“Where I call you an asshole.” Gavin grinned.
That smile punched another hole through the barrier protecting Aidan’s heart. He had to clear his throat before warning, “Don’t push your luck.”
“So I can put my clothes back on?”
“No. Drop the blanket.”
Gavin sighed but did as told without question. Progress.
“I want you to be comfortable being naked around me. And I want access to that cock. Full-time.”
Gavin blew out a breath. “I have a feeling you say this stuff so I’ll turn red.”
“I do like that color on you. Turn around. Let me see that ass.”
Gavin turned, and Aidan saw the beginning of a bruise on his left buttock. “Pretty. You bruise easy.”
“Easy?” Gavin asked as he turned around. “Your hands are like bricks. No wonder they call you Viking.”
“I thought that was on account of my berserker of a cock.” Aidan winked.
Gavin laughed, and the smoky chuckle had Aidan joining in.
“Yeah, okay. You’re so big and studly. Oh, Aidan, you’re my hero.”
“Smart-ass.”
“So who were you on the phone with?”
The sense of camaraderie surprised him. Gavin was thinking that they’d put their issues behind them, and he saw Aidan as a real partner. The clear acceptance on Gavin’s part had the effect of brightening Aidan’s normally dour mood.
“I was talking to Ian—not by choice. We should have our info later today. I’m a small arms dealer with connections, and you’re my love slave.”
Gavin groaned. “Not slave.”
“The thought has appeal.”
“I’m sure.” Gavin shivered.
“You have thin blood.” He shrugged out of his own shirt, more than aware of the bag of clothes Gavin had brought with him, and put it over Gavin’s shoulders. The shirt hung on a frame meant to hold a shirt two sizes smaller, but Aidan liked seeing it there, just as much as he liked Gavin’s attention. “I know. I’m a lot to handle.”
“You have no problem with self-confidence.”
“Nope.” Not when it came to his body. The rest of him… He didn’t like to think about.
“So what now?”
“Now we get to know each other better. Then we see if you’ve learned anything from this morning.”
Gavin nodded, which surprised him. He hadn’t thought Gavin would be agreeable to another D/s scene so soon after being angry earlier. They might actually have a shot at pulling this off come Saturday.
With that in mind, Aidan built a fire. He squatted by the fireplace and arranged kindling. Then he watched as flames took life. He turned his head and noted Gavin’s gaze on his jean-clad ass.
“Like what you see?” he teased.
“Yeah. Just wondering if anyone’s ever fucked you.”
Aidan stood and faced his partner. God, he really thought of Gavin as his partner. The team fuckup had managed to sneak under Aidan’s shields in more ways than one. With that in mind, Aidan resolved to harden his livened emotions.
“That’s quite a question.” He crossed his arms over his chest, wanting to give the impression of strength when everything inside him shied away from bad memories. Had he ever been fucked? Yeah, and beaten and nearly strangled to death. Never again.
Gavin sighed. “And not an answer. But that’s okay. I’m good at solving puzzles.” Gavin walked up to him and placed his hands on Aidan’s biceps.
The contact sizzled. Everything faded but Gavin’s touch.
He wasn’t the only one affected. Gavin’s erection grew as he watched.
“I want to show you something. Can I kiss you…Master?”
Carl Kerr stared into the fireplace, hoping for answers. He’d spent the better part of last month’s earnings on Polski’s resourcefulness. Now he had the answer to his biggest problem. Except the fucking book meant nothing to him. He’d had it authenticated out the ass. Yes, it was several hundred years old. Yes, it belonged to the Stallbridge family, who had carved a nice little niche in the world of finances. And yes, Owen Stallbridge wanted it back.
But why?
Ignoring the muffled groans from the corner, he looked from the fire to the book and frowned. The cover was unremarkable. Tattered leather, some faded gold-embossed letters. Inside was much the same. An unremarkable story about love lost and found lined the antique pages. Some sexual drawings, a hierarchy of Stallbridges and the families they’d married into. A weird little book that wanted to be the Kama Sutra but came across as a bad edition of perversions and nonsense about men and women with weird brain types. More than half the material meant little to him. But Stallbridge wanted it, according to the price tag he’d attached to Chronicles. Kerr frowned. What could Stallbridge want with such an unremarkable book?
A careful inspection of the binding and cover showed no tampering. Nothing had been stuffed inside. No codes or coordinates. No hidden secrets that Carl could tell. The suspense was killing him. No way in hell Stallbridge wanted the book because it held sentimental value. And showing it off to the world couldn’t embarrass him. Who would give a shit about an old book written about the Stallbridges that had sexual connotations? Considering Stallbridge had never made any bones about caring what anyone thought of him, Carl couldn’t see him fearing the family exposed as perverts.
A shriek and sudden grunt took his attention. From his position on the couch, he had a front-row seat to all the entertainment in the room. The overlarge, cozy fireplace, the custom fifty-inch LED television, and the stainless-steel table on which a bloodied sex slave lay strapped and helpless while two hulking monsters abused him. Carl turned his attention from the book to the sexual tableau before him and eased his legs apart. He motioned for the newest slave kneeling by his side to suck him off. What this one lacked in expertise, he made up for in enthusiasm and youth. Though Carl had never liked little boys, he did like his partners on the young side. This one was twenty or twenty-two. He didn’t remember his name, but the dimples and freckles across the man’s nose gave him a hint of cute with a dose of naughty as his full lips closed around Carl’s cock.
“Good.” Carl stroked his hair before gagging the man on his dick. While his new slave struggled to breathe, Carl watched Samson shove his fully greased fist up the ass of the slight male chained to the table. “Samson, shift a bit. I can’t see fully.”
Samson moved. The giant Swede had been quite a find. Carl had lamented the loss of Joshua, his last security guard. They’d had a good bit of fun before the bruiser had protested what he called rape. Carl had thought of his last conquest as a bit of harmless fun. He particularly liked darker men. The contrast of his lighter skin color against a darker brown was beautiful. He constantly found himself vacillating between racial types. As he watched Samson violate the pitiable slave on the table, he shoved harder into the hot mouth surrounding him. “Suck me down your throat, you little shit.” He groaned as the man on the table moaned and jerked while Samson pushed deeper. “All the way, Samson. That’s pretty. Look at his balls. They’re tight. I think he’s going to come.” Not quite what Carl wanted. He liked pain, but he liked it better when the recipient didn’t.
Samson nodded at Tyler, Carl’s other personal protector. Tyler held a small whip and brought it down over the scars left from the last time they’d explored this type of entertainment.
“That has to be doing some damage.” The painful pleasure will be exquisite. “Make him come, Tyler.” It wouldn’t take long. This slave liked the lash too much. His draw to pain had made him instantly attractive, but now Carl was bored with him.
Tyler nodded. Samson withdrew his arm covered in a mess. The fluids just made it more real, more exciting. Then the whip descended. Screams, blood, and semen enhanced Carl’s enjoyment, surpassed only when Samson flashed a knife and the screams ended in a gurgle.