THE REASON YOU'RE HERE

                                  DOMINIC WHITMOORE

  “I won’t disappoint you, I promise.”

I read the message three times, the way I’d taste a sauce I already know is good.

Fuck.

I told him not to touch himself. I told him I’d take care of it. And here I am on my bed with one hand wrapped around my phone and the other hand already inside my sweatpants.

Hypocrisy has never felt this good.

  I’ve been at half mast since someone patient enough to guide me everything. The picture he sent finished the job.

I pull it up again. Damp hair. A shirt that’s been washed soft. A smile that’s all nerves and no calculation, with dimples deep enough to rest a thumb in. His mouth is the red of a ripe raspberry.

Every man I’ve trained arrived already plated, Dimples is a raw ingredient. Unseasoned. Nothing’s been done to him yet.

I tighten my fist, then deliberately loosen it. A slow, clumsy rhythm. A beginner’s.    WalkingDisaster isn’t a large man by any means. Under his shirt, I can tell he’s fit, from his beautifully tanned skin, I guess he spends a lot of time under the sun.

And then I saw it.

His hard cock under his pyjamas. Teasing me. A contrast to his beautiful, innocent smile. A small laugh tumbled out of my chest. I’m intrigued by him. I want to wrap my hand around that sizeable cock and watch the look on his face morph from innocent to something dirty.

I want to pull filthy sounds from his lips.

Usually, I text for a bit before sending an address. But I don’t want to wait to see him, his sexy dimples and everything else.

I wrap my hand around my leaking cock, shutting my eyes to pretend it’s his hand. He has slender fingers, long– I guess they’d be slightly rough. He has a lot of angles, like someone used to lifting weights.

 A low groan slips out of me when my thumb skates dangerously close to the large head of my dick.

I picture him on his knees, looking up at me with those wide eyes, waiting to be told he’s doing well.

 “Is this okay?” he’d ask.

But it’s okay. Anything he’d do would be perfect. I inhale sharply as my orgasm licks at the base of my spine.

“Stroke me, Dimples.” I murmur to the empty room, and my hips jerk.

My hand, Dimples’s hands in my head, works faster, pumping my shaft in long unsure strokes, still, it draws out sharp breaths from my nostril.

"Do you want me to come for you?” I askin my head.

He nods. Eager. So eager. I can’t wait to paint those perfectly red lips with my come. Shove my dick deep into his throat…

“You’ll get it.” I promise. “All of it.”

My orgasm is so intense it forces me to curl into myself,

“Shit, shit, shit.” I pant, my hand chasing the friction. My legs are trembling by the time an explosive orgasm racks through my entire being.

Thick ropes of hot come land on my stomach, abs, cum gutters, and I fall back against the bed, head landing on soft pillows.

I came so hard, the room goes white at the edges.  

For a minute I just breathe. That was only my imagination. The real thing is coming through my door at three p.m.

  I wipe up, stare at the ceiling. Everything has a time.

He’s new. I’ll go slow.

There’s no rush.  

The next morning, I head for work with a pep in my step. More than a few waitstaff give me odd looks when I breeze past them.

These past few weeks, I’ve been in a funk, trying and failing to come up with a new signature dish. The problem isn’t solved yet, but I have something to look forward to.

“Someone is in a good mood.” Cameron says, walking into my office where I’m doing some paperwork.

I eye him from on top my reading my glasses. He’s in his sports jacket, a huge grin on his face. He’s always had that childlike quality to him, right from when we were kids, now we’re both twenty six, you’d think he’d grow by now.  

“You know the reason for off season is to spend time with your family, not badger me at my place of work.”

He coos, sitting across from me and throws his legs on top of my table. With a pen, I push his legs off.

"I’m spending time with my family, right now.” He informs me, pulling an apple from heaven knows where and takes a bite.

“Can’t play now, go away.” I say, returning to the work in front of me.

“Because you already found someone to play with.” he teases. When I don’t immediately refute that statement, he jerks upright. Eyes shining with excitement.

“Holy shit, you are quick.”

I roll my eyes at him. But I don’t deny that I’m very excited to meet Dimples. It’s the reason I’ve been looking at the time, and wondering why I didn’t just skip work altogether.

“Who is he? Do I know him? If he’s in Newcastle, there’s a possibility I already got there first. If so, I apologize.”

I roll my eyes at him.

“I’ll never touch your sloppy seconds.”

He ignores me and asks about Dimples some more. I tell him what I know about him and Cameron whistles lowly.

“You gave him your house address,” his eyes are big as he stares like I grew two heads in the span of the conversation.

"He’s mine–”

My eyes fall on the clock and it’s two fifteen.

I get up abruptly, sinking my hands behind my hair, I tie the strands in a bun on top of my head and grab my jacket.

Cameron laughs and bows at me,

“I’ll never stand between you and cock.”

I’m about to leave because I know he’ll close up for me. I stop and ask,

 “And Ethan?”

He beams, “He’s coming into town soon. I’m saving up for him.” he grabs his junk and does an obscene hip thrust. I roll my eyes at him before leaving.

“Ruin that hole, Dominic Ferguson Whitmoore!!” he shouts,

I will kill my best friend one day. But today. I have a perfect sub I have to get to.

The drive is much shorter today because I’m driving a tad bit above the speed limit. I have to get things in order for my Dimples. Give him the best experiences he’d ever have. Make him comfortable.

I’m done setting up and showering by five minutes to show time. I dress in a tank and sweatpants. Comfortable.

By the time the door bell rings, I’ve looked at the picture he sent at least twenty times. It was difficult not to jerk off to the picture again.

When I open the door, it takes work to keep my jaw from dropping.

He’s a dream. He’s even better in person.  A shy, hesitant look on his face, and I step aside for him. He walks past me, shutting the door behind him. He smells like the forest. Clean, earthy. I want to bury my face in his neck. His mouth is even more red in the daylight.

He’s also a lot shorter than I am.

“Uh.. hi.” he says.

His voice is deep. The kind of deep that sounds like he’s pulled it right out of his kidneys and it sings in your ears. It’s a beautiful baritone. I can’t wait to hear how he sounds when he’s raspy and moaning my name.

“Hey.” I greet, my voice comes out flirty.

Even with his light tan, a perfect pink stains his cheeks.

I wonder how red he’d get underneath me. My body will easily cover all of his.

 “My name is Emery Bennett. First year in Newcastle U, Agricultural science.” he says in one breath. I realize he’s nervous.

This gorgeous man in front of me is nervous.

I walk backward slowly, keeping my eyes on his, so he follows me. He does and I can’t suppress the small smirk that stretches my lips.

Such a good boy.

“Dominic Whitmoore, Chef. I did graduate from Newcastle U.” I tell him.

He sucks in a deep breath, nodding. God. How can someone so perfect exist? I want to pin him against the wall and watch him swallow my dick until that nervous jitter seeps out of him.

“You’re a master chef then. A professional.”

I eye him in mild amusement. When I nod, he drops to one of my sofa’s, and slips off a huge backpack I hadn’t noticed on him earlier. That piques my interest. He doesn’t keep me curious for too long. He undoes the zipper of the bag,

“Honestly, you’re a lifesaver. I almost died from food poisoning, and I can’t even boil water yet.”

My brows reach for each other. What? Is this some kind of code?

I peer into the bag, expecting to see a replica of the toys I set out for our afternoon together.

He reaches in and produces a pot, a pan and other utensils.

I stare at him in horror. My stomach squeezing on itself with impending doom.

“What… what do you think we’re doing here, Dimples?”

He stares at me with a similarly confused expression,

“Cooking. What else?”

“Fucking. You’re here so I can fuck you.”