Resting a Demon

We stood, and Jon told his mother he was taking me down in the basement to show me his naval ship models. But neither she nor my mother even seemed to hear him as engrossed as they were in their discussion.

Down the stairs we went and into some sort of rec room, with models of Navy ships lined up on shelves around the room. Jon closed and locked the door and quickly crossed the carpet to me, shedding his shirt en route. He got me into a lip lock and had me stripped down to the waist in no time flat. I had to admit that Belle was right—this kid was really good.

Really, really good, because he had one arm around me, holding me to him, and his other hand, with those long, sensuous fingers, was playing my nipples and pecs and belly as expertly as he had played Chopin.

“God, you’re beautiful, man,” we whispered into my neck. “I’ve lusted after you for years just from those pictures your mother sent.”