"Hey. Wanna play?"
Dillon glanced up to find a young man leaning against the hood of his car. At Dillon’s pointed look, he took a step back, so he no longer touched the automobile.
"What gave you the impression I want company?"
"You obviously didn’t find what you were looking for in there" came the reply with a nod back at Harte, the BDSM club Dillon had just exited. "If you had, you wouldn’t be leaving this early."
"And you think you’re what I want?"
The boy shrugged.
Dillon peered at him. He appeared to be in his midtwenties, fit and tight in the way Dillon remembered being before he’d hit thirty-three. He was shorter than Dillon with dark-brown hair long enough to grip: two things Dillon liked in a submissive. There was something familiar about him as well. If Dillon wasn’t mistaken, he’d seen him heading into a nearby motel a few times and never with the same "date."
"Are you a prostitute?" Dillon asked.
The blunt question evoked an expression of surprise, but it rapidly morphed into a smooth smile. "‘Prostitute’ sounds like a job. It’s more of a hobby."
"One you get paid for."
"It’s a good hobby."
Dillon cracked a smile. "How much do you charge?"
"Depends on what you want to do."
That was reasonable enough, and if he’d been waiting outside Harte, he must know to expect kink and charge for it accordingly. "Are you clean?"
"Yes, and condoms are necessary and at your expense."
"Expense? That sounds like a job term to me," Dillon teased.
He considered his options. The boy was right. He hadn’t found what he was searching for in the club, and he held no illusions he ever would. Even after six years, he couldn’t help comparing every submissive he came across to the lover he’d lost. Harte called him a stubborn old goat, but the thought of building a relationship from scratch exhausted him. It was so hard to find someone whose rhythms and tastes fit with his own. Granted, the club was designed for negotiation and mutually desired play, but that was for the scenes that took place there. What about the rest of the time?
Dillon didn’t want a casual play partner. That did nothing more for him than scratch an itch that would return in no time. He wanted someone he could build a life with. He wasn’t going to find that with a prostitute, but something about the stranger brought forth yearnings Dillon hadn’t felt in years. He could take the boy home with him, indulge in what he wanted in his own territory and under his own rules. It would be a purchased illusion, but it beat going home alone and sleeping in an empty bed.
"Come on," he said, pulling his car door open and unlocking the other side. "We’ll talk details when we get to my place."
"Your place? Don’t you mean a hotel?"
"My place," repeated Dillon. "I don’t do quick fucks."