There was no sign of the balding man from the video at any point.
By midnight, they were both exhausted and starving and stiff, and Sullivan said, “I’m calling it.”
“What does that mean?” Tobias had entered a sort of meditative state by this point, and would’ve been half-asleep if he weren’t so physically uncomfortable.
“It means human bodies need a rest and we’ve reached the point where it’s unlikely anything’s going to happen. Give me five minutes. Stay here.”
Sullivan got out of the car and popped the trunk. He fiddled with something Tobias couldn’t see through the rear window, then walked down the street until he was behind the beige sedan. He bent down by the right rear tire for roughly three seconds, and then kept walking. A few minutes later he circled around to the Buick and climbed back behind the wheel.
“What did you put behind her tire?” Tobias asked.
“A cheap wristwatch. If she leaves, the tire will crunch the watch, and we’ll have an idea of what time she took off. That way when we come back tomorrow—”
“We’ll know to be here around that time in case she does it again.”
“Yup.” Sullivan started the car and pulled out onto the street. The cool night air rushed through the windows.
“Smart,” Tobias said.
“Can’t take credit. It’s a tool of the trade. Everybody does it.”
“Oh. Well, in that case. Loser.”
Sullivan gave him a wry smile. “Are you hungry?”
After they left Cindy Jackman’s, they stopped for burgers, and at the exit of the drive-thru line, Sullivan let the car idle. Tobias realized that a left turn would take them back to the motel, and a right would take them to Sullivan’s place. In the dim red light of the restaurant’s sign, Sullivan looked uncharacteristically uncertain.
Tobias said, “We’re both tired. It’s been a long day. I understand if you don’t want to. I’d like to, but I understand.”
“It’s not that.” Sullivan licked his lips. “I’m—my friend Caty says—” He paused. “Oh, fuck it.”
He turned right. Tobias let out a breath.
The place looked subtly different than it had when they left. Tools had been moved and a pile of debris had gone missing.
“No burglars,” Sullivan said. “My sister Therese must’ve been here, working on the place while we were out.”
“Oh.”
After they ate, they showered off the sweat of the day, and Sullivan cornered Tobias against the cold tile and jerked him off, his other hand resting against his throat. Sullivan didn’t press at all—in fact, his thumb stroked gently along his pulse the whole time—but the symbolism was clear, along with the threat: for now, at least, even the breath in Tobias’s body was Sullivan’s to control.
Sullivan whispered filthily in his ear the whole time: “I can do whatever I want and you’ll let me, won’t you? I’m tempted to bend you over right here and make you come on my cock. Do you think you could? Come without a hand on you? Ever managed it before?” His rhythm paused, his fingers teasing until Tobias shook his head. Sullivan made a considering noise and went back to jerking him, pulling rough cries out of him with a tight fist. “I bet if I drew it out long enough you could. Maybe that’s what I’ll do, make a rule that you don’t come unless you come on my cock. How long do you think it would take? How many times would I have to fuck you before you gave it up? I like the idea of that, of you walking around on edge for days, desperate for my cock, begging for it, ready to cry because it’s been so long and it’s so hard to get there without my hand, but you don’t have to be scared, sweetheart, I won’t give in before your body does.”
Tobias came the second permission was granted, half-startled Sullivan had allowed it at all, given the way he’d been talking. Tobias stood dozily under the hot water while Sullivan jerked himself off too, his gaze hot as it lingered on Tobias’s throat, where his palm still gently cupped the vulnerable flesh.
* * *
Sullivan nudged Tobias out of the bathroom so he could clean up, and by the time he wandered back into the bedroom, Tobias was out cold on top of the duvet. Sullivan sat on the edge of the mattress and watched him sleep, telling himself he should wake the guy up and kick him back to the motel where his ass belonged.
The idea of it made him feel like an asshole.
He wants casual. Casual doesn’t sleep over. At least, casual doesn’t sleep over when one of the people involved gets hormones from cuddling and shit.
He should kick Tobias out. He really should.
But Tobias had faint purple smudges under his eyes, and he looked so boneless and relaxed that Sullivan tugged the sheets out from under him, climbed in beside him, and turned off the light.
Sullivan got up at six, his internal clock overridden by the hum beneath his skin. It was going to be one of those mornings, and with a long day of sitting in a car ahead of him, he didn’t dare try to go back to sleep. He laced up his sneakers, got a podcast going, and wrote a quick note in case Tobias woke up. After his run—six miles, hopefully enough to forestall his jitteriness later—he took a quick shower, refilled the cooler, and prodded Tobias awake so they could eat cereal at the sink before taking off.
On the way to Cindy Jackman’s, Sullivan stopped at the motel so Tobias could change. When Tobias came out with his backpack in hand and a
