by SE Jakes
The man hadn’t moved a muscle during Tanner’s speech. Simply stared, and Tanner tensed more, wondering if he was going to have to fight tonight.
Fighting and fucking were definitely two of his favorite things to do, sometimes all in the same night—or hour—or hell, the same time, but he had a feeling that he’d be pushing his luck taking on this guy.
He was in way over his head. And he couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—he’d felt that way.
Damon’s features relaxed slightly. He sat back on the top of the desk, folded his arms and stared Tanner up and down. A hard, assessing stare that was enough to make Tanner hard with desire and anticipation.
He wasn’t sure why the sudden thought of Damon taking him got him hot, but that was short-lived, because he saw the tension in Damon’s stance, the pain in his eyes. Tanner wanted to apologize, but he wasn’t sure what for. Wanted to tell Damon that he was scared to fucking death that the Domming would actually happen—and also scared that it wouldn’t.
He was so fucked up he could barely see straight.
Damon finally spoke. “I wouldn’t touch you. You’re not man enough to handle me.”
Jesse’s words echoed in Tanner’s ear. It would be the only kind of man who could handle you.
Tanner hadn’t been able to handle a relationship—or being touched, really, since what happened to Jesse last year. And so he nodded and he said, “You’re right about that. This was a mistake.”
The failure hanging on him heavily, he pushed out the door, went through the club and headed for the parking lot.
Jesse.
Damon had mourned over that man, cried over him, beat his fists against the wall, up until three months earlier. Things had eased, but he still wore the cloak of grief that sometimes threatened to choke him.
Now was one of those times. He’d waited until the gorgeous man left his office before he fell apart and tried his best not to hyperventilate.
Use the skull-and-crossbones collar with the broken latch.
The boy who’d just left his office would have no way of knowing that—wouldn’t have known that Damon kept that collar in his loft, had fixed the latch right after Jesse died because it was one of the only things he could do.
Damon wouldn’t be able to use the damned collar on this boy—Jesse knew that collaring meant something—that it didn’t happen on a first night together.
You don’t even know the boy’s name.
He shuddered involuntarily that he’d thought of him as the boy. Because that’s what he’d called Jesse—and only Jesse.
Jesse had been the first to ever thaw what Damon had considered a heart of ice. First, and the only.
But something tugged at his gut.
He could’ve been lying. This could be part of an elaborate scam.
The only thing was, the man had definitely been military. A Ranger, like Jesse, or so he said. Damon didn’t doubt it, had a nose for those things, having been in special forces himself what seemed like a lifetime ago. And the timing was exactly right. Jesse had died a year ago, nearly to the hour, although he’d lied to the boy about not having that information.
Fuck.
He called through the open office door, “LC, grab that guy who just left.”
“I’m not your bitch,” LC drawled, and no, LC was no one’s bitch…not since Styx left. “And he’s already in the lot.”
“Dammit.”
LC held his gaze for a second and then called to one of the bodyguards. “Renn—grab the guy in the brown leather jacket who just left. And bring a few guys—he won’t come willingly.”
LC didn’t say anything more, didn’t have to, and just headed to the front of the club to supervise. And Damon waited in his office, trying not to pace. Trying not to picture what the boy would look like, bound and spread for him.
Trying to pretend he wasn’t hard at the thought of it.
He shifted but could do nothing to hide the erection in the pants he wore, and when LC barged back into the office, it was the first thing he noticed.
Thankfully, he didn’t comment on it, just said, “They’ve got him and he’s not happy.”
“Makes two of us.”
“Did he really know Jesse?”
Damon nodded. “He says that Jesse sent him here—wanted him to have a session with me.”
LC’s eyes widened, but wisely his mouth remained closed. He was part owner of Crave, working mainly behind the scenes. He was also Damon’s best friend—the only person Damon confided everything in. The only one he trusted enough to let him run the business in those months after Jesse died, when Damon couldn’t get out of bed most days. LC had finally gotten him up and functioning.
Just then, the boy was dragged back in by three men—he was pissed for sure, but not fighting as hard as he could. Damon knew that, and whether it was grief or curiosity or both, he couldn’t tell yet.
“Let him go,” Damon commanded, and the men dropped him and left the room with LC, the office door shutting behind them as the boy stumbled forward until Damon caught him, held him hard by the biceps and stared at him again.
He was handsome as hell—all-American-looking, a blond haired, blue-eyed devil, even with his lips twisted into an angry grimace.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The boy jerked out of his grasp and yes, he was strong. Damon had suspected as much. Earlier, when Damon had him by the shirt, backed against the wall, he hadn’t flinched. It was the calm of a man who knew how to fight—who knew how to kill.
“What’s your name?”
A jut of a chin, a glint of wild eyes and he ground out, “Tanner.”
“Why did you come here?”
“Because I made a promise to Jesse when he was dying. I don’t break promises like that.”
“And you’re willing to follow through on what he wanted.”
Tanner pressed his lips together—he wanted to say no, that much Damon knew. For some reason, this handsome, strong, brave man wanted nothing to do with being Dommed, and it didn’t appear to be for the usual reasons.
No, he wasn’t uncomfortable, either in this club or with Damon and his leathers. But something was most definitely wrong with him.
“I’ll do what Jesse wanted, yes.”
“But you don’t think you’re man enough.”
He waited for Tanner to snap an answer back, but none came. Instead, he shrugged.
“Well then, there’s no time like the present. But no collar.” He motioned for Tanner to follow him, out the door of the office, down a small hallway and into a room marked Room Four.
Once inside, Damon pressed a few buttons to bring the lights up and to remove the shading from the plate-glass divider that separated the room from the rest of the club.
As soon as he did so, the bar began to cheer. Damon activated the two-way speakers as well, so the sounds went from muffled to completely clear.
Tanner’s eyes widened. “We’re doing this here—where everyone can see?”
“Yes. That’s what Jesse would’ve wanted.”
Tanner couldn’t have known that was the furthest thing from the truth—that Jesse understood the value of privacy at the start of a D/s relationship.
That Jesse would hate him for this.
Well, Damon hated Jesse for dying and leaving him. For refusing to quit the military and let Damon take care of him for the rest of his life.
For recognizing that Damon had been slowly dying inside during the last year of their relationship and continuing to satisfy his own needs instead.
Tanner swallowed hard and then he nodded.
Yes, let’s see if this man is for real.
Don’t Miss: BOUND BY LAW
Book 2 in the Men of Honor Series
BOUND BY LAW
is also now available!
The one man he can’t forget is the one whose memories could destroy them all.
After the one man he trusted disappeared, it took Law Connor ten years to t
ake a chance on another relationship. Trouble is, right about the time he’s finally ready to let go of the past, the past stages a hostile takeover.
Back when they were teens, Styx was the boy with no memory. He and Law had each other’s backs until he was forced to leave to keep Law safe. Now a CIA agent, he’s finally discovered who he is, and why he’s a hunted man.
Detective Paulo McMannus has almost succeeded in helping Law forget his lost love when Styx comes plowing back into their lives. No way is Paulo giving up his lover without a fight.
Suddenly Law finds himself on the run with Styx, the man who can still bring him to his knees...and with Paulo, the man who brought him back to life. The worst part? He can’t choose between them. And it’s getting harder to remember why he should.
Warning: Contains rough language, rougher sex and warriors who fall hard for one another.
Enjoy the following excerpt from Bound by Law:
Paulo wasn’t taking no for an answer, so Law had no choice but to concede to having dinner with the man. He was getting past the anonymous fucking stage with Paulo and Paulo knew that, took advantage of him when he was weak from orgasms. Hence, the fancy goddamned dinner at an expensive restaurant where the detective obviously knew the staff. They gave the men a private table in the back, and appetizers began arriving without them having to place any orders. Paulo kept filling up his wine glass and Law got looser with each glass, and he knew he’d be going home with Paulo again that night for sure. Or maybe he’d take Paulo back to his new apartment for the first time, a new place, a fresh start…the same guy more than once, and that was a fucking record that had remained unbroken for ten years.
“Tell me what LC stands for,” Paulo murmured now. “Or I’ll tie you down and fuck it out of you.”
“That’s incentive to tell you?” LC asked as he scanned his menu for the main courses, not wanting to let Paulo see how turned on he got when Paulo spoke like that. Because he did so easily, his eyes hot, and LC remembered how good his body had felt against the younger man’s.
Before last night, it had been over a month since he’d seen him last. Paulo had come to visit him in the hospital after LC thwarted an attacker who’d been hurting men outside Crave, his BDSM club. Before that, Paulo had given him a gift—a gift certificate, to be exact—for a tattoo, which LC hadn’t used yet. Paulo’s torso was close to being covered with them, intricate designs that swirled over muscles in his chest, back and arms and made him that much goddamned harder to resist.
LC loved looking at them, loved tracing them with his tongue, his fingers, watching the way they moved when LC was pounding him, the way he had last night.
“I was glad you came over,” Paulo said after they’d finished the appetizers and waited on the next course.
LC had been surprised, too. He’d been driving around restlessly, because Damon was holed up with Tanner and prowling the club scene no longer held his interest. Crave was sold and things were moving forward.
Everyone was moving forward and he’d been standing still. At first, there had been a lot to do with the sale of the club and the lofts and the construction of the new apartments he and Damon bought, along with the rest of the building. They were now living on opposite ends of the top floor, and the plan was to renovate and rent the rest of the apartments.
There was a hell of a lot to do, but LC didn’t feel like handling any of it, especially not last night. No, he’d wanted to handle someone, and his car had pointed in the direction of Paulo’s place almost as if he’d had no control.
But LC knew that was bullshit.
Paulo had barely been able to get out a hello before LC had him pinned, telling Paulo he’d been dreaming about him before he could stop himself. After that, it was a blur of hands and tongues and oh yeahs, and then LC was agreeing to dinner, because he’d just taken the man without so much as a this-is- where-I’ve-been-for-the-past-month explanation.
He’d stayed through until the sun came up and straggled back to his new place, and now he was here, next to this man in this dark restaurant, and he’d been turned on from the time Paulo picked him up.
If he was honest with himself, Paulo was handling him and he really fucking liked it.
Paulo hadn’t asked him any more about the dreams LC had about him, and for that, LC was grateful. Because this, the tug in the stomach when Paulo looked at him, was new…the first time since Styx, and he knew this man could make him happy, if he allowed it.
He downed the rest of his wine and stood before he told Paulo that. “Headed to the restroom—I’ll be back.”
“I’d join you, but I have a reputation in this place,” Paulo said with a sly smile.
“I’m sure.” LC threaded his way through the back hallway, found the men’s room. He pissed and washed up in the private restroom, wiped his hands on a paper towel, and it was all normal. So normal.
Until the lights went out and shots rang out inside the restaurant and an arm came up across his body, a hand over his mouth, and his natural instinct to fight like hell was quelled with a single breath.
Styx. He’d recognize the man’s scent—his touch—blindfolded. Many a time he’d actually done so, but this situation was a thousand percent different.
“Not a word.” Styx’s voice, rough like gravel. Rougher when he was angry or aroused. His breath was warm and minty—Altoids. The man had always been addicted to them.
Damn, you remembered the oddest things when your ass was on the line. And speaking of asses, his was pressed hard to Styx’s groin…and the man’s arousal was unmistakable. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one affected by the close proximity.
He moved his head and Styx took his hand away.
“Paulo,” he said, and Styx answered, “Your friend’s safe—my associate has him.”
Good, that was good, but Jesus, what was going on here?
He heard the slight snick of a gun’s safety being release and then heavy footsteps. Whoever was coming wasn’t interested in stealth.
Not good.
“Whatever happens, stay put in here. I’ll take care of everything.” Styx barely mouthed the words but LC heard them loud and clear. And then he was left alone in the dark, and yeah, the metaphor of his goddamned life with and without Styx, and he listened and waited.
No more shots, but someone had died. LC had been around stealth and death long enough in the Army to the point where he could taste the violence. He’d been on the receiving end of it since birth.
Goddammit, Law, shake that shit off.
And then Styx was back, tugging at him, and LC resisted. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell’s going on out there.”
“Someone died. Now shut up and do what I say.”
“I’m so beyond listening to you.”
“Law, you have no idea who and what you’re up against. Come with me,” Styx said, and LC reluctantly followed him into the restaurant’s storeroom, close to the parking lot. And even though it was dark as night inside the restaurant’s back room, LC would know the man, could practically see the dark blond hair, longer than it had been, eyes that never failed to mesmerize him, the hard body and even harder cock that probed him earlier.
Law knew what he was up against—and he was powerless to stop it. And when he started to push past Styx, Styx let him go at first and then pushed him hard against the wall by the door.
“Are you with that guy?” he whispered into LC’s neck, and he wanted to tell Styx not to do that.
Instead, he ground out, “His name is Paulo. And now you’re worried about my dating habits?”
“I’m always worried about you.”
“The not calling or writing is a great way to show that.”
“It’s the way it has to be.”
Has to be…not using the past tense meant that’s what would happen after Styx did whatever it was he needed to here. “What, exactly, is happening out there to get the CIA involved?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Right. I don’t have the clearance to be involved in any part of your life.” Never did. Never would. “Let fucking go of me.”
“You can’t leave now.”
“Then you’ll have to arrest me.”
With that, Styx reached up and yanked LC’s arms down and behind his back, and when the cuffs snicked on his wrists, he cursed bitterly. “Where’s Paulo?”
“Safe.”
“Not what I asked.”
“Are you two serious?”
“Why don’t you tell me? You’ve been spying on me for God knows how long.” “I call it keeping you safe.”
“Get. The fuck. Off me.”
Styx didn’t listen. Never did, which was why the military hadn’t been for him. “You bottom for him?”
“I’m trying to figure out why the hell you would care if I did.”
“Guess I have my answer. And you know why.”
“Not anymore, Styx. Too much time’s passed.”
He felt Styx’s body stiffen, thought the man would release him. And then…
And then Styx’s hand went to his cock as he sucked on the back of Law’s neck along the spot—that spot—he’d discovered drove Law wild.
The only one who’d ever found it and oh God, he was going to come in his fucking pants if Styx didn’t stop.
And Styx would not stop.
“Like that, baby?” Styx whispered after licking the spot where Law knew there’d be a red mark that would stay there for days, then used his tongue and teeth and hands, slipped into Law’s half unzipped jeans to work his magic.
“Fuck…please…don’t, Styx.” But he was saying don’t and meant, don’t stop. And it was something he wanted—needed—too much to struggle more.
He’d always been a goddamned whore for this man—that would never change.
“Styx.” The name, moaned into the dark, and if the man called him by his nickname, he’d lose it in his pants.
