The Next(39)

"Cause we'll touch, gonna be a slow slide down from me … "

I glanced at the screen. Layworth was again on his bed, back against the  headboard, Macbook on his lap. All he had to do was turn his head, and  what a fucking show he'd get.

"Open the window," I ordered.

Marzoli opened the window.

The music spread out into the courtyard.

"And we'll kiss, gonna be a slow slide down from me … "

Marzoli's ass mesmerized like a cobra dancing up from a basket, slowly  towards me, slowly away, slowly circling. His core compressed and  stretched as it countered his smooth pelvic rotation and his fluid torso  rolling. His thick arms rose above his shoulders, and his deep wide  armpits were shadowed in the light. He was graceful, masculine,  intimate, and fuck he was hawt.         

     



 

His nipples began to firm in the cold air, as Nathan's had not. Nathan,  had, in fact, been shivering from the fear of the death that would  eventually arrive at his doorstep. A chill ran down my spine. As erotic  as this scenario was, danger was present. Death was near.

I glanced down at the screen.

The target turned his head.

My heart started beating faster than the rhythm of the music.

He saw Marzoli and held his gaze.

"And your eyes won't compromise … "

Layworth put his laptop to his side.

I heard Marzoli ask, "Did we get him?"

"Bull's-eye," I responded. "Don't stop."

"You'll grow restless with the rest … "

Layworth swung his legs off the bed and sat facing the window.

As I glanced back up from my computer screen, I suddenly realized  Marzoli was facing me as he was dancing. He was putting on a show for  me. His eyes were focused on mine, intensely, lustily. His mouth was  partly open. He re-wet it with his tongue. With his right hand, he  caressed his skin from his Adam's apple down through the sharp valley  between his pecs, over the ripples of his abdomen, around his belly  button, over the buttons of his jeans, and stopped at the mound  underneath. His fingers gripped and squeezed.

My breath stopped.

Was this performance really for me, or had he made me a john in his mind?

My penis punctured my pants. Apparently it didn't care.

"Cause from now on, it's all downhill from all you see … "

I sunk my hand beneath my zipper and felt the pleasure of the pressure.  Marzoli matched it. I could see the outline of his dick enlarging with  mine. That feedback loop we'd begun while getting clean apparently would  continue while getting dirty. I bit my lower lip as I tugged at my  testicles. He put his hand behind his head, wiped sweat off his neck,  and then oiled the hair of his steel hard abdomen. He released his  breath slowly, licking his wet red lips.

"Gonna be a slow slide down from me."

The combination of Max's breathy, licentious demo and Marzoli's  pole-less pole dance was lethal. The target stood up from his bed and  approached his window.

"It's time," I told Marzoli. "Make contact."

Marzoli raised his eyes and focused across the courtyard.

Layworth stared right back at him.

Marzoli continued to move, undulating his hips around in a circle while  gripping the front of his pants. Layworth slowly dropped his hand toward  his fly and let his hand rest on top, going no further.

"He's playing a game with you," I said. "He wants you to go first."

Marzoli lowered his head so his lips could not be seen and said out of the side of his mouth, "I can't."

"Unbutton your pants."

"I can't do this," Marzoli repeated, louder.

Why the hell not? What was so goddamn difficult?

"Unbutton your fucking pants," I commanded.

Marzoli unbuttoned the top button and paused.

Layworth unbuttoned his top button and paused.

Marzoli was breathing hard, and he glanced at me for guidance.

"Get the fuck over whatever it is and do it," I said lowly.

Marzoli unbuttoned the next button. Layworth grinned and zipped his fly  down just an inch. His dick was hardening, pushing its way through, but  he would go no further. He approached the window and leaned against the  glass with his arms above him, just as he had when Ruben put on a show.

Layworth's confidence made me gag. He leaned casually against the  window, presenting himself as if he were stepping down from a throne to  accept a kiss on his wrist, if he approved. Did Layworth think he was  some father, son, and holy Hostess cupcake whose creamy center Marzoli  was dying to slurp up? What was most repugnant was that Layworth was the  type of unctuous asshole who would and could never understand that  Marzoli was more of a man than he'd ever be.

"This is a mistake," Marzoli said in his upper register, sounding half his age. "Turn off the music."

I clicked it off.

The Sicilian Puerto Rican's brow was glistening from sweat, even though  the open window was chilling the room. He was obviously going through a  crisis, torn between a torturous past he'd loathed and a present that  forced him to relive it.

Sounded damn familiar …

He was frozen. I could see his dick had completely deflated.

I had to get him to click into the moment, otherwise we'd lose Layworth.  Whatever happened in Marzoli's past to paralyze him needed to pass and  pass immediately. He needed to be slapped back into the urgency of the  objective, and recognize that this was just the means to an end.

I could not physically slap him with Layworth watching.         

     



 

I had to think this through fast.

He was so good at flirting when he needed something. He did it from the  first second he knocked on my door. Now he needed something from the  King across the courtyard. So what was different about this situation?  Was the sexuality so overt that it was triggering the horror and  degradation of his hustler days? Or was merely getting naked the  trigger?

What do I do?

I scooted directly underneath the windowsill with my laptop and iPhone,  right in line between Marzoli and Layworth. I called Marzoli's cell. He  reached into his back pocket and answered.

"Keep your eye on the Layworth," I began forcefully, "and keep your hand on your crotch as you listen. Okay?"

"Okay," he answered.

"How do you feel about me?"

"How do I … ?"

"Do you like me?" I asked, keeping the vocabulary as juvenile as possible.

"Yes."

"How much?"

"A lot."

"Unbutton the next button."

He unbuttoned the next button. The white band of his underwear surfaced.

"I want to be with you," I went on. "I want every inch of you. You're  the first man I've ever said that to. The only one. Smile."

Marzoli raised the corners of his mouth.

Layworth winked.

I continued. "But I'm afraid … "

"Why?"

"You might think I'm … you know … "

"What?"

"Ugly."

"You're not. You're so … "

"So what?"

He looked directly at me, reached into his underwear and grabbed his penis. "You're so damn good-looking to me."

"I am?"

"From the first moment I saw you, I wanted to … "

My chubby stiffened.

Judging by the bulge, his dick once again began extending to full mast.

Marzoli lowered his eyes to me with lust.

This was working.

Marzoli just needed intimacy. Connection. A person and a person, not just a john and a job.

I unbuttoned my fly and wrapped my fingers around my cock.

"You wanted to what?"

"This."

He stared into my eyes as he licked his finger and smothered the saliva on his head beneath his underwear. He groaned.

God, why won't he show it to me!

I put my entire fist around my cock and squeezed.

"Jesus," I moaned. "Look up."

Marzoli redirected his gaze to Layworth.

Layworth unzipped the rest of his pants and let them drop to the floor.  Once again he was wearing no underwear. Just as before, he put his hands  back onto the window above his head and let his dick bob up and down.

"What else do you want to do?" I asked Marzoli.

"This."

He reached his hand under his underwear, stretching the band out as he  burrowed below his testicles. He tugged down on his sac, still revealing  none of his meat.

"And what else?"

Marzoli paused.

Layworth's enormous rod was growing rock solid and veiny. He put both  hands around it like he was straddling a broom. He began to stroke.

"Huh? What else?"

Marzoli stuttered. "I don't … I … I … "

As fucking curious as I was for him to finish that sentence, I realized  his mood was once again shifting to a withdrawn, self-pitying,  frustrated place. That couldn't happen. Not at this moment with Layworth  practically in the bag. I had to sacrifice satisfying my curiosity.

"What?" I attacked lightly. "You don't mix with civilians? Or you're just too fucking badass for me?"

He slowly grinned and winked. "Your words, not mine."

That helpless look was once again replaced by that goddamn  cock-of-the-walk attitude that made my schlong grow yet another half  inch.