See Me .(11)

“I know, but it was taking you forever. The man doesn’t want to be here all night.”

Yes, I do. “Hey.” He felt like the referee in a fight. “It’s cool. I can do that for you guys.” I want to do it. Okay, so I think I found a fetish. No more blank lines on that one. “Should I take my clothes off? How do we do this?”

They spoke at the same time. “Clothes off, please,” slipped out from Abigail’s lips, while Ron said, “Leave ’em on.”

Abigail was going to be his boss, so he figured he’d better do what she wanted. Right, dickhead, you want to impress her. He knew his body was tight. He really did like working out. It wasn’t a vain issue. He’d started out as a scrawny kid, fighting to fend off his foster brothers. By the time he was a junior in high school, he wasn’t the jock type. But damn, he could stir up a fist session just to release some steam. He was good. Too good. By the time he was a senior, he’d gained the strength to match the asshole football players punch for punch. Those fat asses didn’t have the cardio for shit.

He ran too. Ran from everything he couldn’t run from before. His cardio was spot-on, and the wrestling shit he’d gotten into at the Y’s afterschool program helped. He lifted wherever there were weights. No more pansy ass, and no more “trusted caregivers” smacking him around either. He’d silenced it out until he got the diploma. Then he ran again.

Sean stood up. Ron’s dark expression followed him, but Abigail’s bright eyes shifted to the mug in her hand.

Look at me. See me, not the scar on my jaw, not the tat. Just me.

She peeked up, then looked back down. Damn, she was cute as hell. He wanted to smile but was afraid it would embarrass her. How did she get through the other interviews? Was she this backward with all the men?

He loosened his tie and slipped it over his head. Next, the buttons on the shirt were opened. Ron kept his eyes glued on him, shifting only to lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees. God, was he really going to do this? Could he jack off in front of another dude? He thought about the bill sitting on his kitchen counter, the empty fridge in his tiny apartment. He didn’t have a choice.

There was no sound other than Abigail’s gasp when his shirt landed on the glass coffee table. He looked up at her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled and recrossed her legs.

He’d never wanted to flex his muscles so much in all his life. He would do it before a fight. The other guy did too. Like two lions in a Roman stadium, both puffing out their chests and showing their sharp teeth. With Ron watching, he could pretend to gear up for a fight, but with the angel watching? No way. He wanted to show her what he had, plain and simple, and prayed to God it would be enough.

“Um, the tattoo, Ron said it goes all the way up your arm?” she asked.

Sean looked up and down his right arm, rubbing his right pec to show her that it wouldn’t rub off. “Yeah, is that a problem?”

She shifted again. “Oh no, not at all, it’s fine. We have a lot of clients who specifically ask for tattoos. Matter of fact, right now we have a client who is requesting a male performer that has a tattoo like yours.”

The clank of her coffee mug on the table brought his attention back to the task at hand. That’s right. He was there to get a job, not impress her for a date. Wasn’t he? Yes, he was there to make some cash and get the fuck out of Dodge, minus his pride and soul, of course.

“Want me to keep going?” Sean asked, this time more toward Ron than Abigail.

Ron gave a sharp nod.

He unbuckled the slender belt and unbuttoned his slacks. He figured he didn’t need to take everything off. If she couldn’t figure out what he had to offer by seeing his abs and package, then she was more naïve than he thought.

The soft flutter of his pants gathering around his ankles made her look up. “Can you take your shoes off, please?”

Well, shit!

He leaned over and unlaced his shoes to toe them off. Socks came off too. He stepped out of the pile of pants. “Good?”

She shifted again in the chair. “Um…yes. Now those, please.”

He tipped his slender finger toward his black boxer briefs. Her chin dipped, causing the soft reddish-brown waves to hide the expression on her face. Ron tapped her knee, and her head shot up.

Fuck! Her round cheeks were bright red. Two roses revealing how heated she really was. Was this turning her on as much as it was him? He couldn’t help it; his gaze roamed over the soft swell of her breasts, more than a handful. Way more than a fucking handful. The soft cotton of his underwear was suddenly too tight, forcing him to shift his stance. God, when had his dick gotten so damn hard?