Greg shot him what Simon assumed was supposed to be an angry glare, but Simon was done falling for it and done trying to fix things between them.
“I don’t take ultimatums. I told you that when we got together.”
“Well, you’re going to take this one, one way or the other.” Simon crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t break eye contact with him. “Me only, or leave. You’re the one who keeps talking about getting married, and I keep telling you that’s not happening until you get this shit out of your system for good.”
Greg finally stepped back and started getting dressed. Simon didn’t even wait for him, grabbing the room key cards and his car keys from the dresser after shouldering his backpack.
“I’ll get us checked out and I’ll be waiting down in the car for you.”
He was heading out when he saw the bear and twink disappearing into another room on that floor. As he turned toward the stairwell, Simon mentally wished the two men luck and happiness and shoved aside the regret he felt for being rude to them when this wasn’t their fault.
Done.
* * * *
That was the chilliest damn drive of Simon’s life, and he didn’t mean the temperatures outside.
Greg refused to say anything to him, staring out the passenger window the whole time.
Simon turned up the radio and didn’t bother trying to speak. He’d said all he was going to say on the matter.
Five years together, and he won’t get his head out of his ass and admit he’s not a kid anymore and give up his toys.
He would have done nearly anything for Greg. In the beginning, they were inseparable. Simon loved him, loved how crazy he was in bed, his spontaneous ways, how he could make friends immediately in a room full of strangers. The antithesis to his own more subdued and reticent personality. He secretly envied Greg’s gregarious nature.
And no, at first he didn’t mind the occasional excursion to the Toucan, or right-swiping together in an app to pick up a hot guy for a few hours of fun. He didn’t mind kinky stuff. Hell, some of that was hot and he’d enjoyed the hell out of it, but to do it, he had to have full trust in Greg.
But when Greg hit forty it was like the metaphorical and obligatory mid-life crisis hit. Instead of saving for retirement, he traded in his perfectly fine sedan for a goddamned Acura two-door sporty street-racing model that was uncomfortable as fuck to ride in, as far as Simon was concerned.
And it guzzled gas like a kid given a free-for-all pass in a soft-serve ice cream shop.
Increasingly, Greg wasn’t even pulling his share of the chores around the house. Hadn’t been for a couple of years now. If Simon didn’t do Greg’s laundry, the man wouldn’t have clean clothes.
That wasn’t a D/s thing, either. It was an annoying douchey asshole thing.
That Greg always had time to hit the gym and work out and worry about every ounce of fat on his body, or making it to the stylist to make sure he had no grey hairs showing, pissed Simon off even more.
Greg had moved in with him, into Simon’s rented townhouse. Greg had kept hinting around about maybe buying a house together, but no way would Simon commit to that if they weren’t married.
Definitely not now.
And…that hurt.
Really hurt.
When they pulled into the driveway, Greg finally addressed him. “You ready to talk about this like an adult?”
Oh, no, he didn’t.
Simon hardened his heart, determined not to let Greg wear him down or manipulate him into capitulation. “Terms haven’t changed, Greg. Take it, or leave.”
Greg flung his car door open and stormed toward the entry.
Simon watched him, letting out a sad sigh.
Done.
Chapter Two
“I love your herb garden.”
Lara turned her head to look where Victor pointed. “Oh, thanks! Brad set it up for me. It’s my first attempt at one.”
“Looks like you’re a natural.” Victor sipped his cold beer. The Sunday afternoon barbecue at Lara and Brad’s place was just getting started. Somehow, he’d managed to be one of the first there, other than Wylie from across the road.
Who was…fricking adorable, but with the wedding ring on Wylie’s hand, Victor didn’t even go there in his head.
Taken.
And he was neither poly, nor did he screw around with taken people.
“Oh, I started you some basil,” Wylie told her. “You can come get it any time.”
“Thanks, Wy.”
“You have a garden?” Victor asked him.
Wylie grinned. “Yeah. My first attempt at homesteading, and apparently I don’t suck.”
I bet you do suck, and with that mouth on you, I bet you suck quite well.
But Victor didn’t say that. He had more sense than that, especially since he didn’t know if the guy was straight or gay for sure, although he thought he sensed a gay vibe.
A man wearing a kilt and a T-shirt and one sexy-ass smirk rounded the corner of the house. Victor felt his heart do a shimmy.
Hellooo, handsome.
Then the kilted hunk walked over to Wylie and handed off a casserole dish. That’s when Victor spotted the wedding band on his left hand.
“This what you wanted, babe?”
Damn. That freaking figures.
“Thanks. Can’t believe I walked off and forgot it.”
At least my gaydar’s still working.
Kilted Hunk leaned in for a kiss from Wiley, who took the dish inside to the back porch where a long table was set up for food. Lara walked over to the guy, handing him a freshly opened beer bottle.
“Ev, this is Victor Dumont. He works with me. Victor, this is Everett Cannon, my ex-husband, and Wy’s husband.”
Ooohh.
The situation now shifted a few degrees as all the pieces snapped into place. Victor had only been working in the office with Lara for a few weeks, but he’d heard from their nosy and entirely too gossipy receptionist the basics of Lara’s life’s story his first day there, when he’d gone out to lunch with Tawny. Including the attack Lara had fended off from her ex-fiancé.
Victor reeled his libido back into its cave as he held out a hand to shake with Everett. “Nice to meet you, Everett.”
Everett had a handsome, easy smile. “Likewise. Call me Ev.”
“Victor just moved here a few weeks ago from Atlanta,” Lara explained. “He went to school with George Dougherty, and that’s how we ended up coaxing him further south.”
At least this meant he could reasonably trust Lara not to be a homophobe behind his back. Despite Atlanta being a large city, the increasingly disturbing current of discrimination locally following the last general election had been the final cue he’d needed to look elsewhere for work and to live.
A nasty breakup with his ex hadn’t hurt any in the decision-making department.
Florida also had large gay and kinky populations, two massive pluses in its favor. And it had a vibrant high-end real estate market in the Sarasota area, with an economy that hadn’t hit the shitter.
Yet.
He’d grown up in Michigan, so moving back north and freezing his ass off during winters wasn’t an option he felt enamored with.
At all. Especially after spending over twenty years in Atlanta.
Besides, not all states had reciprocity agreements with each other regarding obtaining real estate licenses. Florida and Georgia, however, had one that made it easy to get licensed in Florida.
A chance discussion with George Dougherty on Facebook a few months earlier had put a bug in Victor’s ear. He’d obtained his Florida real estate license and moved down here.
So far, so good.
Lara laid a hand on Victor’s shoulder as she spoke to Ev and Wylie. “By the way, Victor’s single. If you boys know of any friends you might be inclined to introduce him to, that’d be awesome.”
“Did you introduce him to Tilly?” Wylie asked.
“We…haven’t c
overed that ground yet,” Lara said.
If Victor didn’t know any better, he’d think he was missing some subtle context. He’d thought Lara knew he was gay, reinforced by what she’d just said to the two men. But if she was talking about introducing him to a female friend of theirs—
“Tilly is something of a legendary matchmaker among our friends,” Ev said. “She has an amazing track record.” He draped his arm around Wylie’s shoulders and smiled down at him. “Including us.” His gaze returned to Victor’s. “Although Wy and myself take full credit for introducing Lar and Brad.”
Another subtle shift of the mental landscape, and Victor relaxed again. All was well. “Ah.”
Brad emerged from the house with a foil-covered tray. “Okay, we’ll have enough for everyone, I think. Once they get here.” He set the tray on the grill’s side table. “They don’t hurry up, I’m going to start grilling. I’m starving.”
“What do you do for a living, Ev?” Victor asked.
“I’m a blacksmith and metalworker. Welding and fabrication. Do a lot of ren fair shows, too.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Well, hot, I guess. Especially here in Florida.”
“You ain’t kidding.” He pointed at his kilt. “Hence one of these.”
“I sold a house once outside of Atlanta. Stone exterior, and the interior was all tricked out in custom wrought iron fixtures and touches, made to look sort of medieval. Gorgeous modern kitchen, though. Granite countertops, but all the drawer pulls and cabinet handles were custom-made twisted iron. And the hinges. The door hinges throughout the house were custom made. The builders paid over a hundred grand to the artisan who did all that for them.”
“Wow, that’s neat.”
“I still have pictures of it somewhere on my hard drive. I’ll have to remember to look for them and e-mail them to Lara to share with you.”
Wylie fished his wallet out of the back pocket of his shorts and handed over a business card with a smile. “That’s him.”
Everett appeared adorably embarrassed. “Babe, we talked about this—”
“I told him to do it,” Lara said, looking smugly pleased. “I warned him that you don’t do enough to promote yourself.” She stuck her tongue out at Everett. “So there.”
Everett arched an eyebrow at her. “Lucky I can’t spank you.”
“Ha!” She playfully grinned before taking a sip from her bottle of beer.
But another piece slipped into place as the mental landscape shifted yet again. Victor re-evaluated both Wylie’s chainmaille bracelet, and Brad’s.
He suspected Everett did do plenty of spanking.
Of Wylie.
And if Lara wasn’t the spanker in her relationship with Brad, Victor knew he’d need to turn in his metaphorical Dom card.
“So tell me more about this Tilly friend of yours,” Victor said to try to open the conversation before anyone else arrived.
The four of them shared a knowing glance before the other three apparently deferred to Everett.
“She’s…special,” he said. “Very…take-charge kind of lady. Good friend. Close friend. Non-traditional relationship and lifestyle. Very open-minded.”
“Well, I’m a very open-minded guy with a decided leaning toward a non-traditional lifestyle. Are we talking nudist? Swinger? Kinky?”
Everett smiled and pointed at him. “Ding-ding-ding. We have a winner. Which category do you fall under?”
After a long look at Lara and catching her slight nod, Victor plunged in. “Let’s just say that if I die suddenly, one of you please go clear my browser history and make the two black suitcases full of rope and interesting items under my bed disappear, huh?”
He took a long swallow from his beer, watching their reactions.
But the arrival of Tawny and her boyfriend cut off further discussion on that topic, much to Victor’s dismay.
Everett leaned in. “Hang out after everyone leaves, if you can, and we’ll talk more.”
* * * *
Normally, most of the agents, if not all of them, would be working on a Sunday afternoon, holding open houses or showing houses or returning calls. But apparently this was the one Sunday a year that George Dougherty, who owned and ran the office, had deemed they all take off and gather together socially, with their families. An annual tradition.
This year, with Lara now together with Brad, they’d volunteered to host it, easily able to accommodate all twenty-eight people, employees and their significant others and children, on their large property. That was in addition to Wy and Ev, and Ev’s sister, Eve, and their parents. Then Brad’s teenage son, Mark, and Mark’s boyfriend, Jacob, joined them.
“So how do you like our slice of Florida so far, Vic?” George asked.
“I’ve already sold three listings, so I can’t complain.” He’d switched to iced tea after his second beer and held up his red plastic cup in a toast to his old friend. “Neither can my bank account.”
Lara held up her bottle of beer. “Word.”
Brad and Ev were in charge of grilling the burgers, and some of the people’s kids were playing soccer in the shade of large oak trees in the backyard.
This felt a far cry from the last office he’d worked in, where it hadn’t felt so much like a team as a death match. Sure, he was friendly with some of his coworkers, but he didn’t necessarily trust any of them. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for “accidental” sniping to occur, of clients and listings.
The only agent to really try that with him, however, had found himself sent on a wild goose chase to fricking Marietta to talk to someone who didn’t exist about buying a house that wasn’t there, thanks to phone spoofing software.
The agent had thought he was talking to one of the head production crew members from The Walking Dead, of which he was a huge fan and at the time had been filming locally.
Victor, one of the senior agents at that time, had found out the agent had a notorious history of sniping from other agents when the guy had tried—and failed—to pull that bullshit on Victor. But Victor set him straight after taking his revenge. Years later, and everyone in the office still laughed about the incident.
As the afternoon wore on, Victor struggled against his impatience to talk with Ev, Wy, Lara, and Brad outside the earshot of everyone else. There was a kink scene up in Atlanta, but he’d never really felt comfortable there. Not due to anything anyone had done specifically, more because of the overall…atmosphere of the area, combined with his profession and the fact that his boyfriend at the time, Peter, worked for the Atlanta City Council, and had needed to keep a low profile.
Not just that Peter was kinky, but that he was gay.
Normally, Victor made a point of not dating guys who weren’t completely out about being gay, but he’d made an exception because of the guy’s job and the fact that Peter could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch. He’d been an eager, heavy masochist who loved a good beating and fucking.
Victor had also fallen head over heels for the guy before realizing Peter wasn’t completely out at work. His friends and relatives had known he was gay, but at work it was an off-topic discussion for him personally—made easier by the fact that he worked for the government—and Victor had never been able to attend business events with with him.
That had…grown old.
When he’d tried to gently talk to him about it after a while, Peter brushed him off. And kept brushing him off. Victor’s resentment grew to the point he finally issued an ultimatum about wanting to be acknowledged as Peter’s partner.
That’s when Peter turned into a massive asshole and left him, moving out one Saturday without warning or notice while Victor was out working, running a huge open house for a multi-million dollar mini-estate.
Soon after, Victor found out the guy had been keeping an on-again, off-again girlfriend beard on the side, even while they were together. Supposedly just dating her for work purposes and not sleeping with her, but Victor had publicly confronted Peter at one event with a smile a
nd snarky comment that had left the woman’s jaw gaping and Peter’s face red with anger.
Yeah, Atlanta wasn’t as big a city as it first appeared when it came to gossip.
Hopefully, he’d get a new start here in Sarasota. The work part was already paying off—literally.
Now to find someone to share his bed.
Preferably someone who liked going to bed with a freshly spanked ass.
Chapter Three
Simon stared at the pile of laundry he’d dumped out of the hamper onto the floor of their utility room. Half of it was his.
Half of it wasn’t.
Picking through it, he dropped Greg’s clothes back into the hamper and separated his own into lights and colors and started the first load. Then he grabbed the half-full hamper and carried it upstairs to the master bathroom, where it’d sit plainly in sight.
He even left one of Greg’s hideous pairs of brightly colored bikini briefs on top, unmissable.
Greg was in the kitchen when Simon walked in.
Normally, Simon would have asked him about when he wanted to eat dinner, what he wanted to eat, all that usual small-talk couples engaged in.
Not tonight.
Tonight, Simon didn’t give a shit what Greg wanted to eat, much less when, and he damn sure wasn’t cooking for the guy. Besides, there were plenty of leftovers for both of them.
Greg made a great show of not talking to Simon, of totally ignoring him. Again, something Simon, in the past, would have felt horrible about. He would have tried to talk to Greg, smooth things over, wanting to settle it regardless of whether or not he felt he was in the wrong.
Usually, Simon wasn’t in the wrong.
Done.
When Simon was brutally honest with himself, he was the only one who ever made an effort to extend the olive branch. It was usually Greg’s feelings being hurt, and Simon apologizing. When Simon’s feelings were hurt—which they were quite a bit—Greg would chide him for being too sensitive, reading too much or the wrong things into a situation.
Rub Me Raw Page 2
