Safe in His Arms

128 Pages·2016·0.98 MB·English

by  Thompson Claire

Romance Unbound Publishing
Presents
Chapter 1

Fuck.
He‘d known it was only a matter of time before he eventually ran into them at one
of Denver‘s gay bars, but that didn‘t stop the sudden clench in his gut. He couldn‘t help
but observe that Reese looked as hot as ever, his blond hair falling in his eyes as he
leaned toward his new lover.
What that little prick Jeff Hartman had that Hank didn‘t was still beyond his ability
to comprehend. Reese should be with him. He belonged with Hank. He owed him, damn
it. He couldn‘t just walk away from a lifetime together.
Before this whole mess had gone down, Reese Armstrong had been Hank‘s best
partner in the sexual games they both loved to play. Though neither was foolish enough
to believe in love, their relationship had been special, forged of lust, obligation and, so
Hank had thought, a deep abiding connection that no one else could ever tear apart.
In their twelve years together, Hank had always given Reese enough of a lead to
think he was free but in the end he always reeled him back to where he belonged—in
Hank‘s bed and under his thumb. Damn it, what had gone wrong?
It had been a month since their breakup, and at first Hank had followed his usual
M.O. of, ―don‘t get mad, get even.‖ He‘d done everything he could to win Reese back,
first with a carrot, then with a stick. Nothing had worked and in the end it was Hank
who had been kicked out of the game.
He watched them settle into a small booth in the corner. A waiter sauntered over to
the pair. Reese and his sidekick placed their orders and then leaned toward each other
over the small table, heads bent close.
Who would have thought the day would come when Reese would turn into a
touchy feely sap, all starry-eyed like some love struck teenager? Where was the Reese
he had once known, the guy who had been a virgin at eighteen, in the closet until Hank
had yanked him out?
If it weren‘t for Hank, Reese would have ended up a high school dropout at best, in
jail at worst. Hank‘s family money and influence had saved him from criminal charges
and for that Reese owed him big time. Until the past year, he‘d seemed to appreciate
that fact and even though he was not always easily managed, Hank had been able to
keep him in line.
Reese had enjoyed their dangerous games as much as Hank had. At least until this
last one, when Reese had forgotten to play by the rules. It had started out as their usual
bet. Hank would choose the mark and dictate the terms, and Reese would execute the
seduction. But this time, instead of following the script that had worked so well before,
Reese had veered wildly, letting his own emotions get in the way. Instead of using and
then tossing the chosen quarry aside, this time Reese actually fell for the guy.
Hank threw back the rest of his martini and gestured for the bartender, who mixed
him another drink and set it before him.
―What‘s your best champagne?‖Hank asked him.
―I‘ve got a bottle of Veuve Cliquot.‖
―Sold.‖ Hank put his American Express Black card on the counter and pointed
toward Reese. ―That blond guy in the corner booth. I want it sent over to him with my
compliments.‖
The bartender smiled knowingly. ―Like in those old movies, huh? Want to send a
note with it?‖
―Yeah. Good idea.‖ The bartender produced a pen and tore off a page from his
order pad, setting them in front of Hank. He retrieved a chilled bottle of champagne
and showed the label to Hank, who nodded his approval. Taking the credit card, he
returned it a moment later with the bill, which Hank signed.
The bartender placed the champagne in a bucket filled with ice. When he reached
for two glasses, Hank stopped him. ―Just one glass is fine.‖ The bartender shrugged and
did as he was told.
Hank thought a moment about what to write, and decided to keep it short and
sweet. He scribbled: Ready to cut your losses and come back to the good life? Fine
champagne was one of Reese‘s weaknesses, along with the best caviar, jetting to Paris
and all the other gifts Hank lavished on him over the years, before Reese‘s defection.
Now the poor bastard was reduced to drinking beer.
The waiter appeared by the bar and the bartender said, ―Joel, take this champagne
over to the blond guy in booth six, compliments of this gentleman.‖ Joel lifted his
eyebrows and smiled at Hank, who smiled reflexively back at the handsome young
man.
He felt a rush of eager anticipation as the waiter carried the tray toward Reese‘s
booth. True, their fight had been pretty serious this time, but surely enough time had
passed. It had been a month or more. There was no way that little nobody at Reese‘s
table could hold his interest for much longer. Shit, Reese was probably itching for an
excuse to ditch the guy and come back where he belonged.
Hank leaned back and took a deep drink from his glass, a smile of smug satisfaction
stealing over his face. Reese would read the note with relief, realizing he was being
given another chance. He‘d probably been looking for a way back, but had been too
proud to take the first step. When he saw who the champagne was from, he‘d
remember the good life he‘d abandoned, and realize what a terrible mistake he‘d made.
Reese would raise his glass in a toast to the man he‘d spent all his adult life with, or
even better, dump the loser at his table then and there, returning to Hank and the life of
luxury, dangerous games and hot sex they had shared.
He watched as Reese unfolded the note and read it, his cock hardening in
anticipation of yet another win. But Reese made no move to rise from the table. Instead
of a smile of thanks and recognition, he glared toward the bar where Hank sat. There
wasn‘t a trace of desire or relief that he was being offered another chance to return to
Hank‘s world of luxury and wicked games. Hank frowned as Reese looked away.
Reese spoke to the waiter, mouthing something Hank couldn‘t hear. The waiter
nodded, retrieved the tray and headed back toward the bar. Hank watched as Reese
tore his note in half and dropped it on the floor. To add insult to injury, he leaned over
the small table and kissed his pathetic lover.
The simmering anger that always bubbled just beneath the surface of Hank‘s
outward calm broke through his skin, heating it with rage. Who the fuck did Reese
think he was? Hank was a patient man, but this bullshit had gone on long enough.
The waiter returned to the bar a moment later with the tray and an apologetic
shrug. ―Sorry about that. He didn‘t want it, I guess.‖
It took every ounce of control not to grab the bottle and hurl it to the ground.
Instead he stood slowly, trying to keep his voice calm. ―You like champagne, Joel?‖
―Uh, yeah, sure.‖ Joel gave Hank an appraising gaze. The waiter probably didn‘t
appreciate Hank‘s Antonio Marris shirt, which no doubt cost more than he earned in a
week, or his Prada loafers, which would have covered the kid‘s rent, but he could see
Hank‘s hard, thickly muscled body and his eyes, which Reese used to tell him were
dark and brooding.
He gestured with his chin toward the silver ice bucket. ―Enjoy,‖ he said to Joel. ―I
have a little score to settle. Then maybe later, after you finish your shift…‖ He let the
sentence hang, aware he was far too keyed up and pissed off to follow through with the
seduction of this barely legal kid. He spoke more out of habit than desire. He was too
focused on the man who would have broken his heart—if he‘d had a heart.
He approached Reese‘s booth, smiling grimly. Two could play the rejection game.
―Good evening, Reese,‖ he said in a smooth voice, offering the slow, dangerous smile
that used to make Reese quail. ―Never thought I‘d see the day you would turn down a
bottle of Veuve Cliquot.‖ He let his gaze rake insolently over the geek across from
Reese, adding, ―I see your taste runs more to Bud Lite these days.‖
Reese regarded him coldly. ―You‘re not welcome here, Hank.‖
Hank narrowed his eyes, even the pretense of a smile falling away. ―Last I checked
this bar was a public place. You sure seem tense, Reese. You always did get edgy when
you weren‘t getting enough real lovin‘. Why don‘t you ditch the loser and come back to
my place? I‘ll remind you how it‘s done. Better yet, bring him along so we can teach
him a thing or two.‖
―Reese just said you‘re not welcome here. Is there something wrong with your
hearing?‖
Hank clenched his fists and turned his attention to Reese‘s new lover. His liquor-
soaked blood was boiling and his hands actually hurt with the need to smash
something, preferably the little prick‘s smug face. ―Lost your stutter, eh? Bet I can bring
it back real fast. Wanna come out back and I‘ll show you?‖
―You‘re drunk, Hank,‖ Reese interjected. ―Call your driver and get yourself home
before you end up in serious trouble.‖
―You threatening me, boy? Do you forget who you‘re dealing with?‖ He glared at
Reese. Back in the day, Reese would have backed down just from a look. Back when he
knew his place he would have stammered his apology.
Instead, Reese retorted, ―I know exactly who I‘m dealing with. When‘re you going
to get it? It‘s over between us, Hank. Over, finished, done. Even if you hadn‘t tried to
destroy my relationship with Jeff, we were on the way out, and if you weren‘t so
fucking self-absorbed and deluded, you would have understood that. I‘m done with
your games and your obsession with power and your control over my life. Got it? Now
get the fuck out of my face.‖
Unwilling to focus on the pain beneath his ribs that Reese‘s word caused, Hank
snarled, ―You ungrateful little shit. I saved your ass a dozen times over and this is how
you repay me?‖ Moving fast, he leaned down and grabbed Reese by the shirt, twisting
it as he pulled him half out of his seat.
A burly man a few inches taller than Hank was suddenly beside him, a heavy hand
pressing on his shoulder. ―Looks like we have a problem here.‖ He squeezed hard,
sending a shooting pain through Hank‘s arm. Hank let go of Reese‘s shirt.
―We do,‖ Jeff asserted. ―The guy‘s drunk and hassling my friend here.‖
The man‘s grip tightened on Hank‘s shoulder. ―Let‘s go, buddy. You‘ve had a few
too many. Time to head on home.‖ Hank was strong but this guy was built like a tank.
Hank tried to shake the man‘s grip, but he held fast, using his other hand at the small of
Hank‘s back to forcibly propel him away.
Hank was furious, not to mention humiliated. He hadn‘t realized he was going to
grab Reese‘s shirt until he‘d done it, but Reese had pushed him to it. He saw Joel out of
the corner of his eye, watching with a smirk on his face and wrote the guy off his list.
The bouncer led Hank firmly to the door and opened it. ―No hard feelings, buddy,‖
he offered. ―Just doin‘ my job.‖
~*~
―Gentleman‘s Elite, how may I help you?‖
―Hank Seeley. Account number 10896. Send me a blond. Now.‖ It was nearly
midnight but rage still eddied through Hank‘s blood. He knew the only thing that
would take the edge off enough for him to sleep was heavy duty sex with a willing rent
boy.
The escort service always provided him with fresh meat—eager whores who
appreciated his lavish tips and no doubt didn‘t mind his thick cock or the elegant
surroundings of his Cherry Creek home. He had their special direct line, the one
reserved for trusted, well-paying clients like himself. Money might not buy happiness,
but it sure bought just about everything else.
Forty-five minutes later a young man with blond hair to his shoulders and big
brown eyes showed up at Hank‘s door. Hank let him in, taking in the slender frame and
pale skin. He could snap this boy in half if he wanted to and the thought of taking him
hard made Hank‘s cock swell in his jeans.
―Hi,‖ the guy said in a shy voice Hank figured was manufactured, but he didn‘t
care. Gentleman‘s Elite had his profile and knew he liked them young and docile, even
a little fearful. He enjoyed the fantasy of plundering innocence and corrupting it to suit
him. It reminded him of Reese, back when they were still teenagers. Though only a little
older than Reese, Hank had been far more experienced. Hank still savored the
memories of their first months together. He had turned Reese from a hesitant,
frightened virgin into a wanton slut who couldn‘t get enough of Hank‘s cock.
Hank banished the memories of Reese from his brain and focused on the young
man in front of him. He wore a red T-shirt with the word Queerboy painted in white
lettering, over a pair of black jeans. A tattoo of a snake coiled around his left biceps.
―I haven‘t seen you before. You new?‖
―Yeah. Just started with the escort service. Actually new to the whole life.‖ Hank
looked him over, doubting this, but he didn‘t challenge it.
What‘s your name?‖ Hank asked.
―Randy,‖ the young man replied. Hank nodded, aware that probably wasn‘t his
real name, not that he cared. Randy was staring around the front hall, which had inlaid
marble floors and a crystal chandelier hanging from a cathedral ceiling. ―Wow, this is
some place you got.‖
Hank smiled, feeling a rush of satisfied pride as he waved Randy into the living
room. ―Thanks. I‘ll give you the quick tour—straight to the bedroom.‖
He gestured for Randy to precede him up the wide, curving staircase. ―You
probably know from my profile what I like. I‘m in kind of an uptight mood tonight, and
I find hard play eases the tension. The more you can take, the better the tip, got it?‖
―Yeah. I can take it.‖ The shyness had evaporated from Randy‘s tone, replaced by
something almost defiant.
Hank admired the view as Randy moved up the stairs ahead of him. They moved
past the master bedroom. He never took his boys for hire in there. Instead he led Randy
to a guest bedroom, where he wasted no time in stripping down, ordering Randy to do
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.