by K. C. Wells
But what really frightened him?
The idea that, deep down, he knew everything he’d learned about Curtis was true. Because maybe that would explain why, for a fraction of a second after Leo’s announcement, JJ had felt a brief flare of joy that Curtis was dead. Fuck, that had rocked him to his core.
That’s not me. I’m not like that… am I?
JJ bowed his head and steadied himself against the worktop. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to be calm. When he’d regained his composure, he squeezed out the tea bag, dropped it into the waste bin, and added milk from the fridge. He took the mug over to his bed and sat down, staring at the photo of his father that was nothing like the ones used when he’d been sentenced.
“I wish I could talk to you, Dad. I keep thinking you’d be the only one who would tell me what was real.” Then he snorted. “Who am I kidding? You’d probably lie to me, just like she did.”
He picked up the clipping and with one hand scrunched it into a tight wad of paper and flung it toward the waste bin. JJ had never felt so lost. With that one announcement, Leo Hart had smashed JJ’s original plan to smithereens, to the point where he debated whether it was worth staying in the job. He’d lost everything, even his grief. How could he grieve for a man he never knew? Especially when everything he was learning about Curtis seemed to show he was the monster people had said he was.
“All I want is someone who won’t lie to me,” he whispered, staring blankly into the distance.
He knew he wasn’t about to quit his job, however, because of what he’d seen there. The level of trust between Doms and subs. The absolute intimacy between them. God, he wanted that. He longed for it. To have someone who believed in him. Someone he could trust in. Someone who’d keep him grounded in the here and now, rather than letting him dwell on the past fiction that was his life.
He’d watched them at the club. Ben had Scott. Leo had Alex. Thomas had Peter. And there were others too.
“I want that too.” He whispered his heartfelt desire, let it out into the open in the hope that someone heard it.
Chapter Three
THOMAS OPENED the door to their guest room. Peter was lying on the bed, facing away from the door, and as Thomas entered there was no movement from him, no sign he was aware of Thomas’s presence.
He knows, all right. Thomas had hoped the half hour time-out would have put Peter in a better frame of mind. The whole trip home had been spent in silence. Thomas had waited for him to say more, to give vent to whatever was on his mind, but Peter had stared out of the windscreen, his lips pressed together. When they arrived at the house, Thomas had been disappointed to find Peter still sullen, snapping at Thomas when he inquired how Peter was. Thomas had put up with it for all of fifteen minutes before he’d decided enough was enough and suggested the time-out. He could still see Peter’s expression of amazement that Thomas would even suggest such a thing.
“You’re going to treat me like I’m a six-year-old?”
Thomas arched his eyebrows. “Seeing as you’re behaving like one, it seems appropriate.”
“Peter? Can we talk?”
Peter rolled over to face him. “Well, that depends.” He huffed. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”
Thomas stared at him in dismay. “Why don’t you at least try to tell me what’s on your mind?”
“Because,” Peter enunciated slowly, “I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”
“Sit up,” Thomas instructed.
There was a moment’s delay before Peter complied, his eyes dull. He sat at the edge of the bed, hands in his lap.
Thomas walked over to where the straight-backed chair stood against the wall and pulled it into the middle of the floor. He stood behind it and met Peter’s gaze. “Stand up and come here.”
His forehead faintly creased, Peter slowly rose and came to stand in front of Thomas.
Thomas breathed deeply. “Regardless of how today’s news made you feel, how you behaved this morning was not acceptable, although I could understand it.” He gripped the back of the chair. “However, how you are behaving now will not be tolerated.”
Peter’s eyes widened and his lips parted, but no sound came forth.
“As your Master, it would be remiss of me to let that go.” Thomas focused on those green eyes. “So I’m not going to.” He sat on the chair and gazed up at Peter. “Over my knee, boy.”
Stunned silence, then Peter broke out into a laugh.
Thomas waited. “Have you finished?” he asked quietly when the laughter had died away. “Over my knee.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “So you’re my dad now? You’re going to spank me?”
Thomas sighed. “No, I’m your Master. And yes, I’m going to spank you.”
When Peter winced, Thomas knew he’d hit the mark. Peter moved slowly, coming to stand between Thomas’s spread legs. Before he could place himself over Thomas’s left thigh, Thomas stopped him with a hand held high.
“Your jeans, down to your ankles. Underwear too.”
Peter swallowed but did as he was told, his fingers fumbling with the button on his waistband, hands shaking as he pulled his pants down to reveal his pale arse with its scars. In silence he lowered himself over Thomas’s thigh, his head and shoulders angled toward the floor, bottom tilted up. Thomas placed his right leg over Peter’s legs to restrain him. He rubbed over the firm globes and then started, slowly at first, pausing in between blows now and again to squeeze the rosy flesh.
Peter kept up the silence for about a minute, his body stiffening as Thomas sped up, not settling into a rhythm, trying to keep him from guessing where his hand would land next.
Come on, boy. Let it out.
“Okay, you can stop now,” Peter ground out through gritted teeth.
Thomas ignored him and continued, the blows raining down hard on Peter’s arse, the delicate rose becoming red.
“I said you can stop now.” Louder this time.
“I’m the Master,” Thomas informed him. “So I say when it’s time to stop, not you.”
Peter squirmed on his knee, legs tensing with each new blow.
“Stop,” he yelled.
“I know it’s said the memory is the first casualty in growing old, but mine is still as sharp as ever,” Thomas told him, “and that isn’t your safeword, so I’m not stopping.” Everything in him told Thomas they were almost there.
“This isn’t fair!” Peter wailed.
“What isn’t?” Harder now, Peter’s cheeks bright red.
“Curtis killing himself!”
Thomas stilled his hand. “So what? He killed himself. The world’s a better place without him.” A couple more swats.
Peter pushed at Thomas’s thigh and struggled to sit up. Thomas allowed it. Peter’s eyes were wild.
“He was a fucking coward! One year in prison and he couldn’t take it? What about justice? What’s the use in sending him to prison for what he did if he goes and escapes justice? How come he gets to set himself free when I had to endure that bastard for four fucking years!” Tears streamed down his face. “And where’s the justice for Ethan? Curtis fucking murdered him. He was only twenty-two. He’s never going to get any older. Do you get that?” His body jerked with the force of his sobs. “Everyone is going to be, ‘Oh, poor Curtis, killing himself,’ but what about me and Jeff? We’re the ones who have to deal with it all over again, and he gets off scot-free. We have to pick up the pieces again. Where’s the justice in that? Curtis is gone, he’s out of it, but we’re not.”
Thomas pulled Peter up into his arms and held him close, feeling the sobs that racked Peter’s body. “That’s it, lad. Let it out.” He held on to his own emotions and supported his lover.
“So fucking unfair,” Peter sobbed, his body trembling.
“But you’re free now,” Thomas whispered.
“No, I’m not.”
The words were also a whisper, but he caught them anyway, and his heart stuttered to hear them.
Carefully he eased Peter’s jeans and underwear over his arse, catching Peter’s wince as the fabric brushed against the heated flesh. Then Peter was back in his arms, clinging to him, hiccupping, small sobs jerking out of him at intervals. When his tears died away and he was calm once more, Thomas lifted his lover and carried him to their room.
He needed to hold Peter for a while, to let him feel how much he was loved.
“HONEY, I’M home.”
Alex laughed and came out of the kitchen to greet his husband. “We’ve talked about this, right? You do not walk into this apartment and talk to me like I’m the little wife.”
Leo kissed him soundly on the cheek. “Aw, but you’d look great in an apron, holding a glass of beer out for your weary, hard-working hubby.” He smirked. “And besides, no one in their right mind would call you little.”
Alex quirked his eyebrows. “One, you don’t drink beer, which is why there’s a glass of chilled chardonnay on the living room table, waiting for you. Two, excuse me—weary? Hard-working? You’ve been standing around in leather chaps and a harness, watching while guys do all manner of things to each other, which probably included a lot of fucking, because, hey, it’s Saturday night, right?”
Leo sighed happily. “What can I say? I love my job.”
Alex didn’t miss the lines around Leo’s eyes, however. “You all right to have some wine? I wasn’t sure, what with the migraine this morning.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “And it is late. There’s some lamb casserole ready to be nuked in the microwave if you’re hungry.”
Leo pulled Alex into his arms. “Have I told you recently how much I love you?”
Alex closed his eyes and lost himself in the tender kiss. Three years on, and Leo’s kisses still made him weak at the knees.
Leo broke the kiss. “But now I definitely need that drink.” He headed for the living room.
For one brief moment Alex wondered if he’d done the right thing. There was always the possibility that Leo wouldn’t notice, but then again, who was he kidding? Leo noticed everything.
“Damian phoned me this afternoon,” Leo called out to him.
“Is everything okay?” Alex went to pour himself a glass of wine.
“He said he’s taking Jeff away for a while to heal.” There was a pause. “I think he’s really going to lock the two of them away in his house. Jeff may not be a sub, but Damian is still a Dom, and he’ll do whatever he can to fix this for them both.”
Alex walked into the living room and deposited his glass on the coffee table. He stepped behind the sofa, and leaning over, he began rubbing Leo’s shoulders, noting the tension.
Leo groaned. “God, that feels good. I’ll give you a hundred pounds if you don’t stop.”
Alex grinned. “Wow. Is that all you think my massages are worth? I think I’ve just been insulted.”
Leo chuckled. Alex kneaded the stiff muscles on Leo’s shoulders.
“I still can’t get over this morning.”
“You’re thinking about Peter.”
Alex nodded. “I’ve never seen him like that, not even when he first arrived at Thomas’s house. I thought he’d dealt with all of this.”
Leo sighed. “Well, obviously the news has opened up a wound. Like I said this morning, all you can do is be there for him.”
He froze, and Alex knew he’d seen the photo. Here we go.
“Where did you get that?” Leo demanded.
Alex gave up on his massage and walked around the couch to sit next to Leo. “Your desk drawer. Why did you hide it away?” He regarded Leo calmly, although his heart was hammering.
Leo leaped up from the couch and stalked to the picture. He reached for it, until Alex shouted, “Don’t you dare. Leave it where it is.”
Leo pulled his hand away and turned back to Alex, his brow furrowed. “Care to explain why it’s here and not in my desk drawer?”
“Why do you think you need to hide him, Leo?”
Leo arched his eyebrows. “How many people have pictures of their dead lovers hanging in the house?”
“How many have never talked to their husbands about the man they loved?” Alex countered.
Leo seemed genuinely puzzled. Alex sighed.
“I’m not jealous of him, Leo. Maybe I might have been if I’d seen this when we first met, but now?” He smiled. “He was important to you. And that is important to me. Is it so strange that I’d like to know something about him?”
Leo stared at him before bowing his head briefly, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Finally he raised his head and a slow smile crept across his face. “The funny thing is, you remind me of him. Not that this was why I asked you out, you understand. That was the last thing on my mind. Believe me. Back then I—”
Alex chuckled. “Quit digging that hole. Let me snuggle up with you on the couch, and then you can tell me about him.”
Leo sat on the couch and held his arm wide in invitation. Alex didn’t hesitate. He cuddled up to his husband, his head against Leo’s shoulder and Leo’s arm around him. Leo pressed a kiss to Alex’s head.
“I’m not sure where to begin.” He took a sip of wine and leaned his head against the seat cushion.
“Well, start with the first time you noticed him.”
Leo chuckled. “That’s easy—when he came to check out the club. It wasn’t like I could miss him. Everywhere I went that night, there he was, watching me, this cheeky grin on his face.”
“How old was he? What did he look like?”
Leo shifted position, tugging Alex onto his lap, his arms around him. “He was twenty-three. He was shorter than you, maybe five nine, with blond hair and blue eyes.”
Alex snickered. “I’m seeing a pattern here.”
“Brat.” Leo smacked Alex’s thigh lightly. “And you’re not a natural blond, remember? The collar and cuffs don’t match.”
“You leave my highlights out of this,” Alex said with a grin.
“Can I finish my story?”
Alex sighed. “Fine.”
“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I couldn’t help noticing him. Then Thomas called me into the office one evening….”
2004
“WHAT’S UP?” Leo closed the office door behind him and stared at the large box on the desk. “Wow. Business must be good if we’re splurging on a coffee machine.” He snickered.
Thomas peered at him over the rim of his glasses. “I’ve put up with the crappy instant coffee you drink for two years now. I think it’s about time for this, don’t you?” He began to open the box. “And before you ask, yes, business is doing well, thank you very much.”
“Glad to hear it.” Leo settled in the leather chair facing the wide desk and then propped his feet up on it.
Thomas merely glanced at him before unpacking the machine. “I know you have the longest legs around here, lad, but that doesn’t give you the right to put your feet on my desk.”
“Our desk,” Leo said with a grin. “Remember? What’s yours is mine, et cetera.”
Thomas folded his arms. “Oh, I get it. Well, if we’re sharing the desk, I assume you’ll want to share the coffee too.”
Leo shrugged and smiled. Thomas narrowed his gaze.
“I see. If we’re all about sharing, does that mean I get to share the vetting with you? There’s a pile of new applicants to go through.” His eyes twinkled.
“Oh no,” Leo said firmly. “That is most definitely your domain, old man. Besides, you keep telling me how good you are at it.” He peered beyond Thomas at the neat pile of application forms. “Are they really all new applicants?”
Thomas nodded. “We are getting noticed, my friend.”
“It’s taken long enough,” Leo grumbled. Two years since they’d decided to go into business together and open a BDSM club, and it looked like their venture was finally paying off.
“We’ve got ten new members so far this week,” Thomas told him. “Four Doms, six subs.”
&
nbsp; “Nice ratio,” Leo remarked. “Experienced Doms?”
Thomas did a seesawing motion with his hand. “A couple of them are defecting from another club. Seems it’s gone downhill under a change of management.”
“Its loss is our gain.”
“I agree.” Thomas picked up the sheaf of forms and leafed through them. “There’s one Dom I really like the look of. I’ve arranged to watch him next week. Fellow by the name of Miles Daventree.” Then he grinned. “And about the new subs…. There’s one here who is requesting a scene with a specific Dom.”
“Oh? Who?”
“You.” That grin widened as Thomas handed over an application form. “Take a look.”
Leo opened the manila folder and froze when he saw the photo. “Oh. Him.” He raised his head to find Thomas regarding him inquiringly. Leo sighed. “He turned up last week to check us out. Then he came back. Every night.” More than anything, Leo remembered the bold glances across the main floor of the club. The sub definitely wasn’t the shy type.
“Ooh, keen. I like that.” Thomas tilted his head to one side. “What is it? Don’t you like him?”
Leo said nothing but shifted uncomfortably on his chair, not meeting Thomas’s gaze. Thomas chuckled.
“Oh. You do like him.”
Leo handed the folder back with a low growl, which Thomas ignored. He peered at the form.
“Gabe Manning. Twenty-three. Been a member of a few clubs, so he’s experienced.” His gaze met Leo’s. “Not that I didn’t already know that after talking with him for less than five minutes.”
“Oh?”
Thomas laughed. “He’s a character, that one.” He gave Leo a keen glance. “I’m surprised he hasn’t spoken to you yet. He certainly sounded keen to do a scene with you.”
