Rub Me Raw [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations ManLove)

by Tymber Dalton

  Victor had chatted again with Lara and Ev later in the week. On Thursday, they got together for lunch at a small sandwich shop not far from the office, far away from Tawny’s nosy, prying ears.

  Lara had news. “Friends of ours are bringing a friend of theirs to dinner Saturday night.” She smiled. “Gay, single, not poly. And while he doesn’t have a lot of specific BDSM experience, he is kinky and isn’t very toppy. More of a bottom.”

  “Well, there’s several points in his favor,” Victor said. “Anything else I can probably work with, as long as he’s not a troll or something.”

  “I did confirm Tilly’s out of town,” Everett said. “But she sends her best wishes and said she has full faith and confidence in the Frightful Five.”

  “Eh, say what?”

  “That’s the nickname she gave five of our friends who are now her matchmaking squad.”

  “Oh. Isn’t that kind of…counterintuitive? Maybe that’s not the right word. Um…scary?”

  Lara grinned. “Exactly. They help protect newbies from asshats.”

  “Ah. And there’s probably a lot of single female submissives.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay. Now I’m tracking.”

  “If nothing else, at least you’ll have a chance to make a new friend.” Everett sipped his iced tea. “Justin works with the guy at the hospital. He’s gainfully employed in their administration section. I didn’t quite catch what department.”

  “Hey, he’s not a meth dealer. Again, I can work with that.” He yawned.

  “You all right?” Lara asked. “You’ve been hitting the coffee awfully hard.”

  “Yeah, I’m just not sleeping well in the new place. I keep waking up really early for some reason, then I can’t get back to sleep. I spent most of my day off yesterday napping on the couch to catch up. Now I need to go do laundry tonight.”

  “That place doesn’t have a washer and dryer?”

  “No. Another reason why I need to start seriously looking. Which I’d planned to do yesterday, until I collapsed.”

  When Victor returned home that evening, he was too tired to do his laundry.

  Fuck it.

  He had enough clothes for work to last him until Monday, if he went commando to the club Saturday night. He’d drop off everything at the cleaners tomorrow morning on his drive in to work and pay for them to wash them.

  It was an expense he didn’t like paying when he was perfectly capable of doing his own laundry, other than his work suits, but if it meant he could get to bed early and sleep, he’d do it.

  Then again, maybe he had another box of clothes, including older underwear, in the spare bedroom. He couldn’t remember. So he opened the door and flipped on the light.

  He froze, thinking he saw something under the window out of the corner of his eye. But looking closer, he didn’t.

  Hope I don’t have fucking cockroaches.

  He opened the blinds so that what little was left of the evening sunlight could help him see. This room always felt dark in terms of light.

  One more strike against the apartment.

  He wasn’t a superstitious guy, but the last time he’d felt like this, he’d been saddled with trying to sell a house where the owner had died falling off a ladder while trying to change a lightbulb in a vaulted ceiling.

  That was the only way he could explain it.

  He didn’t even believe in ghosts, but he wouldn’t deny that sometimes the energy of a place felt…off. If he hadn’t been so eager to relocate and start working again, he wouldn’t have taken the place. Even during the initial walk-through he’d felt an uneasy vibe there.

  He finally found the box and, sure enough, buried among some old shorts and T-shirts, he located some tighty-whities that had seen better days, but they were clean.

  On second thought, maybe I’ll wear these to work and the nice ones on Saturday night.

  It’d be just his luck, even though he had no expectations of sex, to end up in a situation where a cute guy would see him wearing ratty old underwear.

  Relieved to get out of there, he didn’t even bother closing the blinds as he turned off the light and shut the door firmly behind him.

  * * * *

  Saturday morning, Simon awoke feeling excited.

  Happy.

  Damn.

  It’d been so long since he’d consistently experienced that emotion, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Like a foggy cloud had suddenly dissipated and the sun broke through, bright and cheerful.

  He was excited to see what lay in store for him that evening.

  He’d also ignored another slew of Greg’s texts over the past couple of days. The only time he’d replied was yesterday morning, to tell Greg he had a couple of pieces of mail. Then he’d left them under his front mat when he headed to work.

  When he returned home last night, they were gone.

  He also hadn’t asked Greg where he was staying. Frankly, he didn’t care. Greg was gainfully employed, and if he wanted to fart away his paycheck long-term on a hotel, that was Greg’s business, not his.

  Most likely, he’d sad-talked a fuck buddy into offering him a spare bedroom for a while.

  Which was another thing that irritated Simon. He didn’t even know for sure if Greg had been faithful to him all this time. He couldn’t trust him, couldn’t trust what he’d said. At least he felt reasonably sure that Greg hadn’t unwittingly exposed him to HIV or an STI, because he knew firsthand that Greg was paranoid in the extreme about using condoms for that very reason.

  Still, Simon had gotten a blood test on Thursday, a full panel, just in case. He knew he’d need to repeat that in a couple of months to be sure, but it would be a short-term reassurance.

  He’d researched the club, Venture, online, and even opened a FetLife account for himself. Maybe the problem all along was he should have been looking for an outright kinky partner, a Dom who would stick to their word and have clear-cut rules and not keep moving the ball all the time.

  When he’d first come out in high school, he’d kept a low profile, not really able to fully explore until college. While bondage videos excited him, he’d first thought BDSM meant having to be a low self-esteem pain pig who was willing to do any disgusting thing ordered of them regardless of the desire to do it.

  It wasn’t until later he realized that was wrong, that like anything else in life there was a wide rainbow of kinky expression, from a little occasional bedroom fun to serious, full-time lifestyle.

  A couple of times they’d played with Doms. Ironically, Simon had trusted a guy he barely knew to restrain him and paddle his ass more than he did Greg, who had no desire to do the paddling anyway.

  The one thing Simon had always insisted on during those sessions with Greg was that under no circumstances would Simon be “submitting” to anyone. He wasn’t calling anyone sir, he wasn’t going to be ordered around like a dog, and he damn sure wasn’t anyone’s boy.

  Yeah, they’d had some hot sex. One that stood out was being restrained in a sex sling and his freshly paddled ass being plowed by a hot bear with a huge cock, while his buddy had fucked Simon’s mouth at the same time.

  All while Greg stood over him—jerking off, of course. Jerking Simon off at the same time, but still, Greg had been unable to get it up and get into it until both the other cocks were balls-deep inside Simon.

  Maybe I should feel sorry for the guy.

  That didn’t mean he’d do something stupid, like take him back.

  He spent the day cleaning the apartment and catching up on chores. In the process, he found a couple of things that were Greg’s and set them in a box by the garage door. He’d text him in a little while to find out where to drop them off on his way to dinner.

  Once he’d grabbed a shower, shaved, and put on a nice pair of jeans and a freshly ironed button-up short-sleeved shirt, he stared at his phone. No more texts from Greg today.

  Hell, probably getting fucked up at the Toucan.

 
; No, correction, probably wanking to someone else getting fucked at the Toucan.

  Every once in a while, it was nice to fuck a tight ass. But other than the first couple of months they were sharing a bed, unless Simon was fucking one of the guys Greg arranged for their “fun,” it was Simon’s hole getting plowed. And even then for the last year or so, Greg wasn’t even doing that much for him.

  Greg also wasn’t much into giving blowjobs.

  Add that to the checklist—reciprocity in bed.

  Didn’t mean he wanted to plow his guy’s ass every time, but dammit, he was tired of being treated like a real-life Fleshlight.

  He sat on the edge of his bed and carefully decided how to word his text.

  Found a couple of your things. Want me to drop them by, or give me an address to mail them?

  That was noncommittal, and didn’t invite anything else.

  He was startled when the reply arrived before he could even set his phone down to put his shoes on.

  I’ll come by later tonight to get them.

  Well, there went his idea to keep this simple.

  I won’t be home. I can leave it by the front door, but I won’t take responsibility if it disappears.

  That took Greg longer to process. Where are you going?

  None of your business.

  It took Simon a moment to remove the “fucking” from his original reply.

  Truthfully, he really didn’t want to lay eyes on Greg yet. He suspected Greg assumed he’d wear him down, worm his way back into Simon’s good graces, behave for a while, then start easing into his previous behavior.

  Not happening.

  I can come by after you get home.

  Simon could already see where Greg thought he was going. The man was as opaque as a glass of damn water. Oh, hell, no, he thought.

  You’ll have to pick it up a different night, or give me an address.

  Greg must have ended up either in some friend’s dumpy shithole, or a motel. If he was someplace nice, Greg would have wanted Simon to see it.

  Seriously, I was with this guy for five years?

  He was going to tuck his phone into his shirt pocket when it rang.

  Greg.

  Wanting this battle over with sooner rather than later, he answered. “Yeah.”

  Greg hesitated. “So why the secrecy over where you’re going or when you’ll be home?”

  Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. “No secrecy. But it’s none of your business. You aren’t grasping the whole ‘we aren’t together’ thing, are you?”

  “You don’t have to be rude.”

  “Either text me a fucking address, Greg, or I’ll leave it outside. Honestly, I don’t give a shit which. It’s a couple of shirts and a thumb drive you forgot in your dresser drawer.”

  His tone instantly changed, obliging. “Oh. When are you leaving? I can come get it now and be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Simon’s radar immediately pinged. It meant one, whatever was on that thumb drive, Greg didn’t want him to see it, and two, Greg was either staying close by, or happened to be close by.

  “I’m leaving in twenty minutes. If you aren’t here by then, you’ll have to come get it another time.”

  Simon hung up on him, putting his phone on silent, already rising and racing downstairs toward the box.

  He knew he shouldn’t do this, didn’t want to do this, but he had to.

  He got his laptop powered up and once it booted, he plugged the thumb drive in and searched it.

  Pictures.

  Based on the various dates on the files, some of them were recent pictures.

  As in the past few months.

  He randomly clicked on one of the newer files and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  Greg fucking a guy’s ass at a house party—fortunately wrapped. From the looks of it, during the day, based on daylight outside the windows.

  He clicked through more pictures.

  More guys. Greg blowing another. And another.

  Aaand another.

  Greg being spit-roasted.

  Aaaand fucking yet another guy.

  Simon didn’t recognize the house or any of the men in the pictures.

  And when he looked up the date, it was a Tuesday, around ten in the morning. A whole slew of pictures from that party.

  When Greg should have been at work.

  About four months ago, when he and Greg were together.

  When Greg wasn’t fucking him, much less blowing him.

  Greg had always wanted to photograph their little interludes, but Simon had shut him down every time, until Greg finally stopped asking. Simon never wanted something this intimate and private to be available for anyone to look at.

  But combined with the porn, apparently Greg had needed it to get hard with him.

  Fucker.

  Shaking with rage, Simon copied all the pictures onto his own hard drive so he could go through them later. He’d finished that in ten minutes, then shut his computer down and returned the thumb drive to the box.

  He put his shoes on, grabbed his keys, grabbed the box, and locked the house. Then he set the box on the front stoop, got in his car, cranked it to run the AC, and waited.

  He wasn’t going to fucking talk to the asshole.

  He wasn’t going to punch him either, even though that’s what he really wanted to do.

  Yeah, the question had been answered, though. Finally.

  Motherfucker.

  No, he no longer felt sorry for the fuck. Not at all.

  He can get it up, he just can’t get it up for me. Nice.

  Greg pulled into the driveway and when he realized Simon was sitting there, he got out.

  Simon waited until Greg had walked around the front of Simon’s car to flip him off before backing out without a word and driving off.

  Motherfucking asshole.

  Fuck fucking goddamn motherfucking sonofABITCHWHORE!

  He sped down the street and took a left instead of a right, wanting to head away from the restaurant in case Greg tried to follow him. After ten minutes, he pulled into a Publix parking lot and waited.

  No Greg.

  Although Greg had texted him over a dozen times, but Simon hadn’t heard it because the thread was set to mute.

  He didn’t realize he was crying until he was a few blocks from Sigalo’s. Fortunately, he was still early, so that gave him plenty of time to pull himself together.

  Goddamn motherfucker.

  Not exactly the headspace he wanted to go into this date with. But on the other hand, at least now he knew there’d be no future second-guessing on his part.

  No amount of sympathy-inducing whining from Greg could ever get Simon to come back now.

  Nope.

  The one hard and fast condition Simon had told Greg from the start—no cheating.

  Period.

  If he ever caught Greg cheating, there were no second chances. At all.

  Done.

  Chapter Seven

  Victor felt tired by the time he got home late Saturday afternoon, to the point he considered backing out of dinner.

  Except he knew that guy would be there, and he didn’t want to be rude. He hadn’t slept well the night before, strange and vivid dreams, disturbing ones that he couldn’t seem to remember come morning, yet their impact remained with him all day.

  At least it’s just talking and getting to know each other.

  It wasn’t like he’d be expected to perform marathon sex or anything tonight.

  Talking, he could do. And if the guy was a jerk or something, hey, he’d make sure to mention at the start of the evening he was tired and apologize if he seemed out of it, and that’d give him the perfect excuse to get away early.

  When he arrived at Sigalo’s, Victor found Everett waiting for him outside.

  “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” Victor said as they hugged.

  “No,” Everett said. “We just got here a couple of minutes ago. But Justin, Glen, Wade, an
d their friend Simon are here. They saved us seats. I sent the others on inside.”

  “How’s he look?”

  “Simon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know about your tastes, but I think he’s kind of cute.”

  “Okay.” If Everett loved Wylie, and Victor thought Wylie was cute, hopefully that meant he wasn’t in for a rough night.

  Everett led him inside and they wound their way through tables to the far back corner where close to a dozen people were already seated. Lara, Brad, and Wylie stood to hug him, then Lara made the other introductions.

  “Glen, Wade, Justin, this is Victor. He works with me.”

  The two older, handsome hunks had a gorgeous younger guy with them. Justin, the cutie, introduced Victor to his friend. “This is my friend, Simon.”

  Holy…wow.

  Victor met the guy’s wickedly cute green gaze as he stuck his hand out to shake with Simon. His sandy blond hair wasn’t so long it was shaggy, but it wasn’t buzzed short, either. He stood about four inches shorter than Victor’s own six one, although taller wouldn’t have mattered.

  “Nice to meet you. Victor Dumont.”

  “Simon Hall.” The guy’s smile coaxed Victor’s cock into stretching and yawning and wanting to know if it was playtime.

  They sat next to each other, which in a way was a shame because Victor would have preferred being able to stare into the guy’s eyes all night.

  Guess I’m not going home early after all.

  * * * *

  Greg?

  Greg who?

  Victor Dumont looked like Southern-fried sin on a stick, about four inches taller than him, wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and what Simon assumed was a gorgeous ass, too. He wore a black, button-up long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his lower arms, and his blue jeans looked almost painted onto his thighs and ass.

  Nom!

  And he had gorgeous blue eyes that seemed to reach right inside Simon and twang every nerve he had in a good way. Even better, little hints of grey speckled his naturally dark brown hair.