Bankers' Hours (20 page)

I nodded, but he wasn’t looking at me so I answered, “Yes.” The desperation in my voice surprised me. I really
did
like it. He grazed me with his teeth and I cried out, but this time more from surprise than pain. He went easier on me, playfully nipping instead of aggressively biting. I mewled my approval as he kissed his way down my stomach and swirled his tongue around my navel.

When he moved his hand lower and gripped my hardening cock through my boxers, I convulsed and gasped. If I had been standing in the room, I would have leaped back three feet, but in the bed with his body leaning on my chest and his leg looped over mine, I had nowhere to go. Still, Tristan understood my reaction and let me go immediately.

His hand in the air, he said, “I stopped.”

I felt guilty for reacting so strongly. “I’m sorry. No one’s ever touched me there. I didn’t mean to freak out.”

Tristan lowered his hand and placed it on my upper thigh. Not exactly better, in my assessment. I jumped again, only less convulsively. Tristan said my name calmly, soothingly. “Grant. Do you want me to touch you or not?” His fingers almost tickled as he caressed my thigh.

I swallowed again, really needing a glass of water. “Yes?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t sound convinced.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes. Go ahead. I won’t scream.”

He gave me a weird look, almost a scowl mixed with partial amusement, then turned his attention back to my tented boxers, touching me again and gripping me firmly yet gently through my underwear. He moved his hand down to massage my balls and then back up my shaft. I heard him groan and huff out a hard breath. Waves of heat rolled through my stomach, and I started quivering with need. It felt so good, but as soon as he lifted the waistband of my boxers to reveal the part of me that lay hidden, I shrieked and scrambled up the bed as far as I could go with the headboard behind me.

“I can’t,” I cried, my heart racing faster than ever before, last night’s orgasm included. “I’m sorry.” If what had happened in the mall over the weekend was a panic attack, then I knew I was on the verge of another one. I grabbed the pillow next to me and clutched it protectively to my chest.

In my haste to escape his touch, I had pulled my knees up and connected with Tristan’s jaw in the process. He sat up and rubbed it, swiveling his jaw right and left. “Okay. I’m backing away.” He got off the bed and walked into the bathroom.

I glanced at the clock. I had an hour to get to work. I searched the room: my shirts lined up in my open closet, his shirt sitting on my dresser, my shoes resting next to my desk chair, his shoes located haphazardly in the middle of the floor where he’d removed them. I shifted my attention to the bathroom door. Tristan was haphazard, entering my life on a whim and a chance. He was wild and dominating, yet I had the feeling he could be tamed if I spoke up and told him what I liked and didn’t like.

I glanced down and moved the pillow off my chest. I touched it, tracing my fingers over the same areas that Tristan had suckled. I pinched my own nipple, but not the sore one, of course. The tinge of pain didn’t feel the same. I got off the bed and walked over to my dresser mirror—the place where I often examined my inadequacies and imagined a different body to go with my nice face. My bleached white skin in the reflection made me think of a shimmery apparition in a horror movie. My skinny, bony chest wasn’t anything noteworthy, yet Tristan had enjoyed kissing me there, licking me there, and dare I say—making love to me there. He seemed to like what he saw, and had called me beautiful several times.

Why couldn’t I believe him?

The bathroom door opened, and he walked out, in the nude because his pants were lying on my floor and he never wore underwear. The new ones were probably still in the packaging. He stopped three feet from me and waited, probably unsure of what he could say when he’d done nothing wrong this time.

“I’m sorry,” I said feebly. “I did like what you were doing this morning. I do like it when you… lick my nipples.” Declaring it openly made my face hot. I knew I was blushing.

Tristan smiled softly. I knew he liked my blushing. He held his arms open. “Come here.”

I stepped into his embrace, and he held me tight, rubbing up and down my bare back as he was fond of doing.

“I should have known it was too much, too soon. We’ve known each other, what, three weeks?”

“A little more,” I corrected him.

“Okay. Point is that isn’t very long. I knew when I met you, you were different than anyone I’d ever known, and I was certain you were worth waiting for. I want to know you so well that I’ll be able to predict your reactions and avoid making you panic.” He kissed my neck up to my ear and suckled on my earlobe. He whispered, “You are a delicacy, Grant, and I will work my way up to tasting every part of you… at your speed… when you allow.” He kissed my neck again and let me go.

I watched him retrieve his pants from the floor and slip them on. His soft penis was less intimidating and more pleasant to look at.

“I
will
let you do things. I promise.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I know you will. The sounds you make say a lot about what you feel. You might be nervous, but your body likes my touch. The anticipation of making love has me hard for you practically all day. That’s a good thing, Grant.” He winked and seductively licked his teeth. He zipped his pants and grabbed his shirt. After he pulled it over his head, he came over to me again. Gripping my upper arms, he grinned at me. “You make me crazy. I want you so much, and it doesn’t bother me if you need to wait.” He kissed me and then walked away. Stopping at the doorframe, he turned and added, “Just so you know, I think you’re fucking sexy.” He cupped his crotch and rubbed it suggestively. “Really. Fucking. Sexy.”

When Tristan left, I rushed to the bathroom and jacked off in the shower. He was right about my body liking his touch.

AT WORK,
Jessica noticed my hickey right away. Her work area was on the opposite side, but I guess she noticed when I turned her way and bent down to get some hundreds out of my station vault, which was located in a cabinet under my teller drawer. I bent down, and her eye spied the huge purple mark Tristan had left, just high enough to peek out of my collar. I’d worn purple, hoping it would blend in, but it was darker than my lavender shirt.

As soon as her customer left, she exclaimed, “Holy shit, Grant! Is that a hickey?”

I couldn’t lie, since it was obvious, but I tried anyway. “No. It’s a bug bite.”

“No, it’s not!” She walked around the cubicle wall and manhandled me to face the direction that gave her the best angle. She even pulled the collar away from my neck to glimpse the whole thing and then whistled. “Wow, someone did a number on you! I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone. How come you didn’t say?”

She didn’t seem offended, just very curious. I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You could have, you know? When we were talking the other week and you admitted you’re gay. You could have said something, and I wouldn’t have judged you. I know we haven’t been friends long, but I consider myself an ally. I wouldn’t have said anything rude.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” I was glad there was no one around, but I was also appreciative that she spoke quietly. I got the impression she just wanted to get to know me, and it felt nice, especially since I hadn’t seen my other friends in quite a while. Seeing some of them at the mall really didn’t count in my book since I’d been on the verge of a panic attack and we hadn’t had the time to sit and chat properly over a cup of coffee. I missed real interaction.

I said, “Because I didn’t have one at the time. This is all new.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Ooh, where’d you meet him?”

Her first question, and I knew it was going to prompt even more after I told her. Chances were that no matter what her first question, they would all come back to “my guy is Tristan Carr,” the same guy she’d suggested would punch me out if I flirted with him. How wrong could she be? He’d been flirting with
me
the whole time. I opened my mouth to say something but noticed a customer staring at us. He’d snuck in and was waiting in line. Customers here were nice that way; instead of walking up to a window right away, I did note most stood in the roped lane that designated where the line should form. He was the only one, yet he still waited. How polite.

I cleared my throat and called him over, and Jessica went back to her cubicle.

I steered clear of shock, disbelief, and other inquiries, but only temporarily. After my customer left, Jessica had a customer, so I slipped off to the bathroom to text Tristan.

Hi. I have a question.
I hit Send. As I stood next to the door, I reconsidered such a random and ambiguous text, so I clarified.
This is Grant, BTW. My question has to do with our relationship and if it is okay for me to tell people because the hickey you gave me is hard to hide and now my coworker is pressuring me to tell her who my boyfriend is and I wasn’t sure what I should say because you never told me if you were out in the community and I didn’t want to say anything rude or invasive or presumptuous.
I hit Send again and waited.

My phone vibrated. “Hello?” I whispered.

“Grant? Why are you whispering?” Tristan asked.

“Because I’m in the bathroom.”

“Okay, then just listen. I got your long-winded, rambling, run-on text with no punctuation.” He chuckled. “You’re one of a kind, Grant. Anyway, tell whomever you wish. I’m not worried about what anyone might think or do. I was in the Navy; I can handle myself. I want
you
to feel comfortable.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Grant?”

“Yeah?”

“How’s your nipple?”

I don’t know why hearing that word gave me a little wiggle in my gut, but it did, in a good, I-want-to-hear-it-again sort of way. I supposed that was why some people liked dirty talk—because it fired them up for when those things actually happened. Maybe I could try that sometime with Tristan. Would he like dirty talk, or dirty text? I grinned at the possibilities. I told him, “It’s okay. My shirt keeps rubbing against it and it doesn’t feel good, but I’ll live.”

“Do you want me to come over tonight? I could take an ice cube and run it all over those sore spots.”

I sucked in a breath. “Don’t some people use ice cubes for erotic foreplay?”

He snickered loudly. “Yes, I think they do, but you don’t need to refer to it as ‘erotic,’ since that’s implied. Foreplay by definition is for erotic stimulation before sex. As far as the ice is concerned, the cold is shocking and stimulating at the same time. But in your case, it might make your nipples feel better.”

“Okay.” There wasn’t much more I could say to his proposal. It sounded intriguing.

“Listen, I gotta go. I’ll be over around nine. I have to work late. I’m really behind. I might have to hire someone to help with the books. I’m normally on top of invoices and billing, but after meeting you, I can’t seem to get it all done.”

My heart sank. I was keeping him from doing his job. What if his business went under because of me? What if the IRS showed up for unpaid taxes? What if he couldn’t pay his employees because he didn’t bill the customers who owed him money?

“Grant,” he said sternly. “I can hear your gears turning. Stop thinking it’s your fault. I’ve been working twelve- to fourteen-hour days for as many years as I can remember. I told you I’m married to my work. That isn’t healthy. Meeting you, and soon marrying you, made me think about my priorities. I don’t want to work myself into an early grave. I want to spend some of my time enjoying life while I’m still young enough. I do have to go, I wasn’t kidding, but we can talk about this another time. It’s not your fault. The only thing you did was flip those pens over and blush at me. You had no control over my falling in love with you.”

I sighed. He said the most beautiful things.

“Grant?” Jessica called from the other side of the door before she knocked insistently.

“I’ll be right out,” I called back to Jessica. I told Tristan, “I have to go.”

“Go. I’ll see you after nine.”

“Okay. Bye.” I hung up the phone and slipped it into my pocket before opening the door.

Jessica asked, “Are you all right? You’ve been in there a long time. Are you sick?”

“No. I’ll be fine.” I walked back to my window with Jessica on my heels. She grabbed the drive-thru window and left me be, but it was only a matter of time before I had to answer all her questions. Tristan seemed fine with it.

When I went to lunch, Jessica cornered me. “Let’s go to Buffalo Wild Wings to eat lunch,” she said.

“You’re not on lunch.”

“No, I’m off. I had a dentist appointment, but they changed it, so I decided to keep my half day and go shopping, but shopping isn’t as interesting as talking to you. So let’s go to lunch.”

I put away my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and followed her out of the bank. Luckily the restaurant was just across the parking lot, so we didn’t have to drive. They were also slow this afternoon, so we got seated right away. After we ordered, Jessica pounced. “So? Details.”

I took a cleansing breath and readied myself for her reaction. “Okay. Do you want the slow buildup, or an info dump?”

“Just tell me. Is it someone I know? Did you meet him at the bank? It’s not that skeezy Mr. Palmer, is it? Because that’s all kinds of wrong.”

“Eww, no, I’m dating Tristan Carr.”

She narrowed her eyes and stared at me. Then her confusion morphed into astonishment. “What?” She paused. “When? How?”

I lifted my shoulders. “We went out for a beer, and things sort of progressed from there.”

“Holy Moses. I don’t believe it. He doesn’t even look gay.”

“Not all gay men wear signs,” I declared. The argument was getting old. I’d heard waaay too many times how someone or other “didn’t act gay” or “didn’t look gay.” Those assumptions irked me. Some guys were not obvious. Jeez. When would people get it through their heads that some gay men looked and acted just like straight men? Not every one of us was flamboyant. Not all gay men spoke with a lisp. Not every one of us ogled men’s asses to the point of getting caught. Yes, I mentally cleared my throat. Guilty as charged.