Thiago

By Romeo Preminger

Nate Dennis made corporate VP at thirty-one, won't spend a dime for a taxi or laundry, and is socking away enough money to retire at forty-five and live large. He's arranged his life to not make his mom's mistake of falling in love with a guy who's going to leave him broken. Besides, any relationship he's tried has been a helpless puzzle. He's better at hooking up, no strings attached, and in New York City, there's no shortage of hot guys with sick bodies who are interested in the same thing.

Then an afterhours encounter in the office with a new security guard Thiago has him questioning everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Romeo Preminger
• Release date: Dec 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370099788

Romeo Preminger

Thanks so much for checking out my page. I go by Romeo because I'm holding down a not-so-steamy day job while writing steamy gay stories. So I have to be a bit cagey in my bio, but I do love interacting with readers. I've been fascinated by the psychology and emotionality of gay relationships ever since I had my first crush as a teenager, and I think the truth is love and attraction can be a hot mess. When two men get together, it's triumphant, transcendent, and life-affirming while also scalding, stupefying and even enraging at times. That's the kind of relationships I write about because the journey to happily-ever-after isn't all pretty, and when it comes to love stories, the more drama the better, right? I write three series that each have their own flavor and texture in addition to standalone high heat level romances. Guilty Pleasures Editions is a branded series of high octane romantic thrillers. The Arizona series is a Southern gothic set in the 1980s and 1990s. Last, Storytime Editions are retold fairytales with lots of humor and graphic sex. Otherwise, what I can say about myself is that I'm married to a great guy, and I believe in happily-ever-after. Scratch me a little, and I might tell you more!

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Thiago

© 2017 Romeo Preminger

All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is intended for adults (18+) only. The contents may be offensive to some readers. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations. May contain scenes of unprotected sex. Please do not read the book if you are offended by content as mentioned above or if you are under the age of 18.

Please educate yourself about safer sexual practices before making potentially life-changing decisions about sex in real life. If you are not sure where to start, see here: http://assets.hrc.org//files/documents/SaferSexGuide.pdf

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Products or brand names mentioned are trademarks of their respective holders or companies. The cover uses licensed images shown for illustrative purposes only. Any person(s) that may be depicted on the cover are simply models.

First edition (2017)

Cover art and ebook design by Inkspiral Design

Edited by Jerry Wheeler

IT’S BEEN A long day in the office, and I’m still responding to an endless string of e-mails. One by one, each member of my team timidly said goodbye for the night, and I’m shocked to notice the time in the bottom right corner of my computer: nine o’clock. I’ve got enough work to keep me going until nine in the morning tomorrow, but I’m feeling like holing up in the office so late is crazy. My eyes are starting to burn from staring at my computer screen. I need to grab something to eat, to strip off my suit, to lay down in bed.

I click open one more e-mail. It will be my last good deed of the night and leave me with one less thing to deal with in the morning. The message is from my company’s Shanghai office, questioning an earlier e-mail they received from London. I work in international investments and trades, and my team members at those offices can never get it together. I start typing a tactful clarification to the guys. With the Shanghai guy just starting his day and London not far behind, I’ll need to log out fast after I send it before one or the other responds with something new to contend with.

A footfall travels from the entrance to my office suite, and the clink of a heavy keychain gains up on me. My company’s floor has got to be deserted at this hour. I figure it must be the security guy from the front desk. I look over to my open door. Thiago stands in the frame with his big, friendly, sexy smile.

Workin’ overtime, Mr. Dennis?

I rake a hand through my short, sandy brown, standard-issue Wall Street-cut hair. The fun never ends, I say. A grin creeps up on my face. Thiago and I were introduced about a week ago when he started training with the day staff to prep him for working the security desk at night. He instantly caught my attention. The guy’s got magnetic charm, he’s six foot three, built like a fitness model, and he has the face of an exotic god. His uniform is snug around his high shoulders and worked-out chest. I’m trying not to look below the waist, but my eyes have betrayed me on more than one occasion. They must not make relaxed fit uniforms for tall guys with thick shoulders and extra junk in the trunk, and thank the lord for that.

Been doin’ my rounds, he says. He leans casually against the doorframe, chewing a bit at the side of one of his fingers. Jus’ you and me on the floor.

I figure he’s bored and probably starved for company. We’re alone on the floor. Thiago is smoking hot. I never considered he might be gay and interested in more than small talk. I put aside that staggering possibility. Thiago is just the kind of guy who likes to charm everyone. But it sure is nice to be in his company.

I finish my e-mail, send it off, and push the keyboard away from me on my desk. You started at seven? I say, scratching behind my ear.

Yeah. Seven to seven. He raises his arm, clasps the back of his neck and bows his hips forward, stretching his back. I’m captivated by the movements of his commanding body. I can’ take sittin’ down the whole time, he says.

I know what you mean. I stand up, twist my neck with a crack, and arch my back to stretch it.

You should stand up every forty-five minutes or so, he says. I seen that on TV. It’s no good for you office guys to sit so long.

Thiago told me he’s originally from Brazil. He talks like he’s lived in New York City for a while. A lilt of a Brazilian accent comes out every now and then. The combination is pretty interesting and really sexy. I gaze into his brown eyes until I’m overcome with a sinking, bashful feeling.

I need to guard the urges stirring in my body, so I look away. Passing by Thiago at the front desk is easy enough, but he’s standing solidly at my door, and I’m aware I can’t escape him. He hits me that friendly look that reminds me of a puppy dog—eager to get to know you, wanting to please. What am I supposed to do with an amiable straight guy who wants to shoot the shit?

You got big plans for tonight? he says.

I half-laugh wryly. Just a date with my microwave Prob'lyand my bed.

He scoffs as though I said something ridiculous. The night is young. You’re young. Livin’ in the biggest party city in the world.

Thiago has got to be at least five years younger than me. I imagine a weekday night holds a lot more possibility for him than it does for me. I’m an overworked, thirty-two-year-old, foreign exchange executive who would rather veg out in front of the TV after work than scope out the nightlife the city has to offer. Still, I’m flattered by his image of me.

What would you do if you had the night off? I ask.

He shrugs. Prob'ly go downtown. Get some groove on. You never know who you might meet. He slides his pink tongue across his full lips. The room feels pressured and hot. Words come out of me to break the tension.

You’re a good looking guy. You must have no problem meeting girls.

He cocks his head shyly, which is unexpected. I like meetin’ all kinds of people. But I’m jus’ a security guard. You—you got a good job. Nice office. Somethin’ to offer someone. He grins. Betcha get laid all the time.

I chuckle. It’s been a couple weeks since I hooked up with a guy on Grindr, some dude, probably married, who had me going out to Brooklyn. Truly, the anticipation was a whole lot better than our quick and fumbling encounter in the backseat of his SUV. Thiago is being ambiguous about gender. I wonder if I’m imagining the flirty energy coming from him. I’m not kidding when I say he looks like he could pick up anyone he met just walking down the street. Planted in front of my door, his behavior confuses me.

It doesn’t happen as much as you might think, I say.

You like sex?

A blush burns across my face. I always get shy when my sex life comes up around straight men. Besides, is this an appropriate conversation to be having with my company’s security guard? The answer is obvious, though, and I laugh nervously. Well, yeah.

Wit’ guys?

I’m feeling a little shattered and turned on at the same time. Thiago’s gaze is like flood lights looking me over, as though he can see me stripped down bare. I can’t produce a word in response. What was my tell? I know it’s not PC, but I’m the most straight-acting gay guy I’ve ever met, and people have told me the same. Thiago asked the question so naturally, it shouldn’t have me taking inventory of myself, but it unearths stuff that fucks with my head. He couldn’t have picked that I’m gay by the way I walk or talk. Did he hear about it from someone else? Only two girls and one guy in the whole ninety-four employee company know. Maybe they mentioned it to a colleague or two, but it’s hard to figure people are gossiping with Thiago. He’s only been around for a week, and most of that time has been after hours.

Not that I should care about gossip or what people think. I haven’t given a shit about that since high school, and really, my being gay has nothing to do with ninety percent of my life, certainly nothing to do with my work in the company. Meanwhile, it hits me: my hesitation is pointing to an answer pretty obviously. I ought to say something, and it would be stupid for me to deny it, though why does Thiago want to know?

He grins at my awkwardness, takes a peek down the hall. He looks back to me, a little shy. I get down like tha’ too, he says. Back in Brazil, I had a friend.

That’s, like, deeply astounding, and I notice again his delicious full lips, and I’m wondering what they’d feel like against mine. A damp, wanting sensation blankets me. My cock springs up, and I’m frozen in the silence of the room, worrying if it shows, thinking about how to adjust myself without him noticing. There’s only a desk between us.

Thiago’s face awakens with concern. Sorry, Mr. Dennis. Maybe it’s not right to be talkin’ to you like this.

Reflexively, words spring out of me. No Thiago. It’s okay. Though I’m not sure it’s okay. I’m really not sure of anything.

I jus’ thought, maybe we could get down some time, he says. You know, if you wanted to.

His voice trails off, and I step out from behind my desk, my legs powered by some otherworldly force well beyond my rational mind. The office is no place to be fooling around with a security guard, no matter how much of a hulking, breathing sex fantasy Thiago is. There are cameras and policies and a whole lot of other reasons not to be doing such things. I’m not the kind of guy who does this. I’m really not. My mind reins in my inertia a few steps short of him.

We could do that sometime, I say.

He closes the space between us, and he reaches his big, warm hand under my suit jacket and clasps my shoulder. I’m melting from that contact, and as I look up at his face—he’s a good two inches taller than me—I drown in his brown eyes. He pulls back one side of my jacket and then the other, and it falls down my shoulders onto the floor. I might as well be naked, the way he’s looking at me in my shirt and tie.

"Muito sexy, bebê."

That sexy Portuguese riff sends my loosely-tethered reservations packing. I reach under his security coat. He’s warm and solid, and he leans into me, enveloping me with his body heat, crushing our lips together. He plunges his tongue into my mouth like he’s claimed me, and boy I’m willing to be claimed. My eyes clench shut, and my mouth rolls with the action of his tongue and lips. He tastes like spearmint gum, smells like macho body spray, and I want to suck face with him for days. The two of us are plunging down a rollercoaster, and I’m only vaguely aware he has backed me into the office and shut the door behind us.

He tugs off my tie, and I fumble off his jacket and unbutton his uniform shirt. More of that drug store deodorant, heated from his body, hits me. His skin is bronze and smooth except for a cropped patch of ink black curly hairs around his belly button. The skin on his chest is luscious against my hand. His muscles are taut and well-defined, and they feel like they’re blooming from my touch. I discover the silky hairs of his armpit and feel his moisture there. His tongue grooves down my neck, and he sucks and bites at a sensitive spot. I collapse into myself for a moment, luxuriating in the sensation.

In short time, my arousal demands more, and I slide my hand down to his crotch. He’s heated and bulging, and I can feel the fantastical contours of his manhood. He tongues the socket of my neck, my ear. He gnaws on my shoulder, and as I rub and squeeze him harder, he stops and breathes into my face, hot and minty from chewing gum. He roughly unstraps my belt and tugs my slacks and briefs down my legs. I race to unbuckle his distressed leather belt and strip him down as well. We glance at each other for a moment, and exchange a smirk over the shucking of our work clothes, the subversiveness of our nudity in the office. Then, our mouths collide again.

He grasps my buttocks. I could have pegged him for an ass-man, and I don’t mind him touching me back there, nope, not at all. But a glimpse of his junk has me awfully eager to wrap my mouth around his dick. I break away from our kiss and drop down to my knees.

The head of Thiago’s cock is pink, and the shaft is coffee brown, all in amazing, donkey-size proportions. I lick the underside, breathing in his humid, cologne-scented heat. Siphoning the tip, I taste the precum leaking out of him, and I cup his balls, which are shaved, and silky, and pretty goddamn delightful in my hand. His cock strains for more of my mouth, and an achy groan rasps from his lips. I’m greedy to get all of him inside me, and I open so wide, it hurts my jaw. But the thrill of filling my mouth with his monster jock has me intoxicated. I want to drain his ball sack. I want to gobble up his hot Brazilian spunk.

His hips roll into me, forcing his cock deeper into my throat. I relax as best as I can, trying to lunge on him like a good cocksucker, but my jaw feels ripped apart, and I gag. I spit him out and stare at his throbbing cockhead, wanting it so bad, wondering if he’d settle for a half-suck, half-handjob. Thiago appears to sense the dilemma. He lifts me up from my armpits, and plunges his tongue into my mouth like he’s thanking me for trying to give him head. He discovers my ass again, kneading, spreading apart my cheeks, digging for my butthole.

His hot breath against my ear: Wanna fuck you. You let me? He sucks his finger and thrums my hole, pressing in. Feels so good in there. Like heaven. Make you feel good, too.

There’s nothing I like better than bottoming, especially when the guy is really into it, which Thiago clearly is. Though I usually settle for blow jobs the first time I meet a guy, my body wilts with Thiago’s finger on my asshole, giving him its own signal. I try reasoning this out.

You got a condom?

He stoops down to the pants around his ankles and pulls a Magnum out of his pocket. Is the dude always prepared for the possibility of fucking? Was he planning on using it one way or another that night, no matter who he encountered in the building, like some kind of sex addict? In any case, it feeds the thrill, and when he hands it to me, I’m dopily obliged to rip open the package and unpeel the lubricated latex over his pumped up cock. He turns me around so I’m facing the desk. He eases me down by the shoulders and hooks my ankles to spread my legs.

My heartbeat pounds in my chest, and my fuckhole sweats in anticipation. He prods against me like a battering ram trying to get inside a keyhole. He grips my hips, and I try to relax to let him in. His lubricated, latex-wrapped poker slips and slides between my buttcheeks, tickling me, and then it finds the spot where there’s some give. His cock tears me open. A high-pitched gasp escapes my throat. He digs in deeper, and my lungs freeze over and cum drips out of me.

He moans. Ay baby. Feel so good.

I flatten my hands across the desk, bracing myself from the forceful invasion of my bowels. It sears like tungsten sparks. My mouth hangs open in disbelief. I feel debrained and never gladder to be in such a state. I might even be drooling a bit and too stunned by Thiago’s cock to wipe my mouth.

He stuffs himself in all the way and holds it there, letting me adjust, stroking my hair, reaching around to feel my chest and touch my nipples. You so beautiful, baby, he breathes in my ear. So sweet and loving. The screaming pain in my ass falls away, and it starts to feel full