“Darkling,” he answered. “My name is Wesley Darkling.”

John moaned again, and the hair on the nape of Zack’s neck stood up. Fuck, why was that so hot? Maybe this was going to be interesting after all.

“Wesley Darkling,” John repeated, like he was tasting it. “That’s quite a name. It goes perfectly with that sexy voice of yours.”

Zack licked his lips. Why did he feel like he was the one being seduced?

“Thanks,” he said for lack of anything better. He made a note of his new fake last name on his memo before continuing, “Allow me to return the compliment. With a voice like yours, you could put me out of a job.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The line crackled with rustling fabric. A pillow being fluffed? Zack pictured John reclining on top of a large, luxurious bed. “Let’s get to the point, shall we? I want you to talk to me, Wesley. Tell me what you like for men to do to you, or what you like to do to yourself.”

Zack smirked. He only ever got such benign requests from first-timers. John seemed a lot less intimidating now that he’d shown his hand.

“I like to take my time,” he drawled, falling easily into his usual routine. He’d perfected the art of talking slowly enough to drag out the call but not so slowly that the client caught on. “And I like to be very thorough. I always start with kissing, and sometimes I’ll spend hours on just that. I’ve heard it said that you can tell everything you need to know about a man from his car and how he treats waiters, but there’s a much better way.”

“Oh?” John asked. “What’s that?”

“Betty Everett had it right: everything you need to know is in his kiss. Does he start out with slow, light kisses or shove his tongue down your throat? Is he desperate and messy, or do you have to coax him into it? Does he like to be in control, or would he rather someone pushed him up against the nearest flat surface and took what they wanted?” Zack paused for effect and all but breathed, “I bet you like to be pinned down and kissed until you can’t think straight.”

There was a beat of absolute silence. Then John made a sweet, languid sound like honey dripping from his lips. This time, Zack didn’t even try to suppress the arousal that pulsed through him. He could listen to John moan like that for hours.

“Fuck, that’s perfect,” John said. He seemed a little unsteady, and his breathing had quickened. “Keep talking. Tell me what you’d do next.”

Zack heard a pop followed by a squirt. If he were to hazard a guess, he’d say John had just opened a bottle of lube. Or he was shampooing his hair, but that seemed less likely. Zack knew what was coming next from experience, but that didn’t lessen the anticipation. An image of a generic attractive man jerking off floated through his mind. He held his breath and listened. A moment later, he heard the unmistakable sound of a slick fist moving rhythmically. Even if he weren’t a PSO, he’d recognize that from his teenage years alone, and it had no business being as hot as it was.