by Lynda Aicher
He really must be one sick bastard, just like his old man had always said.
“Taylor.” The feminine voice broke into Tyler’s metal recriminations. “I’m Allison English. I’m a lawyer and I’d like to talk to you about what happened.”
He snorted into the pillow. That’s what everyone wanted to do when all he wanted to do was not talk about it. His neck and face flushed hot with embarrassment until it rivaled the heat radiating from his back. The ointment the medics applied helped to numb the pain, but nothing could take away the humiliation that came with each movement he made.
Flashes of the last two hours blazed through his mind and he reflexively clenched his ass cheeks as if he could ward off the events. Fierce, stinging pain raced up his crack and shot into his gut. His insides compressed against the fire. He gulped for air in an attempt to hold back the cry that ended up eking out in a pathetic whimper.
Shit. This was bad. He didn’t even need the telltale sign of the warm liquid easing over his balls to tell him that. Hopefully, the black material of the pants hid the evidence of just how seriously he was hurt. But then, Master Seth, Master Deklan and God knew how many other people had gotten a view of that when they’d barged into the room.
He had to get out of there.
“Taylor,” the voice persisted. “Will you talk to me? I’d like to help.” Gentle fingers stroked through his hair, brushing back the strands that hung over the side of his face before continuing in a repetitive pattern over his scalp. It was soothing, that touch. One he wanted to lean into.
“Tyler,” he barked out in defense, tensing away from the offered comfort. Pain stabbed through his skull at the sudden movement. Shit. Breathe.
“What?” The confusion transferred in her voice. She shifted back, the subtle scent of her floral perfume leaving with her.
He turned his head just enough so his mouth wasn’t buried in the pillows. “Name’s Tyler.”
“I’m sorry. I thought they said Taylor.”
“They did.” He dug up his rough, street-hardened voice. “That’s my professional name. Tyler’s my real name.”
“Oh.” The soft exclamation was accompanied by a shifting of material, and Tyler imagined her crossing her legs. Like the change in position allowed her to follow his change in conversation. “Okay, Tyler. So what happened?”
“Don’t you care about my profession?” He put as much sneer and derision into the question as he could find. Shocking the seemingly prim lawyer into retreating was his only way out. It wasn’t like he could be degraded worse than he already was. Hell, he’d hit rock bottom of the shame pool tonight.
“Is your profession relevant to what happened tonight?”
The proper diction came across so distant and formal. It rubbed against Tyler’s soiled upbringing, making him madder. He’d bet money that the good little suit had never felt the hollowness of an empty stomach or the desperation that came with it. He fisted that anger around him and held on to the one thing that would keep him from breaking apart completely.
“I’m a male escort,” he ground out. “The fucker paid me, so I let him do this.” Bitch. But he didn’t say that last world out loud. She didn’t deserve that level of disrespect. No one did.
This time there was no movement. Not a rustle of clothing or inhale of breath to give away her reaction. The silence ticked away, broken by the low thump of his toes beating a random rhythm against the soft leather of the couch. It was his focus point to distract from the pain. A trick he’d learned as a child.
The waiting game played on for several minutes before he gave in to curiosity and stole a glance at her from under his bangs. Deep brown eyes stared back at him. Ones that seem to peer into his soul in the heartbeat it took before he could close his eyes once again.
“I’m not running if that’s what you hoped to accomplish.” She gave a light laugh. “It’ll take more than that to scare me away.”
He lifted to snarl an angry retort. The sudden movement jarred his back and morphed his low growl into a hiss as the needles speared down his spine straight into his ass. Son of... He gulped back the sting and gritted his teeth, taking low, measured breaths until the pain and throbbing subsided.
Her hand was back, stroking his hair in gentle motions. Damn, not the tears. He couldn’t give into them. He couldn’t break. He took another breath. “I don’t need your help. Don’t want your help.”
“Maybe not.” The strokes continued over his scalp, the repetition comforting. “But I want to give it. You’ve been hurt and it doesn’t matter if the man paid you. No one asks for something like this.” He squeezed his eyes tight to hold back the burn behind his lids. “I’d like to take you to the hospital.”
The gentle timbre of her voice, the obvious concern behind each touch, each word she said had him so close to giving in. How long had it been since he’d felt this cared for? Too long to even remember.
“I can’t afford it,” he mumbled into the pillow. He’d been around enough to know he’d need more than Neosporin and ibuprofen to feel better. And since he’d apparently thrown away his pride with his dignity, he could at least hang onto his brains and accept the bit of help he knew he needed. She’d gotten rid of the audience, an act that already had him owing her.
“I’ll make sure The Den takes care of the medical expenses.” Again there was silence as she waited for him to respond. This woman seemed to be made of patience, or maybe she was just used to dealing with stupid assholes.
“I’m too ashamed,” he admitted before his brain sent the cease and desist order to his mouth. He clenched his fist, the tension extending to ripple across his shoulder blades and set off another flash of sizzling pain. Fuck. The toe-tapping increased, his focus returning to the accelerated beat until he could breathe evenly once again.
“How old are you, Tyler?”
Did he really want to admit that? He’d purposely played up his boyish appearance once he’d discovered the number of dirty older men who were willing to pay for that illusion. Somehow it made the well of shame feel even deeper when he’d thought he’d already hit the bottom. “Twenty-eight.”
Almost thirty, and he couldn’t even face the woman who was offering to help him. Now he felt as old as the youth he portrayed. Was the night ever going to end? Finding the bitter edge of his humility, he turned his head and lowered his arm until he could see her.
She sat back with his movement. Her hand dropped from his hair, the offered serenity going with it. He took her in, casting a long trail from the top of her curly brown hair over her expensive-looking business suit, past her crossed legs to the black, pointy-toed heels. She didn’t fidget, not even a little. She simply held her hands in her lap and watched him.
“Did I pass?” The lightness in her tone showed amusement, not anger. His gaze shot to hers just to be sure. She smiled, her broad mouth filling her face with kindness. “The inspection. Did I pass?” She tilted her head, curls tumbling over her shoulders to spring on her chest.
Tyler stared into her big brown eyes, unable to answer. Her eyes fit her mouth, large but not overwhelming. They balanced her face and seemed to match the rich brown of her hair color almost perfectly. Or was it the other way around?
He bit his cheek and willed himself to respond. He wasn’t a kid, no matter how it appeared. “Yeah. Did I?”
Her smile widened and her eyes crinkled just a touch at the corners. “Yes. You did.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, a cloak of seriousness descending with her dimming smile. “Will you let me help you? We can take it in stages. But I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe and cared for.”
He swallowed but didn’t look away. “Why?”
She furrowed her brow. “Because you need help.” Her tone stated the answer like it was obvious.
“That’s never mattered before.” Christ. The statement sounded even more pitiful when said out loud. Apparently the dick that’d been jammed up his ass earlier had banged against his brain and kn
ocked the sense out of him too.
The concentrated study that marred her features morphed to understanding. At least it wasn’t pity. “It matters to me.” She smiled, the kindness reaching out to wrap around him. “You matter to me.”
Well, shit. “You don’t even know me,” he growled, pushing back. Of all the things she could have said, he’d never expected that.
“I don’t need to know you to help you.”
“I can’t pay you.”
She shook her head. “This isn’t about money.”
“Then what’s it about?” The doubt made his voice sharp and bitter, matching the taste in his mouth. In his experience, people didn’t help someone unless there was something in it for them.
She stared at him. Her lips compressed before she leaned forward so her face was even with his. She peered into him, searching out things no one else had ever bothered to hunt for. It made him feel more exposed and vulnerable than the pain did. “It’s about me helping you. That’s all. No tricks. No judgments. No expectations.” Her voice was as gentle and honest as the truth conveyed in her eyes.
What was it about her that had him wanting to believe and accept all she was offering? Because what she was presenting seemed like much more than a trip to the hospital.
“Okay.” He cleared his throat, his face flushing at both the word and how pathetic it sounded. It’d been so long since he’d accepted anyone’s help that it felt as rusty as the tenderness had earlier. But then, he’d do just about anything to get the fucking night to end.
* * *
“Good.” Allie let her breath out, careful to keep her relief from showing. “You can trust me.”
He glanced down, and she sat back, taking a second to mentally outline her next steps. His every action proved he didn’t hold faith in her pledge, which only made her conviction to help him even stronger. She wouldn’t be another in the apparently long line of people who had let him down.
“I’m only going to the hospital,” he asserted, looking back to her. “That’s all.”
She nodded. “Okay. That’s the priority.” She’d tackle the rest later. Taking a quick breath, she stood and stepped away from the chair. “I’ll get Seth to help you to my car.”
“No.” His firm tone halted her movement. “I can do it myself.” He pushed up, raising his chest off the cushions. His breath inhaled as a hiss passed through his clenched teeth.
“Stop.” Allie dropped to her knees and squeezed his forearm until he looked at her. “You’re hurting yourself.”
He features were sharp and strong in an almost graceful way. Pulled tight in pain, his cheekbones and jaw defined his resolve. His eyes flashed blue sparks of determination as his pride snapped out to bite at her.
“I can do it,” he grit out between deep breaths before his lips thinned and he pushed up farther. He shifted his knees under him before he gasped and locked his elbows to keep his arms stiff. His muscles trembled under the strain, defining the effort it took for him to hold the position.
“Just wait.” Ignoring Tyler’s protest, she stood and called out to Seth. The stubborn man was going to hurt himself worse.
The door flew open, and Seth stormed in on a wave of anger and worry. “What?” The deep demand burst through the open space. Tyler flinched then groaned.
“I said wait.” She put a hand on Tyler’s shoulder to halt his movement and shot a glare at Seth. Dressed in all black, his mood was as dark as his clothing. “He needs your help getting up.”
The next instant, Seth was there to grip Tyler under his arms. He lifted the man up, providing support as Tyler dropped his feet to the floor. He let out a muted whimper and sank into Seth’s chest. He dug his forehead into the solid shoulder, his shallow breaths as telling as his white-knuckled grip on Seth’s waist.
“Christ.” Seth’s low curse had Allie’s gaze jerking up to stare into his face. There was remorse, pain and genuine concern etched into the strong features. But it was the tilt of his head toward Tyler’s, the closed eyes and the tender way he whispered soothing words to the other man that sucked the breath from her lungs.
Her stomach tightened and her mouth went dry. The unexpected intimacy between the two men shocked her immobile. Were they a couple? Lovers? Master and sub? How did this world work? She was completely out of her element and had no idea how to proceed.
The fact that her two closest friends had both found happiness being spanked by Doms didn’t mean she understood it. Did Doms have both male and female subs, or was Seth gay? Had she missed that fact when she was flirting with him at the Mardi Gras party? She assumed Tyler was gay, given what he’d said about how he was injured.
But the sight of them together wasn’t repelling. No. If anything, it was alluring. They were both handsome, strong men, and seeing them in such an affectionate embrace made her burn with an unknown longing. Out of nowhere the image of the two men kissing flooded her mind. It would be hard and tender, a show of strength tempered by passion. Tyler only had to turn his head for it to happen.
What am I thinking?
Abruptly she cleared her throat and spoke to Seth. “How can we get him to my car?”
He opened his eyes, his hard stare daring her to contradict him. “We’ll take mine. It’s closer.”
For some obstinate reason, she wanted to argue but didn’t. “Fine. Where is it?”
“In the parking garage. The elevator goes straight there.”
Tyler grunted and pushed away from Seth to straighten. Tyler clenched the other man’s hips and swayed slightly before steadying. His harsh breaths cut through the room, slowly easing as he got the pain under control. Sweat glistened on his back from the effort and highlighted the damage with a shiny gloss that had to sting the fresh wounds.
With his head tipped forward, his dark hair hung limp across his forehead and Allie took a half step forward to brush it away before she realized what she doing. She quickly fisted her hand at her side, her gaze skirting to Seth.
He watched her, his brown eyes missing nothing. A knowing smile curved over his lips before he turned his attention back to Tyler.
Danged frustrating man. She couldn’t let him get to her. She grabbed her briefcase and focused on the tasks. “Can you walk, Tyler?”
Seth’s quick glance in her direction was his only giveaway that he’d caught the name difference. It was petty but made her smile.
“Yes,” Tyler answered, the confirmation breathy but firm.
Seth eased Tyler’s arm over his shoulder, keeping his touch away from Tyler’s injured back. Together, the two shuffled forward, Tyler wincing with each step.
Allie hurried to get the door. Despite Tyler being a few inches shorter than Seth, they were both at least six feet tall. They made her feel small, which didn’t happen often. Not because she was extremely tall, but because she made it a habit to avoid situations where she’d feel that way.
Their similarities ended at their height though. Seth was all broad muscle, hard features and firm command, where Tyler was lean strength with full lips, boyish good looks and brash defiance.
Given their apparent closeness, Allie concluded that Seth was either manipulating Tyler to keep him from suing the club or had honest intentions toward the man. Why else would Seth be so intimate? Concern she could understand, even expect. But what she saw—sensed—went beyond that. It was as if Seth had already claimed the injured man as his own and was putting out possessive, protective vibes in waves that dared her to interfere.
Kendra had defended Seth, but the fact that Seth would let this happen to someone he was now treating like his sub made Allie’s blood boil. Maybe it was the way of this strange erotic world, but in her mind, it was wrong.
She checked her anger, banking it for later and using it as a shield against the unwarranted hint of disappointment that picked at her. Her silly fantasies about Master Seth had been exactly that.
She held the door open as the two men moved through. Her gaze tracked over Tyler’s
ruined back down to the small trail of blood that eased over his ankle from under his pant leg. That—pain, degradation, abuse—was very, very far from being even remotely attractive to her. Cali and Kendra swore that the BDSM world wasn’t about that. But after seeing Tyler and knowing Kendra’s history, Allie had a hard time understanding why anyone would be interested in being whipped, spanked, flogged or whatever to achieve an orgasm.
Hell, that was what vibrators were for. And they didn’t require a partner, begging or anything besides batteries. That she could understand. The fact that anyone could find pleasure inflicting pain and humiliation on others under the guise of being a Dom was beyond her scope of comprehension.
She shut the door then moved to Tyler’s free side, squeezing his hand in silent support. He tightened his grip around her hand until it was almost painful. He gave her a weak smile, just a hint of one curling over his lips. It was a small form of thank you that she sensed he wasn’t used to giving.
Her chest tightened, and for some strange reason her eyes suddenly stung. She blinked and willed the tears back, unsure of where they’d come from and unwilling to let the two men see the weakness. The dinging of the arriving elevator broke the moment and gave her the distraction she needed to regain her composure.
She held the doors open then followed them inside. She didn’t trust Seth. Not his actions or his intentions. The frustration that she could’ve been so wrong about him burned in her stomach. But it only made her more determined to help Tyler. She’d make sure he was safe, even if that meant going against the arrogant Dom at his side.
Chapter Four
What in the hell is taking so long? Seth leaned back, the hard plastic chair creaking a warning at his sudden movement. The distinctive smell of antibacterial cleaners, medical supplies and sickness that seemed to cling to all hospitals made his stomach churn with bitter memories.
He tightened his grip on the armrests, flashes of the past merging with the present to showcase his failures. Grief, pity, pills and whispered admonishments mixed with sad looks or worse. They were all things he swore he’d never subject himself to again, never be the cause of. But here he was.
