by Tricia Owens
Bent in half beneath Max’s weight, Ethan groaned and tried to move his hips. Max tightened the grip around his throat to hold him still.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he ordered.
Ethan whimpered, his face contorting. “I’m yours.”
“Tell me I can do anything to you.”
“Shit…you can…do anything you want to me. I’m helpless." Ethan moaned. "I’m yours.”
Dizziness swept through Max. Control. He trusts you to remain in control. Don’t fail him now.
His first thrusts into Ethan were deep and powerful. They felt so good he couldn’t let up. Pinning Ethan by the throat while his hands were cuffed and his ass was pumped full of Max’s cock was a fantasy nearly too potent to handle. Max gritted his teeth to hold on, to delay the inevitable. He felt the sweat sliding down his cheeks and the fire in his groin that demanded release. His body yearned to implant his seed into Ethan as deeply and quickly as possible, to claim him from the inside.
“Squeeze me,” Max demanded.
“Max…” Ethan’s eyes began to roll up into his head.
His body tightened around Max’s cock, milking it in silken waves. Max couldn’t resist the intimate squeeze. He never could. With a harsh groan, he thrust balls deep into Ethan’s upturned ass and held there as he pumped spurt after spurt into him, his balls all but spasming as they emptied.
As soon as he regained some coherence, he let go of Ethan’s throat to grab his cock and quickly pump it. Ethan cried out as though in pain, his shoulders curling up and his abdominal muscles tightening. With a shout, he painted his own chest and neck with streaks of pearly white. Max ruthlessly pumped harder, trying to force Ethan to come on his own face. A few drops spattered his chin and Max quickly used his thumb to smear the milkiness across Ethan’s lips and over his tongue.
“Suck it,” Max ordered, his blood still high, his cock still rigid.
Moaning, Ethan did as ordered. He collapsed onto the sofa, eyes closed, and suckled almost dreamily as Max slid his thumb in and out of his mouth, gently fucking it.
It took some time, but eventually Max’s ardor cooled enough for him to reorient himself. He pulled out carefully, and made sure the towel beneath them caught any spillage. He made a quick trip to the guest bathroom with a stop in the bedroom before returning to Ethan’s side with a warm, damp towel.
Ethan hadn’t moved at all despite looking uncomfortable with his arms trapped beneath him and his legs sprawled wide open across the sofa. Max felt extraordinarily smug as he kneeled beside his husband and gently cleaned between his legs.
“I’m a mess,” Ethan mumbled.
Max glanced at his face. His eyes were still closed, his mouth wet and lax. His oiled skin and debauched expression gave him the appearance of a sexual offering to the gods. Max wished he possessed the refractory period to fuck him again that very instant. He settled with picking up the discarded dildo, checking that it hadn’t picked up any dirt, and sliding it into Ethan’s loosened hole.
“What!” Ethan arched as he was penetrated again. “Oh, shit. Oh, god, Max…” He tried to curl onto his side and bring his knees up. “No! I can’t take anymore.”
“You have before, and you will now,” Max told him calmly as he circled his fingertips around the base of the dildo, stroking the stretched skin there. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“No…”
Ethan shuddered, yet his cock gave an interested twitch. Max didn’t bother hiding his smirk.
“You’re in for a long night,” he warned as he tenderly combed the sweat-damp hair off Ethan’s forehead. “If you’re not crying by the end of it, I haven’t done my job here.”
Ethan moaned and shook his head weakly. He whimpered when Max bent his head and lapped at the tip of his cock.
“No, no,” Ethan whispered even as he tried to push himself between Max’s lips.
“Yes, yes,” Max whispered back.
He slid the handcuff keys beneath the sofa. They wouldn’t be needing them for a while.
~~~~~
“Even though I’d prefer that these were of you, I have to admit these photos are hot,” Ethan declared as he went through the digital gallery on Max’s camera.
Max, towel drying his hair, came up behind him and looked over his shoulder at the images. “It’s a shame I can’t sell these somewhere. They’d fetch a considerable sum.”
Ethan snorted and set the camera on the sink counter. “If you ever ventured into the porn business I think I’d have a heart attack from being overworked.”
“If I ever went into the porn business,” Max said as he cupped Ethan’s towel-clad hips from behind, “I’d become a billionaire. I’ll have to think it over.”
Grinning, Ethan turned to face him. Max’s heart swelled with affection at the boyish smile aimed his way. How Ethan could look like this after looking like that a mere half hour ago, he had no idea. He chalked it up to one of the mysteries of the universe, of which he was a significant beneficiary.
“Thank you for that.” Ethan stroked Max’s back. “I needed it. I think maybe you did, too, huh?”
“I certainly wouldn’t decline a repeat performance.”
“Maybe next time I can actually pose for you,” Ethan said with amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Like in clothes.”
“Yes, a thong would be interesting,” Max replied, straight-faced.
Ethan shook his head at him and headed for the bedroom. Smiling, Max turned to join him before recalling that Giuliani had called him earlier in the evening.
“I’ll be right in,” he told Ethan as he passed through the bathroom.
Ethan yawned and fell backward onto the bed. “Hurry, or you’ll be snuggling with an unconscious body.”
“You’ve given me an idea for another photoshoot,” Max told him. He entered the living room, trailing Ethan’s chuckle.
The towels were still scattered across the furniture, so he swept them up and deposited them in the laundry room for Analisa. After pushing the cocktail table back into place and satisfied that nothing looked amiss, he retrieved his phone. Giuliani had sent a text message with an attachment.
The message was short: Is this her?
Max opened the attachment.
He studied it for some seconds with confusion. It appeared to be an email confirmation for tickets purchased for a cruise on a global luxury ship line. It seemed irrelevant until Max scrolled down and noticed the name of the paying passenger: Moira Harper, Merrick Felix’s alleged stalker. Even more startling was the embarkation date: five months ago. She and her male companion had been booked on a luxury cruise line for nearly half of the year and were still currently sailing.
Max’s eyebrows dove together. He opened a tab and brought up the cruise line website where he randomly selected a cruise. The prices for all cabins were at the higher end of the spectrum. Even with any sort of discount for back to back sailings, Moira Harper was paying tens of thousands—perhaps nearly a hundred thousand, depending on the cabin—for her and her companion’s vacation. How was what possible on her income?
He checked her guest’s name again, though the man’s name didn’t ring any immediate bells. Max replied to Giuliani’s text, telling him to dig up information about the guest. Perhaps he was the one paying for the cruises despite Moira Harper’s name on the receipt. It was the only explanation that made sense, because the other option—
--the other option cracked a door on a handful of troubling possibilities.
By Merrick Felix’s admission, Moira Harper had ceased harassing him around four months ago. The timing was interesting. It left questions in Max’s mind, and they didn’t endear him to Felix. Max might be jumping to conclusions, but Felix appeared to not only have lied to Ethan, but to Max as well.
Something was going on.
He put his phone away and entered the bedroom. Ethan lay on his side, seemingly dozing. Max stood at the foot of the bed, studying him, questioning whether his lover kne
w more than he let on and was afraid to tell him.
His heart told him to trust his husband.
He climbed into bed and spooned behind Ethan. The instinct to cuddle was irresistible. Yet as Max did so, his mind churned. A position that normally brought him peace and comfort provided neither. He was still awake when the sky began to lighten. He fell asleep only a few hours before the alarm went off.
Groggy, he lay in bed as Ethan dressed for work.
“You feeling alright?” Ethan asked him, pressing his palm to Max’s forehead.
“What’s your plan today?” Max asked him.
Ethan shrugged. “The PR woman at the Cosmo approved Merrick’s shoot for later this morning. We’re going to do that and then he plans to spend the rest of the day on his computer, editing the photos and working on the campaign materials.” He hesitated. “Is that alright? After last night—”
“It’s fine,” Max cut him off. He sat up. “Finish your assignment. If there are any problems at all, feel free to walk.”
“Alright.” Ethan gave him a bemused look. “You sure you’re okay with this? I know we cleared the air last night, but you’re acting odd, Max.”
Max couldn’t tell him that something was wrong, even if his gut told him that something likely was. He had no proof of anything right now, and accusing Merrick Felix of wrongdoing would continue the narrative that Max was jealous and didn’t trust Ethan’s judgment of him.
You had better work quickly on this, Giuliani.
He waved away Ethan’s concern, summoning up a careless shrug.
“You may have drained more of my energy last night than I’d first realized. You’re not easy to keep up with.”
“Right,” Ethan said sarcastically. “Says the man who forced me to have three orgasms, the last of which nearly caused me to have a brain aneurysm.”
Max caught him by the waist and dragged him forward, making Ethan fall against him.
“Are you complaining that I was too generous with you?” he asked in a low voice. “I could switch it up next time, grant you no release for hours. There are many ways to make you cry, Ethan.”
Ethan shut his eyes and shuddered.
“You’re not doing this to me before breakfast. Jesus, Max. Why am I like a light switch for you? This is humiliating.” He shoved at Max’s shoulders.
Max patted him on the ass. “Go find out what’s for breakfast. I’ll join you shortly.”
Ethan searched his face one last time, apparently still suspecting something was off with him. But in the end, he gave in to Max’s will.
Max’s expression sobered as soon as he left the room, aware that the good mood he shared with Ethan might not last long, depending on what he learned today.
Chapter Eleven
Maxmillian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in an admission of aggravation he would never have shown had he not been alone in his office. It was nearing the lunch hour, yet he wasn’t hungry. His appetite had been killed within a matter of seconds.
He wouldn’t have seen the website post on his own. That was the frustrating part. While he kept up with entertain trade publications, he steered clear of gossip tabloids and websites. It was enough that he knew who the latest celebrities were. He didn’t need to know who they were dating or fighting with on Twitter. If those details became relevant, he had an investigator to look them up so he wouldn’t have to dirty his own hands or mind.
But Kimberlyn had breached Max’s imposed wall of ignorance. She had forwarded the link to him, believing he would want to see it. He couldn’t blame her or attribute nefarious motives to her actions. He trusted that she was looking out for him and The Elite Poole Worldwide because that was what she had always done.
The problem wasn’t that she had forwarded the link to him. The problem was that it existed.
He dropped his hand and stared at the article on the screen. A short video clip accompanied it, and it was difficult for Max not to sneer at the country music singer it featured. Dylan Flowers was a previous client. He had performed at the MGM and spent time in the city promoting his tour. Ethan had been the agent assigned to Flowers and had protected the difficult singer when an obsessed fan had tried to attack him. Despite personal differences, the two men had shaken hands at the end of the job and Flowers had shaken Max’s hand, too, thanking him for a job well done.
In this video, Dylan Flowers had been questioned by paparazzi who had pointed out to him that he had been photographed with Ethan. The two men had been smiling and touching each other’s shoulders. The images were innocent, signifying nothing, and would not have garnered any attention had Ethan and Max not been outed as they had. The photos probably still wouldn’t have mattered to anyone except for bloggers who were riding a recent wave of ‘disclosure ambushes’ where they tried to trick celebrities into admitting secrets that would lead to website clicks.
Flowers, targeted by such a mob, had given a hurried response while fighting his way past the paparazzi to his car.
“It’s not something I want to talk about. I hired them just the one time and I haven’t had contact with them since. I barely knew that guy. The bodyguard.”
“What about the eyewitnesses who said you hugged him longer than mere friends would?”
“The guy saved my life. What would you have done?”
“So you’d use a gay bodyguard again is that what you’re saying? Is that your preference?”
“I’m not saying anything. Don’t put words in my mouth. I have other options. I wouldn’t use them again.”
“Because you’re worried your fans might get the wrong idea about you? Do you have something to hide, Dylan?”
Flowers visibly flinched. “They’re not for me.”
Dylan Flowers was a closeted gay man.
Max would never point that out to the public. Unlike the singer, he understood the meaning of respect. Flowers’ comments were hypocritical and a betrayal of trust. But Max couldn’t single him out, not when the singer’s comments were reflective of the beliefs of many others.
He understood, too, that Flowers had found himself in a difficult position. Any support of Max and Ethan might be viewed by his fans—who tended to skew socially conservative—as condoning a so-called deviant lifestyle. It might cast Flowers’ sexuality into suspicion, which the singer had admitted was his greatest fear. He believed his career would suffer if his fans learned that he was gay. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in finding out either way.
While Max could sympathize with the singer’s plight, he remained angry that Flowers hadn’t simply ignored the questions or issued a ‘no comment.’ The singer was the first to publicly back away from The Elite Poole bodyguard services, but others could follow, especially those who traveled in the same conservative circles as Flowers. Max had no choice but to assume the worst would come of this. This video was damaging.
It also embarrassed him. Deeply.
He slid his chair back and stood up. With his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, he walked to the windows overlooking the outside business complex. It was a picture of wealth and modernity. From the luxury cars in the lots to the shining glass buildings, everywhere he looked he saw success. Once upon a time, he had looked out there and seen what he believed existed within his own offices. He had grown his business from a simple personal protection agency into a corporation that was as hip as it was respected. Celebrities and those who valued media optics came to Max first before considering any other security services in the city. Partnering with The Elite Poole had always been a boon for its clients. Even those who didn’t care that Elite Poole agents were attractive trusted that they were well-trained and competent and would protect clients with their lives.
Now, however, Max’s success was marred. His accomplishments with the business were being overshadowed by whom he chose to sleep with. He had fought tooth and nail for everything he’d built here, but little of that mattered because he was gay. Because he had married another man.
When it darted through his head, the thought startled him: None of this would have happened if I hadn’t met Ethan.
He flinched, both outwardly and inwardly, but the thought persisted. Logically, it was true. Had he not met Ethan, Max would have continued holding his romantic cards close to the vest. He wouldn’t have fallen in love. He wouldn’t have fallen so hard that marriage became important to him. In other words, his professional reputation and that of his business would have remained bulletproof.
Now, he was all but bare-chested.
His hands curled into fists as he imagined Jonathan Wilder reading about him and Ethan and laughing at their current predicament. Wilder might be joined by the mob boss, Peter Monaghan, who had warned Max that keeping Ethan on the staff was inviting trouble. Max didn’t want to hear ‘I told you so’, but there were plenty of people he had encountered along the way who would probably love to say it to his face. And that was only here in the States. Overseas in Europe…Max refused to consider how his father might be reacting to what was happening here. Max was dealing with enough humiliation.
He stared sightlessly out the window, absently wondering how long he could stand this way and pretend that he had a solution, a remedy. Doing damage control on something so personal was beyond his skillset. It disgusted him, actually. It felt beneath him.
He blinked, clearing his gaze and his mind as resignation set in. He might be out of his depth, but he could do something that he was very good at: paying someone else to do the work for him.
He strode back to his desk and closed out the video. As he searched through his contacts for the number of someone who might have a recommendation for a PR crisis management firm, he noticed a popup on his monitor, indicating he’d received an email from Giuliani.
