“Who are you going to recommend for her?” Ren pushes, knowing full well Joshua wouldn’t outsource something this delicate. He’s always been focused on providing a safe place for people to live out their fantasies and fetishes. Safety is a high priority for him, and role-play is where he gets his kicks.
“For fuck’s sake, this guy is paranoid,” Ren scoffs, getting distracted by something on his phone.
The interruption gives Joshua a reprieve. “You wanting your room tonight?” he asks, but Ren is getting agitated as fuck with whoever the hell is texting him and my interest is piqued, so I just shake my head no.
“What’s going on, Ren?” I ask, picking at the label on the bottle.
Putting his phone down, he notices something across the bar and his entire demeanor changes. A smile that reaches his eyes lights up his face, and then he’s standing.
“Xavi is having a meltdown or some shit. You may need to go sort his ass out. As for me, my woman just arrived. I have a night of depravity planned for her.” He winks, abandoning me with yet another rescue mission.
Time to text the boy…
Pulling up at the address Xavi gave me, I find him on the curb playing with a lighter.
He looks beautiful under the hue of the moon.
Haunted.
Lost.
A shadow wanting to surrender to the night.
Getting out of the truck, I walk over to him, kicking the tip of his boot. It’s then I see the burns on his hand. “Get the fuck up. We need to get that looked at before it gets infected.”
Sighing, he looks up at me, narrowing those troubled brown eyes. “It’ll be fine, and you’re not my fucking dad,” he snaps, stumbling as he tries to stand.
“You’re drunk, so I’ll let that slide. But I warned you about this shit before I got here, so don’t try my patience, boy.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m pissed off. Some prick cornered me in the bathroom.” He sounds truly distressed.
My back straightens. My fists curl. “Did he fucking hurt you?”
Maybe there was more to this incident.
“What? No, he tried to kiss me,” he grinds out, waltzing toward an alleyway, kicking an empty beer bottle.
I follow, making him jerk in response to my closeness.
“Why does that get you so rattled?” I ask, my tone sincere, seemingly penetrating his armor.
He turns to face me, toe to toe. When he talks, I can taste his breath. We’re so close, it makes me want to inhale him.
“Because he’s gay, and he thought I was too.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I scoff.
“I’m not gay!” he growls, poking his finger into my chest with brass balls.
I grab his jaw and back him up against the brick wall. His pupils dilate. His breath quickens. His pink tongue swipes out to wet his lips. I lean in, pressing my hand more firmly against his jaw, relishing the moment he stiffens, but doesn’t fucking fight it. His hands are by his sides, free to push me away or hit me. There’s a flush to his cheeks, and I know if I rested my palm to his chest, I’d feel the rushing of his blood and pounding of his heart.
I see through his façade. I could give him what he secretly craves right now, in this alley. Take everything from him.
“Maybe you gave him the impression you wanted to be kissed,” I tell him.
“I do…I didn’t…I mean, I didn’t.” His chest rises and falls as his eyes roam my face, dipping to my lips unabashedly.
Does he know how obvious his need is?
“And now? What if I were to kiss you? Would you want it? Or would you want to fight me? Would you fight me?”
“No.”
“No to which question?” I lean in slightly so he can feel my stiff cock against his and inhale his scent, making him shiver. “No you wouldn’t want it, or no you wouldn’t fight it?”
It’s wicked to tease his desire this way, but fuck, he makes me feel shit I shouldn’t be feeling. I want to wreck him. Dismantle all this self-hate and pain and show him it’s okay to be who he is. Feel what he feels. I want to draw out his pleasure by creating his pain in a way that will enlighten him, free him. Give him the pain he needs to help him heal from whatever it is that fucked his head up so bad.
“Well?”
Gulping, he asks on a shaky breath, “Are you going to kiss me?”
Fuck, I want to so bad. Instead, I rub his bottom lip with the pad of my thumb and whisper in his ear, “You’re not ready for me yet, boy. But soon.”
With that, I pull away and go to my truck. It takes two minutes before the passenger door opens and he slips inside.
“Where are you taking me?”
“My place.”
Flicking the light on and chucking the keys on the counter, I point to the couch. “Sit.”