Bonds of Denial (Wicked Play #5)

by Lynda Aicher

  Was it always an act? Always the same for Carter, or was there a part of him that truly enjoyed each date? Rock hadn’t sensed anything but honesty from him, but he had no true base of reference either. It wasn’t like he had a ton of dates to compare the man to. Not even females. Eight years of active duty had provided a valid excuse to avoid all forms of dating.

  His stomach sank as Carter and the other man left the booth and moved toward the back of the bar area. Rock tapped in the codes that had the cameras tracking their movements through the red doors leading to the voyeur rooms, Dungeons and third-floor private rooms.

  He knew the routine. He’d watched it each time they’d come to the club to the point that he could probably skip the stalking approach and simply wait for them to appear in the private room. It was always the same thirty minutes of casual conversation and a drink downstairs. The same private room used with forty-five minutes of foreplay that involved bondage, teasing and a few toys. The same hard fuck then ten minutes of cooldown before separate showers and departure. Two hours from start to end. Carter’s date was not creative.

  The camera caught the back of the men as they walked down the long hallway past the closed doors of the voyeur rooms. Carter’s jeans showed off the trim line of his waist before they molded around his bottom. The man was sexy dressed in a suit, jeans or nothing at all.

  He was taller than his date by a few inches and he bent forward to hear what the guy was saying, his jeans pulling tighter across his backside. Rock clenched the computer mouse as he imagined the feel of the round ass beneath his palms. He could’ve known. Could’ve experienced it. Could’ve…

  He looked away, cursing. The rapid beat of his pulse was uncalled for. As was the tug in his groin that was a precursor to his rising arousal. Spinning away, he laced his fingers together and gripped the back of his neck, forcing himself to scan the other screen. To do his job. He shouldn’t be obsessing over one man. The chair creaked as he tipped it back and took the time to ensure he analyzed every one of the twenty-eight images until his conscience was appeased that nothing was wrong.

  There was no stopping his eyes from going back to screen number twenty-two though. The door to the private room swung open, and in walked Carter and his date. Rock knew the member’s profession, bank balance, police record down to every traffic violation since he’d received his driver’s license. His information also included the nice little family in the suburbs with three kids and a wife.

  But he couldn’t associate the man with a name, or his anger would be too real. And he refused to admit that the hard knot coiled in his chest was jealousy. His palms bit into the sides of his neck as his hands tightened around his tender neck muscles. His leg bounced a beat that was born of impatience and frustration. There was probably a dose of loathing in there too.

  He didn’t bother with the self-recriminations because there was nothing he could say to himself that he hadn’t said many times before. It was like listening to an album on replay for years on end. Tiring, monotonous and eventually unheard.

  Carter removed his shirt as the other man walked over to the cabinet on the far side of the room. His muscles rippled across his shoulders when he shook the material from his arms, folded it then placed it on the dresser next to the door. Rock admired Carter’s body every time he came to the club. He was toned, fit and lean.

  Rock swallowed, legs spreading wider as his erection filled out his cargo pants. He’d imagined touching that smooth skin so many times that he could practically feel the softness under his palms. Carter’s body was free of hair, even his groin area. It was something Rock had never thought of as appealing until he’d seen it on Carter.

  He inhaled long and deep, the rich scent of Carter’s cologne coming to life in his mind. I’m a fucking pervert. Watching and drooling over Carter as he got ready to have sex with another man was just wrong. Carter bent at the waist to slip his jeans down his long legs, and Rock spun away.

  He fisted his hands over his face and panted through the rising tide of his desire. The war between watching and carving his eyes out waged a brief battle that eventually had both sides waving a white flag. He couldn’t win.

  It’d been one thing to watch the man, the sex, when Carter had been a distant longing. A face on the screen. But Rock knew him now. Had touched him, talked to him, wanted him as he’d never let himself want anyone.

  The door swung open, and Rock straightened, jerking his chair close to the table and typing his password into the computer. The guilt ate away at his insides but he was too experienced with the emotion to let it show on his face.

  Wes strolled in, his gate slow and casual. “Hey, Rock.” The tall blond slapped Rock on the shoulder as he passed behind him to take a seat in front of the monitors. “Anything to note?”

  “Nope.” Rock’s short answer was gruff but normal.

  “Anyone or Scene I need to keep an eye on?”

  “Nope.” He slipped his earbuds in and grabbed the top folder off the stack Deklan had left. There were a dozen other things he needed to do that didn’t involve his obsession over a man he could never have.

  Even if he was brave enough to see him again.

  Chapter Five

  “Are you sure?” Carter couldn’t stop the doubt from springing out.

  “Of course.” The low voice growled it’s annoyance through the phone. “The man won’t book anyone but you.”

  He shook his head and tried to process that bit of information. “Did he give you any details?” The last thing he’d expected to hear when the agency called was that Rock wanted to book him for another date. Like their first one hadn’t been disastrous enough?

  “Just the time and place.” There was the sound of computer keys clicking. “You’re free on Tuesday, right?”

  He could say no. Hank had just given him an unintentional out. “You’re sure it’s Rockford? The same guy from a month ago?”

  “What the fuck is your deal?” The annoying sniff came through the connection, and Carter winced. After hearing that disgusting sound for the last three years, each occurrence was like an icepick jabbed in his ear. “I don’t fuck this shit up. So get your ass there and make the man happy.”

  There were a dozen things Carter longed to say, but he bit his cheek and held them all in. Three months. Eighty-nine more days—that was it. “Sure thing.” His voice was even and emotionless. “Anything else?”

  “You got your appointment on Friday.”

  “I know.”

  “Get me more data on this Rockford guy too.”

  Carter didn’t respond to that. There was no way he was passing anything back to the agency about any of his clients. The digging for intel was just one more thing that had changed when Hank took over the business.

  Things had become consistently more seedy and shady under Hank’s management. What had once been a reputable escort agency where the employees had more choice and freedom to say no had disintegrated into a thin cover for open prostitution. Hank was essentially a pimp who enforced his status with hired thugs who acted as protection or persuasion, depending on their orders.

  All the more reason to stay quiet and agreeable until his contract expired.

  “What rate are you charging him?” Carter got half of the charged rate plus any tip the client decided to leave him.

  “For four hours? Three thousand.” Hank sniffed. “I told him another grand would get him the whole night, but he declined.”

  No surprise there.

  He took down the rest of the details and set his phone aside when the call ended. So Rock really wanted to pay for another night with him? Casual this time. He circled the name of the bar Hank had given him then looked it up on his tablet. It was a sports bar in St. Paul near the stadium where the Glaciers played. Very public and popular.

  It was a completely different setup from their first date, which spiked his curiosity even more. Rock was not an out-and-proud gay man, even to himself. Hell, Carter doubted Rock had even cross
ed the boundary of admitting he was a closeted gay man.

  Whatever. He downed the last of his protein drink and scooped up the Sunday papers that were spread across the table. The papers hit the recycling bin and the empty glass went in the dishwasher before he picked up his tablet and plopped down on the cozy comfort of his couch.

  He hissed at the sharp pinch of pain that flashed across his ass. It was a quick reminder that his club regular was getting more aggressive and sadistic than he cared for. The usual bondage, teasing and anal play had progressed to the use of a flogger last night. It hadn’t been super rough but they’d definitely be talking before he played that game again.

  Carter eased back and propped his feet on the coffee table, careful to keep his wiggling to a minimum. The marks on his ass better be gone before his date with Rock. Most men didn’t like marks and bruises that reminded them of what he was, even though they forked out the money for his services. A clean canvas provided the illusion that he was exclusively theirs and allowed their exchange to rise above the dirty stage. At least in the client’s mind.

  He finished scanning the online national papers then jumped over to the regional news before doing a quick read of the headlines on some political sites. He wrapped up his daily ritual by reading through the scores and news on the sports websites. Staying up on current events provided conversation points his clients expected. He wasn’t a meathead hunk with a nice body. They paid for more than that, and he ensured he provided it.

  Work done, he flipped over to his list of photography sites. He’d been digging into the possibilities of making his hobby his living ever since he’d voiced the idea to Cali. It still seemed like a dream, but maybe it was time to give it a chance. Maybe.

  If it wasn’t for the one-year noncompete clause with the escort agency, he’d forget the photography and go out on his own, no question. But he had no doubt Hank would enforce the clause, using the meaty fists of his thugs if he discovered Carter poaching his old clients once he left.

  It wasn’t like he had the real skills to do anything else and still have the financial security he did now. But the thought of another five years—even one year—working under Hank had his balls shriveling up in disgust.

  His gaze traveled to the line of black-and-white photos that hung down the hallway leading to the front door. They were some of his favorites. Would other people agree? The few people who had been in his condo had said they liked them. They were probably just being nice.

  He slapped the cover down on his tablet and stood. Nothing ever got better by stewing on it. Maybe he could help Rock see that. Admitting he was attracted to men would be a huge step forward.

  Not that Carter was anyone’s therapist. That didn’t stop many of his clients from purging their souls to him. Telling johns what they wanted to hear boosted their confidence, and there was nothing wrong with that.

  He gave them everything they wanted because after all, he was nothing more than the illusion they wanted him to be.

  Chapter Six

  The wind barreled down the street, beating on Rock’s chest and skimming over his cheeks and scalp in an icy blast of winter. He tucked his chin into his collar and hunched his shoulders against the cold. His fingers were curled into tight fists in his coat pockets, but that was to keep them still more than warm. It’d be smarter to wait inside the restaurant. It would’ve been even smarter to have not scheduled this “date” in the first place.

  “Rock.”

  Shit. He spun around, his chin jerking up at the rich note of Carter’s voice. He hadn’t been able to get that distinct tone out of his mind. “Hey,” he managed to say.

  Carter extended his hand. “Good to see you again.” His smile was broad and warm. His dark hair fluttered with another gust of wind that had turned his cheeks an appealing shade of red.

  Once again, all forms of casual conversation fled Rock’s brain. At least this time he was with it enough to accept the greeting. He yanked his hand from his pocket and took Carter’s hand in a firm grip. His palm was chilled, his skin smooth.

  Rock stared at their clasped hands, his gut clamping down in a tight knot that threatened to never unravel. He should say something, anything, but his throat was dry. The heat seemed to radiate from Carter’s palm into his. The light brush of the man’s thumb over the back of his hand sent a flash of shivers and flames straight up his arm.

  The deep rumble of Carter’s throat clearing snapped Rock out of his stupor. He jerked back, pulling his hand away to stuff it back in his pocket. The tips of his ears burned and he prayed Carter thought it was from the cold.

  “Should we head inside?” Carter asked when Rock failed to say anything. “Or do you have other plans?”

  Rock glanced over his shoulder at the sports restaurant currently packed with Glaciers’s fans. The brightly lit interior glowed against the darkness outside, the activities of its patrons on clear display for everyone who passed by.

  What had seemed like a good idea when he’d made the arrangements on Sunday now proved beyond him. He turned back. The man was waiting patiently without a hint of annoyance or frustration on his face. His lined leather bomber jacket was worn to a deep shade of brown. A black sweater showed where the zipper wasn’t fully closed, and Rock had the stupid thought of how the color matched Carter’s hair and made the blue of his eyes even brighter. He was model-worthy and completely beyond him. Yet he was here because Rock had paid him to be.

  Reality was slapped back into his mind that quick. He shook his head and scoffed at his stupidity.

  “I have tickets to the game tonight.” He motioned toward the stadium that shown bright with lights three blocks down. “We could head on over.”

  “That sounds great.” Carter tucked his hands in his pockets and started walking. He brushed by, nudging Rock’s shoulder. “Loosen up. We’re just two guys enjoying a game. That’s all anybody sees.”

  “Like dinner,” Rock mumbled. He followed along beside Carter almost mechanically, his feet moving in time with Carter’s as if he was unable to manage it on his own.

  “Exactly,” Carter agreed. “Nothing different than those guys over there.” He nodded to two men decked out head to toe in Glaciers’s gear who were talking animatedly as they headed toward the stadium. “Or those two ahead of us.”

  Rock squinted at the backs of the men walking not more than twenty feet in front of them. Both were dressed much like they were, their heads bowed against the wind. There was nothing to assume about them by their postures or dress except that they were heading to the game.

  Just like he and Carter were.

  Just like he’d done with Deklan many times before. And he’d never worried about what others thought then.

  “Does the guilt show?”

  Carter stopped walking, and Rock came up short.

  He turned back and willed the heat to not reach his cheeks. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah.” Carter took a step forward under the guise of moving to the side to let some other people pass. The smile had dropped away from his face. “Why do you feel that way?”

  Shit. I’m fucking this up again. “It’s not you,” Rock said, his voice firm. He made a quick check of their surroundings, but nobody was paying attention to them. This was not the time or place for this discussion, but he owed the man something. “It’s me. Damn, that’s lame.” His low chuckle was filled with the loathing that rolled within him. “I’m not used to this.”

  “What?” Carter edged closer. “Going to a hockey game? I’m not going to jump you or maul you or even touch you unless it’s what you want.” His voice had edged lower, the tone balancing on annoyance. “My profession doesn’t make me an uncouth imbecile who’s going to out a man who’s not even out to himself.”

  Ouch. Rock hung his head and let the truth of the words swirl around him. The pressure in his chest built until his lungs seemed too compressed to breathe. He was so obvious even this stranger could guess his shame. How many oth
ers knew and were too kind or afraid to say anything? Was he truly fooling no one but himself?

  “Crap, man.” Carter sighed. “I’m sorry. That was harsh and uncalled for.”

  Rock shook his head and found a way to swallow what little saliva he could gather in his mouth. “You’re right.” The words burned in his throat. “I’m sorry about that. I told you it wasn’t you.”

  “I had no right to say that.”

  Carter moved closer and nudged Rock with his arm, but he couldn’t respond. Even that little touch through leather, which was nothing more than a slap on the arm from Tyler or a shove from Deklan, lit up Rock’s insides. It didn’t matter what everyone else saw or thought—he knew the difference. So did the man standing next to him.

  And he owed both of them better than this.

  He lifted his head. “There’s nothing wrong with speaking the truth.” A truth he’d been hiding from since his teens.

  “Rock.” The soft sound of his name from the other man’s mouth turned his stomach over and had everything tightening in his groin. It took all of his strength to keep his gaze steady when Carter continued. “I won’t push or force anything. I promise. I’m sorry about the last time. I didn’t—”

  “No.” Rock cut him off. “Don’t apologize for my issues.”

  Carter had done nothing wrong. In truth, he’d done everything right, which was why Rock had fled. And here the man was, trying again. Even if it was only because of the money, it was an opportunity he needed to take.

  A rowdy group of fans passed them on the sidewalk, a couple of them already overindulging in the beers, based on the fumes that passed with them. The stream of people heading toward the stadium was picking up.

  “We should go.” He motioned with his head toward the area. “If you still want to see the game.”