He Took My Prison Sentence, So Now My Secretary Is Mine novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Nine O'Clock

At Jud's River Oaks house he sets his terms, nights his, the bridge never spoken of, and takes Yancey to his knees on the study rug; the answering machine plays Jud's father asking for the Crenshaw boy at Sunday supper.

The front door of the River Oaks house opened before Yancey knocked.

"You're early," Jud said.

"You said nine."

"I said nine. It's eight fifty." Jud took him by the lapel and pulled him over the threshold. "Lock it."

Yancey turned the deadbolt.

Jud's tie was gone and his sleeves were rolled to the elbow, and he stood in a long dim hall in his socks.

Without the suit he looked younger.

He looked a little like the boy who used to lie on the hood of a truck and name the stars wrong on purpose.

Yancey shut that thought in a drawer.

"Three rules," Jud said. "I'll say them once."

"Do I get to write them down?"

"No," Jud said.

"Then say them slow," Yancey said.

"One." Jud held up a finger. "Nights at this house are mine. By day, you're Mr. Crenshaw and I'm Mr. Trammell, and the office doesn't suspect a thing."

"The receptionist suspects a thing. She's seen you carry my coffee."

"The receptionist suspects a kindness." The corner of his mouth moved. "Two. We don't talk about the bridge."

The hall went quiet.

Yancey kept his face easy, and it cost him.

"Fine," he said.

"Not once. Not a word. Not why, not how, not who said what. If you want me, you want me without it."

"I said fine."

"Three." Jud's voice dropped. "You can walk away from this any morning you like. You don't owe me a reason, and I won't ask for one."

"Same goes for you."

"Same goes for me."

They looked at each other for a long moment.

Yancey knew exactly what he was looking at.

It was a man who had decided to have him and break him, and who had not yet noticed he'd also decided to be kind about it.

"Those are fair," Yancey said.

"Good." Jud took his jaw in one hand. "Now come here."

The kiss was slower this time.

It started at the corner of Yancey's mouth and moved in, deliberate, until Yancey made a sound and opened for him.

Jud walked him backward down the hall with a hand on his chest.

The study was at the end, a big square room full of books and dark leather, with a thick wool rug before a cold fireplace.

A lamp was on.

On the desk sat an answering machine, an old one, with a red light that was not blinking.

Jud stopped him on the rug.

"Take your jacket off."

Yancey took it off.

"Tie."

He pulled the knot loose and dropped it on the chair.

"Shirt."

Yancey undid the buttons slowly, because he knew it made a muscle jump in Jud's jaw.

He let the shirt fall.

Jud looked at him for a long moment, at the freckled shoulders and the pale scar down the left forearm, and a breath went out of him.

"Pants," he said, rough.

"You first."

"No," Jud said.

"Mr. Trammell, it's a fair trade," Yancey said.

"I don't trade at night." Jud stepped in until their chests touched. "I decide."

Heat poured through Yancey's belly.

He undid his belt.

He pushed the trousers down and kicked them aside, and then he stood there in his shorts with his cock straining against the cotton and his pulse in his ears.

Jud's eyes went down and came back up.

"Good," he said.

It was one word, quiet.

It went through Yancey, warm and low.

"Take those off, too."

He did.

He stood naked on the rug of a billionaire's study, with every lamp on, while the man in front of him was still fully dressed from the waist down.

"Turn around," Jud said.

He turned.

A palm settled between his shoulder blades and traced down his spine, slowly, to the small of his back.

"You've got freckles all the way down."

"Yes."

"I used to wonder." Jud's voice stopped. He started again. "Never mind. Turn back."

Yancey turned, and Jud was already sinking to his knees.

He had not been ready for that.

He had been ready to be pinned against a wall, or taken in the bed.

He had not been ready for Jud Trammell to kneel on the wool in his good grey trousers and look up at him with those dark eyes.

"Jud."

"Hands on my shoulders."

Yancey put his hands on his shoulders.

Jud's mouth closed over the head of his cock.

It was hot and wet and so sudden that Yancey's knees almost folded.

"Oh, God."

Jud took him deeper, with a flat tongue and a slow suck that drew a groan out of his chest.

One big hand held Yancey's hip.

The other wrapped around the base and stroked in time.

He took his time.

He pulled off and licked a long wet line up the underside, and teased the slit with the tip of his tongue, and watched Yancey's face the whole time.

"Look at you," Jud said, his lips glossy. "Do you know how often I imagined this?"

"Don't talk."

"Why? You like it," Jud said.

"I'll come."

"That's the idea," Jud said.

"Not yet," Yancey said. "Not like this. Not before I've had you."

Jud's grin was slow and wicked.

"You don't decide that."

"Make me," Yancey said.

"With pleasure."

He swallowed Yancey to the root.

Yancey's head fell back.

He gripped Jud's shoulders hard enough to bruise, and the wool of the man's shirt crumpled in his fists.

Jud hummed around him, and the vibration shot straight up his spine.

"That's it," Yancey got out. "That's it, that's, shit, don't stop."

Jud moved faster.

His cheeks hollowed, his hand tightened, and a wet obscene sound filled the quiet room.

Yancey rocked into his mouth without meaning to.

Jud took it.

He took all of it, steady,, and groaned.

"I'm close."

Jud pulled off, kissed the head, and said, "Come on my face."

Yancey stared down at him.

Jud's lips were swollen, his eyes were hot, and he was waiting.

That did it.

Yancey came with a hoarse shout, pulsing over Jud's cheek and mouth and the dark line of his throat.

Jud closed his eyes and took it, and the sight of that, of the man who ran forty tugboats kneeling there marked and quiet, nearly put him on the floor.

Jud wiped his thumb across his own lip.

He licked it clean while he looked up.

"Good boy," he said.

Yancey shook all over.

Nobody had called him that.

He should have hated it.

He found, with a kind of wild alarm, that his cock had not even gone soft.

Jud rose in one smooth movement, took a handkerchief from his back pocket, and wiped his face.

"Now you," he said.

"Now me what?"

"You said you wanted to have me."

Yancey's heart kicked.

"On your back," he said.

Jud raised his eyebrows.

"On the rug," Yancey said. "I want to see you."

For a moment he thought the man would refuse.

Then Jud lay down on the wool in his open shirt and his trousers, and put his hands behind his head.

It looked like a dare.

Yancey knelt between his legs and undid the belt with unsteady fingers.

Jud was hard, thick, flushed dark at the tip.

Yancey bent and licked a slow stripe up the length of him.

"Fuck," Jud said, and his hips jumped.

"Quiet," Yancey said, and took him into his mouth.

He knew how to do this.

He had learned it in a bunk in a cell block, and later in a life he did not talk about, and he had never done it with his heart in his throat.

He did it now.

He took Jud slowly, and then deep, and he used his hand where his mouth could not reach.

Jud's fingers slid into his hair.

They did not pull.

They held, shaking.

"Crenshaw," Jud said above him. "Please."

He had not heard that voice break like that in nine years.

It hit him in the middle of the chest.

He sucked harder, because it was that or cry.

Jud's thighs trembled.

His breathing broke into pieces.

"I'm going to, I'm, wait."

Yancey did not wait.

He looked up along the length of that big body, and Jud was looking back, wrecked and open.

He swallowed as the first pulse hit his tongue.

Jud came with a low, shattered groan.

His back arched off the rug and his hand clenched in Yancey's hair, and he said a word that was not a word.

When it was over, he lay with his arm across his eyes.

Yancey wiped his mouth on his wrist and sat back on his heels.

He felt strangely, completely calm.

It was a bad sign.

"Tell me one thing," Jud said from under his arm, hoarse. "Why my company?"

Yancey held still.

"It pays well."

"Liar," Jud said.

"It pays very well," Yancey said.

Jud lowered the arm and looked at him, and in the lamp his eyes were tired and kind.

For a moment Yancey almost told him.

Then the answering machine on the desk clicked.

The red light began to blink.

A tape whirred, and a man's voice filled the room, smooth and warm, a voice used to being listened to.

"Judson, it's your father. A little bird tells me you hired the Crenshaw boy."

Jud sat up.

"Supper Sunday," the voice said. "Seven. Bring him along. I would so like to see him again."

The machine clicked off.

Neither of them moved.

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