Safe in His Arms (3 page)

the same.

Hank eyed Randy‘s pale, slender body, unable to resist comparing it to Reese‘s tan,

well-muscled physique. Toward the end of their relationship, Reese had rarely

permitted the rough sex games Hank favored, though if he‘d lost a bet, that was often

the price Hank extracted and Reese had paid up willingly enough.

Forget Reese
.

Hank pointed to the carpet at his feet. ―Get me hard.‖ Randy dropped to his knees

and cupped Hank‘s balls with cool fingers as he licked teasingly over the head of

Hank‘s shaft. The guy used his hands and mouth with considerable skill and, despite

the still significant amount of alcohol in Hank‘s blood, it didn‘t take long to make him

hard as steel.

When he was ready, he pushed Randy back. ―Get on your hands and knees and

show me that ass.‖

Randy did as he was told, twisting back to watch as Hank slid a condom over his

shaft and squirted some lubricant onto his fingers. He knelt behind Randy and pressed

a finger into the tight ass. Randy offered a few semi-convincing moans of pleasure as he

pushed back against the digit.

―Eager slut, aren‘t you?‖ Hank laughed derisively. ―Go on. Fuck yourself on my

hand, you whore.‖ Randy wriggled until Hank‘s finger was in past the second knuckle.

Amused, Hank withdrew his finger and shifted until the head of his cock was nestled

between the boy‘s cheeks. He pushed his way past the tight ring of muscle. Randy

grunted again, this time with conviction as the thick hard cock invaded his passage.

―That‘s it,‖ Hank said. ―You said you could take it, so
take
it.‖ He slammed hard

against the slender man, jerking him back as he pummeled him.

―Ease up,‖ Randy gasped.

Hank let go of one hip so he could grab a handful of Randy‘s hair, which he yanked

back hard. ―Take what I give you, slut. You want your tip, you gotta earn it.‖

Randy stifled a small cry, but didn‘t protest further. He was the same as everyone

else in the world—he could be bought and sold if the price was right. At least Randy

admitted what he was. Reese had hung around sponging off Hank for years before

being distracted by that loser.

The humiliating spectacle with the bouncer at the bar flashed into Hank‘s brain and

he rammed against Randy, his hand still tangled in the guy‘s hair. Reaching around

Randy‘s narrow frame, Hank closed his hand around the swinging balls and squeezed.

―Ah,‖ Randy cried. Hank squeezed harder. ―Hey! Ease up man, I don‘t dig that

rough shit,‖ the boy whined.

―Take it, whore. I‘m paying you good money. Shut the fuck up and take it,‖ Hank

said, but he let go, instead reaching for Randy‘s throat. He wrapped his thick fingers

around the long neck, gripping hard just below the jaw line. He held Randy fast by the

throat as he slammed his cock into his ass. Hank lost himself in the pure physicality of

the moment. He was nothing but a cock, and Randy nothing but a hole to be ravaged,

plundered and controlled.

Hank moved like a piston, jerking the call boy back against him as he thrust

forward, his fingers still wrapped around Randy‘s neck. Randy began to struggle but

Hank was by far the stronger of the two. It was only when Randy began to seriously

buck against him that Hank came to his senses and released the boy‘s throat, though he

remained buried to the hilt inside him.

Randy drew in a huge, rasping breath. Twisting back, his eyes wild, he demanded,

―What the fuck‘re you doin‘, man? You could have really hurt me! Let me up.‖

Power ripped through Hank‘s blood like pure cocaine and his mouth curled into a

sneer. ―I‘ll let you up when you‘ve done what you‘ve been paid to do. You want your

tip, you keep your mouth shut and do your job.‖ He punctuated his command with an

especially savage thrust and Randy grunted in pain.

Hank‘s balls tightened and he could feel the semen rising. The rush of his absolute

power over the boy blended with the fury that always seethed just below the surface.

He felt like he was going to explode. He thrust so hard that Randy fell forward against

the carpet, disrupting his rhythm. Hank jerked him back up, smacking his ass in the

process. Randy yelped.

―Gimme that ass,‖ Hank commanded. ―It‘s bought and paid for.‖ He rutted hard

and mean, each cry of pain he wrested from the boy edging him closer to release. When

he finally climaxed, Hank cried, ―Take it, Reese. Take it, you motherfucker. I own you.‖

Hank realized a second after he‘d said it whose name he‘d used. If Randy had noticed

the gaffe, he wisely said nothing.

When he let go, Randy sagged down to the carpet, his pale body covered in a sheen

of sweat, a red palm print on his right ass cheek, his face hidden in a tangle of hair. For

a brief moment the constant stranglehold of anger that had claimed Hank since Reese‘s

defection eased its clutch. He felt almost happy. He disposed of the used condom and

pulled on his jeans, waiting for Randy to move. After a few seconds he prodded him

with his bare foot.

―Hey. Get up.‖

The guy rolled slowly over onto his back. He was frowning, his pale eyebrows

drawn down to form a V over narrowed eyes. Hank smiled at him. ―You took it good,

Randy. I‘ll be calling for you by name next time.‖ He dropped three hundred dollar

bills onto Randy‘s stomach and the frown slowly eased into a smile.

A half hour later, with the boy sent away and several fingers of Remy Martin 1738

Cognac coursing its way through his veins, Hank lay down on his fine sheets, idly

stroking his cock. Randy had potential. Not as a lover, of course not, but as a regular, as

long as Hank was willing to pay.

If only money were enough. It was disconcerting to realize that sometimes it was

not. The image of Reese‘s handsome familiar face slipped past his defenses, lowered by

sex, brandy and sheer exhaustion. After tonight‘s scene at the bar Hank could no longer

cling to the hope that Reese would eventually come to his senses and come crawling

back.

No, it was over. The one abiding relationship of Hank‘s life had ended at last, and

the irony was he‘d been the one to choose Jeff Hartman as their latest victim in the sex

games they‘d played for so many years. He‘d chosen the quarry and set out the terms—

Reese was to seduce the innocent, catch the act of penetration on video and present it

for Hank‘s amusement. In return, Reese had pocketed a sizable reward.

Hank hadn‘t counted on Reese‘s going all sappy on him. He‘d believed Reese and

he were carved of the same hard stone—disdainful of romance, impervious to love.

Reese was his soul mate, or so he‘d thought. But Reese had never looked into his eyes

the way he‘d seen him staring at Jeff. No one had ever looked at him like that.

A bubble of regret was forming in his chest, pressing down hard on his heart,

though he did his best to ignore it. He was thirty years old. Thanks to the family money,

he lacked for nothing. He‘d traveled the world, had his pick of lovers and never worked

a day in his life. Yeah, so Reese had left him. Big fucking deal. He‘d find someone new.

Plenty more fish in the sea.

He closed his eyes, drifting at last into a hard won sleep.

―Gentleman‘s Elite. How may I help you?‖

―Hank Seeley, here. Account number 10896. I want Randy. Eight o‘clock sharp at

my place.‖

―One moment, please.‖

Hank drummed his fingers on the desktop while he waited. He‘d spent the day

working out and swimming, trying to blot out the memory of the night before. It hadn‘t

worked.

He should have handled it differently at the bar. He should have waited and gotten

Reese alone somehow. He‘d miscalculated. It angered him to realize he could never go

back to that bar now, not after having been thrown out. Shit, one more thing Reese and

his sidekick had ruined for him.

―I‘m sorry, but Randy‘s not available.‖

―Not acceptable.‖

―Excuse me?‖

―I said, not acceptable. Make him available. I‘ll pay double the usual fee.‖

―Um, hold on please.‖

After another annoyingly long pause, the voice came back on the line. ―Randy isn‘t

available. I‘m terribly sorry. How about Diamond or Troy? They‘re both happy to come

visit you, sir.‖

Hank frowned. He wanted Randy, damn it.
Not available, my ass
, he thought

peevishly. Reese used to be available 24/7. True, he‘d never quite talked Reese into

living with him, but the guy knew on which side his bread was buttered. When Hank

called, he‘d drop what he was doing and come running. As it should be. Now this

fucking whore Randy had the balls to be unavailable.

He thought about last night with the call boy and stroked himself through his gym

shorts. His cock hardened at the memory of the slender blond‘s hot little mouth

wrapped around it, sucking it like his favorite lollipop. He‘d loved the sound of real

fear in Randy‘s voice, and his ass was so tight.

Diamond was a hot little number too, but he was a seasoned whore who didn‘t

scare easy. It wasn‘t nearly as fun to force someone who didn‘t give a shit what you did

to them. He didn‘t remember seeing Troy in the catalog. He must be new.

―Tell me about Troy,‖ Hank said.

―He‘s five foot, seven inches tall with white blond hair and brown eyes. He fits all

the criteria on your check list. I can send his stats over to your email account right away

if you‘d like.‖

―Okay, you do that.‖ Hank hung up and swiveled to his computer. He opened his

email, reflexively looking for something from Reese before he caught himself. The email

from Gentleman‘s Elite appeared a moment later and he opened it. The guy was good

looking, slight and slender as he liked them, with large, innocent eyes and a small

rosebud mouth. He was saved from looking too feminine by a prominent chin and

several days‘ stubble on his youthful cheeks. What the hell? He‘d give him a try. Maybe

he‘d have both Troy and Randy in a threesome some time.

~*~

―Shit, what happened to your neck, Randy?‖ Jacob touched Randy‘s neck, which

was marked with several long narrow bruises, shaped like fingers against his pale skin.

―That fucking john over in Cherry Creek. That‘s why I put a no-call for him on my

sheet. No way will I go back there, even though the money is great. I‘m willing to sell

my ass, but that bastard is dangerous.‖

―I‘ve heard Mr. Seeley can be a little rough. But Diamond and Pat don‘t seem to

mind. From what I understand, he does tip exceptionally well.‖ Jacob was the

receptionist and office manager at the escort service, as well as the owner‘s life partner.

Randy pushed down his anger. ―Yeah, well. Maybe he was just having a bad night,

but I plan to steer clear. He‘s one of those people who‘s pissed at the world, and takes it

out on whoever is handy.‖

―Whatever you did, he liked it, because he wants you back.‖ Jacob shrugged. ―But if

you don‘t want to go, that‘s your business.‖

Randy bit his tongue to keep from shouting,
Damn right it’s my business. It’s my ass

on the line, not yours. You just collect the money I earn, you fat fuck
. Jesus, he needed to get a

grip. This gig was too sweet to blow with misplaced anger. Jacob didn‘t care if one of

the johns was a little rough. As long as they paid, he was happy.

―Troy‘s taking your place,‖ Jacob said. ―Have you met Troy yet?‖

―Troy Jenkins?‖

―You know him?‖

―Yeah, though I haven‘t seen him in a few years. Listen, this would not be a good

gig for Troy. He‘s—he had a really bad experience once with someone like this. Did you

warn him about this dude?‖

―I let him know Mr. Seeley likes hard play.‖ Jacob pursed his lips. ―Look, this is

business. Troy knows a little rough stuff sometimes comes with the territory. He‘ll be

fine.‖

Randy said nothing. Better Troy than him, he supposed, even if the tip money had

been fantastic. He wouldn‘t make waves.

Gentleman‘s Elite was housed in an elegant townhouse in Park Hill. There was a

comfortable living area and large well equipped dressing room and bathrooms if one

wanted to get ready for jobs there, or pick up toys such as whips or cowboy outfits or

whatever it was that floated a particular client‘s boat.

Jacob‘s cell phone buzzed. He looked at it and flipped it open. ―Stephan, darling.

What‘s up?‖ He listened, frowning. ―Oh my god, that‘s horrible. No, no. I‘ll be right

there. You just sit tight. Did you call 9-1-1?‖ He listened again for a few seconds. Randy

could hear Stephan, the owner of the escort service, talking in a loud, rapid voice,

though he couldn‘t catch the words.

Jacob snapped his phone shut and turned to Randy. ―Thank god you‘re here.

Listen, Stephan fell off a ladder while cleaning out the gutters. He thinks he broke his

arm. I‘ve got to get over there pronto. Is there any way you could mind the phones for