Better Than Safe (17 page)

“Seth, stop. I’m—”

He pulled back at the last second and stuck his tongue out. “Do it. Cum for me. I wanna taste you.”

I shuddered violently with the force of my release. My eyes squeezed shut and my knees buckled. I struggled to refocus when I heard his strangled cry. He licked his lips like a porn star as my cum hit the corner of his mouth, then he covered my member and sucked me dry. The suction took on a heightened intensity when his orgasm hit a moment later. He shook at my feet as I held on to the counter behind me, knowing I couldn’t stand of my own free will.

Our heavy panting was the only sound in the tiny kitchen. I licked my lips and tried to catch my breath before bending to pull my clothes up from around my ankles. Seth chuckled wickedly and stopped me, setting his hands on my belt so the fabric was trapped at my feet.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m playing with you.” He sat up on his knees and stared at me like a naughty child intent on making trouble.

“I have to go.” My voice sounded raspy with desire. I didn’t recognize myself.

He stood abruptly and leaned against me briefly so our spent dicks rubbed together before he pressed a light kiss on my lips and stepped aside to re-dress. I reveled in the intimacy of the gesture, though I was certain he was only teasing me. I didn’t know what his game was or why he’d started this.

“Um… I—” I gestured like an idiot toward the door.

Seth chuckled. “You’re going to pull your pants up, aren’t you?”

I gave him a harried smile as I yanked up my trousers and buckled my belt. I licked my bottom lip nervously and stepped toward the door. I stopped with my hand on the doorknob, trying to formulate a departing thank you speech. Thank you for dinner? Thank you for the blow job?

I gave up and waved absently as I opened the door.

“I’ll see you around.”

I stopped and nodded. “Yes. I’ll see you.”

“Oh and Paul?”

“Hmm?”

“I was serious earlier… I’m nothing like Simon as an artist or a human.”

I furrowed my brow. I didn’t like hearing his name while I was reeling from the aftereffects of orgasm. “Is that why you just—”

“Blew you? No, asshole! I—”

“No, stop. I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re like him at all. I… don’t know what to think but I—against my better judgment, I like you and—”

Seth barked a short laugh and rolled his eyes. “You suck at giving compliments but… I like you too. G’night, Paul.”

I smiled weakly and stepped through the doorway when he stopped me again.

“Heads up. I think I came all over your Armani suit. You may need to send those to the dry cleaner.”

I looked down on cue, though of course I couldn’t see anything in the dim light. I caught on a second later he meant the remark to be a purposefully adolescent, “made you look” taunt. I rolled my eyes as he chortled merrily while he gathered the plates from the table.

“Lovely. Thank you for the warning.”

“Any time.”

I stepped out into the starry night and made my way down the steep rickety staircase. I pushed open the side gate and took my first deep breath of the entire bloody day. Everything that had occurred prior to six o’clock had been annoying. Everything after had been confusing. It was best to try not to think. At all. What I needed more than anything was to go home and regroup. I headed toward my car parked nearby under a lamplight and fished my keys out of my pocket. I stopped midstride when I felt a damp spot on the pocket front. I turned around to look at the single light above Seth’s kitchen table clearly visible through the open window. Anyone looking up could have seen what we’d done there less than ten minutes ago. I could hear the faint sound of an old David Bowie song now and maybe even someone humming along. I shook my head in wonder. He was… unbelievable. I ran my fingers over the spot again and laughed. The sound reverberating down the narrow street had a maniacal tone. Great. I could add impending insanity to my list of worries.

I
DIDN
’
T
see Seth the following week. I wanted to ask what his plans were for the weekend. If he felt like meeting for a drink or even, God help me, coffee. But I was reluctant. I didn’t want to reprise my role as the man mooning after an unobtainable lover. Seth was gorgeous and bright, but he was unpredictable and a little too wild to take seriously. I had a feeling I was an experiment to him. A “let’s see how fast it will take to get this bloke back in bed with his knees around his ears” sort of challenge. As much as I loved sex, I wasn’t willing to put my heart on the line. Because as strange as it seemed, I knew being with him didn’t equate to only sex on my part. There was something about him I wanted but knew could never be mine. My best bet was to remain cautiously distant.

And brave the world of online dating.

M
Y
FIRST
date was with Greg Forster, a real estate broker originally from Boston. He was thirty-nine, divorced, liked to travel and sail, and claimed to be a huge fan of jazz music. His ad sounded promising. Unfortunately, he was a bore. We had dinner at an Italian restaurant near the White House. The ambiance screamed romance, with dripping candles and sparkling crystal chandeliers, but the conversation was dull. It felt like a business meeting. We even shook hands afterward. Not a good sign.

My second date was with a man whose name I couldn’t pronounce to save my life. He was a forty-year old Russian banker who spoke flawless French, enjoyed fine dining and vodka. Lots of vodka. I couldn’t tell if he was drunk by the end of our dinner at an acclaimed eatery downtown, but his sloppy openmouthed good-bye kiss was a complete turnoff. I scratched his name off the list.

By the third date, I was beginning to think I was wasting my time. I was so busy at work that the thought of going out with a man I chatted briefly with online, then had to match a picture to a face in order to find him in a crowded restaurant, sounded… awful. Like a needless extension to a long, stressful day. I decided I’d try once more before throwing in the proverbial towel and deleting my profile. My right hand worked just fine, thank you.

As the saying went, third time was a charm. Tom Bilson was a thirty-eight-year-old vascular surgeon from Arlington. He was an avid golfer and enjoyed going to concerts and the theater. He professed to love all music, but particularly jazz. My interest was piqued. If he was a bore, I was finished with the online dating nonsense for good.

He wasn’t a bore. In fact, Tom Bilson was practically perfect. No,
literally
. When he stood to greet me at the exclusive steakhouse he’d chosen, I gulped at the sight of him. He was six foot four, very fit and very handsome. He had wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and square, even features worthy of… well, a magazine model. I was more nervous with him than I’d been on any other date thus far. But after the first stilted introductory questions, conversation flowed easily. Tom was charming, smart, and funny. He reminded me of Curt in a way, with his self-deprecating humor and sharp wit. He told silly stories about patients and general hospital melee before effortlessly turning his attention to ask me about my work and interests. I appreciated his friendly manners and seemingly affable nature. As our dinners were served to the accompaniment of an Ella Fitzgerald song playing softly in the background, I could have convinced myself I may have indeed met someone special.

And then my cell rang.

I apologized and quickly silenced the call, making sure to set it to vibrate. But not before I had a glimpse of the caller’s ID.
Missed Call Seth Landau
was followed by a vibration in my pocket, letting me know he’d left a message. And another when he sent a text a minute later. And again soon after. Suddenly it was as though Seth had pulled up a chair to join us for dinner. But I was the only one who knew. It was ridiculous. There I was sitting across the table from a handsome man who oozed charisma with a winning smile and pleasant conversation, and my mind was floating back to the dark-haired beauty who sank to his knees to suck my cock in his kitchen. I could almost feel my fingers tingle at the mere thought of pulling his long hair as he swallowed me whole.

Fuck. I was hard. This was not the place to get an erection. I felt my smile dip as I struggled to concentrate on what my date was saying. Something about a club. A jazz club. Whew. I was back on solid ground. I made it through the meal without embarrassing myself, but when my phone began another steady round of buzzing, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“I apologize. My cell is going berserk. I need to check in to make sure I’m not ignoring any major emergencies at the office.” I dabbed my napkin at the corner of my mouth before standing.

“It’s no problem. Would you like me to order coffee?”

God no, I’d be up all night, I thought to myself as a new round of vibrations reverberated in my pocket.

“Um, sure. That sounds lovely.”

I hurried toward the restroom area and pulled out my phone. There weren’t any text or voice messages. They were all missed calls. I stared at the display for a moment. It would be rude to call Seth when I was with another man on a date. A real date, I mused. But I wouldn’t relax until I knew what he was about.

Unbelievably he answered on the first ring.

“Hey, what’s up?”

I snorted indignantly and glanced back toward the table I’d just vacated. My date was ordering our coffee while I was standing in a corner with my ear glued to the phone because….

“Why did you call me?”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. I have numerous missed calls and honestly, your timing is for shit.”

“I must have butt dialed you. Sorry. Whatcha doing?”

“I’m—nothing.”

Seth chuckled. “Want me to guess?”

“No. I have to g—”

“You’re at a work dinner or something kinda boring. I can hear voices in the background so I’m thinking a restaurant. Knowing you it’s posh and pricey.”

“What makes you think it’s work? Never mind, I have to go.”

“Okay.”

“Cheers.”

“Oh hey, Paul?”

“Yes?”

“It must be work. If you were on a hot date, there’s no way you’d call another guy. Not your style. Unless the guy’s a douche or… you like me more than you think you do. See ya.”

He hung up before I had a chance to respond. And what could I say? The truth spoke for itself. I’d left a handsome man sitting at a table for two so I could call the twenty-four-year-old, impossible brat whose mere name on a cell display made my palms sweat and heart race. I was going crazy. It was the only answer.

T
HE
FOLLOWING
morning I took a seat in the glass-walled conference room and pulled out my phone to check my e-mail until my office mates joined me for a quick meeting. At least I hoped this was a quick meeting. There was a new fire to put out at a major design firm who’d decided at the last moment they didn’t approve of the copy they’d signed off on last week. Fuck. I wanted to say “too bad” or “don’t sign the bloody contract until you’ve read the copy, arsehole,” but I couldn’t. I nodded a greeting at a one of the writers, but turned my attention back to my cell when it vibrated.

How’s it going?

I stared at the message longer than necessary before responding.

Well

I glanced up as a few more people filed into the room, and waited for my phone to buzz again.

Well?

I’m working

Me 2. Sorta. Lunch?

I’m in a meeting.

I chuckled when the sad face emoticon was followed by a series of sillier ones ranging from a purple devil with horns to a smiley face wearing sunglasses. I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I set the phone upside down and turned on my iPad to take notes when Helene Moritz, the lead art director, walked in. She was a small, no-nonsense woman who aspired to be the advertising world’s answer to Anna Wintour. Helene’s jet-black hair was cut in a severe bob that accentuated her sharp, high cheekbones and pointed chin. She was always stylishly attired, but her efforts to be “best dressed” seemed a tad uncomfortable at times. Today’s ensemble was a perfect example. Her tiny waist was cinched in a skintight charcoal pencil skirt I could only imagine made breathing somewhat… challenging. And the weight of several heavy rhinestone necklaces resting on her ample bosom certainly didn’t help.

I gave her a brief smile, letting her know I was ready when she was. No doubt, she’d called this meeting to complain about the unrealistic expectations asked of her department. I was mentally prepared to assure her I was in her corner, though everyone gathered around the glass-topped conference table knew the age old adage was true… the customer was always right. Even when they weren’t. I leaned back in my black leather chair with one elbow on the armrest and did my best impression of a truly concerned executive director.

I thought I was doing a fair job of it when my phone beeped loudly, informing the entire room I’d just received a message. Heat flooded my cheeks. I was one of those people who frowned upon cellular devices being used at inappropriate times… such as during a meeting. I bolted upright in my chair and whispered a quick apology to my coworkers while I feverishly scrambled to disable the sound. A message was highlighted at the top of my iPad, and this time I read it.