Treston didn't agree with Chad, but he knew deep down it would be impossible to argue with him. Men like Chad Pratt didn't back down, and they always had to have the last word. Of course, spoiled, self-consumed men like Chad Pratt didn't realize that sometimes the unspoken last word could be more intense than anything said aloud. So Treston smiled and said, "I'd like to thank you for dinner. I actually had a good time tonight. I have never been this honest with anyone. I don't know what's gotten into me."
Chad stood up and said, "I'm not sure what's gotten into you either. But let's go back to my place and I'll show you what's going to get into you tonight." He lifted his hands and smiled. "That is, if you're willing to agree to it. I know you said sleeping with me has to be your choice. Heaven forbid I should be accused of sneaking into your pants or forcing you into anything. I wouldn't want to be blamed for taking advantage of your sensitive, emotional nature."
Treston stood up and smiled. He looked him in the eye and said, "Don't be an asshole, Chad."
Chad reached out and set his palm on the small of Treston's back so he could lead him out of the restaurant. "I have to be an arrogant asshole. If I'm not, you won't be interested in an old man like me."
As Chad guided him out of the restaurant, the people at the other tables glanced sideways to watch them leave without being too obvious about it. Treston knew they were looking, and he knew what they were thinking. They all must have been wondering who was this young trick in tight black pants with billionaire Chad Pratt, the Vegas Shark, and probably figured Treston was another one of Chad's recent conquests. Treston didn't care. He figured he'd never see any of them again and he'd never be in that restaurant again. The one thing he did wish was that his friends at Chickey's could see him with Chad Pratt. He hoped Mickey J. would tell someone he'd seen Treston leave with Chad. At least Mickey J. had seen him actually get into the car with Chad. When he told all his friends about it the next night he would have to get Mickey J. to back up his story, to prove he wasn't lying.
When they were in the limo, Chad climbed on top of him in the backseat and started to kiss him without warning. Treston tried to push him away at first, but the harder he pushed, the more aggressive Chad became. There was nothing violent or abusive about Chad. Though he pushed with force, he kissed gently and his lips were soft and smooth. He knew how to move his tongue without being vulgar or intrusive. When he caressed the back of Treston's head with his strong hand, he set off an explosion deep in Treston's body that caused and instant erection in his tight black pants. Treston knew Chad had the same reaction when he felt something hard poke his right hip.
When Treston asked, "What about your driver?" He was flat on his back with his legs in the air and his arms around Chad's shoulders.
Chad said, "He's been with me for years and he's very discreet. I trust him completely."
They were still making out in the backseat when the car pulled up to a large Spanish mansion in a part of town where Treston had never spent much time. He'd lost track of where they'd been going. When he sat up he smoothed out his shirt, pulled up his pants, looked out the window, and gaped at the front entrance. He'd read about Chad Pratt's estate; he'd heard there was nothing else like it in Las Vegas. The dark stained double front doors alone had to be at least ten times larger than most normal front doors. The two massive lion statues on either side, with their heads thrown back and their mouths wide open, looked more like they belonged in front of a public library in a big city than a private home in the desert.
Chad got out first and reached inside to help Treston. He put his arm around him and led him to the front door. Chad opened the front door and gave him a gentle push. When Treston stepped into the entrance hall he didn't know where to look first. The bronze and crystal chandelier suspended from the three-story ceiling sparkled, the beige and black marble floors shined so they looked slippery. The artwork in gilded frames that hung on the walls had a modern abstract quality that seemed to contrast with the rest of the formal look. The painting of red cubes and circles that hung over the walk-in hall fireplace was so huge Treston doubted it would get through the front door of his own small apartment.
Chad closed the front door and put his arm around him again. "Home, sweet home, be it ever so humble."
Treston's mouth hung open; he had one hand on his stomach and the other on his chest. "It's amazing. I've never seen such a mix of so many beautiful things before." Although the Spanish influence continued inside, there were French tables, Jacobean chairs, and stark modern sculptures on pedestals. He'd read somewhere Chad was into architecture and design.
Chad guided him toward a grand staircase with hand-carved balustrades in the middle of the hall and said, "I'm eclectic."
"Do you take something for that?" Treston asked. He didn't want him having a seizure that night.
Chad laughed. "It's not a sickness. It means I like to mix different things up and my taste varies. I'm unusual."
Treston flung him a glance and said, "Oh, I'm sure you are." He should have known what the word meant. He made a mental note to remember it: eclectic.
When they reached the second floor, a very old man in a white jacket who reminded Treston of Alfred Hitchcock met them in the hallway and Chad said, "I don't want to be disturbed."
Treston figured the old guy had to be the butler. He nodded at Chad, looked Treston up and down with disdain, and said, "Yes, sir."
Then Chad led Treston to another set of oversized double doors at the end of the hall and escorted him into a large master suite filled with so many interesting objects Treston's jaw dropped again. The floors were black marble; the walls a dozen shades of gray. The statues in this room, unlike the modern statues in the main hall downstairs, had a more classic European look with nude men that had leaves over their dicks and nude women with tiny breasts and huge rear ends. And the framed photos that hung on the walls were all of Chad Pratt. There were images of him standing with other film stars, important politicians, and famous singers. There were framed magazine covers and images of Chad at red-carpet events. In a large glass curio cabinet on the left side of the room, Treston noticed a group of statues and plaques. He figured they were all awards Chad must have won.
He'd been so busy gaping at the walls, he hadn't noticed Chad had crossed to the bed and stripped down to his boxer briefs. When Treston finally did look at him, Chad spread his arms and said, "I hope I didn't disappoint you. A forty-seven-year-old body isn't like a twenty-five-year-old body."
Treston looked him up and down and smiled. He slowly walked over to the bed and ran his fingers up and down Chad's torso. He looked every bit as good without his clothes as he did in them, which was something Treston had learned didn't happen with most men. It was obvious he worked out on a regular basis. His chest muscles were firm and round, his stomach had defined lines and crevices, and his lower torso had those prominent long muscles that pointed downward to his crotch. Treston kissed his chest and said, "I hope you're joking around, because you're truly one of the sexiest men I've ever seen in underwear. Actually, you're all man." His right hand went lower and he slid it into Chad's boxer briefs. He wrapped his fingers around Chad's semi-erection and said, "And this is the perfect complement."
"I don't believe you," Chad said. "Young men say things like that to wealthy older men to get what they want all the time."
Treston looked into his steel blue eyes and said, "But you're wrong again. There's a difference now. I truly, seriously do not want anything from you, so I have to be telling the truth, otherwise there would be no point in saying it."
"Maybe you're just kinky and you like that old skin," Chad said. "I've heard about young guys who are only attracted to men with wrinkles and sagging asses."
"I'm not one of them," Treston said. The energy between them seemed to fill the room. It made the air thicker and Treston felt himself breathing faster. Though Treston had been attracted to men this way before, one thing seemed to make this different from all the rest. Each time their eyes met, neither of them seemed able to turn away fast enough.
"I'm starting to think you're the dangerous one," Chad said. "You seem to know just what to say and just how to say it."
"You know what I think?" Treston said.
"What?"
"I think we should stop talking now and you should do what you do best."
Chad reached up and caressed his cheek. "What do I do best? I want to hear you say it aloud."
Treston kissed the center of his chest and glanced up slowly without lifting his head. "You take complete control and you don't stop until you get what you want. Just like every bad boy I've ever known."
"I thought you didn't want to be with bad boys anymore."
Treston licked his chest this time. "I didn't say that. All I said is I'm not falling in love with bad boys anymore. There's a difference."
Chapter Eight
They fell onto the bed and started to kiss again. This simple act alone took on unusual characteristics for Treston, because most of the men he'd fallen in love with in the past had not been interested in kissing or making out. Most didn't even care about foreplay all that much. The first time Treston had had sex with Harlan Rocks, it lasted all of twenty minutes. And it wouldn't have lasted that long if Harlan had been able to find a condom faster. Being with Chad made Treston wonder if he'd been wasting his time on being in love. He was determined not to fall in love with Chad, and if sex without love could be this good, he might have underestimated it.