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Chapter Three

Travis

M arshmallow lying on his front, with his glorious ass sticking in the air, was truly a sight to behold.

Slowly—deliberately—I removed my clothes. Making sure each item made a noise as it landed on his hardwood floor. Well, I put my phone on his chest of drawers, but everything else wound up in a heap on the ground.

He hadn’t appeared to mind with his own things. Although maybe he’d just been in a rush.

I like that idea.

After snagging a condom and the bottle of lube, I positioned myself on the bed behind him. I gave myself a couple of tugs and donned the rubber. Then I coated my fingers and started to work him open.

He was tight, which I liked, but slowly—under my gentle ministrations—he began to open for me.

“That’s it. Just keep breathing. You like this?” I brushed my finger lightly over his prostate.

He moaned. “Yes, God, that.”

I love when they include God in their pleasure. Something very naughty about that.

“Please.”

Oh, I loved it even more when they begged.

Deciding I’d played enough, I slid my fingers from him.

He groaned.

I slicked up my cock and positioned myself. “You ready?”

He nodded frantically.

I pressed in. Usually, with a stranger, I took things easy. Got to know the guy’s body a bit.

Marshmallow’s entire being begged to be taken. Like he was made for my cock.

Once fully seated, I withdrew and thrust.

He let out an inarticulate gasp.

“More?”

“Yes.” No missing the pleading tone.

So I did what I was best at—drilled him into the mattress.

I thrust, over and over. I pushed him higher and higher. I gave him zero surcease as I gave him everything he clearly wanted.

Chasing my own orgasm was always pleasurable, but I wanted him to come with me. “Jerk yourself.”

He stuck his hand under himself and started jerking himself to the punishing rhythm I set.

Please come. Please come. Please come. Sometimes I might come before my partner, but I preferred ensuring he’d had his pleasure first. Being a Dominant, and even on occasion a sadist, was fun. Even more fun was tumbling over when the guy was in the throes of his own orgasm.

He slowed his pace.

“Faster. I want you to come. Like, right now.” I injected just the right amount of command into my words.

Which worked because just three tugs later, he came.

Spectacularly.

And as he spasmed around me, my own orgasm took hold. “Thank fuck.” I emptied into him, even as he continued to shudder his release.

“Oh my God.” His words came in panted breaths.

I grinned. Nope. I’m not God. But that experience was divine.

By the time my orgasm waned, I was damn nearly boneless. I slipped from him, and then flopped to the mattress beside him.

He moaned again as he rolled to his side, facing me. He stretched his legs, sighed, then met my gaze. “That was…”

“Yeah.”

“And you…?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He smiled. “That’s good. That’s really good.” His eyes drifted shut.

Okay. Not really what I expected. Maybe he was one of those guys who went to sleep right after sex. Personally, I preferred to bask a little.

Often, though, the guy just wanted to leave. Or wanted me to leave.

Marshmallow’s breathing deepened.

I chose not to be offended. Instead, I congratulated myself for giving him a great orgasm. Slowly, I removed the condom. Then I slid from the bed. I tossed the condom into the trash, pulled the comforter over the guy, put my clothes back on, and slipped from the room.

Man, I could rob him blind and he wouldn’t know until he woke up.

I wouldn’t, of course, I wasn’t that kind of guy. But I worried he might one day hook up with a guy who would take advantage.

After donning my boots, I put on my jacket. I was just about to exit when movement caught my eye.

A black cat lazily strolled down the hallway toward me. Its brown-gold eyes never left mine as it meandered.

“You’re just as trusting as he is.” I whispered the words, even though the bedroom was on the other side of the condo.

The cat plopped onto its butt and gazed at me. Assessing. Judging.

“I can’t stay.” Another whisper.

It licked its paw, still staring.

I didn’t like the idea of leaving the door unlocked, especially given how soundly Marshmallow slept, but the building had security, this was a pretty safe neighborhood, and I had a sneaking suspicion the cat would gouge out the eyes of any would-be troublemaker.

So I saluted said cat, opened the door, and slid out, leaving the deadbolt unlocked.

The entire ride home, I questioned that decision. Everything from should I have cleaned him up to what harm would it have been to stay the night?

Answering the first was easy—yes, I should’ve been more considerate.

The second was a bigger challenge. I didn’t stay the night. Guys didn’t invite me to. I was more than accustomed to getting on my bike and heading back to my eastside apartment.

As I flew along the Georgia Street viaduct, and worried about stupid city drivers, I considered a longer ride. Along Hastings Street and maybe to the highway. Somewhere I could let go.

Except I didn’t have a death wish, and driving at night was even more dangerous than driving during the day.

A friend of mine got taken out a couple of years ago. Fucking pickup truck turned left in front of him, even though the light was green. My friend died on impact and the driver had his license taken away for a couple of years.

Life sucks .

And then you die.

Alone.

Like my mom had.

Which was not a thought I was going to entertain tonight.

I made it home safely, stowed my bike, and headed up to my place. Once inside, I settled with a beer, turned on the television, and tried to settle in.

Ten hours later, I awoke with a crick in my neck and the Saturday-morning news show blaring.

I had no more answers now than I’d had last night.