Chaz’s Choice

It was only near the end of the third visit to the safe house, while I was sitting in the overstuffed armchair and, facing me, Julio was rising and falling on my cock with the strength of his knees on the arms of the chair and I was driving his cock like the gearshift of a sports car, that I told him what he could do for me if he wanted our encounters to continue.

The second and third times I’d made him contact me and beg for the meeting. I knew after the blow job I gave him in the second meeting that he was mine. But, as Peter had instructed me to do, I waited for him to ask me what he needed to do to keep me after I told him that it might be best, safer for us both, if we broke it off.

It was like shooting fish in a barrel. That had been Peter’s observation, and then he’d laughed. I couldn’t deny that the observation was apt, but I didn’t laugh. I was too busy trying to hide from Peter that I had feelings for Julio now. That wasn’t in the scheme at all; that quite purposely wasn’t in my job description.

“I think we can go on up to the hotel room now,” I said there at the table in the Pirata Café. “I was going to suggest that we take iced coffees up, but I see that you already have one. Do you want it refreshed?”