Richard's eyebrows rose. “Dang, kid.”
“What? I think it makes sense. You should only do business with rich people who care more about making money than about what we do in our own bedroom. Or poor people who know how to mind their own business. But then I doubt you'd make much money, so... I'd go with the rich, money-grubbing people.”
I laughed, the reaction so extreme my cheeks burned from the stretch. I'd give them whatever they wanted. I'd already taken plenty of risks. One more wouldn't kill me.
“Come on, Luke,” Richard said. “Enjoy your life.”
“Yeah. I want to. I guess we're coming out. Again.”
Matthew bounced in his seat. “This will be better than when I was fifteen. Back then I was only getting an occasional hand job from Curtis Halloway in the art room after school. At least now I'm getting the best sex of my life.”
Richard pulled Matthew onto his lap and kissed him. All the tension of earlier melted away. The kisses became needy, horny.
I cleared my throat.
Richard smiled. He whispered in Matthew's ear.
Matthew's eyes shot wide. He stood and headed over to straddle my lap.
“What did he tell you?” I caressed his thighs. His muscles twitched.
“He said I should make sure you're good and hard before he comes over here to attack us in three minutes.” Matthew rocked his hips. His tongue tangled with my own, and he sent my cock into the state Richard had requested.
Richard laughed. It was the last I heard from either of them before I was lost to the sounds of our sexual bliss filling the kitchen. Over the next hour and a half we enjoyed one another through two orgasms apiece. The kitchen table, the tiled floor, and even the countertops had never seen so much activity in one night.
After we admitted the floor was nowhere to sleep, Richard and I cleared the plates, moving around the kitchen naked. Matthew smiled to himself as he wiped the table.
I'd give them whatever they wanted.
Everything was ready to go: the caterers and their silver-plated trays, the servers dressed in pristine white shirts and black vests, and the bartender with his portable mahogany bar at one end of the living room.
I just wasn't sure I was.
I expected we'd be somewhat nervous, but I hadn't expected Matthew and Richard to be calm while I paced, bit my fingernails, and fidgeted with my tie like a kid about to leave for his first date.
I should have known. It wasn't like I was used to dating— I hadn't done so in the traditional sense at any time in my life. Years spent obtaining sex from one-night stands at parties, gay bars, and a sex club hadn't prepared me for my level of nervousness. It didn't keep me from wanting to be a part of the night, though.
I adjusted my tie again and stepped into the living room. The bartender was filling a glass with club soda for Richard. He had promised Matthew three times he wouldn't drink anything stronger. Matthew had insisted he was okay with it now, but I knew Richard. As long as he lived, he'd never drink around Matthew again.
When the doorbell rang, my stomach churned and a bitter taste settled in my mouth. I wished I could reach for a glass of anything strong enough to quell my nerves and numb my head. But I was finished drinking around Matthew too. He deserved at least that much from us. Especially since the rest of the guests filling our home would be drinking a shitload of alcohol. Free booze aided most anyone in taking a risk with their money.
The bald, older gentleman who entered had a kind smile and eyes that held a genuine delight to see Matthew and Richard. His gray-haired wife held on to his arm as they stepped inside.
Richard shook hands with the man. “Welcome, Joseph, Margaret. Come in. You remember Matthew?”
“Yes. Nice to see you again.” The older man nodded to Matthew, and the two shook hands. His wife gave Richard and Matthew each a kiss on the cheek.
Richard gestured for me to come forward. “Luke, this is Joseph and Margaret Mason. Joe and I are old friends. We worked together when I first moved to the city, and he was my first investor when I started my own business. Joe, this is my other partner, Luke.”
The older man reached for my hand, his eyebrows rising in confusion. “Other?” His eyes shot wide as our hands made contact. “Oh... nice to meet you.” He regarded Richard, shaking his head. “Two men? Aren't you getting a little old to be playing the field?”
Richard lifted a hand in protest. “Hey, just because the kid here's barely in his twenties doesn't make me old.”
“No, it doesn't,” Margaret said. “But the two of them here with you does make you far more lucky than most.” She winked at him.
Richard's laugh bellowed out of him. “It does.” Then he met the Masons’ stares with a serious look. “And we're not playing.”
Margaret nodded and embraced me before she took Matthew's arm on her way into the living room.
Joseph slapped a hand on my back and gestured for us to follow. “Luke, what do you do for a living?”
And on it went, introduction after introduction. Most were polite, a few gave questionable glances, and one woman gasped when Richard used the word partner, but overall the declaration was tolerated and well received at times. The talk turned to investment business and financial news, and it became apparent the status of their money and what people did for a living were far more important than what we all did in our beds.
After the servers had circulated trays of Gruyere tartlets and coconut-crusted shrimp and the bartender had poured glass after glass of wine, whiskey, and champagne, I relaxed. I mingled my way around the room and overheard Richard talking with Joseph Mason again. I turned away
