Chad guided him toward a grand staircase with hand-carved balustrades in the middle of the hall and said, “I’m eclectic.”

“Do you take something for that?” Treston asked. He didn’t want him having a seizure that night.

Chad laughed. “It’s not a sickness. It means I like to mix different things up and my taste varies. I’m unusual.”

Treston flung him a glance and said, “Oh, I’m sure you are.” He should have known what the word meant. He made a mental note to remember it: eclectic.

When they reached the second floor, a very old man in a white jacket who reminded Treston of Alfred Hitchcock met them in the hallway and Chad said, “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

Treston figured the old guy had to be the butler. He nodded at Chad, looked Treston up and down with disdain, and said, “Yes, sir.”

Then Chad led Treston to another set of oversized double doors at the end of the hall and escorted him into a large master suite filled with so many interesting objects Treston’s jaw dropped again. The floors were black marble; the walls a dozen shades of gray. The statues in this room, unlike the modern statues in the main hall downstairs, had a more classic European look with nude men that had leaves over their dicks and nude women with tiny breasts and huge rear ends. And the framed photos that hung on the walls were all of Chad Pratt. There were images of him standing with other film stars, important politicians, and famous singers. There were framed magazine covers and images of Chad at red-carpet events. In a large glass curio cabinet on the left side of the room, Treston noticed a group of statues and plaques. He figured they were all awards Chad must have won.

He’d been so busy gaping at the walls, he hadn’t noticed Chad had crossed to the bed and stripped down to his boxer briefs. When Treston finally did look at him, Chad spread his arms and said, “I hope I didn’t disappoint you. A forty-seven-year-old body isn’t like a twenty-five-year-old body.”

Treston looked him up and down and smiled. He slowly walked over to the bed and ran his fingers up and down Chad’s torso. He looked every bit as good without his clothes as he did in them, which was something Treston had learned didn’t happen with most men. It was obvious he worked out on a regular basis. His chest muscles were firm and round, his stomach had defined lines and crevices, and his lower torso had those prominent long muscles that pointed downward to his crotch. Treston kissed his chest and said, “I hope you’re joking around, because you’re truly one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen in underwear. Actually, you’re all man.” His right hand went lower and he slid it into Chad’s boxer briefs. He wrapped his fingers around Chad’s semi-erection and said, “And this is the perfect complement.”

“I don’t believe you,” Chad said. “Young men say things like that to wealthy older men to get what they want all the time.”

Treston looked into his steel blue eyes and said, “But you’re wrong again. There’s a difference now. I truly, seriously do not want anything from you, so I have to be telling the truth, otherwise there would be no point in saying it.”

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“Maybe you’re just kinky and you like that old skin,” Chad said. “I’ve heard about young guys who are only attracted to men with wrinkles and sagging asses.”

“I’m not one of them,” Treston said. The energy between them seemed to fill the room. It made the air thicker and Treston felt himself breathing faster. Though Treston had been attracted to men this way before, one thing seemed to make this different from all the rest. Each time their eyes met, neither of them seemed able to turn away fast enough.

“I’m starting to think you’re the dangerous one,” Chad said. “You seem to know just what to say and just how to say it.”

“You know what I think?” Treston said.

“What?”

“I think we should stop talking now and you should do what you do best.”

Chad reached up and caressed his cheek. “What do I do best? I want to hear you say it aloud.”

Treston kissed the center of his chest and glanced up slowly without lifting his head. “You take complete control and you don’t stop until you get what you want. Just like every bad boy I’ve ever known.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be with bad boys anymore.”

Treston licked his chest this time. “I didn’t say that. All I said is I’m not falling in love with bad boys anymore. There’s a difference.”

Chapter Eight

They fell onto the bed and started to kiss again. This simple act alone took on unusual characteristics for Treston, because most of the men he’d fallen in love with in the past had not been interested in kissing or making out. Most didn’t even care about foreplay all that much. The first time Treston had had sex with Harlan Rocks, it lasted all of twenty minutes. And it wouldn’t have lasted that long if Harlan had been able to find a condom faster. Being with Chad made Treston wonder if he’d been wasting his time on being in love. He was determined not to fall in love with Chad, and if sex without love could be this good, he might have underestimated it.

As they kissed, Chad explored as much of Treston’s body as he could without changing positions. Though Chad kissed gently, he moved his hands with the kind of firmness that made Treston feel as if he’d turned into a soft lump of dough that could be molded into any shape Chad wanted. His arms remained around Chad’s shoulders and the most he did was caress the back of Chad’s soft, sandy blond head.

After they made out on the bed, Chad got up, lowered the lights, and removed his boxer briefs. They gazed at each other from opposite ends of the bedroom, and Treston got up on his knees in the middle of the bed and slowly removed his clothes while Chad stood there and watched him. When Treston removed his shirt, he noticed the way Chad’s eyes went down and how his lips pursed a little. Then Treston took off his shoes and socks and stood up on the bed. When Treston opened his pants and slid them down his smooth legs, he watched Chad bite his bottom lip and clench his fists against his narrow hips just below those adorable lower stomach muscles.

When Treston was naked, he went down on the mattress and climbed under a silky black cover that made his body shiver for a second. He pulled the black cover up to his neck and watched Chad slowly walk toward the bed. Without shoes or socks, Chad seemed to walk on the balls of his feet in an elegant, athletic way. Where most people have a slightly asymmetrical look when they are naked, Chad Pratt’s naked body looked perfectly symmetrical. Even at forty-seven years old, there was nothing imperfect about him. Treston had read more than once that part of Chad’s success had been a result of the camera loving him. There were directors who’d begged to work with him just because of the magic that happened the moment a camera caught a glimpse of him.




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