Bad Behavior

by K.A. Mitchell

  Beach did a mental head scratch and came up with the name of Clayton’s fiancée. “Iris turning up the pressure on a date?”

  Clayton looked as morose as a hound in a cartoon, mouth drooping with his frown. “Iris. Mama. Grandmother. Iris’s mother. Iris’s aunt. My aunts. If it’s female and I’ve seen it in the past month, it’s demanded a schedule. Thank God for these ladies.” Clayton nodded at the Nancy. “No demands and always good for a quick escape. Surprised you’re not out chasing marlin or someplace else chasing tail.”

  “Can’t.” Beach tapped the ankle monitor with the cane.

  “The other kind of ball and chain. Heard you ran into trouble.” To Beach’s ear there was a satisfied suggestion of about damned time in Clayton’s tone.

  Beach shrugged. “A bit.”

  “Rumor is you threw an illegal party out on Fort Carroll.” Clayton jerked his thumb east-southeast toward the harbor. The island was far enough away to be hidden by the hazy sky.

  Beach clapped Clayton on the shoulder. “Not without inviting you. No, I got wind of a family heirloom going missing there at a party back in the seventies. The authorities took a dim view of my trespass on the bird sanctuary or something. The lawyers will all hash it out in fines. No worries.”

  “Busted your leg, though.”

  Beach suspected Clayton was sifting for the best story. The Earnshaws were gossips and tightwads, every last one. Clayton was lucky Iris would have him, since he’d have trouble finding anyone else who wasn’t a cousin to marry.

  “It’s healing. Make a good story in a month or two. Are you staying on your boat?”

  “Soon as I realized the way the wind was blowing, I lit out like my ass was on fire. Christ, I only proposed at Christmas to get them out of my hair.”

  Beach clenched his back teeth together. “Be glad to have you stay with me.”

  “Thanks. Knobs together—”

  “Always together.” There was something to be said for enduring the misery of hazing together as knobs, otherwise known as Citadel freshmen.

  “I’ll grab my bag.”

  CLAYTON GAVE a thorough dental examination to the gift horse when they arrived at Beach’s apartment. “Just the one bedroom.”

  Beach hadn’t taken the apartment with an eye to acquiring a roommate. Still, Southern hospitality had its demands. “You’re the guest. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “I couldn’t let you do that,” Clayton protested.

  They went on through rounds of escalating demurrals, covering the rules of hospitality, Clayton’s long trip up from Charleston, and Beach’s four additional inches of height, until Clayton played a trump card. “And you really should take care of your leg. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

  You’ll take care of your body as long as you’re offering it to me.

  It took every bit of control Beach possessed not to shiver. And since Tai wasn’t here, Beach could damn well answer back as he pleased. Since you threw me out of your apartment, I’ll thank you to stay out of my goddamned head. Sir.

  “Please help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

  “Wouldn’t say no to a beer.”

  “Ah. Sorry. The only alcohol is what was already opened at the bar. This”—Beach pointed with his cane—“ball and chain monitors me for alcohol intake. I removed the more obvious temptations.”

  Clayton ran a hand through what hair he had left. “David Beauchamp condemned to sobriety? Thought you said it wasn’t a party that got you in trouble.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  Clayton went right for the seventeen-year-old Pappy Van Winkle, of course. A generous pour sloshed into the tumbler. “Find what you were looking for? Your heirloom?”

  Not so much an heirloom as proof that the charges keeping Beach’s father out of the country were a lie, that the accusing girl’s ring was a fake. “No.”

  “Did you think of looking sober?”

  For a man knocking back Beach’s three-hundred-dollar bourbon, Clayton was a fine one to talk.

  “I was sober. I’d just gotten out of the hospital.”

  “Heard about the bridge.” Clayton moved the drape in front of the glass balcony doors. The balcony five stories up. “You never seemed the type.”

  “I’m not the type. I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” Hell, Beach wished he could remember that night. But everything after leaving Ruben’s party was a blank until he woke up in the hospital.

  And why the hell was Clayton Earnshaw grilling him about it in the living room of Beach’s own damned apartment? His leg ached. If he couldn’t be with Tai right now, Beach could at least be asleep and dreaming about it.

  In answer to Beach’s glare, Clayton shrugged. “My Aunt Bobbie Lynn and your mama went to Sweet Briar together. Guess she’s worried.”

  “Your aunt?” Because he sure wasn’t referring to Beach’s mother. She’d never shown up at the hospital, despite the large window of opportunity afforded her by his coma.

  Clayton turned away and looked out of the window toward the harbor and Dundalk. Beach rested his ass on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter. See? Taking care of my leg, he told no one in the room at the time.

  “So you can’t even have a beer with dinner?” Clayton said with another sip of the finest bourbon ever to grace a man’s lips.

  “When they arrested me for trespassing, the police report from the bridge got a good looking into. I wasn’t sober then,” Beach admitted. “So no. I can’t. Or go into a bar or liquor store or leave Baltimore County. I can get called in for drug tests.” And that wasn’t the worst part of being on probation. Because if the terms of his release didn’t include the GPS tracker proving he’d been in this apartment from 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m., maybe he could have spent the night—Never mind. “Worst thing is, I have a curfew.”

  Not only did Clayton do grief like a cartoon dog, he tipped back his head and howled with laughter. “Sweet Mary, Beach. The whole damned Corps of Cadets at school couldn’t keep you in your room all night. This is too much. Like the opposite of catching the Pope in a whorehouse.” He finished off his drink. “Well. That’s one smooth bourbon. Too good for me.”

  If that wasn’t an understatement.

  “Let’s go get something cheaper. I feel a bender coming on, and my designated driver’s got a curfew.” That set Clayton off again, and he howled all the way to Beach’s rented Lexus.

  TAI STABBED the intercom button at the front door of Nic’s town house.

  “Come in and come up. You know the way.” Despite the scratchy sound from the speaker, Nic’s dry humor came through in the last part. The lock buzzed, and Tai went into the hall. He leaned against a solid, brightly polished table to unlace his running shoes and slip on the sandals Nic kept at the door.

  Tai wouldn’t ever be able to tell Stickley from sticks, but he knew nice when he saw it, a comfortable home when he was in one. Which he supposed was good for Nic’s sake, because Tai had never seen the man outside of it.

  He might not know furniture, but he knew enough about Baltimore to ballpark a property. He’d done lots of looking for a place for him and his mom and Gina and Sammie when he first came home from school before discovering it was way the hell out of his reach. Nic’s place was an easy one point five. In David Beauchamp’s budget, one and a half million was probably what he spent getting high in six months.

  Tai wished he knew which one of the two versions he’d met was the real one. David, choking as much on his need to surrender as his resistance to it, or the party boy who’d swaggered into Tai’s office two days ago. Only two days ago. And already Tai wanted David owned. Collared. Marked as his.

  Sense and self-control had gone flying the minute he had opened his door and seen David kneeling in the hall. Everything Tai had worked so hard to keep leashed had torn free to meet that challenge. Maybe Nic could help him get it back.

  Tai knew Nic well enough to expect some kind of show. Nic didn’t disappoint.

  When Tai
stepped into the long second-floor room, he found Nic with his dick down another guy’s throat. Not that there was much to see. Nic was fully dressed, long-sleeved dress shirt, cuffs rolled over his forearms, trousers not even unbelted. And Tai would bet there was a superthin sheath on Nic’s cock as well.

  The guy on his knees was only missing a shirt. Baggy jeans, ball cap with brim sideways. The sub’s hands were cuffed behind him, chain looped around the floor-to-ceiling pole in the corner.

  Nic glanced up and waved, as if they were meeting in a restaurant. “I’ll only be”—he checked his watch—“two and a half more minutes.” He rocked his hips forward, pushing a groan out of the man on his knees. “That’s all the time left this little bitch has to work for my load if he wants to get that chastity cage off this week.”

  Another groan and the acceleration in the frantic bob of the sub’s head indicated he’d gotten the message. Tai knew it wouldn’t matter. Nic wouldn’t come if he didn’t want to. And from his voice, he might as well be ordering a pizza instead of fucking a desperately willing mouth.

  “Help yourself to a drink.” Nic tipped his head toward the bar and minifridge along the inside wall.

  Two minutes was a long time to not stare, and Tai hated to give Nic the satisfaction of knowing Tai enjoyed the well-timed show. He crossed the floor to the fridge. Next to two stainless-steel butt plugs were minibottles of water, juice, and club soda. Tai grabbed a water.

  He could manage casual too. He’d certainly seen—and been part of—enough playtime in this room. “You want anything?” he called back.

  “Club soda, thank you.”

  Tai reached in for one. The guy was getting somewhere; Nic’s voice wavered on the you. As Tai eased into one of the swivel chairs at the bar, Nic’s breathing started to echo under the high ceiling. Either the sub had stepped up his game, or Nic had decided to reward him. From this angle, Tai couldn’t see Nic’s face.

  A thin beep cut through the room, followed by a deep sigh. Tai couldn’t tell if it came from Nic or the sub.

  “Guess you get to wait longer.” Nic cupped the wet face, then turned the cap around, pulling it down over the sub’s eyes. “And don’t think that’s your only punishment. You should have begun like that.”

  The man sagged. Tai could see if his hands weren’t bound to the pole, he’d have put his forehead on Nic’s foot.

  “I should let my friend see if you’ve learned anything.” Nic glanced at Tai, who shook his head. “But I don’t want to waste his time. You will think about how you can do better.” Nic reached into his pocket and took out a mini MP3 player and headphones, which he fitted on the sub.

  Nic stripped off the condom and tucked himself away before joining Tai at the bar, chair turned to keep an eye on the man who slumped in a rejected heap against the pole.

  Tai raised his eyebrows.

  Nic shrugged. “Humiliation kink. Service sub.” He lowered his voice. “Been seeing him a couple times a month.”

  “You should have told me. It could have waited.”

  It was Nic’s turn to arch his brows, except he had a skill that had always eluded Tai: the ability to raise just one. Maybe because it had a thin diagonal scar slicing through it. “Your email was ominous.” Nic’s faint Greek accent only came through on the r’s, t’s, and s’s. The sounds, combined with sharp features and a compact, hard body, made Tai think of a jaguar. Nic’s eyes had that look too, predatory. It had subs dropping at his feet. “All I said is I wanted to talk. Face-to-face.”

  “Please tell me you did not take Donte back.”

  “No.”

  Nic relaxed into his chair and opened his club soda, gaze darting from Tai’s face to the sub kneeling, head bowed.

  “You have eighteen minutes before I go back and let him have some success. You can spend it staring at me or tell me about”—Nic’s dark eyes lasered in on Tai’s face—“your new submissive.”

  Tai had been trying to fend off Nic’s too-perceptive stare with his water bottle as a barrier. At Nic’s successful pronouncement, Tai crushed the plastic, sending a spurt of water into his own face and neck.

  “If you wanted a facial, I’m sure Bobby would have obliged.” Nic’s chin jutted toward the guy in cuffs.

  Tai wiped his face with his arm. “It’s freaky when you do that.”

  “It’s not that difficult to pay attention, Toluaotai. Seventeen minutes.”

  “He’s—I shouldn’t have—I met him through work.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it was a big part of the problem. “I shouldn’t be having sex with him.”

  “It’s already happened. So let’s move on from there. What is the problem?”

  The problem was too big for seventeen minutes, but it was also too big to keep chewing on alone. Learning about himself with Nic’s help had given Tai the control he’d thought he had to fight for all his life. A way to manage his anger and desire. Now David’s bottomless appetite had Tai on the edge with him. And damn if he didn’t want to take that fall. “He’s new. Never experienced D/s before.”

  “So he has no bad habits to break.” Nic drained half of his soda in one gulp.

  “He’s pushy. Not bratty so much as challenging.”

  Nic’s brow went up, but there was a smile on his face. “All things guaranteed to intrigue you. I’m waiting to hear the problem.”

  “He won’t—”

  “Not your submissive’s problems, Tai. Yours.”

  He crumpled the bottle and tossed it away. “It’s been two scenes. In two days. And I want him.” Even now Tai’s palm itched as if it could call up the memory of David’s skin, his hair, some tangible proof of that obedience in the quiet moments when David surrendered. “When we’re in that space—”

  “You love him.”

  “I never said—”

  “Falling in love is easy. That connection and that focus mean for the moments when you’re in D/s space, you love every submissive for what he offers you. Staying that way when it’s over, that’s what takes effort.” Nic spun the cap back onto his bottle and placed it on the bar. “I read somewhere that attraction registers in less than a second. That in thirty seconds you make up your mind whether or not to have feelings for someone.”

  “Love at first sight. Really?”

  “Leave the hearts and flowers of romance out of it.” Nic’s gaze softened as he looked beyond Tai to where Bobby waited. “There are people you can easily walk away from and people you can’t. And if you both can’t, you see what you’re willing to do to make it work.”

  “You make it all sound easy.”

  “Of course it isn’t. Who he is and who you are, those are things neither of you can change. Whatever you feel for him now, what attracts and repels you, none of that can be erased or hidden by reciprocal orgasms once the endorphins fade.”

  Which meant what? Beauchamp was a careless, manipulative shit, and David was everything Tai wanted with a big red bow around his neck. Once the endorphins faded today, David had taken to being hand-fed as if he’d been waiting for it his whole life.

  Nic sighed into Tai’s thoughts. “I wonder if you’re aware what you’re looking for,” Nic said.

  “But you know. What I’m looking for, I mean.” When Nic didn’t answer, Tai said, “Are you going to tell me or just sit there being all superior about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Asshole.”

  “One of the things D/s offers is a crucible to reveal the essence of a person.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Nic slid off the barstool. “It means you’ve had two scenes with him. If you found a reason to walk away, you would have already done so. Instead you’re here, looking for advice.”

  “Fuck.” Why had Tai thought coming to Nic was a good idea?

  “I believe the expression is screwed. Best of luck staying on the right side of the leash.”

  Tai stood.

  “Don’t bother wiping that up.” Nic indicated the water splattered on t
he polished wooden floor. “Bobby will enjoy the task.”

  Chapter Ten

  TALKING TO Nic was supposed to make things clear, not drag up more questions. Tai didn’t like questions. He liked knowing the play. Everyone on the same page. His page.

  He burned through an hour of leg work Sunday morning. With the throb of blood pounding under tight, sweat-soaked skin and the acid streaking in his muscles, Tai felt like himself again. He’d never been one for living in his head. He knew what he wanted.

  After his shower, he still had two hours before it was time to pick up Sammie. He called David.

  After four rings, a strange man drawled, “Hello.”

  A shock of rage, white-cold then black-hot, blasted behind Tai’s squeezed-shut eyes. He hadn’t told David anything about fucking other guys. Hadn’t thought he’d need to after yesterday. Tai dragged the phone away from his jaw and let out an explosion of breath. It didn’t help. Everything stayed tight and hard and furious.

  “David Beauchamp.”

  “Uh, I’ll get him. He’s in the shower.” The accent got thicker as the r on shower completely vanished.

  Tai’s hands clenched. The right one into a fist, the left squeezing the phone until it made a creak of protest. There went any hope there was some reason other than the obvious for why this man had picked up David’s phone. Tai could hang up, but David would realize why, and that was unacceptable. The idea that David’s curiosity, his wide-eyed hunger for submission, had led to him going out to find it put Tai’s phone’s structural integrity at serious risk.

  After a few moments of silence, there was a knock and the drawl again. “Beach. Phone.” The man hadn’t bothered to mute the microphone.

  Another knock, then a door opening, and the hiss of water got louder. “Sorry, Beach. Phone.”

  “Christ, Clayton, I’m in the shower. It’ll go to voicemail.”

  Tai’s fist relaxed. Phone-answering close but not shower-sharing? Brother? Cousin? “No, it won’t. I, uh, answered.”

  “You answered my phone? Why in the hell would you do that?” The water was still running, but David’s voice was loud with frustration.