Authors: A. E. Via
Pres stood stock-still in front of the closed elevator doors. He wasn’t sure how long until he felt a warm hand rub across his tense shoulders, making him jerk violently back to reality.
“Come on, Prescott,” said the smooth voice.
Oh yeah, my illustrious escort for the evening.
Pres didn’t know what to feel now: angry, sad, depressed, raw, or cheated. To be honest, he kind of felt all of it. Ric really wasn’t going to give him another chance. He’d played a joke that had cost him a chance at real love.
How does that happen?
Pres was back in his condo. He went straight to the pantry and removed the closest bottle of liquor he touched. He’d find out what his numbing elixir was for the evening after he took his first gulp.
He wouldn’t be choosy. He just wanted the pain in his chest to subside enough for him to maybe get a few hours of sleep. He poured one glass—not bothering to offer a drink to his expensive rent boy—and slammed the bottle on the marble breakfast bar before dropping his weary body onto one of the four stools.
“So. He’s the one that got away, huh?” Blair asked softly. He was standing a few feet away from Pres, probably staring at him pathetically as he gulped the strong…
Hmmm, so gin is my poison for tonight.
He winced at the intense burn moving down his throat and settling into his empty stomach. Pres didn’t respond to Blair’s observation. He just took another gulp.
“Don’t do this, Prescott. You’ll regret it in more ways than one in the morning.”
Pres felt Blair place his hand over top of his to prevent him from pouring another glassful from the bottle. Pres jerked his hand away. He didn’t want to discuss “the one that got away,” and he damn sure didn’t want to stop drinking. Not until he was so sick that the pain in his stomach overrode the pain in his chest. He’d drink until his ears rang so loud that it drowned out the breaking sound of his heart.
“This is a beautiful kitchen you have here, and that stove belongs in a magazine,” Blair stated out of the blue, referring to Pres’s forty-eight-inch all-gas professional range.
Pres still didn’t respond. He slowed down on the drinking, but didn’t cap the bottle just yet.
“I mean, I’ve seen some beautiful kitchenware, but this is gorgeous.” Blair continued to fawn over Pres’s amenities. He knew his kitchen was one hundred percent state-of-the-art with any and every appliance needed to make a gourmet feast. On top of that, it was superbly decorated. He’d done it himself, years ago.
“Thanks,” Pres finally mumbled. He heard his refrigerator open, then the rattling of pots and pans from inside his cabinets.
Make yourself at home.
“What are you doing?” Pres couldn’t disguise the slur.
“How about I cook a little something for you? Your fridge and shelves are fully stocked. I could whip us up something real quick if you want,” Blair said while continuing to explore his kitchen. “That is if you want me to stay. I really don’t mind. You asked for company. I like to think of myself as pretty good company.”
“I thought you came to have sex.” Pres frowned at his crassness. He wasn’t a rude man, and he didn’t want to make Blair feel bad. It wasn’t his fault that Ric had put him in a sour mood. “I’m sorry. That was unnecessary. I just thought that escorts…you know. Fuck. Never mind. You don’t have to cook. It’s, like, eleven at night, and I’m a mess now. So here.” Pres reached for his wallet, but at lightning speed, Blair’s hands were covering his when he attempted to withdraw some money.
“Hey, some escorts just have sex. Some actually provide companionship. Tell me what you need, Prescott, and I can provide you with it.” Blair’s hot breath fanned across his face as he spoke.
Pres was stunned at the close proximity. He took both his hands and ran them up Blair’s torso. His chest was lithe and rock solid. He had chiseled abs that twitched beneath Pres’s touch. Pres reached for Blair’s face, but stopped short at the man’s sharp intake of breath.
“I’m sorry,” Pres gasped.
Before he knew it, he was being pulled into a tight hug. Blair’s entire body molded to his, from chest to shins.
“It’s okay. The way you touch me feels good,” Blair said, sounding winded.
Blair stroked Pres’s back tenderly and kind of swayed them back and forth a little as if there was a slow song playing only in their minds. He whispered sweet nothings in his ear, and it felt good. Pres held on for dear life. He wanted to purge, to release the emotions, to scream, to buck and fight, but he’d done enough of that. He didn’t have any more energy to do it, even if he wanted to. So he gripped Blair’s small waist and let himself get talked down.
“He’s a stubborn jackass,” Blair whispered to him, his lips brushing the shell of Pres’s sensitive ear with every word he spoke. “I could see it in his eyes, he’s hurting just as much as you are.”
Pres groaned at hearing that. Blair had watched him grovel and beg Ric for another chance. Pres tried to pull out of the embrace. His face felt hot, and his pride felt wounded. He’d practically fallen at Ric’s feet, even said he’d send Blair away in a heartbeat for five minutes of Ric’s time.
Oh my freaking God. That was shitty, and he’d heard it.
Blair gripped him tighter. “You are one of the most talented men in the world, darlin’, and if you were mine, I’d worship you every day.” Blair’s southern drawl was doing it to him again. However, he found himself wishing that Ric was saying these things, instead of a man who was paid to say them.
Or does he mean it? Fuck. I have no idea. Is he playing out a fantasy for me? Saying all the things I yearn to hear from someone? Damn it. I have no clue.
“Sure, you can cook,” Pres said. It was the only thing he could think of to break the intimate moment.
“Cool,” Blair said simply.
Pres sipped on the espresso Blair made him as he rattled around in his kitchen for the ingredients for his dish. He didn’t mind it. It actually sounded pretty nice. Someone was cooking for him. It was a welcome change. Blair hummed a little when he really got comfortable, and the pleasant aromas started to permeate Pres’s greater senses.
Pres spoke up after fifteen minutes of silence. “Making strawberry crepes, huh? Smells like you used the cinnamon sugar instead of plain cinnamon…nice technique.”
“Wow. Are you serious? So it’s true what they say about your senses, huh?” Blair questioned, sounding truly shocked at Pres’s impressive skill.
“My sense of smell is sharper since I lost my sight. Over time, I’ve concentrated on my other senses to keep me going hard in the kitchen,” Pres said matter-of-factly, as if everyone could tell the difference between cinnamon and cinnamon sugar by scent alone.
“I bet you are all kinds of hard, Chef Vaughan,” Blair purred.
Pres blushed, and a slight grin actually made its way to the surface of his face.
“Mmmm, nice. When you smile…you’re stunning, darlin’.”
Pres couldn’t help it. Blair’s deep voice was wonderful to his ears, and his seductive banter was even better. This was probably the best he’d felt in a month.
“Open up, handsome.”
Pres was grinning so, he hadn’t heard Blair turn off the burners. His meal was ready, and it smelled heavenly. He opened his mouth and let Blair feed him. It was affectionate and nurturing, but not in a mommy/daddy sort of way. It was nurturing in a “I’m your partner and can be there for you” kind of way. Pres moaned at the wonderful flavors that burst on his tongue.
“Blair, your sautéed berries are caramelized to perfection, and the thin French-style pancakes are as light and delicate as rose petals. Well done, Chef. You’ve prepared this masterfully. Le Cordon has trained you well.”
“That means everything coming from you, Chef Vaughan,” Blair said, sounding truly appreciative of the compliment.
“Did you know I love everything strawberries?” Pres asked Blair with a knowing smirk dancing on his mouth.
“Yes. I think I may have read that somewhere.” Blair laughed. “And I believe I’ve tried to master every one of your favorite strawberry dishes.” He paused for a minute before adding, “I hope you don’t find that weird.”
“No, actually I’m flattered.” Instinctually, Pres began to give Blair some pointers on incorporating new flavors and ingredients for various crepe dishes. He found out that Blair had studied with some of the best chefs in the world while receiving his master’s in French cuisine.
They talked until it was time for the sun to come up. It was amazing how much they had in common, and not just culinary arts. They had the same taste in music, art, authors, and even shared a love of old Westerns. Pres teased Blair mercilessly when he confessed to loving reality television.
Pres really enjoyed Blair’s company. What he thought would be a disastrous evening after the encounter with Ric turned out to be pretty great. He was not disappointed Blair had been there.
“Well, I can see you need to get a nap now, darlin’. I’ve kept you up way past your bedtime,” Blair said in a hushed tone during the early morning hour. They’d been sitting on the couch for five hours just talking and enjoying each other’s company. “Would you let me tuck you in?” Blair’s whisky voice was laced with lust.
Pres laughed at that request. “Excuse me? I don’t need tucking in. I’m not a little boy.”
“No, you most certainly are not…but humor me. Let me tuck you in.” Blair was an inch away from Pres’s face now.
“I think I’m too tired to argue this. Sure, tuck me in.” Pres rose off the couch and felt Blair intertwine their fingers and lead him to his bedroom.
Pres did a quick washup in the sink and brushed his teeth before heading back toward his bed.
Blair met him halfway. “You’re amazing,” he whispered. He took his strong hands and put them around Pres’s naked waist.
Pres was glad he’d chosen pajama pants instead of just his black boxer briefs like he usually slept in. He didn’t want to give Blair the wrong idea…or did he?
“Fuck, darlin’. You even smell like strawberries.” Blair moaned. “I wonder if you taste like them, too. Earthy and sweet,” Blair drawled sexily, sending all kinds of heat down Pres’s bare torso that landed with a thud in his drawn-up sac.
It’d been too damn long since Pres had had any type of intimate contact and even longer since he had relief that wasn’t self-inflicted. God never meant for man to be alone.
“Oh my goodness. Blair, I can’t do…” His sentence wavered. “Fuck, that feels good,” Pres whimpered.
Blair continued to nuzzle Pres’s cheek before placing the most delicate kisses along his jaw. He nipped at Pres’s collarbone and oh so slowly licked him from the base of his neck to the tip of his chin.
“I’m trying so hard to behave here, my sweet strawberry, but I’m losing. Believe me. This doesn’t have a damn thing to do with money that you paid the agency,” Blair said, completely breathless. “After it hit me that I was indeed seeing the Prescott Vaughan that I’ve followed my entire career, all I’ve thought about is tasting you since you opened your front door.”
“Blair, please. I don’t know if I can…” Pres’s words tapered off. He was breathless, too, at Blair’s ministrations. He was horny and in need of attention, but he didn’t want to give Blair the wrong idea. As much as he hated to believe it, his heart still belonged to the man four doors down the hall on the right.
“Shhh. I know, Strawberry. I know you’re still raw from your breakup, and I’m not trying to complicate things. I just think you are so fucking special. I ached for you this evening. I just want to make you feel good. Can I do that for you?” Blair held Pres in the most comforting way.
“I know you love this other man, but you deserve to be cherished like the precious dish you are. Before I leave, I just want to make sure you are sated and comfortable. Will you trust me to do that? I’m not going to try to have sex with you. I just want you to lay back and relax. Don’t think about anything but the pleasure,” Blair said and laid Pres down on his king-sized sleigh bed.
Pres sank into the plush down comforter as Blair’s words sank deep into his soul: precious, sated, pleasure, comfortable. These were feelings Pres craved to have. He would let Blair do it. He fucking deserved this after the months of hell he’d been through.
He felt Blair climb up his body like a sultry predator. He had to weigh only about one hundred and eighty pounds. He wasn’t overly muscular or hairy. He was sleek and smooth, almost soft and hard at the same time. His erection was snug against Pres’s left thigh, and it had Pres moving his leg back and forth, wanting to give Blair some pleasure too. It must have worked because the man’s moaning increased tenfold. Pres let his hands caress what he could reach as he dared to learn this man’s body.
“Relax, darlin’. This is all about you,” Blair said.
Then it happened all within a matter of seconds. Pres’s back arched off the bed as Blair took his entire eight inches of hard, aching cock all the way down his throat.
“Ahhhhh. Fuck!” Pres shouted.
Blair’s mouth was so goddamn hot, he thought his dick was being branded. Pres would’ve blown his load in five seconds if Blair hadn’t had a death grip on his nuts. Blair didn’t move. He just let Pres stew in the ecstasy. He kept his nose buried in Pres’s pubes for several seconds. He felt Blair swallow a few times, his throat constricting around Pres’s blushing head. Then that tongue…oh, that tongue began to do some kind of figure eights around his length.
“Fuuuck,” he moaned as his body vibrated from all the pent-up lust he’d harbored inside for so long.
Blair reached both hands up and simultaneously pinched both of Pres’s erect nipples, making him jerk violently.
“So good. Yeah. Fuck, Blair, just like that, honey.”
Pres had been reduced to putty as Blair stroked his burning tongue up and down his cock, amazingly not missing a single inch of his manhood. No nerve was unteased, no skin unsinged. Blair’s mouth should be considered lethal and dangerous. A man could make all kinds of promises with that talented mouth on his cock. Pres’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at the care, skill, and sheer wickedness of this act. Blair was a motherfucking professional, but it had chilled Pres to the core when Blair said this had nothing to do with what he paid.