The Dangerous Seduction

by A N Bond

  Ryan watches him, heart beating fast as he hangs onto Joseph’s every word. It’s the most Joseph’s ever said to him about himself in all the months they’ve been carrying on this relationship. Joseph holds everything so close, never letting anyone see past the well-constructed facade of Joseph Van Aardt, super-lawyer. He thought he’d gotten past it once before, all those months ago when Joseph told him that story about his father, but that turned out to be a lie. Of course Joseph could still be playing him now. Ask him about it. See what lies he comes up with, was McNeil’s parting shot only an hour earlier.

  But that wasn’t the only thing McNeil had said.

  McNeil did love Joseph. Maybe Joseph has never been sure of it, but Ryan believes it. It was written in every vindictive and bitter word that spilled from McNeil’s lips. Just the fact that McNeil even bothered to confront him—to warn him off—made it so much more believable. McNeil is still obsessed with Joseph, and he still doesn’t want anyone else to have him. Joseph is right about that.

  Ryan sits up. “Come here,” he says.

  Joseph gives him an uncertain look before he pushes himself off the desk and crouches beside him. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” Ryan says truthfully. “But I think I should take that photo.”

  “That—what?”

  “That Polaroid. I want to keep it. As insurance,” Ryan clarifies.

  “Oh.” Joseph bows his head. When he looks up again he’s smiling, half-ironic and half-affectionate. “Maybe you are learning from me.” He traces a line down Ryan’s chest, down his breastbone and belly, to his navel. “Smart boy.”

  Ryan feels ridiculously flattered by the comment. Even now, even after all he’s learned today, a compliment from Joseph Van Aardt is still something special.

  I really am in too deep, he thinks. It’s not just about their personal relationship, or how Joseph makes him feel when he touches him, or how he can’t stop thinking about Joseph when they’re not together, or how he craves Joseph’s approval, or even how he lights up inside when Joseph gives him those slow, intimate smiles that no one else ever gets to see. It’s even more than that. It’s his career, his prospects, and his future. It’s being a successful lawyer and having every damn thing he’s always wanted: money and influence and respect and the ability to really make a difference, to make assholes like Jack McNeil pay. It’s all rolled into one thing, and that one thing is Joseph Van Aardt. He’s gotten used to having Joseph in his life; he’s not ready to give him up.

  “I do want to believe you,” he says, because he’s not going to hide anything now. “I want to believe you so bad. If you’re lying to me, Joseph, and if everything you’re telling me is just another lie, then….” He hesitates, swallowing. “I don’t know what then. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do.”

  “I’m not lying now,” Joseph says softly. “And, hey, look at me. Ryan, look at me.”

  Obediently, Ryan raises his head, meeting Joseph’s gaze. Joseph’s eyes are wide, green, and so damn sincere. Ryan wants to believe him so badly that it actually hurts, his chest aching even harder than it did that awful night that he broke up with Daisy, but he’s seen Joseph use that face before, and he’s not so stupid that he believes Joseph has suddenly changed, that he’s never going to lie to him again.

  But, on the other hand, maybe it doesn’t matter. His mind is already made up.

  “I’ve been thinking about the future,” Joseph says. “When this case is over. I’ve been thinking about what we can do. What do you think about helping me to set up my own practice?”

  Ryan blinks. He really wasn’t expecting Joseph to say that. “Come again?”

  “You would be my number two, my second chair,” Joseph says. “What do you think? Would you like that?” His lips curl up into a tentative smile, slowly morphing into that infectious, disarming grin that always makes Ryan feel like he’s staring into the sun. “A new practice, with only seriously big cases that we can pick and choose, Ryan. And we won’t hide anymore. We’ll tell everybody about us, all the clients and employees. As long as you’re okay with that, of course?”

  Ryan blinks again and tries to picture it—a smaller but better office, something boutique, something classy, something really special. And maybe perhaps, after a couple of years, a partnership—a name partnership—their joint names on the door, their profiles in the papers, Van Aardt, Paullson, and Associates. He can see that, he can picture it. Joseph and him. And sure, he’d have to tell his family and his friends about Joseph. And—oh God—just picturing the look on Tim’s face, on everybody’s faces when they find out about him and Joseph Van Aardt.

  But they’d be powerful, a force to be reckoned with. No one would mess with them. No one would mess with him. And like Joseph said, they’d be able to take their pick, all the best clients, the best cases, everybody treating him with the kind of deference and respect Joseph took for granted. After all those years of scraping by and being turned down for shitty little parts in shitty little plays and being told that he wasn’t good enough, or that he wasn’t what they were looking for—all that would be long behind him. He would have everything he’s ever wanted, and Joseph would be there with him, alongside him the whole time. They could do so much together.

  But most of all, everyone, including Jack McNeil, would know that Joseph was his—his partner, his lover, his boyfriend.

  “When? When can we do this?” he says.

  “If we win the McNeil case, then we’ll have the publicity and more money, of course,” Joseph says. “And… there’s other money.” His expression clouds over for a second. “Do you remember the Penrose account payments you found among the Cartwright papers? The offshore account that was funneling off money? Well, it’s mine. All that money is mine.”

  Ryan nods. He runs a hand through Joseph’s hair and pets the side of his face. Joseph is looking at him anxiously, biting his lip. “I know,” he says. “McNeil told me.”

  Joseph lets out a breath and ducks his head to nuzzle at Ryan’s throat. “I wasn’t sure if he had. But I just wanted you to know anyway, ’cause I meant everything I said; I want us to be straight with each other from now on.” He raises his head again, mouth so close to Ryan’s, eyes so wide and true, looking straight into Ryan’s own. “I’ve never had a public relationship. I’ve never been out there or honest about anything. I’m good at keeping secrets and I’m good at lying, Jack taught me that. But I’m tired of it. I want to stop hiding everything and I don’t want to lie to you, Ryan. Not anymore.”

  “I want that too,” Ryan says.

  “Good, good,” Joseph mutters. He bows his head and kisses Ryan’s wrist. “I was with him for such a long time, and I was just a kid. Real relationships—I kinda suck at them. You’ve probably noticed that.” He looks up, eyelashes fluttering, a self-deprecating curl to his lip. “You’re going to have to be patient with me because I’ll fuck up. I know I’ll fuck up.”

  “I don’t know. I think we’ve been muddling along okay so far,” Ryan says, and he rises up, taking Joseph with him. He pulls Joseph into his lap, Joseph’s legs straddling his waist, Joseph’s arms locked around him. “But you should know that I want this. I want all of this. You and me and a practice of our own. I want it.”

  “You and me,” Joseph echoes, and he smiles and kisses him.

  Epilogue

  JOSEPH IS smoking a cigarette when the crunch of tires on gravel alerts him to someone’s arrival. He turns around slowly and watches the big black SUV pull up alongside his car. The door opens and Jack McNeil climbs out.

  “You’re late,” he says as Jack comes to stand beside him. “I’ve been waiting at this shit-spot for thirty fucking minutes. I know you’ve got a hard-on for that Jersey mobster crap, Jack, but this is fucking ridiculous.” He waves a hand, taking in the dirty, murky expanse of river in front of them, the sludge and mud clogging and staining one of his favorite pairs of dress shoes. This spot on the New Jersey side of the Hudson
had been a favorite filming location for all those scenes between Tony Soprano and various soon-to-be-dead informants over the years of The Sopranos. It is classic Jack to pick somewhere like this for their clandestine meetings.

  “Quit griping,” Jack retorts. “Anyway, this is a nice change—me keeping you waiting.”

  “Oh please, cut the crap. What the fuck’s this about? Why’d you call me? I told you not to.” Joseph tosses the butt of his cigarette into the river, and watches it float on the dirty gray water.

  “Just the little matter of the fucking settlement you promised. This shit was supposed to be over by now, Joseph. That was our deal!”

  Joseph shrugs. He raises his eyes from the water and stares out across the river to the Manhattan shoreline opposite. “I never promised anything.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Okay, then, I lied,” he says. He turns his head, angles a sweet but entirely false smile up at Jack. “I’ve decided that I don’t want a settlement anymore. In fact, I’ve decided to take you to court.”

  “But you said last time—”

  “That was before you talked to Ryan. By the way, if you ever go near him again, I’ll—”

  “Hang him? Have him pushed under a subway train?” Jack snarls. “Those are your usual ways of getting rid of unwanteds, right, sweetheart?”

  Joseph narrows his eyes dangerously. “Fuck you! I had nothing to do with those fucking deaths and you damn well know it!”

  Jack rolls his eyes and takes a step closer to him. “Right, right, sure you didn’t. Of course, I forget, you never like to get your hands dirty. But hey, what if I were to show Ryan your phone records for the evening Fiona Kyle bought the farm? Would you still be denying any kind of involvement then?”

  “You stay the fuck away from Ryan! He has nothing to do with this!” he spits, eyes flashing.

  Jack surges forward, fisting his hands in Joseph’s overcoat, and yanking him in so hard the breath slams from his body. “He’s in your bed—that makes it my business,” he growls directly into Joseph’s ear, hot breath ghosting against his cheek.

  Joseph squirms, but Jack has him locked tight, those strong, familiar arms around him, holding him in place as they have so many times over the years. He can hear Jack’s breathing getting harder, tighter, his pulse ratcheting up a notch as he shifts and pulls Joseph in closer, and there—he can feel it—Jack’s erection pressing up against his hip. He gulps hard; his own pulse is quickening in spite of himself, the familiarity and heat and strong, powerful press of the other man’s body pushing his own body into that instinctive reaction. He wrenches his head back and tries to meet Jack’s eyes, but Jack’s head is bowed, watching intently as he wriggles his hand between their two bodies, groping for Joseph’s cock.

  Joseph flinches and lets out a tight breath when he feels Jack’s strong, clever fingers rub and caress over the shape of his erection through his dress pants. Jack leans in, presses his mouth against Joseph’s cheek. He feels the other man’s smile curl against his skin, feels his deep, gravelly voice murmur, “Such a fucking tease, Joseph. Such a fucking tease, baby. But I know you. I know what gets you hot. I know how much you’re fucking loving this. I was the one who taught you, sweetheart; I taught you everything. Don’t ever forget that. I was there first.”

  Joseph lets out a choked breath and feels his heart pound against his ribcage. He wriggles in the embrace, finding and squeezing Jack’s dick, clamping his fingers around it, hard. Jack arches into him, eyes fluttering closed. “Jesus, Joseph. God you… you little fucking—”

  Joseph twists and jerks backward, abruptly wrenching himself out of Jack’s insidious grip. His chest is heaving, his dick throbbing in his pants, and Jack is staring at him with unrestrained hunger in his eyes. He shakes his head and tries to catch his breath. He can’t let his stupid body or his even stupider cock distract him like this. He’s not letting Jack get away with it. Not this time.

  “You fuck with Ryan again, and you won’t have a cock to put anywhere!” He sneers, lip curling upward in contempt. “That might make your wife finally sit up and take notice, Jack. Or perhaps not, seeing as she’s not a teenage boy!” He straightens and adjusts the lapels of his overcoat, smoothing down his crumpled clothes.

  Jack is eyeing him in silent disbelief. He barks out a scathing laugh. “Tell me you don’t seriously want that kid. Sure, he’s easy on the eye and I know you’ve always been a fucking size-queen, but he doesn’t know you. He has no idea who you are or what you’re capable of.”

  Joseph swallows and ignores the words and the insinuation behind them. He stands his ground, keeping his gaze locked on the other man’s face, his expression carefully inscrutable.

  Jack points a finger at him, his eyes narrowing with that ice-cold contempt he knows so well. “You will end it with him. I made you. I taught you everything, Joseph. You were just some pretty, punk kid before me. Do you hear me?”

  “No,” he says.

  His heart is thumping, his pulse beating at the back of his throat. He keeps his eyes on Jack. He’s not backing down. Not now.

  “What?”

  “I said no, Jack. Whatever fucked-up shit there was between us—it’s over. It’s dead. Finished.”

  Jack shakes his head and lets out a long, low chuckle. “Oh baby, if I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard you say that.”

  “Not this time.”

  Jack blinks and curls his lip up—his turn to look contemptuous. “’Cause of Ryan?” he sneers.

  “Even ice-cold, manipulative, size-queens can fall in love, Jack.”

  Jack snorts, derisive and cold, and then he’s striding forward again, grabbing onto him, fingers gripping and grinding into Joseph’s bones. “No, this isn’t gonna happen. This is just another one of your fucking games. Like the fucking lawsuit! You finish this, Joseph! Do you hear me? You talk to those bloodsuckers who used to work for me and get them to agree to a figure—just like we arranged!”

  He shoves Joseph away, hard. Joseph stumbles, shoes slipping on the slimy shale, sending him tumbling, falling onto his hands and knees into the dirt and mud and stones. His knees ring at the impact and his palms sting, grazed by the small, sharp pebbles and stones. He pushes himself to his knees and wipes his hands off on his coat, cursing under his breath when he sees the muddy brown stains seeping into the knees of his pants. He tilts his head back and blinks up at Jack’s shadow looming over him.

  Jack’s expression is dark and angry, though there’s a flicker of something that Joseph recognizes so well—ownership, desire, maybe even love and concern, or at least, Jack’s twisted version of love and concern. He could never really tell with Jack. He thinks suddenly of Ryan, picturing his face that Sunday morning in his office, his reddened eyes and the hopeless yearning look on his face, wanting so badly to believe everything Joseph was telling him.

  Joseph swallows. “No,” he mouths to himself, the refrain beating silently in his head. No, no, no. No more.

  He pushes himself back to his feet, disregarding the muddy stains and dull throb of pain in his scraped knees and palms. He takes the two paces toward Jack, reaches up to fist his hands in his collar, and pulls him into a kiss. Jack doesn’t resist, just gives in, surging into him, taking and grabbing and holding, his mouth hot and insistent on Joseph’s face and throat. It was always like this with them, always this dangerous, ferocious edge of passion, and Joseph can feel himself tumble into it as Jack’s voice groans, “Jesus Christ, Joseph… you… you fucking drive me crazy…. I’m sorry, baby, shouldn’t have pushed you. But you and your games—” He unfastens his mouth and stares into Joseph’s eyes with a burning, dark gaze, just this side of crazy. Joseph crazy as Jack used to call it—only you make me this crazy, baby—before his lips are on Joseph’s again, grinding and demanding, mauling and pawing at him, needing to get at him. “God, baby, I’m so sorry, but you… what you do to me…. No one like you, Joseph, no one like my boy—”

  They finally break apart,
panting for breath. Joseph’s mouth and lips ache, rendered sore and burning from the onslaught, and he can feel the shape of Jack’s fingers imprinted in his skin. He stares at the other man for what feels like a long time, memorizing and cataloging that familiar and once-loved face. Then he takes a breath, leans in, and spits. The spittle slides down Jack’s cheek, a translucent, shiny trail against the reddened skin. Jack’s eyes go wide in shock as he blinks uncomprehendingly back at Joseph. Slowly he raises his fingers to his cheek and runs them through the mess of Joseph’s saliva.

  “That’s the last taste of me you’ll ever get, Jack,” he says. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, but his voice is steady, and he feels oddly, preternaturally calm. “You should’ve thought of that before you thought talking to Ryan was a good idea.”

  He turns and walks away, back to his car. He bows his head and stares down at where his hands are shaking, the adrenaline rush through his veins making him feel dizzy and unreal.

  He pauses by the passenger door and swallows; then he turns his head and shouts back over his shoulder, “See you in court!”

  ###

  About the Author

  A N BOND has been making up stories and writing them down since she was five years old. Back then, the stories were about magical hilltops and talking animals and contained lots of words like shimmering and glimmering. These days, A N Bond is still writing stories, though the settings are not so Disney inspired. When she isn’t writing, A N Bond loves walking and exploring less celebrated corners of London, watching and overanalyzing TV shows and films, playing videogames, and collecting Lego. When she isn’t doing those fun things, A N Bond works as a project manager in retail insurance.

  A N Bond lives in London with her partner of fourteen years, a dog called Len, and a cat called Nigel. She can be contacted on anbond77@gmail.com.