Danger Zone: Tales of Military Passion

by Marie Harte

  He ran a hand through Con’s hair, massaging. Tugging a bit, just enough to give Con that tinge of pain, and the threat of control he needed—craved—so badly. Con’s forehead was pressed against Quinn’s shoulder like he was afraid to look up and break the spell.

  “I can’t wait to get you splayed and naked on the bed. All for me. But first.” He pulled down his zipper at the same time he jerked Con’s head up. “Suck my cock. You’ve wanted to since last night.”

  Con didn’t argue. “More since I saw your ink,” he noted, then sank gracefully to his knees in the semi-darkness. Quinn didn’t let go of his hair as he did so, forcing Con to glance up at him. He looked a little dazed, more from the anticipation than anything, and he undid Quinn’s pants, freeing his cock and licking the broad head without breaking the gaze.

  “Shit. Yeah,” Quinn breathed as Con took him halfway down his throat and hummed. His grip tightened on Con’s hair, which only made Con suck harder, like the two actions were intimately connected. Con’s warm mouth and the fact that Quinn had been actively thinking about this since he’d laid eyes on Con promised Quinn he wouldn’t last long.

  Con didn’t tear his eyes away as he sucked Quinn back and forth, licking his slit, reaching in Quinn’s pants to tug at his balls. The fucker.

  Quinn groaned, began to fuck Con’s face and was greeted by more humming around his cock and harder suction. His hand went from twisting in Con’s hair to a lighter touch, almost tender. And the look on Con’s face when he did so pushed Quinn quickly over the edge.

  He gave warning by trying to pull Con off, but Con grabbed his hips and held on. And then he came in hot spurts down Con’s throat, his body shaking from the release.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  HE’D MADE QUINN’S legs tremble. Now, Con sat back on his heels, watching Quinn recover, not rushing to help the man zip his pants. No, he admired the strong jaw, the easy way he let himself lose control…the fact that he trusted Con to watch out for him while he recovered.

  When Quinn finally blinked and looked down, it was with an expression of “wait till I get you home.”

  Yeah, time to help Quinn zip up. He did so carefully, then held Quinn’s hand, walking slightly ahead of him, checking to make sure they were in the clear. He didn’t need a fight—he needed an orgasm. Thankfully, Quinn didn’t waste any time getting Con back to the hotel and naked—actually, he ordered Con to “get naked”…and Con didn’t have to be told twice.

  From that point on, though, Quinn was maddeningly slow, like he enjoyed torturing Con. If he hadn’t jerked off in the shower that morning, he’d have come blowing Quinn, but thankfully he held on to a measure of self-control.

  For how much longer though, was anyone’s guess. Quinn had him pinned underneath his heavy body, his denim-clad body brushing Con’s skin. God, he loved the feeling of that rough against him.

  Quinn knew his way around a man’s body, but it was more than that. Quinn knew his way around a man like Con. He knew how to render someone like Con helpless, to read him better than any Special Forces guy Con knew.

  “You would’ve been great in the military.”

  Quinn gave a short, bitter-laced laugh.

  “Sorry—didn’t realize there was history there.”

  “Right. How would you?” Quinn muttered.

  But Angry Quinn didn’t worry Con as much as make him curious. “Dude, it’s just an observation. Obviously, a pretty true one if it hit that close to home.”

  Quinn turned to him, on him, literally. Laying his weight on Con, drawing his arms above his head—holding him there. “Want to play good soldier, bad soldier?”

  Con glanced up at his captive wrists. “It’s your game.”

  “Doesn’t work that way. Unless you’d rather go to bed without an orgasm.”

  Okay, now he was getting frustrated. “Christ, Quinn, I have no idea what the fuck you want from me,” Con growled.

  “How about asking?”

  Con narrowed his eyes, showing Quinn he didn’t like that option one fucking bit. But too bad—they both knew it was the best one available to him. “Fuck. Me.”

  “How?”

  “I didn’t realize this was your first time.”

  “Keep pushing.”

  Oh, he would. “You take the big cock and you put it in the little hole…”

  And that did it. Within seconds, Con was flipped onto his stomach, held down at the small of his back and spanked.

  Quinn spanked him, hard, hot swats across his ass cheeks that made him first squirm with pain and embarrassment and shock…until he realized how turned on he was. He was actually sticking his ass in the air, looking for more. Harder.

  Moaning. Begging, and Quinn was giving him what he wanted.

  Finally, he gasped, “Please, Quinn, take me with your dick—just like this. Hold me down and fuck me hard.”

  “Good, Con,” Quinn whispered. Con heard the cap on the lube pop, felt Quinn’s fingers stroking the seam between his ass cheeks, pushed up toward the first breach of Quinn’s finger. And then there was a second finger that twisted and opened him, and then he heard the tear of a condom wrapper open, and Quinn was holding tight to Con’s ass—and fuck, his skin was hot and burning from the spanking and that made him blush more…until Quinn pushed inside him for the first time.

  “Yeah. Jesus, Quinn…that’s it.” Fuck, it’d been too long for him, and Quinn had reached around and was circling the base of his cock, hard, stopping his immediate orgasm with a squeeze. Con howled at that, but he was enjoying being pumped and held down and just fucked mercilessly. With abandon.

  Quinn seemed to revel in it, urging Con on, asking how it felt to be taken, to not have any choice in this…how he’d make sure Con didn’t come at all tonight if he wasn’t good.

  “I’m good, Quinn…I’ll do anything.” He buried his head against the mattress as Quinn hit his prostate several times in a row at the perfect angle. “Anything. Let you spank me again…”

  “Yeah?”

  There was interest in Quinn’s voice. “Yeah. Please. Yes!” The last yes was half a strangled scream, because Quinn fucked his gland as he let go of the pressure on Con’s cock, letting Con come with a hard orgasm that seemed to last for fucking ever.

  Even after Quinn had pulled out, and cleaned them up…gotten him water…even then, he was still stunned by the strength of his orgasm. “Jesus, you’re good at that.”

  Quinn laughed. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

  “It’s a good surprise.” He looked over his shoulder. “Are you going to fuck me across the country?”

  Quinn ran a cool palm over Con’s warmed, reddened ass. “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes. Definitely yes.”

  “Good.” And then he was spreading lotion on Con’s ass, which cooled the skin. Con groaned in satisfaction, stretched like a big contented cat in the sun. “So, can we talk about the pool thing?”

  “It’s the adrenaline rush, although you’ve seen me saying no to taking bets.”

  “Yeah, I have. But you could just walk away.”

  “Guess I could.” Con tore his gaze from the ceiling over to Quinn. “It’s always like this after I get home from whatever hellhole I’d been sent to.” Quinn should know—he came from a military family, so this couldn’t be his first foray into the slightly unstable and ready to blow off steam soldier.

  Quinn ran a finger along Con’s biceps, like he was tracing something…sizing him up. “So you pretend you’re not military?”

  Con gave a short laugh. “Something like that. Take off the tags and roam the country.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, no. The tags and the sex, sure. Typically, I don’t have the time to travel like this.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Me neither.”

  “You knew about me, before this?” Con asked tentatively.

  “He never shut up about you.”

  Con snorted. “I’ll bet.”
Then wistfully, “I miss him. We were close.”

  “We weren’t. I mean, I wanted to be. We tried, but…”

  Con saved him, because whatever Quinn was trying to say, he didn’t seem ready to. “It’s hard to be with all that space in between. We weren’t home a lot. Didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about you all the time. Plus, you took the time off for him, so that says a lot.”

  “Scott rarely asks for things. So I listen when he does.”

  “I hear you. He might be one of the only people I ever do things for unconditionally.”

  That made Quinn smile. “I’m shocked. And hey…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to tattoo you,” Quinn murmured.

  Con shrugged. “Go for it.”

  “You allowed?”

  “I don’t have many rules put on me by Delta. Might want to avoid the American flag for now.”

  Quinn nodded, already deep in thought. “These contours…they’re made for ink. I’m going to plan something. It’ll be perfect.”

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  TRUE TO HIS word, Con drove Quinn’s truck the next day. They were both tired, but Con was so used to working when tired he didn’t even notice it anymore.

  Besides, he was a good combo of tired and jazzed, thinking about the next stops. The next night with Quinn. Suddenly, the road trip had taken on a whole new dimension, and Quinn appeared to be loosening up.

  For instance, right now he was sprawled out, his seat tipped back, and he was out like a light. But once they pulled into the hotel, he became the man in charge again, Scott’s itinerary in hand. Con didn’t really mind though—the restaurant was, of course, great and he and Quinn had an easy discussion about everything from the best concerts they’d ever attended to Quinn’s worst tattoo clients.

  And when they left, Con stopped several doors down at what he suspected was a club that’d seen some regular back room action. His ass still stung—he’d had to readjust all day while driving, even though Quinn had insisted he sit on a pillow. But that didn’t matter now.

  “We’ve got an early day tomorrow,” Quinn said, motioning toward the hotel.

  “You’re driving?”

  “I’m driving, yes.”

  “Okay, well, you don’t have to come in.”

  “I know—but I’m not dealing with you running from pissed-off men, or maybe the cops, every night.”

  “You weren’t complaining last night,” Con pointed out. And that was the truth.

  “We have a schedule to keep.”

  “There’s no pool table in here. No fights, and therefore, no cops. What could be simpler?”

  *

  “SIMPLE” AND “CON” shouldn’t be words that existed in the same stratosphere. And Con was standing there, grinning, like he knew Quinn was ignoring the question because he couldn’t do it without admitting Con was right.

  “Ah, so you really are going to try to keep me in line.”

  “Something like that.” There was no going to try in the equation, but Con would find that out soon enough.

  “It’s something I guess you’ve had enough practice in.”

  Quinn crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Con grinned. “Sweetheart, even if I didn’t know you were a Dom, I’d know you were a Dom.”

  Sweetheart? “I didn’t realize I wore it like a neon sign.”

  “Might as well,” Con said, giving him the side eye. “You’re fucking bossy. You like giving orders. More than me.” Quinn waited. “But I’m not looking for a Dom.”

  “And I wasn’t volunteering.”

  “Really? So my ass is bright red today why?”

  It was Quinn’s turn to point out, “You weren’t complaining.”

  Con flushed. “No, that’s true.”

  “It’s not something I do anymore, but I can’t exactly turn it off. It’s a part of me, Con. Like the pool’s a part of you.”

  Con nodded, like he finally understood.

  “Okay, so let’s go back to the hotel…”

  “No. I want to go in and let off some steam. It’s vacation, remember? I’ll be fine.” With that, Con disappeared inside without a glance back.

  For a long while, Quinn brooded out on the sidewalk. Part of it was because the club Con was in was a BDSM club. Didn’t mean that Con had to consent to anything, but that wouldn’t be enough to stop Quinn’s worry.

  Granted, Con might be going in there purposely—to get Quinn’s goat…or to force Quinn to follow him.

  Con was strong—physically and mentally—but something was going on with him. Quinn had no way of knowing if it was this trip or what, and he certainly wasn’t going to bother Scott with this. Like his brother didn’t have enough things to worry about. No way was Quinn adding to it.

  So finally, he walked inside to check on Con. Or, if he was honest with himself, to be with Con.

  Quinn hadn’t been able to connect with anyone since Gerry. And not before Gerry either. The man had shown him how to connect. Why it was necessary.

  But Quinn was a goddamned good Dom without needing to fall for anyone. So he picked men he wasn’t attracted to, but ones who he felt he could help. Men he could make feel good. And that made life easier. He liked helping people and that made him feel good.

  Good enough so he could pretend he didn’t feel empty. Con made him realize how hollow he’d become…and how good letting himself feel emotion again could be.

  Because for Quinn and the Dom thing…it didn’t have to be about anything more than sex. Most times, Quinn didn’t want it to be. He hadn’t combined sex and play in a long time—three years. Since Gerry. And now, he wanted to. This whole thing unsettled him to the point of frustration.

  He’d take that out on Con, and they’d both enjoy it.

  He went to the bar first. Usually, he had men—subs—flocking to him. Tonight was no exception, but there was an invisible, electric tripwire between him and Con, pulling them together. Men were touching him, trying to get his attention, but one man already had.

  He was too old to deny that.

  He’d always made decisions by impulse—if it felt good, do it. Didn’t walk away. Until Gerry died, and then he’d gotten careful. Grumpy.

  Angry.

  Con drained the anger from him like a wick, whisking it away, divining it and replacing it with something light and exciting. He’d stripped off his shirt, and his chest and shoulders were covered with a thin sheet of sweat that made him look even more appealing. His lanky body moved to the beat, completely uninhibited. Since there was no pool table, it didn’t look like the men around him wanted to beat the shit out of him. But Con was definitely playing.

  Con was tall and beautiful and dammit, seeing him dancing, skin shining under the strobes…

  Fuck. This was so dangerous. So completely and utterly dangerous, enough to take Quinn over the edge.

  Another Dom was sizing Con up. Moving closer. In seconds, Quinn took that leap, was off the chair and standing in front of Con, who looked not at all surprised to see him.

  Quinn would change that. He met the other Dom’s eyes over Con’s shoulder.

  “He’s a beauty,” the Dom said. “He yours?”

  “Not sure yet,” Quinn admitted, and the Dom slid behind Con.

  “Then we can both play for a little while.”

  Quinn met Con’s eyes. “You okay with that?”

  “Out here only. And only if you’re here.”

  Quinn smiled at Con’s admission, rubbed his knuckles against Con’s cheek while the other Dom’s hands went along down Con’s chest, pinching his nipples. Con groaned, but his eyes never left Quinn’s.

  “You like that rough?” Quinn asked, and Con nodded.

  “Maybe we should tie him down. Punish him.”

  He wasn’t going to play in a club he didn’t know well, and he didn’t know if that was Con’s thing. Personally, Quinn was happy in his own house, with his private playroom. “I pu
nished him last night.”

  “Yeah? Bet he loved it.”

  “He begged me to spank him again, so yeah, I think he did.”

  Chapter Five

  ‡

  JESUS CHRIST. CON flushed hard at Quinn’s words while the other Dom pressed against him from behind. Con felt out of control, and if Quinn wasn’t here…

  But Quinn was here. Holding him. Kissing him. Playing with his cock through his jeans. Con held on to him like he was a lifeline, because somehow he was. And Quinn was letting Con wrap around him, kiss him, and at some point, the other Dom left—although not before whispering, “God, you two are fucking hot together,” and Con had to agree.

  But he couldn’t think anymore, could barely breathe, was one giant ball of feeling and need. He ached. And he’d had sex last week, and regularly before that—hot, semi-anonymous sex, but it hadn’t felt anything like this.

  All he could do was wrap his arms tight around Quinn and hope to hell he didn’t let go, stop, push him away. But Quinn seemed intent on holding him steady, holding him up and kissing the ever-loving shit out of him. They were grinding to the beat, dry humping, fucking with their clothes on in the middle of the crowded dance floor.

  Quinn’s hand carded in his hair, rubbing and twisting. God, Con had to come—it was going to happen and Quinn had to know it, based on the way Con was grinding helplessly. He hadn’t come in his pants since he was ten and having wet dreams.

  Quinn growled, “You made me come. You’re going to clean me up with your mouth. And you’re lucky I don’t make you do it right here.”

  Fuck. Con grabbed for him to steady himself, his body hot, and he knew that if Quinn ordered him to, he’d be on his knees in this club, licking Quinn’s belly, cock and balls in front of everyone.

  Quinn knew it too, and somehow this knowledge was enough.

  Quinn half dragged him out, into the lot. There was plenty of surreptitious fucking going on out here—and Quinn pulled him behind the truck, got into the passenger’s seat and brought Con in to kneel in the tight spot in front of him. He pulled his pants down and had Con lick him until Quinn was satisfied…and hard again.