Hunger (Chicken Ranch Gentlemen's Club Book 1) (5 page)

Watching the other man come was the final shove Declan needed. He grabbed his cock and stroked it hard, not wanting to be left behind. He needed to come too, and there was no guarantee Killian would be thoughtful enough to help him out before he left.

Two quick, hard pumps and a tight squeeze around the head was all it took. His cock bucked in his hand, firing off one volley of cum after another. He closed his eyelids, shutting out the man above him as his climax rushed through him in wave after wave of unbearable ecstasy. The feel of his balls unloading was secondary to the way his ass contracted, squeezing Killian's meat with every single pulse of hot, slick fluid that escaped. It went on and on until Declan was sure his nuts were trying to crawl up inside his body.

He bit his tongue to stifle the yell building in his throat. Although he hadn't thought there would be anything more intimate than having another man's cock in his ass, he was dead wrong. Sharing his pleasure with a stranger, a man who paid to use his body, crossed a line Declan wasn't ready to travel. Maybe he could get to the point where it would be no big deal, but that time wasn't now.

Declan winced as Killian pulled out of his body and rolled off him. He kept his eyes shut and listened as the other man moved around, presuming Killian was cleaning up by the resounding
snap
of latex coming off.

The mattress shifted as Killian slid back into bed. Soft lips pressed against Declan's collarbone. "That was great."

"Mm hmm," Declan murmured, his lips curving at the compliment. He opened his eyes and found himself gazing up into Killian's deep brown eyes. Up so close, Declan could count each individual lash framing the other man's eyes.

An urge to curl into the big man's heat and take a nap overwhelmed Declan. Killian was so nice and warm. Being with him was unlike anything Declan had expected.

Killian's lips brushed over Declan's, soft as can be. Declan stretched up into the kiss, his lips parting for more. Killian seemed to know precisely what he needed. The older man cupped Declan's cheek, holding him close, while he slid his tongue past Declan's lips. Their tongues leisurely batted back and forth, comforting more than reigniting the flames of desire.

Before they could get carried away, Declan pulled back. Killian sighed and rolled over onto his back, throwing an arm over his face to block out the harsh glare from the overhead light.

As much as Declan hated to move, he really didn't have time to be idle. His schedule didn't allow for afterglow. Graves had warned him not to let a session go beyond an hour unless the client specifically requested it.

More importantly, he needed to remember his place. Curling up beside the other man and basking in the moment probably defeated the purpose of coming to a professional to get off. The trick was to be friendly while keeping a professional distance.

Now if I could just figure out how to do that when I have a stranger's dick up my ass…

With a touch of reluctance, Declan sat up on the side of the bed. Newly broken-in muscles cramped; his ass was sore and bruised. How the hell was anyone supposed to fuck more than once a night? All he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and go to sleep.

He glanced over at the man beside him and sighed. He liked Killian, but it wouldn't do to forget why he was there. It would be all too easy to get lost in the feel of his flesh merged with another's and forget he wasn't a friend or lover.

He was only a whore.

Declan counted his cash, noted that his latest john had given him a hundred-dollar tip—which was damn good for a trick before nine a.m.—and happily trotted down the stairs to the main floor. He was coming off another four-day shift, and he was more than ready to get the hell out of there.

Part of him still found his occupation hard to believe, even after nearly three months. He was supposed to be in college, staying in a cramped dorm room and working a little part-time gig for spending money. Instead, he was sucking and fucking to pay the rent. For his efforts, he had a tiny furnished efficiency apartment that usually smelled like whatever nasty crap his neighbors were cooking, and a beat-up old Chevy to call his own. It was a damn sight better than sleeping on a park bench and worrying about where his next meal was coming from.

The thing he was most proud of, however, was scraping up enough dough to enroll in a couple of business classes at the local community college. It wasn't everything he'd dreamed of in an education, but it was his and he'd done it all on his own.

After cashing out and pocketing his money, Declan strolled into the casual lounge to say good-bye to his buddies. He had the next three days off, and he didn't plan on having any reminders of the business until he stepped foot back on the ranch.

He walked right into the middle of a conversation and stood off to the side as Grey and Ricky finished yet another argument over the merits of being a working stiff.

"This job is a means to an end." Ricky Heart, the same guy who'd gone out of his way to be pissy to Declan when he'd first arrived, tossed his bangs out of his face and glared at Grey and Colt, who sat on the sofa. "As soon as I can find a hot sugar daddy, I'm getting the fuck out of here, and you can bet your balls that I'm not going to miss selling my ass to smelly old men."

Grey snorted. "That's your opinion, sweetcheeks. And you know what people say about opinions, don't you?"

Colt laughed. "Oh yeah. Everyone has one, and they're all full of shit."

"Exactly," Grey said, talking right over Ricky's weak "fuck you." "I don't know what's not to like about this job. Personally, I get off as many times a night as I can, and I get paid for the pleasure of fucking as many tight asses as I can. It doesn't get much better than that."

"Hey," Declan interrupted before the men got into full mode with the arguing. "I just wanted to say I'm leaving, guys. I'll talk to you all in a few days."

He waved and quickly left the room before anyone could ask what he thought. Although things had gotten easier for him, he highly doubted he would ever be in love with selling his body to pay the bills. It was a means to an end and nothing more, just like Ricky had said. While he didn't always see eye to eye with the other man, they did have common feelings about selling their asses. Some people just weren't cut out for the business, even if life and circumstances forced them into it.

Declan crossed the gravel parking lot and got into his car. The door creaked, in need of a good oiling, as he slammed it shut. He'd have to try and remember to spray some more WD-40 in the hinges when he got home. With a little luck, he'd still have a can or two at the apartment. He could put it to use after he took a much-needed nap.

By noon, Declan had given up sleep and lounging around his nearly bare apartment. There was nothing to do within the four walls he called home except sleep or jack off, and his body wasn't interested in either. What it wanted was food.

Since he'd eaten the junk food he'd bought during his last work break, and the minifridge that doubled as a nightstand was empty, he was forced to go out and visit the most despised grocery store. If he wanted to make it anywhere, he needed to fill up the tank on his gas-guzzler first. As far as he was concerned, the only thing worse than spending his hard-earned money on food was blowing it on gas. If fuel went much higher, he was going to be traveling on his feet again.

At the last minute, Declan decided to hit some thrift stores and see if he could find anything worthwhile before he went grocery shopping. While his responsible side wanted to sock away all his earnings for a rainy day, the indulgent half of him wanted to splurge a little. He didn't really need anything, but that didn't mean there weren't things he wanted.

In the months since he'd started working, he'd been frugal to the extreme. Terrified of finding himself homeless again, he'd scrimped and saved and counted every penny. The only real splurge he'd made was on school. Even that wasn't so much a luxury as an investment in his future. He did not want to turn tricks forever. He figured he'd graduate with an associate's degree in two years and land a job doing something, although he wasn't sure what yet. That was the good thing about a business management degree. As he saw it, he could do many things with that one little slip of paper.

All he had to do was figure out what he wanted to do with his life.

* * * * *

Killian wandered aimlessly up and down one aisle after another as he tried to figure out what he wanted to eat for the next week. He hated grocery shopping, but it was a necessity if he didn't want to rely on fast food. Although he loved a juicy hamburger and fries as much as the next man, he needed to stay away from the grease. Newly thirty—his birthday having passed without so much as a peep the week before—his body wasn't as forgiving toward a bad diet as it used to be.

Cooking was a nice stress reliever, but it lost its effect when he had to pitch half of whatever he made in the trash at the end of the night. Recipes were typically designed for two or more, making it difficult—if not downright impossible—to cook for one without having abundant leftovers. It was one of the hidden drawbacks of being single.

Not counting his adventure into prostitution, he'd had exactly one date in the last three months, which had ended in disaster. After mistakenly allowing a woman at work to set him up with her brother, Killian had spent a two-hour meal eating rabbit food and listening to a smug yuppie describe his calling as a proctologist and brag about his custom Porsche. There'd been so many one-liners running through his head that he'd bitten into his cheek to keep from cracking jokes at the other man's expense. He'd been so relieved at the end of the night that he'd left a twenty-dollar tip.

That was the very last time he was going to allow someone to set him up on a blind date. He wasn't ever, ever,
ever
doing that again. If he couldn't find his own dates, then too bad, too sad. He'd rather be alone than miserable.

Besides, it wasn't like he was pitiful. Not everyone was cut out to be part of a happy couple. While he'd love to have someone to share his life with, he didn't need a significant other to fulfill him. It wasn't as if he didn't have friends. There were people he talked to at work and Cash. Although now that he thought about it, they hadn't really hung out together all that much lately. That wasn't really anything new. Cash went out and had his little adventures and inevitably came back to brag about them because he knew Killian would placate him and listen to all his tall tales.

Killian was weighing the pros and cons of fixing yet another boxed meal versus some kind of frozen heat-and-eat dinner when he heard a god-awful crash behind him. He set a package of Hamburger Helper back on the shelf and turned in time to see a slender blond picking himself up off the floor. Two cans rolled off what remained of the center aisle display and slid into the young man's white sneaker.

An involuntary smile spread across Killian's face as he recognized the blond. Declan, the hot prostitute he'd had the pleasure of sleeping with a few months earlier, stood a few feet away. He clutched a family-size bag of plain potato chips to his chest like a shield. The younger man's hair was a little longer and he looked as if he'd put on a little weight, but it was most definitely him. No way would Killian forget those big blue eyes or the sweet way Declan's fair skin flushed when he was uncomfortable or getting ready to come. He looked even better than Killian recalled, which was quite a feat considering the number of times he'd pulled the younger man's image out of his spank bank and put it to good use.

At the moment, Declan's cheeks were pink with embarrassment. His eyes appeared a little wild, as if he expected someone to pop out of the shelves and lecture him for standing too near a display and knocking it off center.

Killian wasn't sure what the protocol was for acknowledging a man you paid to have sex with, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. An opportunity to strike up a conversation was at hand; he wasn't going to miss it.

A couple of steps brought him closer. Killian stopped a few feet away and offered a smile. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess so." Declan glanced around and settled his bright gaze on Killian. One hand absently rubbed his left arm. "They should have a warning label out front: 'Beware of cans; they pack a wallop if crossed.'"

"Right." Killian smiled and nodded. "You don't r-remember me, do you?" He bit into his tongue, cursing his stupid stutter. Even after very careful enunciation, the strength of how very much he cared showed in a much-too-obvious way. He didn't like the way his weaknesses were stripped bare for all to see. He wished he didn't get so damn flustered. The way it exacerbated his speech impediment was infuriating. Deep down, he knew he was a good man. He was smart and kind, but that never seemed to be enough. Humanity also expected men to be charming and aggressive, two traits he'd been born without. Perfection was the price a gay man had to pay to succeed in today's world, and he inevitably came up lacking.

“I remember you.” Declan hunched his shoulders and looked down. “I'm not so great with names though. Yours was something that started with a
C
. Something unusual, right?"

"Close enough. I'm Killian, Killian Hamilton. It's nice to see you again. You look great."

"Thanks. So do you." Declan shuffled his feet. "Can we move this conversation to another aisle? I don't want to get caught next to the mess I made."

"Sure." Killian smiled, relaxing a little. "Lead the way."

Declan mumbled something about toaster waffles and took off down the aisle. Killian followed, doing his best not to stare at the man's ass. The memory of how hot and tight Declan had felt around his cock caused blood to flood south much quicker than it should have considering the environment.

Killian dragged his gaze away from the firm, denim-encased globes. "So you have a sweet tooth, huh?"

"Hmm?" Declan stopped at the end of the aisle and looked both ways before turning right. "Oh, well, a little bit. I like sweets just fine. Mostly the waffles are just quick and easy to fix. I'm not much of a cook."

"That's a shame." Killian saw his opening and jumped on it, while hustling to keep up. "I really love to cook. I could make you dinner sometime; show you how to make a few simple things."

Declan stopped next to the frozen foods, pulled a box of strawberry waffles out of one of the cases, and then glanced at Killian. "Thanks for the offer, but I probably shouldn't."

"Well," Killian continued. "If you don't feel comfortable coming to my house, I could take you out for dinner somewhere?"

"I don't know if I should date anyone I know from, uh"—Declan shot a glance at the little old woman perusing frozen veggies—"work."

"I promise I'm not a loony stalker or anything. I just…" Killian thought over his words carefully. At this point he didn't really have anything to lose. "I could really use another friend. It doesn't have to be any more than that, if you don't want it to."

A heartbeat went by before Declan met Killian's gaze and gave a tight nod. "All right."