Runaway Model (10 page)

But it was the hair—or rather the lack of it—that really did him in. Kyle seemed to have shaved himself bald not long before the photo was taken. Perhaps it was a misguided attempt to appear older.

Bryce shouldn't laugh. No, he really shouldn't. Teenagers were sensitive about their looks. But the relief bubbled inside of him like laughing gas. Kyle was eighteen. He really was.

"Fuck. You fucking win. That is absolutely the worst passport photo I have ever seen in my life."

"Fuck you, mate. I knew you'd say that. That's why I didn't want to show it to you."

"I'm sorry, Kyle. But fuck."

"That photo is not who I am."

"I know. I know." Bryce dropped the passport on the table. "Come here."

Kyle stood with folded arms across his chest. He wanted to be coaxed.

"Please. I'm saying please. Let me prove to you how beautiful you really are."

Bryce moved forward, and Kyle stepped back. It was a flirtatious dance, not a refusal. "You have a lot to answer for, snooping through me things like that."

"I do, I know, I'll make it up to you."

Kyle turned on his heel and pranced off. Bryce was compelled to follow. The muscles in those smooth buttocks flexed and stretched, an obscene invitation. When he flung himself face-down on the bed, he must have known that Bryce couldn't tear his eyes away.

"I'm sorry, honey," Bryce said. "I had to be sure. People keep putting all these ideas in my head." He knelt between Kyle's spread legs and planted kisses that started at the nape of his neck—and walked slowly, teasingly, all the way down.

"I'll make it up to you for doubting you. I will. I'm not just saying that. I'm going to make you feel real good. Don't move. Don't do a thing. It's all on me this time."

Bryce knew for certain now that Kyle must be some kind of hustler. But he also knew that he could make Kyle feel something real. And he was determined to do just that.

"I'm waiting," Kyle said. A muscle in his right buttock twitched. You couldn't fake that to get to a man's money.

Bryce began to lick in long wet spirals that slowly, slowly closed in on those deliciously undimpled cheeks.

Kyle buried his face in his own arms. He whimpered, then gasped. Bryce smiled a secret smile. His tongue still knew a trick or two.

It was time for the lube. Past time. Bryce squirted a thick gob into the palm of his own hand and tried not to react to the burst of coolness. While he let it warm to room temperature in his right hand, he continued to stroke the curves of Kyle's bubble-butt with his left. Meanwhile his tongue continued to duck and dive, flirting now with the tender flesh of Kyle's sweet crack.

Kyle started moaning. "Noooooo."

"No?" Bryce stopped cold. The cruelest tease of all.

"Noooo," Kyle said. "Fuck you. Don't stop. Are you fucking crazy, mate? Don't stop, don't stop, don't fucking stop."

"Are you sure?" Bryce drawled the word "sure" out for three syllables—more like a boy from Georgia than from southwest Louisiana. He slipped his thumbs into to those convenient dimples in the small of Kyle's back.

"Fuck me, of course I'm fucking sure." There was more, but the words seemed to dissolve into groans. In any case, the way Kyle's buttocks opened said everything that needed to be said. He was ready.

Bryce pulled the cheeks further apart and fluttered his tongue downward. Oh yes. Kyle's taut rosebud knew how to flex and then expand. The lube was body temperature by now but Bryce was still in the mood to tease the way he'd been teased. He slicked up a single finger and inserted it slowly—oh so painfully slowly—into Kyle's writhing hole.

"Please, oh fuck, pulllleeeeease!"

Two fingers. While his right hand busied itself with the finger-fucking, his left hand slipped under Kyle's belly to find his dripping, throbbing cock. One thing you had to say for men Kyle's age—they knew how to dance. Kyle's dick was so hard and straight it was a wonder it didn't slap the underside of his chin.

Three fingers. The middle one, the longest... if Bryce tapped just there...

Kyle's shriek was wordless with the force of his desire. His leaky cock twisted and thrust within Bryce's left fist. Most of the grease there was Kyle's pre-cum goo, not the stuff that came in a tube.

You can't tease another man without teasing yourself. Bryce told himself he could hold out longer than any eighteen-year-old. But the truth was he was at his limit. His cock had swollen to the point where it seemed as if his hard-on would burst out of his stretched-tight skin. His own pre-cum was pouring down his hard-on to soak his upper thighs.

"Please, Bryce." Ah. Kyle remembered his name. Maybe Bryce hadn't been sure before that moment. "Please oh fucking fucking please!"

"I like it when you say please. I like it when you scream."

"Fuck me, Bryce, this is me screaming. Please oh God please... now... now... NOW." With each syllable, with each gasp, Kyle jerked his throbbing cock violently between Bryce's left hand and his belly. If Bryce's hand hadn't been there, he'd have been reduced to fucking the sloppy-soppy mattress.

Bryce felt a surge of power. Sexual power that had nothing to do with what was or wasn't in his bank accounts and his oil wells.

"Are you sure?"

"This is me begging, Bryce. Please, baby!"

That "baby" broke his heart. Or maybe it broke something a little further south. Either way, Bryce knew it was time to grab the foil package and dress his throbbing cock in latex. When he withdrew his three fingers from Kyle's butthole, the eighteen-year-old's pink rosebud seemed to twinkle at him.

"Now." Kyle's voice was husky with need. "Don't make me ask again."

Bryce stroked forward. Kyle was already open but he had to expand anew to accommodate Bryce's rock-hard prick. The younger man slammed his butt back against Bryce's belly with surprising force, leaving both of them in no doubt about how much he hungered for release. Bryce stirred himself around so that he could be sure to connect with all the most sensitive nerve endings. Kyle screamed with such intensity that his pleasure could have been mistaken for pain.

"Yes, fuck me, yes!" And then the shrieks became animal noises torn from deep in his soul. Bryce meant to prolong the delicious torture a little longer but it was impossible. The spasms shuddering through Kyle's body squeezed too forcefully on his cock from all directions. Bryce's overheated spurts blew up the rubber like a balloon.

***

T
hey fell asleep in each other's arms, their bodies glued together by strings of sweat. But it was the wrong time of day for Bryce to drowse for very long. He woke with a sudden jerk.

"Mmmm, it's OK, love," Kyle murmured. "You're safe here. It's safe here, it's OK now."

Bryce wasn't entirely sure if he was talking in his sleep. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Trouble, mate?" They'd been snuggled together spoon-fashion, but now little-spoon Kyle flipped over in Bryce's arms. His dark eyes blinked open. He seemed dazed for a minute.

"The money..." Bryce said.

"Ah. The money. I found it somewhere. The previous owner won't say anything. Even in the unlikely event he notices it's gone missing. He had a lot of that."

Such beautiful eyes. The kind of lashes that would do credit to a professional model. Glints of light in the brown irises.

"The gold..."

"A gift from an admirer. I took his gold but I didn't take his body. I'm not for sale, mate."

"I wouldn't judge you if you were. I know it's been rough times in Vegas since the crash."

"I would judge me," Kyle said. "I don't sell me self. I take what I want." He touched Bryce's raw dick. One of those little teasing touches that went straight to Bryce's core.

Breathe.
Bryce wished he was the kind of man who could just take what he needed and walk on. But it was lonely pretending to be that kind of man. He wanted to know this boy. Maybe it wasn't cool to keep asking questions, but he couldn't stop himself. "It's better to steal?"

"To steal without violence is a rare skill in America. I'm doing me part to fight gun culture."

"Be serious."

"Then yes." Kyle sat up and put his hands on Bryce's bare shoulders to make sure he looked deep into his eyes. Kyle knew what those brown eyes could do. He knew it very well.

"I were underage when I came across that gold and that brick. If I'd given them what they thought they were buying, they would be involving themselves in felony exploitation of a minor. A serious sex crime, if the bill found out. It's a kindness to do it the way I do."

Bryce had only heard the word "brick" used to refer to drugs, but he understood immediately that Kyle meant the five thousand dollars wrapped in the Caesar's strap. "Rob and run. An interesting definition of kindness."

"I play only with the men of me own choosing," Kyle said. "It's always me decision. I can't be bought."

"I should be flattered."

"You should be, mate. It's an honor to be with me. There's a rumor the only man I've been with is Stoney Rockland."

"Stoney Rockland?" Bryce really needed to find out who the hell that was.

"It's a rumor, mate. It may have even been started by me own fan blog."

Bryce had to laugh. He couldn't decide if Kyle was old or young for his age. Maybe it was a little bit of both. There was something about him that made you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go.

Kyle began to nibble at Bryce's collarbone. He seemed to like the taste of Bryce's skin salts. Then, off in another room, his phone began to sing the little half-familiar tune.

He'd set the alarm so he wouldn't forget to get up and catch his plane. And he'd put the phone in the next room so he'd be forced to push himself out of the bed to silence it.

Before Bryce could think what to say, Kyle was in and out of the shower and then wriggling into his cigarette jeans.

It was a thirty minute ride at most to the airport. Bryce could have seen Kyle off at the hotel. And maybe that's what he should have done.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't. If those few minutes were the last he'd ever have with Kyle, he didn't intend to sacrifice them. He jumped into the back of the limo with the boy. After the privacy barrier went up, he squeezed him tenderly on the knee. Kyle responded by scooting so close you couldn't have slipped a credit card between them.

"I'll miss you, mate. You're something else."

Bryce knew his advisers would tell him to let the boy go. But he just couldn't. He began to massage Kyle high on the thigh with both hands.

"Stay with me, Kyle. We're just getting started."

"Me ticket's already bought and paid for. Nonrefundable. I have to go."

That wasn't an argument. It wasn't even Kyle's money that paid for the ticket. "Airlines love money for nothing. You don't have to go anywhere. You really don't."

The southbound traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard was fairly obnoxious. Kyle's eyes glanced from the glass barrier that kept the driver from eavesdropping and then to the tinted windows that surrounded them. Assessing what he could get away with. Maybe. If Bryce read him right.

If Bryce was really that lucky.

"There's something special between us," Bryce said. "I know you feel it too."

Maybe it was just Kyle's physical beauty. His electric energy. Maybe Bryce was just lonely. But maybe it was something more. They hadn't had enough time together for Bryce to be sure.

Kyle's eyes kept flicking from the driver to the street to Bryce and back again to the driver. Back again to the street.

"Give it a chance," Bryce said. "Give us a chance. Please. Just try it for a few more days."

Kyle's eyes were coffee-colored diamonds, the rarest shade of brown diamond. They turned again to Bryce, reading his face with an unsettling directness.

"I can't be your toy. You know that, mate."

"You won't be a toy. I don't do that crappy movie villain billionaire shit. I don't treat people like toys."

Kyle continued to gaze into his face. Finally he nodded, one of those nearly-invisible teeny tiny nods that only Bryce seemed to see.

But it was enough. "I'll tell the driver to turn the limo around."

"Wait," Kyle said, and Bryce thought his heart would stop. But Kyle's mouth was already shaping itself into that teasing crooked smile. "Before we head back to the hotel, there's something we need to do first."

Bryce waited.

"Ever had a blowie in a limo?"

A
thrilling question made all the more thrilling being whispered into his ear by a slinky eighteen-year-old with a British accent.

But Bryce was twenty-eight and the CEO of an up-and-coming petroleum company. He told himself he had to behave at least somewhat like an adult.

"The driver will see you in the rearview mirror."

"A handie then." Kyle's long fingers darted down Bryce's jeans almost before he knew it.

Bryce should have been too sensitive from their previous sessions. They'd been playing with each other for almost twenty-four hours straight.

But Kyle knew how to keep his touch light and teasing. He knew how to keep Bryce throbbing for more.

Almost against his will, Bryce's cock began to stir. Sex in the backseat of a casino's VIP limo as it headed down Las Vegas Boulevard was probably high on the list of every gay man's favorite exhibitionist fantasy. Maybe a handjob wasn't real sex. But at the moment it was real enough for Bryce.

There was traffic all around them. Broad daylight in the high desert. Bryce savored the wicked thrill of getting away with something. Bright sunlight against the tinted glass meant the people in the vehicles all around them probably couldn't see anything except reflections.

Probably.

There was no doubt that eighteen-year-old Kyle was some sort of exhibitionist who loved to flirt with the chance of getting caught. But maybe Bryce had a little of that taste for danger himself. Their make-out session in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window in Bryce's penthouse suite wasn't all Kyle's doing.

Bryce squirmed against the leather seat. Fuck. How did Kyle always know exactly where to squeeze?