth, piecing the act together.

It’s like he’s honoring me from tip to base with that bit of reverence. Saying grace before he has his meal.

I am so fucking glad I booked this tonight.

The bass of the music from the lounge oozes through the walls, making it difficult to discern noises, but I swear he just inhaled. Inhaling my scent is an instant addition to my new list of boxes that like being checked.

Shifting, he trails his cheek slowly back down my length. His warm breath coats me the entire way until his lips turn and capture my tip. Softly. Slowly. Delicately. It’s a fucking art what this guy does.

Burying my forehead in my forearm against the wall, I shift as carefully as I can, not wanting to disturb any of his plans.

I inch my hips forward, pressing them flush against the panel, so he’ll have as much access to as much of me as I can give him.

My balls are all the way through the opening now.

It’s nothing short of pleading for him to repeat what he did last time.

I want it all. Whatever tricks he has up his sleeve, I want to find out.

His thumb circles over my tip. I don’t even care that I’m leaking already when I feel him smear my precum around and plant a soft kiss on each side of my sac. His tongue gives me a start when I feel it flick the underside of my balls. It’s so close to my taint—a first for me.

The only person who’s ever played with my ass is me. It’s just…not my thing. I’m very certain someone else playing with it probably wouldn’t be my thing, but his proximity is surprisingly acceptable at the moment.

It’s like we have chemistry. I know that sounds ludicrous, but I can’t explain it any other way. It’s not just the unknown or the thrill of secrecy. We have this surreal physical compatibility.

He proves my theory correct, working his deliberate magic on me like he did last time, but with new moves and more fervor.

The slow, torturous teasing. The artful caressing.

His fingers circle around my balls at one point and cinch them, giving me a sense of alarm and confusion at first. But then the way he ravages my cock while he holds me soon lets me know he’s prolonging my release.

It’s shocking and terrifying over how possessive it feels, but also…

fucking amazing. I’m about to pass out from the level of need for release.

“Please… please. Oh, please.” I can’t believe I’m chanting such wanton words into this wall.

I don’t know if he heard me, but he releases my jewels just when I think I can’t take anymore, and I spill down his throat.

It’s even more euphoric than last time—the succession of pulse, swallow, pulse, swallow.

He’s a riverbed and I’m the mighty river flowing.

There are tears in my eyes over how magnificent I feel. The man deserves a medal.

With each little suckle of my flaccid tip sending tremors through me, I whine deliriously, clawing at the wall. I’m going to end up a puddle on the floor. That mouth—that mouth of his…

The sweet, reverent suction is my undoing. I need…to be closer to it. Need to thank him for this gift he’s given me a second time. Without thinking, my hand goes to the portal.

Hesitantly, I slip my index and middle fingers through the hole. I don’t want to scare him off, but he needs to know how much I appreciate his talents.

Did he get off? I don’t think I felt him jostling at all, jerking himself. How can he give so much and take so little in return?

It’s not like I can wave to him or say thank you, so I just hook my fingers through the portal, offering another form of my presence. A way to pay him homage.

His mouth leaves my tip, and the next thing I know, his damp warmth covers my fingertips. I’m treated to that same delicate suction on each of them. Then he swirls his tongue around both of my digits.

No one’s ever sucked on my fingers. I’ve never even thought of having that done to me. Moaning like they’re a second cock I didn’t know I had, I glance down in awe even though I can’t see what he’s doing.

I get a soft kiss on my knuckles and realize it’s over. It can’t be over. I know it has to be, but…

In a panic, I drop to a knee. “Next week?” I ask softly, urgently. “Please tell me you’ll be here next week.”

I can double down on my Sacramento trip and be back by Friday afternoon. I need this. I need more of him, or at least to make some kind of arrangement. After this, no one else here is going to compare to this man.

Squinting in the silence, I wonder if he’s gone. If he headed to the door already and didn’t hear me. I can feel tension in the air, though, and then I see movement. It’s just shadows, but I can make out his lower jaw and a hint of his dark stubble.

Have I ruined it? The club has rules. There’s a waiver you have to agree to when you schedule a session, and a sign in each room listing all the rules.

No talking.

No soliciting.

No breaching the barrier.

I’ve done all three, but I can’t help it.

He’s quiet. Will he report me? The waiver says there are strict repercussions for breaking the rules.

I assume that means being banned, but what the hell do I care about being banned if it won’t be him next time?

How can I go back to anything else after experiencing him ?

“You’re…incredible,” I confess, a last-ditch effort to reassure him I only have good intentions.

Mouth parted, he hovers. He’s still there, at least. It means he’s considering it. Will he turn me down?

I wait, suspended in my worry. And then…his lips move.

It’s just a whisper, a low, smooth whisper, but I’ve never heard better words.

“Next week.”