Washington says nothing. He sips his bourbon slowly, the contents of the glass glittering, gemlike, in the low soft light. Alex fixes his eyes on the glass in Washington's hand, focusing on his long, thick fingers, his grip on the glass. He wants to feel those fingers, on him, spanning his wrists and chest, pinning him down, dipping inside him. He wants…

"Why do you say you hired me for 'a real reason'?" He can't resist the question, treacherous as it is. "Is there another, disingenuous reason I should be aware of?"

Money is the anthem / God, you're so handsome.

14 tracks