His Dirty Secret: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

by Aiden Bates

  And as sensation made his nerve endings ignite, carrying him into ecstasy, he decided he wasn’t going to be ashamed of it. “Ryan!” he screamed, as his pleasure exploded all over the gunmetal gray workbench.

  Ryan wasn’t done. He was still thrusting away, chasing something Anthony couldn’t understand. The only sign he recognized that Anthony had come was in the way he gripped Anthony’s hips, holding him harder as Anthony clenched around him, like he was afraid Anthony would float away.

  Eventually, even Ryan had to release. He gave a strangled cry and lost the rhythm. Anthony’s body, hypersensitive during the comedown, could feel every pulse of his release even through the condom. He idly wondered what it might be like to be with Ryan without that barrier between them, to have enough trust and faith between them that they didn’t need the protection.

  That was a thought he could shove away immediately. He could accept that he wanted Ryan more than he should, but he also needed to be realistic and not encourage foolish fantasies in himself. He and Ryan would never get to that point, and he needed to accept it. It would be nice if they could, but he shouldn’t give himself false hope.

  Ryan collapsed on top of him for a moment, panting and dripping with sweat. He pulled gently out, but stayed where he was, forehead resting against the back of Anthony’s head. They basked for a little while, enjoying the afterglow and the heat of one another’s bodies.

  Ryan nuzzled the side of Anthony’s head for a moment. Then he got up and threw away the condom. “You understand this can’t be a thing, right?” His voice was soft, almost regretful. “I’m not about that.”

  Anthony stood up carefully. Ryan steadied him and then grabbed a cotton rag from a drawer. For a second, Anthony was jealous, and wondered just how much sex Ryan was planning to have in the garage.

  Then he remembered — working garage, engine grease, automotive fluids. Right.

  “I get that,” he lied. Then he corrected himself, because he believed in honesty. “At least, I accept that. I don’t necessarily understand it, but I don’t have to in order to accept and respect your decision.”

  Ryan lowered his eyes and looked away. “It’s not so much a decision, it’s just the way it is. I’m sorry.”

  Anthony didn’t address the decision issue. There were always choices, but he knew it didn’t always seem like it at the time. And Anthony didn’t know, or have the right to know, all of the facts.

  “Hey. It’s okay. I’m just saying. If it’s only going to be for today, we might as well make the most of it, right?” He gave Ryan his most winning smile, the one that had gotten Ryan to give in before.

  Ryan bit his lip and looked around. He was hesitant. Was he really that attached to moving things around in the shop?

  Then one half of his mouth quirked upwards. He mopped Anthony’s mess off of the workbench and grabbed Anthony’s pants off of the floor. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll give you the grand tour of the apartment.”

  Anthony didn’t bother to hide his delight. Why would he? He had no idea how things had gone with the Roscoe clan, but he wanted Ryan to know how happy Anthony was to spend time with him. If the rest of the Roscoes were on the fence, screw them.

  The door up to Ryan’s apartment turned out to be hidden behind a wall display rack of supplies. There had to be some other entrance, but considering that Ryan still hadn’t given Anthony back his clothes, he wasn’t about to ask.

  He padded up the gray staircase to a smallish living room, one with a simple TV and an older looking couch and coffee table. It didn’t look much different from the place Anthony shared with his mom, only one bedroom instead of two.

  No normal Roscoe would ever stay in a place like this. Even Jamie usually tried to avoid staying at Anthony’s place longer than he had to. Anthony hid his shock. He’d already heard the other Roscoes’ feelings about Ryan, so it stood to reason that he wouldn’t be welcome to stay at the Roscoe family mansion. Besides, Anthony cared about Ryan, not the Roscoe name.

  He saw Ryan watching him carefully. “Not what you were expecting?” Ryan asked, an edge coming into his voice.

  Anthony stepped up to Ryan, smiling softly. “I didn’t have any expectations, Ryan. You’ve been here, what, a week? Two?

  “That’s not a lot of time to make the place your own. Besides, most of your decorative skills have gone into your body. And I like to see those.” He licked his lips and tugged at the hem of Ryan’s shirt.

  Ryan’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he smirked a little bit. “Oh you do, do you?” He shrugged his way out of his shirt.

  Anthony didn’t need to pretend here. He nodded and let himself stare and admire to his heart’s content. “You’re beautiful.”

  He traced along an image of a dragon winding its way along Ryan’s arm. “And you’ve used your tattoos to emphasize how beautiful you are. I could honestly just sit here and look at you for days.”

  “We don’t have days,” Ryan whispered.

  “And I don’t want to just look.” Anthony flicked at Ryan’s nipple ring with his tongue. “I want to touch, and I want to taste, and I want to feel. And if I only get to do those things for today, then I want to feel it for days.” He grinned up at Ryan.

  Ryan smirked down at him. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure we can arrange that.”

  Anthony trailed his tongue in a straight line right down to Ryan’s open waistband, sinking to his knees as he moved. He looked up, making eye contact, and freed Ryan’s half hard cock from his boxer briefs.

  Pausing, he waited for permission, not looking away from those amazing dark eyes. When Ryan nodded, he took him into his mouth.

  Anthony had to work up to deep throating. It wasn’t something he could just open up and do, especially on someone Ryan’s size. He worked himself there as fast as he could.

  It wasn’t that he thought he could convince Ryan to let him stay with his impressive oral sex skills. He just wanted to make Ryan feel good, like someone wanted to take care of him, and lavish attention on him. Anthony needed that, the same way he’d needed Ryan to fuck him on the workbench earlier.

  Words would fail him. Ryan had probably heard a lot of words in his life, and they’d probably been mostly bullshit. Anthony sucked him down and opened his throat, willing Ryan to understand just how much Anthony cared for him.

  He worked Ryan until the man’s beautiful dark eyes rolled back into his head, and he patiently let Ryan shoot everything he had down his throat. He would take everything Ryan had, over and over, to see that brief look of bliss and peace on his handsome face.

  Ryan stood there, steadying himself with his hands on Anthony’s shoulders for a moment. Then he helped Anthony to his feet. “Gotta get you off too,” he mumbled. He wrapped his hand around Anthony’s hard cock and began to stroke.

  Anthony had been so caught up in sucking Ryan off that he’d almost forgotten about his own needs. He could have taken care of himself, but once Ryan had him in hand, he couldn’t make himself object. It would be like turning down filet mignon because he could just make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at home.

  He arched his back, thrusting into Ryan’s calloused fist. “Ryan, God! You feel so good. You feel so incredibly good.”

  He gave in to the sensation, the thousand little electric jolts of pleasure as Ryan stroked him to release. When relief finally came, it came in a warm flood, not a violent wave like before, and Ryan held him close as Anthony shook his way through the orgasm.

  “Bed,” Ryan said then, voice still thick with the warmth of his own pleasure. They cleaned up in the small, green bathroom and stumbled into the mostly empty bedroom. Ryan peeled back the gray blankets, and they tumbled into the bed in a heap of tangled limbs.

  Anthony let the haze of postorgasmic bliss wrap him up and fell into a light slumber. He liked sleeping in Ryan’s arms. It just felt right.

  Maybe someday Ryan would figure that out too. Even if he didn’t, Anthony would still have this. He burrowed in an
d tucked his head under Ryan’s chin, resting his head on Ryan’s chest.

  There was no better place to be.

  He had no idea how long he slept. All he knew was that the sunlight was still streaming through the windows when a jolt woke him up. He’d been soundly asleep, but Ryan was moving around too much for him to stay that way.

  Ryan, too, had been sleeping soundly. Now, though, his breathing changed. He struggled, panting like he was working hard.

  Still asleep, he brought an arm up to protect his head. “No!” he snapped. “Fuck you!”

  Anthony hopped out of the bed just in time to avoid a flying fist. A foot came next. No one else was in the bed, but Ryan grunted like he’d been punched. A single tear leaked out from his closed eye, and he clutched at his abdomen. “Is that all you’ve got?” he gasped from behind clenched teeth.

  Anthony covered his mouth. He had no idea what Ryan was dreaming about, but it didn’t take a PhD to figure out it was bad. Whatever trauma Ryan was going through right now, Anthony cared about him too much to let him relive it.

  He circled around the bed carefully and reached out, putting one hand on Ryan’s shoulder. He kept most of his weight on his back leg, so he could get away if he needed to. “Ryan? Ryan, babe, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

  A strong hand, with nothing resembling gentleness or affection, grabbed his wrist. Anthony shouldn’t have been thinking about getting away. He could no more break Ryan’s grip than he could tear down a mountain. Ryan’s other hand came up in a closed fist, ready to strike.

  “Ryan!” Anthony screamed, bringing his arm up to protect his face. “Wake up!”

  Ryan’s eyes flew open, and he took a huge breath of air. He let go of Anthony’s arm, sending him flying to the ground, and patted his chest like he was checking for something. Injuries, maybe? Broken ribs? Anthony remembered Mom doing the same thing, back when they’d still lived with Dad.

  He got up and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. His wrist was starting to bruise already, but he ignored it. Ryan hadn’t been trying to hurt him.

  “Hey, sorry to wake you. You were having a nightmare. It’s okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

  For a second, Anthony wondered if Ryan had heard him. Some people seemed to wake up, but they were really asleep. Anthony had heard about that before. Then Ryan reached out and briefly, tenderly, stroked Anthony’s cheek.

  Anthony leaned into the touch.

  Ryan pulled back like Anthony’s skin burned him. He jumped up out of the bed, ran into the living room, and threw — threw — Anthony’s pants at him. When he turned around, his face was cold and hard again.

  The last time he’d looked at Anthony like that had been that first day they’d met, when he’d been talking with his friends before drunken Tommy Roscoe had showed up.

  He’d turned his back on Anthony then. He wasn’t turning his back now. He wasn’t turning his back on anyone now. Fuck.

  “You need to leave.”

  Anthony only had one leg in his pants. “Wait, what? I thought we had all day.” He knew whatever Ryan had dreamed about had spooked him, but they could work through it.

  Ryan’s face was as impassive as a statue. “I said you need to leave. We’re not doing this again. Not tonight, not ever.”

  Anthony straightened. Ryan might as well have stabbed him in the back. “Ryan, what’s gotten into you? Whatever’s going on, we can talk about it. Come on, work with me here.”

  Ryan advanced on him. Every muscle in his body stood out, hard and vicious. It would have been hot if it weren’t so terrifying.

  “I said you need to leave. This is over. This is my house. Now get out of it before I throw you out, do you understand me?

  “Don’t you ever come here again. Not ever, for any reason. I can’t make it any clearer. I don’t ever want to see your face again. Stay the hell away from me.”

  Anthony fled. He raced down the gray stairs, closed the door behind him, and fumbled with shaking hands for the button that would open the garage bay. What if Ryan got mad that he wasn’t leaving fast enough? He didn’t think Ryan would get violent with him, but what did he know?

  Finally, he found the switch and pressed it. Screw Ryan. If he wanted to lock up after him, good, but he’d also chased Anthony out without a shirt or shoes.

  It wasn’t Anthony’s job to take care of his shop and make sure it was secure after that. He’d tried to do right by Ryan, but he didn’t owe him a goddamn thing.

  Stay the hell away from me.

  Anthony hadn’t been imagining the connection between him and Ryan. He’d swear to that until his dying day. The only part he’d imagined was that Ryan had wanted that connection.

  Anthony drove home as fast as the speed limit would allow. Whatever was going on with Ryan, Anthony couldn’t force him to take his help. He’d have to deal with it on his own.

  8

  Ryan stood in the silence of his apartment for a good minute after Anthony ran. No, after he made Anthony run. Anthony would still be here in his bed, looking at him with those adoring eyes, if Ryan hadn’t told him to leave.

  He’d done the right thing, and he knew he’d done the right thing, but hell if it didn’t hurt.

  Ryan fished through his bureau to find a pair of shorts and pulled them on. He needed to do something to burn off all this excess energy. Fortunately, he had an old punching bag somewhere in this mess of crap from the old days.

  It didn’t take long for him to find it. Apparently, Jamie had only managed to hide a few of Ryan’s things, and Marianna had dropped most of them off in the dumpster as soon as Ryan turned himself in.

  He refused to think about it. Ryan was out; he had everything he needed, and nothing extraneous. Minimalism was supposed to be in right now, anyway.

  He had his heavy bag, and it didn’t take much to hang it up. He focused on the work involved with setting it up, on making sure it wasn’t going to fall or pull anything out or anything like that.

  Then he went to town.

  He hadn’t had occasion to let his fists fly since he got out — for a few months before he got out, really. Toward the end, he’d gotten a reputation, become the kind of guy they warned new blood about, and in there it was an accomplishment.

  Every once in a while, someone would try to prove himself by taking a shot at him, but for the most part they kept their heads down and left him alone. He did them the same courtesy, and it worked out just fine.

  Out here, though, it was a different story. He’d almost hurt Anthony today. He hadn’t even known he was doing it. One minute he’d been asleep, the next minute he’d had Anthony in his grip and was already winding up to take his head off.

  Oh, sure, he’d been having a nightmare. Sure, Anthony had woken him up. What about the next time, when Ryan didn’t wake up in time?

  Fuck. He slammed his fists into the bag, again and again. Anthony was everything he’d ever wanted. He wasn’t some overdressed, pretentious cretin like his mom would have wanted him to be with.

  He wasn’t some twerp. He was a sweet guy, maybe a little kinky, and a whole lot adventurous. Anthony didn’t give a crap about the Roscoe money or the Roscoe name. He only cared about Ryan, making Ryan feel good.

  Ryan couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt as safe or as cherished as he did when he was buried in Anthony’s arms. And that was why he couldn’t have him.

  He could find other bed warmers, but he couldn’t bring them home. He couldn’t sleep with them more than once.

  And he couldn’t let them get as close as Anthony, not ever. Not even once.

  Not that anyone could get as close as Anthony. God, something was definitely happening between them. Some kind of spark, some kind of … a link, a bond, Ryan didn’t know. He was a mechanic, not a relationship counselor.

  Whatever it was, Ryan had to nip it in the bud now, before walking away hurt even more.

  Everything he touched turned to shit. Hi
s mother wished him dead. The rest of his family agreed, to at least some extent. The cousin he’d sacrificed himself to save had only turned himself into the official Culvertown drunk. His attempts to build alliances in the joint had gotten him hurt, and worse.

  He wanted Anthony more than he wanted air. He could envision Anthony stretched out on the bed in front of him, with a bright new tattoo on his hip, of Ryan’s garage logo. Anthony would be the perfect partner, helping him to make the shop profitable, chasing every dark cloud from his memory.

  But no. Anthony might not be the pure and innocent flower Liam and Jamie thought he was, he wasn’t going to stick around for the shitshow Ryan had to offer. No one wanted an ex-con. No one wanted a loser like Ryan.

  If he couldn’t even keep Tommy out of trouble, how was he supposed to take care of a lover? If he couldn’t keep his own life in order, how was he supposed to build a life with someone else?

  The sound of a phone buzzing broke him out of his ted tinged haze. He grabbed his phone from the table. It had to be Anthony.

  Ryan was going to have to block his number. Anthony was a sweet guy, but he didn’t know what he was getting into. Ryan had to chase him off for his own good.

  He opened up his texting app to block Anthony, but as he did, he realized he hadn’t ever exchanged numbers with his lover. Anthony might be his soulmate — assuming Ryan still had a soul left after everything — but they’d only ever communicated in person or via FriendBook.

  This message had come via regular text. And no one but Jamie had bothered to call him since he’d come back.

  He squinted at the phone number. It was a Vegas number, one he thought looked familiar, but couldn’t say for sure that he knew. The message was just an image, and he hesitated.

  Dick pics had been a thing, even when he’d been sent up, and the last thing he needed right now was to be looking at some rando’s junk.

  He opened the image anyway. Instead of a photo of someone’s genitalia, he got a meme-style image with words superimposed over it. The image was a vaguely familiar profile set against the Vegas strip.