“I’d kiss you until you were weak and pliant against me,” Zack continued. “I’d start out slow and then deepen the kiss until the taste of me filled your mouth. I wouldn’t stop until you were a quivering mess, begging me to touch you. I’d start to remove your clothes. What are you wearing?” Zack knew it was a cliché, but he had to ask so he didn’t describe the wrong thing and ruin the fantasy.

“Button-down shirt and jeans.” It sounded like John was answering through gritted teeth.

“I’d work on your shirt first,” Zack said, keeping his voice low and velvety. “I’d pop the buttons open one by one and stop to touch every inch of skin as it was revealed. Once I’d undone enough of them, I’d play with your nipples.”

John blurted out, “Calluses.”

Zack hesitated. “What?”

“You said you play guitar,” John murmured. “You must have calluses on your fingers from the strings. I bet they feel amazing.”

Zack blinked. He’d never thought about it like that, but John was right. Zack did have calluses from pressing on the fretboard. He’d have to keep that in mind the next time he masturbated.

“Is that what you want me to do to you, John?” Zack moaned. “Wrap my hand around you and stroke you with my rough skin? Most of my calluses are on my fingertips. What if I dragged them up your length? It would be just a little too much, almost too intense, but you would love it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, please, so good,” John whimpered.

Zack’s jeans were suddenly much too tight. With supreme effort, he forced himself not to squirm. Perhaps John wasn’t a first-timer after all.

“John, you’re so hot.” For once, he meant it. “You love it when it’s rough, don’t you? I bet you love to push your boundaries when you touch yourself: too fast, too hard, squeeze just a bit too much until you’re right on the edge between pleasure and pain.”

“Yes—God yes,” John stammered. “Do you?”

Zack grunted in affirmation. “Sometimes I don’t use enough lube on purpose so I can get that extra friction, and fuck, it almost hurts, but I come so hard every time.”

John made a helpless noise, and Zack’s cock throbbed in response.

Before he could say anything more, John breathed, “Jesus, I love your voice. It’s like it’s touching me, resonating against my skin. Please don’t stop. I’m close. I want to come to the sound of your voice. I want to burn it into my memory so I can still hear it for days after.”

“Oh shit, yes,” Zack blurted out before he could stop himself. “I want that too.” Desire, sharp and raw, flooded into him unchecked.

John seemed like he was about to fall apart. “Keep talking, Wesley. I’m so close.”

Zack couldn’t hold back anymore. He let himself get immersed in the fantasy. “Jesus, John, I’m so hard right now. I want to hear you come. I need to hear you come undone. I’m going to think about you when I’m lying in bed tonight. I’m going to remember all the little, needy noises you make, and I’m going to fuck my own fist until I come so hard I can’t move.” It wasn’t the first time Zack had said something like this to a client, but it was definitely the first time he’d meant it. “Christ, John, come for me, please.”