Page 43 of Rent: Paid in Full

He puts his hand out to take the money, but I’m faster. I cover it with my hand and smile at his confusion.

“New deal,” I say. He sighs and looks at the ceiling for a moment before fixing a blistering gaze on me. “Same money. New service.”

“What?”

“I don’t want your mouth. I want your ass.” His eyebrows shoot up and his mouth drops open. “Relax.” I hold both hands out to him, showing him my open palms as a peace offering. “I won’t put my dick anywhere near you. Not today anyway.” His shoulders drop by half an inch or so. “I only want to rim you. I’ll do all the work. All you have to do is let me.”

It takes him a second to register what I’ve said, and then laughter rips out of him. Long, coarse streams of it. A frothystaccato. It shakes him and cranks his mouth wide open, all but screwing his eyes shut before doubling him over.

“Is that a ye—”

That makes him laugh harder. “Um, yeah, Miller. It’s a yes.” He holds back a snort, nodding at me caustically. “If you want to pay me five hundred dollars to kiss my ass, go right ahead. Be my guest.”

If he thinks I’m going to be offended by that, boy, is he wrong. I yank my Henley off and drop it onto the floor. He looks taken aback for a split second but quickly recovers and does the same with his top.

“Shower,” I bark.

He turns and starts walking, and as he does, I catch up with him and wrap an arm tightly around his chest, the other pressed hard against his lower back, manhandling him to get him to the bathroom faster. I turn the shower on, unbutton his jeans, and push them down along with his boxer briefs in one rough motion. He kicks his shoes off as I empty my phone, keys, and wallet from my pockets and then crouch to pull his pants and socks off.

The water is hot by the time I get to my feet and my breathing is uneven. Ryan Haraway is stark naked before me. A vision of muscle and skin and hair and bared teeth. I shove him into the shower and follow him in with my jeans still on. Am I thinking clearly? Not really, no. My heart is pounding, beating so hard and fast that I hear a hissing sound when I move my head.

I know one thing and one thing only: urgency.

The shower cubicle is small, tiled from floor to ceiling in a basic white tile. Ryan’s pressed up against me, or I’m pressed up against him, I can’t tell which. He has his back to me, and as the hot water hits me and runs down one side of my body, things slow. I reach around and allow my hands to snake up his chest and then down again, relishing the warmth of his skin andthe water trickling down it. I reach for the soap before he does, rubbing my hands together and then rubbing them all over him. Over his pecs and his abs, up his arms, and then slowly down them. I do it again and again. I do it until the soap has all washed away, and then I do it once more just to gorge myself on him.

He feels good. God, he feels good. Hard, lean, and bulky in all the right places. I take his wrists in both hands and place his hands on the wall of the shower, palms down flat. He breathes heavily but doesn’t object. He stiffens when I run soapy hands up his sides. I wash under his arms, suds forming as I comb my fingers through the thick, dark hair I find there. I let them grow tangled in it, and when I withdraw them, I tug gently, drawing a soft sigh from him. His head drops forward, hanging down, making his shoulder blades cast sexy, winged shadows across his back as I start working my way down his body.

My hands slide over his skin, slippery with water and soap, cupping his pecs and flicking my thumbs over his taut peaked nipples. I lean my chin on his shoulder and look down, not caring at all that water is pelting me in the face because I see his boner jutting out from his body. Standing firm. Standing strong. My own cock bucks in my pants, straining against the confines of wet denim. I trace the ravines that run down his torso all the way down to the lines of theVthat leads to his dick, watching my hand as it moves over his skin. The temptation to follow the path of theVis almost overwhelming. My blood has run thick. Congealed and set. My thoughts are moving decidedly slowly.

I want to touch him. I do. I want his thick, meaty cock in my hand so much I can taste it, and holy shit, it tastes good.

But that’s not what I bought, so I don’t do it.

Instead, I soap my hands again and lather his back. I find the tension he carries in his shoulders and dig my thumbs into it until he lifts his head and arches it back. Then I follow the curve of his spine down the center of him slowly, memorizing everyknob of his vertebra, committing it to memory for another time. I take hold of his hips, holding him in place as I gently press my thumbs into the little dimples just above where his back morphs into his ass.

I sweep my hands over his cheeks, rubbing water and soap into them and then off them, broadening the circles every time I orbit. Finally, I run my fingers down his crack. A light touch but one he feels strongly. He flinches so hard that the muscles in his back flex. He quickly corrects, forcing himself to relax. I do it again with more soap, and this time, I take the back of his neck in my free hand and gently push him forward. I wash from the top of his crack to the bottom of his taint, moving in slow circular motions when I pass his hole.

He plants an elbow and forearm against the wall and rests his forehead on it.

I start moving again from the top of his crack, edging my way down slowly, “One finger,” I whisper. “Just one. Keep still, and it won’t hurt.”

His chest heaves, and he nods, dropping his head lower, trying to hide but not hiding a thing.

My soapy digit circles his pucker and then finds its way in. I nudge softly, asking for purchase and finding it when my finger slips in. His body spasms, gripping me hard, trying to push me out. I don’t let it. I push in harder. I slide into his tight chute all the way to the knuckle, swiveling my finger around once or twice as he jerks forward and steps in place.

I pull out with enormous regret, panting and fighting the deep groan rising inside me. I free the shower nozzle from its hook and rinse him off, holding his cheeks apart to make sure I won’t taste any soap.

I turn the water off and bundle him out, reaching for his towel and wrapping it around him before he has a chance to do it himself. I dry him quickly, almost roughly, leaving his skin pinkfrom the combination of my attention and the hot water. I dry his back and chest in this way, taking my time to pat his ass dry until he grunts and blasts a warning puff of air through his teeth. Then I sink to my knees and dry his legs one at a time, lifting one foot and then the other to ensure he won’t slip.

I planned on laying him out on my bed, on his belly. I thought it might be fun to lift his hips and shove a couple of pillows under them, spreading his legs and leaving him like that so I could enjoy the view of him spread-eagled and waiting. I’ve been thinking of doing it since I saw him this morning. Since I slapped his ass in the quad and he looked at me like that. With hatred and heat.

I haven’t thought of anything else all day.

I’m sitting back on my heels now, looking up at the spectacular sight of his ass from below, and I realize I’ve gone as far as I can. I can’t move. I can’t go anywhere or do anything that doesn’t directly involve me thrusting my tongue into Ryan’s ass right the fuck now.

I take his cheeks in both hands, kneading them and moaning softly as my fingers dig into his flesh. Then, I pull them apart.

His hole is perfection. Tiny and tight. A pinched, hairy little knothole clenching strongly to keep me out. I smile and bite down on my lip to stop the gurgling sound trying to escape, then I press his cheeks together and kiss the ever-loving shit out of them. Soft, chaste pecks on smooth skin, skin that warms my lips and sends jolts down my spine. Hard, filthy kisses with teeth that make him blow rushed breaths out of his mouth.