That might be an odd line to draw, but Randy never knowingly took on a session with any man already partnered up, even in a threesome. Whatever worked for people—open relationships, cheating, cuckolding—was their business. It simply didn’t work for Randy.
What Kevin and Luc had shared was the ideal, even if the two of them sometimes had trouble living up to it. He remembered a time as a senior in high school when he came into their house to find Luc red-faced and crying while Kevin slammed cabinet doors like a wounded bear.
Eventually Randy had gotten the story from Kevin. Luc had been out of town at a work convention, drank too much, and ended up in bed with someone. When he confessed, the news devastated Kevin. Randy had never seen him so broken up, and Luc was beside himself with guilt and remorse. It took a few days for Kevin to forgive Luc, and weeks for things to settle down. For a while, Randy really thought they were going to break up.
It occurred to him then that sex, no matter how good, was common and easy, but a real relationship was rare and precious. He never wanted to be the cause of pain like he’d seen on Kevin’s face. So Patrick was off limits.
“Why don’t you take on a submissive?” Patrick asked. “Really get to know someone so you can push his limits, and he can push yours?”
Randy shook his head. “That isn’t me. I get off on this scene part-time, but I don’t think I could live it full-time the way some of these Doms do. I compartmentalize too much, you know?”
“I do know. And you’re not the only one. Many of these guys have intense jobs. Some of them need D/s all the time to help them manage the stress of their public lives. But a lot are like you. They want to do this for an evening, but then go back to something more vanilla where they don’t have to think about the power-exchange constantly.”
“Exactly,” Randy agreed. “If I ever found myself in something longer term, it would be where the two of us are, I guess, friends in our daily lives more than top man and sub, and the power-exchange happens only when we want it or need it.”
Patrick gave him a sly smile. “That’s more like my relationship with Liam than you’d probably expect.”
Time to change the subject to something less esoteric and unlikely than Randy’s love life and back to the reason for his visit. “Speaking of, Liam mentioned a few new faces, but I’m only seeing the same players.”
Patrick glanced up from the drink he was pouring. “There. Against the pillar on the left, talking to Jorge. He’s new tonight; came in as a guest.” With a wink, he added, “Just as a guest. He’s not together with Jorge.”
Randy found his friend Jorge Castillo in the small crowd before he shifted his attention to the man with him. His back was to the bar, but what Randy saw made his dick pay attention. The man was slender and wore a harness over bare skin, and the sleekly muscled body on display made Randy’s hands itch to touch. Tight leather pants accentuated narrow hips and a beautifully high ass. The man had thick hair, but it was hard to see the color in the dim light of the bar. Maybe dark brown?
Randy tensed. It couldn’t be…
Then the man tilted his head back and laughed at something Jorge said. Even the laugh sounded English.
It was Jack Fraser.
Chapter Ten
Jorge spotted Randy gazing in their direction and gave a friendly nod. Jack turned, still laughing, but when his eyes met Randy’s he froze. Even at a distance Randy saw a riot of emotions race across that handsome face. Shock was utmost, but quickly gave way to desire. Heat.
And all that was swept away by rage.
As Jack stalked across the room toward the bar, Randy sipped his drink before shoving it aside. Although Jack stopped a foot away, Randy could see blown pupils, flared nostrils, and a tight mouth. His chest, heaving under his harness, was lightly covered in soft dark hair. He was sex on two legs and Randy couldn’t recall the last time he’d wanted someone so much.
Not that it seemed likely he and Jack would be getting intimate.
“You sent the police to interview me,” Jack hurled at him, barely louder than a hiss.
Randy stood up straight and let the six-inch difference in their heights register. He waited a beat, then shrugged. “I did. My bar was broken into, and I thought it was important to investigate anything out of the ordinary.” Jack started to sputter a response but Randy cut him off. “And you are definitely out of the ordinary.”
Jack snapped his mouth shut on whatever he’d been about to say. Confusion clouded his expression, though his jaw and fists remained tense, and he nearly shook with the warring emotions in his body. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head, clearly trying to decide if Randy was mocking him. “What does that mean?” he finally got out.
Randy met his gaze steadily. “Are you sure you want to have this conversation standing here?” Jack glanced around and suddenly seemed to realize Patrick was in earshot, Jorge had followed him over to Randy, and other men were interested in their confrontation. The fury in Jack’s eyes gave way to dismay and the same fear he’d let show at Mata Hari.
Randy took his elbow and crooked his head. “Follow me.” He gave a calming gesture of his hand to Jorge, then led Jack to a corner. The arm he could feel through his glove was strong and wiry; Jack could have resisted but he went along with being led. Nevertheless, tension rolled off his skin. Randy positioned him with his back to the velvet curtains in a semi-alcove for some privacy, dropped his elbow, and crossed his own arms. “Now, what do you want to say to me?”
Jack’s face reddened and his eyes blazed but he kept his voice down when he spat out, “Listen ’ere, Randy. Who the fuck do you think you are, sending the police onto me?” As he ranted, the posh London accent slipped and something rougher, less refined crept into his words. That accent had no business turning Randy on. “I eksed nice like several times, which you chose to ignore like an arsehole. Fine, that’s your prerogative. You said no an’ I walked away. What fact in that story makes me seem a sodding burglar?”
Randy’s own temper flared. “I turned you down three times and you kept coming back. You are so intent on seeing the Sunrise painting that it’s painful to watch, yet you refused to give me the barest explanation of why you need to see it. You apparently even followed me to this club—”
“Now hold on right there, you tosser,” Jack sputtered at him. “I’d no idea you’d be here. I had no notion I’d know anyone here other than Jorge.” He turned pale. He almost whispered, “I dinna think anyone would see me.” Anger apparently returned to mingle with the fear, and he spat, “I suppose you’ll tell your bird in the police about this as well, right? Give her more reason to come after me?”
“Fuck off, limey,” Randy responded with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know what your problem is but I have no desire to out anyone for getting his kink on.”
“His kink?” Jack was incredulous. “You don’t know me, yet you treat me like I’m nowt.” His eyes widened again. “It’s ’cause I insulted your art collection. That’s why you’re so hard with me, innit?”
Randy couldn’t stop himself. “I built my collection piece by piece as I traveled the world. Every fucking work of art I own means something to me. I couldn’t give a shit what a phony git masquerading as an historian thinks of what I hang in my bar.”
“Phony? You effing…” Jack sputtered himself into near apoplexy. “What are you implying? I am highly credentialed—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know you have the university degree. But c’mon. That accent you affect? I can hear the country burr, especially now that you’re angry. Somewhere in the north of England, is it?”
All the things Randy had been observing came together in his head and he found himself making an indictment he hadn’t consciously assembled.
“You wear your fancy clothes like a costume. I see how uncomfortable you are in them. You’re worried someone will snatch your discovery out from under you, whatever it is, which maybe explains your desperation. My guess is you’ll lose your position at the Kensingt
on if you don’t produce an original piece of scholarship. And now this? Coming to not only a gay bar, but to an exclusive leather bar in a city far from home, obviously terrified someone will tell on you? You live at least one lie, maybe more.”
Jack stared at him with his mouth hanging open. After a long moment, he groaned. “How…?”
Randy wasn’t ready to let up. He dropped the timbre of his voice to a low register that would be a caress. “I’ll tell you what else I see, Jack Fraser. I see through the veneer. I see a man who came here hoping to be set free, if just for one night.” Jack snapped his mouth shut, but his eyes opened even wider. Randy saw the truth of his own words in his slumping shoulders, the quiver of his lip. The urge to surrender before Randy’s anger.
“I could give you that,” Randy murmured. Desire bloomed in Jack’s face as he seemed to imagine himself in Randy’s hands, until Randy took a step closer and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “But I won’t. Because you don’t trust me. And until you trust, you can’t fly free.”
Then he turned to walk away, ridiculously satisfied with himself and ready to leave the mess that was Jack alone in a dark corner.
He made it two steps before he heard the words.
“Randy. Wait. I’ll… I’ll tell you.”
He froze. Shit. He hadn’t acknowledged to himself how much he wanted that until it was offered. As Randy slowly turned back, he realized it wasn’t even the actual secret Jack was keeping. It was the trust he craved. That was his greatest weakness.
Jack stood rigidly, elbows slightly bent and arms across his belly as if he were protecting himself from a blow. His face was a picture of fear and desire. The lean muscles under his harness were tense; he quivered, almost like a race horse about to run. Randy’s mind leapt ahead and he could already imagine that warm, taut skin under his fingers. He knew what it would be like to strip off his glove and put his palm right up to Jack’s rippling stomach. He wanted to stroke the soft beard, and have it brush over his own belly on Jack’s way south.
His eyes on Randy’s burned with his need and Randy thought irrationally that he could lose himself in their gold-flecked depths. But if Jack were going to do this—really give his trust to Randy—then it shouldn’t be in the open where curious men could hear. Randy wanted this gift too much to treat it casually, and even though he was using his voice and presence to draw out the truth, he owed it to Jack to help him keep his secrets from others.
He gestured for him to wait, then found Liam for a quick conversation. Liam looked over Randy’s shoulder to satisfy himself that Jack wasn’t impaired, then nodded. Randy returned and said in the steady, assured manner that had led teams of Secret Service agents into and then out of danger, “Follow me.”
He didn’t even glance behind as he walked to the door leading to the private rooms. A click sounded as Liam unlocked the door remotely, and Randy guided Jack through it and down a short hallway to where he selected a smaller room. He held the door until Jack brushed past him, then flipped a discreet sign to “occupied.”
Jack studied the room, facing away from Randy. It was on the small side, perhaps ten by fifteen feet. A bed took up more than half the space. A deep couch stood against one wall, facing two straight-backed chairs, and a short cabinet lined the third wall. Randy was aware of the various items it contained; maybe not for that night, though. Every instinct told him that touch and taste were the only tools they would want.
On top of the cabinet were decanters of different kinds of liquor. He poured two small measures of bourbon into tumblers, breathed in the aroma from one glass, then offered Jack the other. Jack turned to look up at him as he accepted the drink, still a-quiver, his cheeks flushed. Randy could almost feel the ache in his bones. He was ready to ease the ache and give him exactly what he needed, as long as he got what he wanted first.
He held Jack’s gaze as he tossed down his bourbon, and Jack sipped at his. When he grunted in appreciation, Randy had to smile. “Liam stocks good stuff in these rooms, but he makes us pay for it. No liquor upstairs, though.”
Jack had a quizzical light in his eyes, but Randy waved it away. “I’ll explain some other time. Now, I believe you have something to tell me, and then we’ll see where the evening goes from there.” He set his glass back on the cabinet, strolled to the couch, and seated himself. Jack started to do the same but Randy held out his hand, palm up. “No. Finish your drink, then stand there and wait.” Jack gave the slightest noise, something between a protest and a groan, but he obeyed.
Randy kept him standing there for a full minute. The tension in the room grew as he ran his gaze over Jack’s body appreciatively and rested a palm on his own full crotch. Jack tracked his hand, so Randy stroked it over his covered dick. There was no mistaking the sound of desire he made this time, or the growing bulge in his own tight pants. Perhaps he thought Randy would let him off the hook on his truth-telling, and they would move right to the physical portion of the night. Wrong. First I get what I need.
“On your knees.” Randy broke the silence in an even tone that was nonetheless an order, and Jack jerked his eyes from Randy’s dick to his face. He hesitated, but then placed his glass on the cabinet before carefully lowering himself to the carpet.
“Hands behind your back. Clasp your wrist.”
Jack did so, allowing Randy to admire the stretch of the harness over his hair-dusted chest. His eyes had dropped to the ground, so Randy ordered, “Look at me.” Jack raised his gaze again, and Randy was vindicated at what he found. As he’d expected, Jack was responding to the dominance in Randy’s voice and manner, and it gave him freedom to drift away from his own doubts and fears.
Where earlier his chest had heaved with anxiety, under Randy’s directions his breathing was calm and deep. The jaw that had tensed in anger hung slack. His shoulders had relaxed too, making him seem more natural and elegant in the harness than he did in his tailored suits and jackets. His face was lightly flushed, his eyes shone, but there was a subtle glow about him as he settled and found his center. He was sinking into obeisance and paradoxically coming alive.
Randy stood and let Jack’s eyes wander over him too, then he removed his vest and draped it across one of the chairs. “You know what I’m offering, Jack. The battle I see going on behind your eyes tells me you’re always on edge. Always struggling.” He studied the upturned face. “You’re careful. Rigid.” And in a softer tone, he added, “Afraid.”
Jack hesitated, then gave a short nod. He began to say something, but Randy held up a finger. He slowly approached, subtly flexing and tightening the muscles of his chest and arms to draw attention as he said, “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Holding everything together that way. I’ll take that burden from you. I’ll keep you safe in here, so that you can just be.” Relief and desire melted into gratitude in his eyes. His need was palpable in the small room, but Randy asked anyway. “Do you want that? Do you want to hand over your control to me? No words. Just show me.”
He blinked at him for a moment, then bent carefully from the waist and rested his lips on Randy’s boot. “Good man,” Randy praised, and heard a pleased sound rise from Jack’s taut body. He brushed his face and beard against the side of Randy’s boot as he levered himself back into a kneeling position and turned his face up to meet Randy’s again.
“Eyes closed,” Randy directed. He walked over to Jack and moved behind him. He was quiescent now; no more tremors showed. Perfect. Randy rested a gloved hand on his head, then combed his fingers through the beautiful richly brown hair. He’d longed to do that for days, and the hair was as fine as he’d imagined. Jack made a rumbling, happy noise in his throat, and he didn’t shy away. Randy stroked his other hand over his shoulder, and the sound of leather skimming over skin was a whisper. Jack tipped his head so it rested against Randy’s forearm. He was still.
He was ready.
Randy returned to sit on the couch and crossed one leg over his knee. “Eyes open and on me,” he growled, and Jack slowly
focused. Randy crossed his big arms and flexed to hold concentration as he said, “Now. Tell me.”
Jack blinked, and Randy watched as the struggle surfaced again in his eyes. It had to be his decision. The moment stretched, and he licked his lips as he fought a final skirmish within himself.
When he spoke at last, it was in a rasp. “The painting I want to see… I’ve done a lot of research, and I think I can prove…” He stopped again and swallowed hard.
Randy took slow, deep breaths that Jack mimicked unconsciously until the turmoil in his warm eyes gradually cleared. Finally, finally, he let his secret out in a rush.
“I think it’s an original Brousseau.”
Chapter Eleven
“An original Brousseau.” At Randy’s flat, unbelieving tone, Jack jerked his head back defiantly.
“Yes. If I’m right about you having the correct painting.”
“Brousseau’s work was extensively catalogued and studied,” Randy said with a frown. “How is that remotely possible?”
A gleam appeared in Jack’s eye, revealing the excitement of a scholar on the trail of a mystery. “I made a study of Jean-Pierre’s letters to François Brousseau. François was—”
“I know who François was,” Randy said drily. “Jean-Pierre’s brother, and his close confidant. Many of Jean-Pierre’s most important paintings were ultimately sold from François’s private collection.”
Jack flushed. “Yes, of course. I didn’t intend to insult you again, merely to place my research in context. I became interested in the transition of Brousseau’s style during the period he spent in the town of Fontaine, in the Oise department of France. It was in Oise, of course, that he created many of his most famous works. River to Ermenonville. Madonna of the Castle.”
Randy wouldn’t be surprised if Jack had forgotten where they were, so excited he seemed now that he’d broken through his reluctance. Perhaps like anyone who has discovered something great, and with fear overcome, at the moment Jack couldn’t wait to share.
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