by René, Dani
“Well, it’s best you tell me all about you.” I sip my coffee, watching him as he plates the food, setting one piled high in front of me, and the other opposite, where he perches on a stool. His eyes sparkle with such playfulness I wonder if he’ll ever confess his past to me.
“When I was sixteen, I noticed I was different, or I had different wants,” he tells me between a bite of egg and bacon. When he swallows, he continues. “I wanted nothing more than to date a specific boy in my class. There was a longing inside me, wanting to be near him. Of course, I wouldn’t tell a soul. The private school was strict, and I kept my feelings to myself.”
He smiles at the memory, and I know exactly what he means. But keeping so many emotions locked up can be a burden, and as a teenager, there are already so many things to think about.
“That’s not something I can say is an easy feat. I know the feeling,” I tell him, sympathizing with him.
Chance nods. “It certainly is not easy, but I’m thankful Peyton was there, and I could talk to her about it. What I needed to realize was that even though I didn’t do what the other boys at school did — date high school girls, break their hearts, boast about fucking every girl in the school — I was still loved.”
“And when did you realize you were bi?” I question after finishing my mouthful of food. It’s delicious, but I don’t tell him. I don’t want to distract him from his story.
“After that date. I met a girl a year older than me. She was in town for vacation with her folks. We kissed, and I was ready to take things to second base. It was then I knew. When I confessed to Peyton, she smiled and shrugged as if it was the most natural thing in the world.”
“She’s a good woman, a good sister.”
He nods with a broad smile. I know how she loves, with her whole heart. She doesn’t allow anything to hinder how she feels. It’s pure emotion, and that’s something you don’t see every day.
“Were there any low points? Not from your family, but others,” I question, knowing this could be the moment he closes up, and when I lift my gaze to find his, I see burning in those emerald eyes.
“You really want to talk about this over breakfast?” he quips, covering up the pain so clear in his expression. “You know, Oliver, last night you weren’t yourself. When I asked you—”
“This isn’t about me, Chance.” I set the mug down, pinning him with a serious stare. “This is about you. I told you what I could last night. There are many things for you to still learn about who I am, why I am closed off, but this is about you.”
He sighs, lowering his stare to the counter. The fork he’s holding pushes the food around on his plate, and I know he’s trying to figure out how to tell me something dark, something that tortures him. One thing I’ve learned about Chance Moore is that he’s as closed off as I am. He hides behind smiles and jokes. He plasters a fake grin on his face when he knows people can see through him, and it frustrates me more than I care to admit.
For years, I’ve stayed away from emotions and affection. I’ve focused on the scenes I played out, on the beautiful bodies I could mar with my whip and cane, but this kind of open conversation — what I’m doing with him — it’s not something I’m used to.
As much as he may feel I’m being unfair or putting him on the spot, all I need to know is if he’s as nervous about this as I am. A relationship wasn’t what I was expecting when he walked into my office, or when he signed the contract. But this is where we are. Spending the night in my bed, breakfast the next morning. It’s all so new to me.
“Oliver—”
“Chance, this is not part of what I’ve put in the contract, and to be honest, it’s strange to get to know someone’s innermost thoughts. If you were any other submissive, I would show you where the door is and go about my day without a second thought of you.”
“Then why don’t you?” he questions, straightening his spine as he regards me with a curious stare. I don’t know how to answer him, because truthfully, I don’t know myself.
“I want you here.” My voice is husky, filled with a foreign emotion that doesn’t make sense to me. But I allow it to keep me hostage, just for a moment. “I’ve never wanted anyone in my home before. This is my personal sanctuary, away from the everyday shit that I deal with. But for some reason, Chance, you’ve broken in, and I don’t see a way of getting you out.”
He smiles. There’s a sadness to his expression, but also, there’s a glint of something in those pretty green eyes that reminds me of expensive jewels. Chance shakes his head for a moment before speaking again.
“I was seventeen when I met a man. He was probably in his early thirties, handsome, rich, and he wanted me. He paid me to sleep with him.” His confession chills me to the core. Yeah, I’ve done some questionable things in my life, and I may not be proud of any of them, but I would never take advantage of a young person like that. “I thought I was special. He always made me feel that way.”
This time, Chance chuckles darkly when he scoops more food onto his fork and puts it in his mouth. I watch him chew.
“Anyway, one night I went to his house. We were supposed to meet for some party. He told me his friends were interested in talking to me about my choices in college majors. These men were powerful, said they could get me a scholarship, and after my parents died, Peyton and I needed the help.”
“Jesus.” The word leaves my lips in a low, rage-filled hiss. “Please don’t tell me you—”
“There were four of them.”
“Give me a name,” I bite out. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. I can tell he’s warring with himself. “Chance, I swear on all that’s holy, if you don’t tell me—”
“James Hitchington.”
That’s all he has to say when I’m out of the chair, stalking down the hallway to my bedroom to retrieve my phone. I tap out a number and tell my contact to get back to me urgently. There’s someone I need to find.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I fucking do,” I bite out. “For my sanity and yours.” My body is vibrating with the need to hurt someone, to find this asshole and show him just how fucking special he is. To rip into him and make him fucking bleed. I’ll find him. I swear I will. When I turn around, I see those emeralds shimmering with sadness. And I know I’m fucked. I’ve fallen, and there’s no way to get back up.
But do I want to?
Chapter 18
Chance
I didn’t expect to confess my darkest secret to Oliver. I didn’t expect him even to care, but when he lost his shit and told someone to call him back, I knew he was on the warpath. He told me to stay at the house for the day, but I feel useless just lying around. I want to do something, to help him, but I was ordered not to leave the house until he calls.
Settling on the sofa, I flick on the television and stare blankly at the screen. I’ve always enjoyed mind-numbing TV, but this is ridiculous. The thought of not being able to leave has me on edge.
Picking up my cell phone, I hit dial on Peyton’s number. She answers on the second ring, her voice raspy, and I’m certain I’ve woken her.
“Chance?”
“Hey, would you mind if I came over to your place?”
I hear her shuffling something, then a click of a door. “Yes, sure. Erin wasn’t feeling well, so I’ve just sat with her until she fell asleep.”
“I’ll be over in a bit. Did you want me to bring anything?” I ask, already on my feet, excited to be able to leave the house for a little while.
“Just you, I have some wine or beer, and there’s lunch as well,” she tells me, and I can hear the smile in her words.
“See you soon,” I tell her, hanging up and opening my messages. I know I’ll have to let Oliver know, even though I’m not sure what we are to each other. I know if I disappear, he may lose his shit.
Tapping out a message to Oliver;
Chance: Going to see Peyton. I’ll be back this evening.
If he needs me, I’ll be th
ere, or he can call me.
Oliver: I trust you’ll be home safely before I return.
I can’t help but smile at his gruffness. Even though he is adamant about affection being foreign to him, it’s so clear he gives it in spades. But only in his unique way.
Chance: I will, Sir.
Once I’m at my car, I quickly slip into the driver’s seat and turn on the engine. Pulling out of the driveway, I weave through the midday traffic and head straight to Peyton’s. Carrick bought a house just outside the city when the babies arrived. Even though they’re no longer babies, I’ll always see them as such.
I never pictured myself as a doting uncle. Kids were always a hindrance to me. Going out in public, I would avoid any place that would have children running around screaming. Now though, I love the girls. And I wonder if Peyton and Rick are planning any more.
Focusing on the road, I make it to their home in ten minutes, and as soon as I pull up to the gates, they slide open easily. I wonder if she’s been watching out for me. The driveway isn’t very long, and slowly, the two-story house comes into view.
Coming to a stop outside one of the garages, I kill the engine and exit the vehicle. Before I turn around to face her, Peyton’s arms are around me, holding me hostage.
“Are you okay?” she questions, her voice muffled by my shirt.
After a moment to take in the silence and her embrace, she releases me, and I spin around to acknowledge her. “Of course I am. What’s going on?”
She lifts her wide green eyes that match mine. “Oliver was here this morning. He was in a rage so fierce I thought he was going to break everything in the house. He almost punched a hole through the wall.”
“What?” My voice sounds squeaky, foreign to my ears. “What do you mean?”
“He came to meet with Rick. They were talking, and I’d walked into the office as he was losing his shit. He spun around, almost punching the wall, but then he saw me and halted in shock.”
Running my fingers through my unruly hair, I hiss, “Jesus.” Stepping away from my sister for a moment, I watch her before continuing. “This morning, we had a little heart to heart. I told him what happened with James.”
“Oh,” she whispers. “Shit. I understand now.” She laces her fingers with mine, tugging me into the house, through the entranceway, and into the kitchen. There are two steaming mugs of coffee waiting for us at the small kitchen table. Once we’re seated, she fiddles with the handle of hers, not meeting my gaze.
“Peyton.” Her name is a warning. I need her to tell me what Oliver did or said.
“He, Carrick, and Callan are out on a job,” she mumbles, still not looking at me. I know she’s feeling guilty about something because my sister is not the best liar, and when she is hiding something, she’ll never look you in the eye. A tell-tale sign of hers I learned to read when we were growing up.
“And what job is this exactly?” I’m holding onto the mug, and even though I’ve asked the question, I know the answer. It’s clear as day, right there in the air hanging around us. They’ve gone to find the man who hurt me.
Both love and fear mingle in my chest, gripping my heart so tight I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull in a breath. I don’t want Oliver getting involved in my past, but then again, the fact that he is tells me there’s a lot more to this man than I thought.
If he can go out and hurt someone, then he’s clearly not just the upstanding businessman he portrays to everyone else. I always knew he held secrets, but he plays his cards so close to his chest I’m never sure if he’s ever going to allow me to see them.
I know there’s still something he’s hiding from me. And I thought I could drag it out of him, but it seems it’s going to take a lot more work than I’d initially anticipated.
“Look, Oliver has a business, and Callan helps him sometimes. They do undercover work,” Peyton tells me, dragging me back to the present. “I . . . I don’t know what it is, but there’s a lot more to it than just finding missing people or scoping out secrets that some would prefer to hide.”
“You mean he kills people?” A shudder rumbles through me at the thought of Oliver doing anything like that. Surely, there has to be an explanation for what he does.
“No, I just mean, I know Oliver is a good man. I wouldn’t be okay with you dating him if he wasn’t.” She sighs, lifting those emeralds to mine. “I think there’s much more to this story than meets the eye. I trust my husband, and he wouldn’t do underhanded shit.”
“I know.” My response is a whisper as I place a hand on my sister’s to confirm that I do not doubt her, or Carrick, or even Oliver. “I just need him to let me in.”
“I thought you had a heart to heart this morning?” Her brow lifts in question, arching around her almond-shaped eye.
Nodding, I sip my coffee, which is slowly cooling down. “We did, but this is Oliver Michaelson we are talking about. Trying to get any information out of him is like trying to get water from a rock,” I tease, hoping to ease the tension in the room.
Peyton smiles. The way her face lights up at the motion reminds me of why I had to watch her like a hawk through high school. Every boy in the building would follow her around like a puppy dog, wagging its tail hoping for a treat.
My sister is beautiful, classically so. Her sharp features, big green eyes, and long blonde hair are all perfection. She’s filled out some since having the girls, but it only makes her more exquisite. She’s a mom now, and I know she probably still has men staring at her.
Granted, I’m sure Carrick must scare them away. The man is rather possessive over his wife, and I don’t blame him. I love how he loves her, with everything he has and is.
“Oliver is different,” she says. “But just give him a chance. You never know how things will play out, and if this is meant to be, it will be.”
“I know, sis. I’m just ready to take the next step, and I’m worried he’s not. Correct that, I’m worried he’ll never be.” My honest response forms a lump in my throat.
“Have you admitted it to him?”
Shrugging, I shake my head no before meeting her shocked gaze. “I was scared. Honestly, he scares me just a little bit.”
“He scares you, or are you scared he’ll say no? Because Carrick does that to me, or he did when I realized I loved him. It’s never easy admitting something like that to someone, especially when they’re closed off to love, or affection, or anything resembling feelings, but if you never take the chance, you’ll never know. Don’t live with regrets, Chance, just do it.”
“Yeah, yeah, now you sound like a Nike commercial.”
She giggles. “And you love me for it.”
“I do, sis, always.”
* * *
I stalk into the empty living room knowing I’m alone in the house. The lights are still off, and Oliver’s abrupt call telling me to meet him at his house has me more concerned and curious as to what was so urgent.
As soon as I left Peyton and Carrick’s place an hour ago, my mind was on what Peyton and I spoke about. I drove around the city, killing time, trying to figure out how to come clean to Oliver and tell him how I feel. It’s time to focus on what I want and admit that my feelings for him have changed.
I head into the bedroom, finding it empty, feeling weariness take hold of me. I want to take a nap, to be ready for him when he comes home. I have a feeling tonight may change everything between us. It might be good, or it might just cement the fear that’s been sitting like a lead weight in my stomach for days.
It’s time Oliver stopped hiding from me, hiding from whatever is going on between us, and admit what he wants. If he can’t tell me there could be a chance for us, I need to move on. I can’t stay and fall deeper in love every day. Tonight, I will make sure nothing stands in the way of me getting into his heart and mind. Getting the truth out of him, and I also plan on getting his deliciously hard dick deep inside me.
The six-foot-three, lean-muscled God will finally face his fears and le
t me into his life. The click of the lock on the front door echoes through the house straight into the bedroom. I toe off my shoes, grab the lube, setting it on the side table, and hop on the bed.
“Chance.” The deep, gruff rumble of Oliver reverberates over the silence, sending heat coursing through my veins. I’m ready. I’m hard. And I’m going to make sure that Oliver never forgets tonight.
“In here,” I call out.
Once the man who’s stealing every part of me saunters into the bedroom, his tie undone, the top three buttons of his shirt loose offering me a glimpse of skin beneath, I can’t help licking my lips.
“You look exhausted,” I tell him, rising from his bed and making my way over to him.
“Been a long day,” he growls, his hands gripping the shirt I’m wearing and tugging it free, causing buttons to fly in every direction.
“We need to—”
“Talk after. I need to release some tension.” The depth with which those words vibrate through me has me nodding wordlessly. A smirk lifts his full lips — they’re dusty pink, curled perfectly, which only makes me lick my lips hungrily.
“I have an idea.” I grin, waiting for him to move. The room is filled with sexual tension so thick and heavy my lungs struggle to take in breaths. “I figured we could shower together,” I continue when he doesn’t say anything. Stepping back, I wait for him to make the next move. I’ve made my offer. It’s time for him to come to me.
Slowly, I shrug off my shirt. He watches as my pants hit the floor and I step out of them. I don’t have socks on, so I’m only dressed in a pair of tight, dark briefs.
He narrows his stormy gray eyes at me with a dark brow arching in question. “And you’re waiting for me to say no?” He gestures, toeing off his black shoes. Once he’s dressed in only his dark boxers, I can’t help staring at him. He’s nothing short of an Adonis.
