This guy, this “number” as Burt called them, was better looking than most men Burt approved. Maybe a seven out of ten. Most important, he’d become more lust-filled and insistent by the minute. Drew wished Burt would show up soon. The man had asked questions Drew had heard too often, for one. But mostly, he didn’t want to resist anymore. He wanted to give up his hole. Now, now, now.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to be a prostitute?” the number asked. The man blew smoke toward the yellow lampshade as he ran circles with his fingers between Drew’s naked legs.
“No,” said Drew, wishing he hadn’t promised his boyfriend, Rahim, he would quit smoking, so he could ask for a drag off the cigarette. “This is bigger, and it’s…one guy’s fantasy.” He began searching for his socks, but his phone beeped. “One rich guy’s fantasy who wants to make my own come true.”
“Fantasy, I’ll give you, but it’s a game, too,” the man said. “Hey. Don’t put on clothes. I like you as you are. Those leather pants looked damn good on you though.”
The text was from Rahim, instead of Burt. Drew put the phone down and looked back at the man’s powerful chest and shoulders. When guys brought up prostitution, Drew felt a need not to be naked. He looked for socks, but his dick was too hard to roll over on his stomach for a better view. All he saw were the ugly gray diamonds of the Tuscany’s carpet. He gave into the man’s grip on his thighs and lay back. “It’s not a game, dude.”
“Either he’s playing you or you’re not serious. You don’t really get your own casino for doing three-ways, do you?”
“Burt and I have a deal. All the resorts on the Cheapo Vegas list. He watches a guy fuck me, then he fucks me. Seventy-three casinos later, I get my place. I’ve done sixty-five.” Drew raised his hands as if presenting the hotel room to the man. “Sixty-six.”
The man raised his eyebrows. Drew wasn’t sure if he was impressed or freaked out.
“I’m gonna call my casino the Zanzibar. I want it off-strip. Near the Rio and the Palms. They’re swank, even if they don’t rule the scene. But I’m being reasonable.” Or that was what he kept saying to Burt.
His phone beeped again—still not Burt, but a guy who took turns fucking Drew with Rahim. Drew closed his eyes, willing Burt to barge in.
The number stopped smoking and kneaded Drew’s thighs with both hands. Drew had to wait for Burt before lifting his legs. Earlier Burt had hidden a camera in the room, so he couldn’t “cheat” and start early. He bit his lip and shut his eyes tight. When the number put Drew’s ass in the air, he took deep breaths, covered his hole with his left hand and pressed against the man’s chest with his right.
The man shook his head in frustration. “From all the texts, I can tell a ton of guys want to fuck that ass.” He fumbled for another cigarette but found the pack empty. “Still, couldn’t this rich dude afford any boy he wanted? I bet the hottest porn star could be had for, I don’t know, two grand a night. A casino is too high dollar for anybody.”
Drew’s breath came too fast for him to speak clearly, but he managed, “So I’m trading my ass for nothing? Everyone gets to fuck me, I get nothing, and I’m an idiot?” His own words made him flash on a memory of Burt holding him tight, kissing him, and telling him he wasn’t an idiot. He turned his head, half-burying it in the pillow to fight off his sudden need for affection and the urge to kiss the number on the lips.
“I’m sorry. I can see giving you most anything. I mean, your skin, your whole fucking body, is delectable to the point I’m having trouble not biting you, but that’s madness.”
Drew smiled, but his mood didn’t lift. Not for the first time, Drew tried the math in his head. If the most famous bottoms from Bel Ami Studios cost two grand like the guy said, then that’s two grand times seventy-three three-ways. Wait, plus seventy-three airfares from Europe. Would three-ways be extra? He stopped trying to come up with a number. Whatever the answer was, a casino hotel would cost millions more.
Drew closed his eyes and focused on another memory: The time Burt said Drew could launch more ships than Helen of Troy.
Drew looked down at his own body and absently adjusted his legs to relieve a muscle cramp, but with the man’s renewed pressure, it appeared he’d spread his legs wider. “May I ask your name?”
The man looked away, his smile mischievous. “Parker. Parker Stevenson.”
The actor from the Hardy Boys. As far as Drew knew, he never got real names, but this was insulting. “You know, I have an urge to watch seventies TV. I never understand these urges. They’re such a mystery.”
“Parker” looked down, chuckling with embarrassment. “You’re too young to know that show.”
The man pushed Drew’s hand away so he could massage his hole again. “How’d you meet this Burt?” he asked.
“I always parked his car at the Aladdin. That’s how we started in alphabetical order. We’re doing the Venetian soon, but after that is the Western. Fucking dreading it. Do you know the Western?”
“Not really, but I read that neighborhood is to be avoided. So the letter W already? You must get fucked non-stop.”
True, but mostly by Rahim and the guys Rahim enjoyed watching, and still not so often that he wouldn’t be tight, especially not for this number. “It’s been three years, I think.”
“Three years? You’ve been doing this three-way thing since, let me guess, the day you turned eighteen?”
“Not quite that long, but well before I should have been allowed in a casino.”
“Or a bar. And you’re still parking cars at the Aladdin?”
“You know what dyslexia is? Not a ton of opportunities.”
“That’s not my question. Why hasn’t he already gotten you something better? Did you miss the fact that he’s old and fat? Maybe he’s telling you what you want to hear because he knows you wouldn’t let him inside you otherwise?”
“I like it. He fucks me hard. I think I’m earning this. Shouldn’t I be allowed to be proud of myself?” That was something Burt said to him all the time. Especially right after Drew mentioned he’d had to live with neighbors when his parents found out he was gay.
The man chuckled. “That didn’t answer my question either. Anyway, hot boy, I hope you get everything you want.” The man pushed two fingers inside Drew and pressed in again and again. “I got what I want right here. When I checked into the Tuscany I thought ‘Why the fuck is the meeting being held out here?’ But then I saw you with the top of your ass cheeks over those pants and knew this was the perfect place.” Now the man rose to his knees, pushing Drew’s legs back again, an arm wrapped around each of Drew’s thighs.
Wait. Drew had been given an opening into his favorite topic: critiquing hotel décor. “Pssh. The Tuscany. This place—”
“God, that ass.” The number pushed Drew’s legs back farther and began rimming him.
“This place does nothing with their…theme.” Forget it. Drew couldn’t talk. He heard the hotel phone ring once—the signal that Burt would be there in less than a minute. “Okay, okay. Thank God. It’s time. Parker, can you put on a condom and be thrusting, but aim too high on purpose so that Burt walks in to see the very second you get my ass?”
The man grabbed a condom from the pillow and ripped the wrapper. “You really love to please him, don’t you? Damn, you’re a good boy.” He pressed Drew’s legs back until his knees were by his shoulders. “I wish all boys were like you.”
Drew moaned as the man’s large dick poked at him again and again, threatening to find its way in. “Will you stay at the Zanzibar next time you’re in Vegas?”
“If I get to see you again,” the man said, running a hand through Drew’s hair.
Drew’s stomach tightened. “I don’t…uh…” He hadn’t thought about this. “I don’t think it will be right for a casino owner to…uh…you know, if I’m a big shot?” But what if Drew wanted to be a good boy? “Still, when you see the new tower out past I-15,” Drew whispered as Burt opened the door, “remind yourself you helped make it all possible.”