Page 44 of Fallen Angel

“What kind of club? Like Tejune?” Harvey asks.

“No. A burlesque club. Like the Slit.”

The three men sit in contemplation.

“That photo cannot get out,” Tyler finally says. “It’ll ruin my career. Not to mention my parents … oh my god.”

“First of all, it won’t ruin your career,” Harvey says. “This isn’t the 1980s. It’ll might even help your career. You, on the other hand—” He looks at Billy. “You are on the cusp of being a major player. Being gay is one thing, but this is not the most flattering expression of your sexuality.”

“I know.” Billy puts his head in his hands.

“I don’t think you have much choice except to play ball. At least for a while. In a year or so, you might be able to risk shaking her off. Or maybe you’ll find something to twist her arm with. Either way, get the money together, hire someone to deal with the logistics, and buy some time until the day when Billy Barton is a media mogul too big to be pushed from the throne.”

Billy nods. “Thanks, Harvey. I needed to hear your voice of reason. Because my impulse is to tell her to fuck off. That’s what I want to do.”

Tyler pulls his hand away and looks at him beseechingly, his big, heavily lashed brown eyes turned into pools of anxiety. And Billy knows there’s nothing to do but give Violet what she wants. He was willing to risk his reputation. But he’s not willing to risk his relationship with Tyler. And if Billy were responsible for him getting publicly humiliated, he’d never forgive him.

“There’s no other way, is there?” Billy says with resignation.

“Not right now.”

He turns to Tyler, reaches for his hand, and winks.

“So I guess it’s time to play ball. And god knows I hate sports.”

Tyler visibly exhales.

“Well, then,” Harvey says. “My work here is done. Don’t fret, boys. Everyone playing in the big leagues takes a hit every once and a while. Now, you two don’t have to leave. But it’s time for my next appointment.”

Tyler stands up to leave, but Billy signals for him to hold back a minute. Then, when Harvey is gone, he locks the door.

“Come on, no messing around. This is serious,” Tyler says.

“I know it is,” Billy says. “And I’m gonna suck your cock so good you’ll forget all about this.” He drops to his knees and unzips Tyler’s jeans, reaching into his underwear for his cock. Billy is only his second male lover, and usually a little verbal foreplay is enough to get him hard as a rock. But not tonight.

Not one to be easily deterred, Billy pulls Tyler’s pants and underwear down to the floor. He presses his face to Tyler’s balls, inhaling their slightly sweet smell and licking them softly. He strokes Tyler’s flaccid cock until it swells in his hand. Tyler shifts in his seat, and Billy cups both hands under his ass, taking his increasingly engorged cock fully into his mouth. He massages the outside of Tyler’s anus with his index finger, rubbing in small, firm circles until he elicits a moan. Then he uses his free hand to once again work Tyler’s shaft, up and down in tandem with his lips and tongue. Tyler had said he gave the best blowjobs he ever had—better than all the girls in his high school. This is interesting to Billy, because what Tyler doesn’t know is that he was the first man Billy had ever sucked off. Tyler’s beauty moves him to do things he’d never wanted to do before. Billy takes great pride in the new dimensions of his sexuality that he’s discovered with his young lover, and every time Tyler shoots a load in his mouth it’s like a prize.

He presses his finger inside Tyler’s ass, just enough to tease him toward coming. Tyler moans, and Billy probes deeper.

He needs to remind Tyler that he can take care of him both in the bedroom and out.

Billy feels the muscle tighten in Tyler’s upper thighs and groin, and he quickens the strokes of his hand and tongue accordingly. Tyler shouts and bucks against Billy’s mouth, coming in warm spurts that Billy greedily swallows.

Yes, he’ll take care of this. All of it.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mallory signs in at the security desk in the lobby of the office tower. She swipes her ID card at the turnstiles guarding the elevator banks and checks her reflection in the chrome framework. Then she stops herself: She’s just dropping off a file. It doesn’t matter what she looks like. So why does she care?

The twenty-first floor is dark and quiet. Only one panel of overhead lights are turned on. It feels dreamlike to pass the empty reception desk and make her way down the hall to Gavin’s office without seeing another person or hearing a single phone ring.

Gavin is at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie askew, head bent in deep concentration over a document. Mallory raps lightly on the doorframe.

“Knock knock,” she says.

He looks up and smiles wearily.

“Hey. Thanks for bringing that over.”