by J. M. Dabney
“What are you doing in here? You’re supposed to be in bed.”
“I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay, but then you need to go back to bed while I get ready.”
Soft, slender fingertips traced his scars, and he lowered his gaze to the top of the long blond hair. Fielding focused on his chest, traced the dips, and he dug his fingers into Fielding’s sides as his boy leaned forward to nuzzle through the hair on his chest.
“I think I should have one of the other guys take over as your security.” It killed him to say the words, but he wasn’t looking at Fielding as a job—just another client. He’d always acted like a professional, but he couldn’t do that with his boy.
Fielding jerked his head up, and he looked down into watery blue eyes. “Why? I’ve done everything you’ve told me to. I’ve been good, sir.” Fielding dropped his gaze back to his chest.
He’d thought he’d done away with that useless appendage called his heart decades ago. Always known as the coldest bastard, but during the takedown, he’d worried more about leaving Fielding alone then whether he had done his job or not. He was the best at his job because he’d never had anyone waiting at home—no one to cloud his judgment with sentimentalities.
“I don’t want anyone else to watch me.”
He took Fielding’s head in his hands and tipped his boy’s chin up with his thumbs. Tears beaded on pale lower lashes. He bent slightly to sip at the tears, and the saltiness of the drops burst on his tongue. He imagined kissing the tears from Fielding’s eyes while he was balls deep in his boy. His resolve to keep his distance weakened as he stepped forward to push between Fielding’s slim thighs. He groaned as his hard cock became trapped between their stomachs.
The softness of his boy turned him on, and he hadn’t realized until he’d met Fielding how much he’d craved someone soft and sweet—loving. Part of him had secretly yearned for it but denied it. It didn’t do any good to wish for things he couldn’t have.
“Don’t you want to keep me?” Fielding’s voice broke as he asked.
“Do you want to be mine until you go back to your real life?” He lowered his mouth to Fielding’s and kissed the down-turned corners. Fielding would go back to Los Angeles in a matter of months to the pretty exterior of his life. He had to remind himself and Fielding that some fairy tale happy ever after wasn’t meant for them. Permanence wasn’t meant for him no matter how much the beautiful boy in his arms made him wish.
Not breaking Fielding was impossible. He’d destroy a part of Fielding and send him home hoping the young man forgot about him.
“Yes, please.”
He was a bastard. “Do you know what it means to be mine?”
“I’ll be your boy.”
“And what will I be to you?” he asked as he stripped Fielding’s shirt off. His boy was perfect. Smooth and flawless except for one tiny ginger colored freckle next to the boy’s right nipple. He dropped the shirt on top of his own discarded clothes. “Boy, what will I be to you?” He repeated the question as he wrapped an arm around his boy and lifted him from the counter to work Fielding’s pants off.
If it were up to him, his boy would stay naked the rest of his stay. He was going to savor the blatant desire and need he sensed coming off his boy in waves. He dropped the pants and moved back between Fielding’s legs, forcing them farther apart with his thighs. He pushed his demons away. All the insecurity and rage he lived with every day. This was about taking something for himself—making memories to last long after his boy left.
“Say it, and I’ll give you what you need.” He spread his hands over Fielding’s back and stroked his boy’s soft skin. Counted the delicate vertebrae as he moved upward. He brought his left hand around and raised it to pinch Fielding’s chin. He kept his mouth close enough to Fielding’s to feel the gentle caress of his boy’s breath.
The beat of his heart was a painful rhythm in his chest as the seconds that passed felt like hours as he waited to hear his boy say what he needed him to. It was one simple word—a promise of his submission.
“Daddy, don’t make me go.”
Soft lips touched his tentatively. The inexperience evident but nothing had ever turned him on more. He hugged his boy tight to his chest. He wouldn’t mention the time that would run out.
“I want you to go back to bed while I take a shower. Tomorrow I’m going to take you somewhere, and we’ll talk. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“My good boy.”
He tenderly kissed Fielding then helped his boy off the counter. He waited for the boy to leave the bathroom and he gently closed the door with a calmness he didn’t feel. Fielding was beautiful. He looked in the mirror at his reflection and studied it for the first time in years. Nothing had changed since the last time. Is what he felt flattery at the thought of a young man wanting him or was it something else?
He’d wanted plenty of men in his life, even had a few for quick, meaningless fucks in the dark or bathrooms. This was different, he knew it in his gut and instinct had saved his ass too many times for him to doubt it. He wasn’t going to be able to let his boy go, but he knew he needed to. Keeping Fielding would be cruelty to his boy. He was a broken man who couldn’t live in a world like Fielding was used to and he didn’t want to. This cabin and his job were his life, but he wanted this one thing even if it would kill him to let his boy go when it was kinder than keeping him.
Eight
He’d Never Ridden a Motorcycle Before
Fielding held tight to Livingston’s waist as the wind roared in his ears and they sped down the highway. He’d awakened this morning with Livingston behind him. The bigger man held onto him tight, and he’d felt safe and warm—content for the first time in his life. He’d stayed as still as possible not wanting to wake Livingston and have the moment end.
He was still nervous about what was happening. Livingston had made no promises past the deadline where he headed back to L.A. He knew he had fallen too quickly for Livingston. Was what he felt real or a side effect of his temporary freedom?
When the time came, he knew he'd leave if Livingston told him to go. Until then he'd take what he could get. He ignored the chaos of his thoughts and enjoyed his first ride. The rumble of the motorcycle, the warm strength of Livingston in his embrace, and the heat of the sun.
They'd already ridden for hours, and finally, Liv pulled off onto a dirt road. The path was narrow, and limbs scraped over his leather covered arms. The helmet protected his face. He looked around as he studied the thick trees and greenery. Then suddenly it all thinned to a clearing beside a beautiful, crystal clear lake.
Liv eased the bike to a stop and helped him off. He stood still as Liv removed his helmet and jacket. The day was bright and warm enough his long-sleeved gray t-shirt held off a slight chill.
“That was amazing,” he whispered as he watched Liv strip down to his long-sleeved t-shirt but in Liv's customary black.
Liv didn't say a word just studied his face. He wanted to ask what the big man was thinking. Livingston's silence caused unease. Livingston was stoic and quiet, a man who didn’t give much away, but he could deal with the man’s anger—this calmness seemed unnatural.
“You’ve never ridden before?”
“No, they always said it was too dangerous. My parents would lose their meal ticket.”
“Is that all you are to them, a moneymaker?”
He dropped his gaze to Livingston’s chest, “Yes. They’ve never been physically abusive, but they’re not like parents. Managers and guards to make sure I do what I’m supposed to or make sure I don’t gain too much weight.”
“Doesn’t seem like much of a life.”
“It’s not, but it’s all I’ve ever known. I’ve always—”
He stopped because he didn’t know how to explain. He’d always kept his dreams to himself. He knew they were never going to be more than fantasies he had when life wasn’t going his way. They weren’t going to come
true. Even belonging to Liv had a deadline. When the job was up, they’d go their separate ways, and he didn’t know how to make Livingston keep him.
“The rule is complete honesty. You don’t hold anything back from me. I can’t take care of you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“I want to go to college. I want to have friends. I want to eat fast food, candy, chips. I want all the junk food.”
“What else?”
“I want what I have here, minus the whole stalker and bodyguard thing. No one policing everything I do or think or feel. To never see a scale or a tape measure again. I want a haircut.”
“Now, I can agree with all that, but why the haircut, I can’t do this with short hair.” Livingston growled and wrapped the long strands of his blond hair in his fist and tugged.
He moaned at the slight sting and closed his eyes as the big man nuzzled his throat. He arched his body into Livingston’s and the man’s thick arm locked around his back to hold him in place. Livingston drew the edges of his teeth down and sharply nipped at his collarbones. He never thought he’d enjoy pain even something as slight as a quick bite.
“Why did you bring me all the way out here?” He was shocked by the huskiness of his voice.
“I’ve kept you at a distance since I picked you up at the airfield.”
“But why?”
“I’m not very nice, little man, or attractive.”
For all Livingston’s strength, the man had a hint of vulnerability, and he didn’t know if he agreed with the not nice part of Livingston’s answer. He’d seen the big man with Juvie and Princess, the smiles and the gentle warnings. It was plain to see Livingston’s nieces loved him. He wiggled to put enough space between them so that he could see Livingston’s face. The scars weren’t pretty, but they didn’t take away from the handsomeness of the man’s features, they added a strange ruggedness to the harsh planes.
“I think you’re very attractive.”
“How? I’m more scar tissue than skin, boy, I see—”
“But—”
“You’re not supposed to interrupt me when I’m speaking.”
The tug on his hair was harder and sharper, not the sensual act of before but a small punishment.
“But, Daddy, you’re not ugly.”
He bit his lip to hide the smile that attempted to turn up the corners of his mouth. Livingston’s deep, bass groan was beautiful at him calling the big man Daddy. He still felt a little weird about calling Livingston Daddy and what that meant. His knowledge of sex and BDSM or whatever was limited at best. He knew the mechanics of sex and the prep that went into it.
“And why don’t you think I’m ugly?”
He smoothed his left hand up Livingston’s chest, drew his fingertips over the textures of Livingston’s scars. The dips and twists fascinated him. It was like with Livingston’s leather jacket—he loved the smooth and rough material, battered from years of use, but still warm and comforting. Livingston’s scent lived in the soft liner and the thick leather.
“I’ve always liked textures. Certain ones bring me comfort. It’s stupid really.”
“Not stupid, so explain.”
“It’s sort of like a security blanket a toddler might have. They find safety in the soft, thickness. It’s familiar and right. Calms them. I like textures. Like this.” He focused his touch on a particularly silky section between two long twisted ridges. “It’s soft like silk, warm. It’s real. I’ve always been touchy. The fabrics and materials of my clothes, some feel perfect, and I’m comfortable, and others are scratchy and harsh against my skin. You feel perfect.”
He moved onto the line of Livingston’s cheekbone, stroked across it to the slightly misshapen whorl of Livingston’s ear. “Can I ask how it happened? Were you in an accident?”
“I was more the accident. My mother lived in a community—” Livingston snorted. “It was a cult. Men had multiple wives…excessive procreation was encouraged.”
The big man fell silent, and he simply rubbed at the shell of Livingston’s ear waiting for him to continue.
“She wasn’t born into the cult like most. She was a runaway, and I guess looking for a place to belong. Before the cult took her in, she was making her way on the streets as a prostitute. I can’t blame her for that. Gotta eat, and humans have an innate instinct to survive. She was pregnant, but she didn’t know it when she joined the cult. You had to repent for your sins, and she did. She was mindlessly devoted.”
A deadness existed in Livingston’s eyes as if he wasn’t telling a story that was his. He was almost terrified at the calmness.
“She found a husband, shared him with eight other wives, sister-wives. She couldn’t have any more kids after me, and women are meant to procreate. She was looked down on, and her so-called husband spent less time with his infertile wife. My entire life she blamed me for it, punished me. I thought that was just the way people showed love. Then when I was eight after she tied me to my bed, she set my room on fire. Stood in the doorway to watch me burn and smiled the entire time. I passed out from the pain. I looked into the case when I got older, read the statements and reports.”
“What did they say?” His voice cracked as he asked, he couldn’t imagine the hell Livingston went through. The pain and suffering.
“The husband smelled smoke. He ran into the room to find part of the bed engulfed in flames. He threw a blanket over me to snuff out the fire while the sister-wives got the other kids out. He wasn’t unkind to me, but he wasn’t a father either. He carried me out just as the fire department and ambulances arrived.”
“What happened to your mother?”
He loosely draped his arms over Livingston’s shoulders. He didn’t touch more than necessary. As much as he wanted to soothe away Livingston’s pain, he knew one move, and the man would push him away.
“The house burned down around her. Don’t do that.” Livingston whispered seconds before rough thumbs stroked his cheeks.
He hadn’t realized he was crying. It wasn’t so much the story Livingston told him, but the tone. Livingston could’ve been talking about a case he worked.
“She thought if she removed the sin then she’d be healed and her husband would love her. She’d be able to start fresh. Exorcise the demon as it were.”
“I don’t think you’re a demon, and I definitely don’t think you’re ugly.” He needed to see something in Livingston’s eyes—some warmth.
“I know what I see in the mirror.”
“Did you try—”
“Nothing they can do, all it did was make it worse.”
He brought his left hand to Livingston’s right cheek. Stroked over the uneven skin with his thumb and loved the tensing of Livingston’s body. The man almost pushed into his palm but stopped himself. He wondered what Livingston would be like without all the walls around him.
“Want to take a walk?”
“Yes.” He was excited to be out of the house.
The only times he was allowed away from Livingston’s cabin was when they’d went to the Trenton offices or the grocery store.
“Keeping you cooped up too long?”
Livingston moved him back, then stood and surprisingly the big man took his hand. Livingston led him toward the small shore, and they started to take their walk.
“No, it was the same at home. Never allowed out without a chaperone.”
“Why do you do it then?”
He glanced out over the shimmering surface of the lake and thought about his answer.
“I don’t know. It’s all I’ve ever known.”
“You’re over eighteen; you can do what you want. I’m sure you have the money.”
“I don’t know about that. I know my apartment is paid for and I always have spending money, my parents have a nice house.”
“Do your parents do anything other than managing you?”
“No.”
“So, you’re paying for them and you.”
“Yeah.”
�
��If you want, Hunter can check into your finances.”
“Maybe.” He’d love to know if he could make a life away from home. The longer he was in Powers, the more he didn’t want to go back. He really liked most of the people he’d met, Livingston’s Crew, Juvie and Princess, Brody; they made him feel welcomed.
“If you didn’t have to go back, what would you do?”
He spun around and walked backward, gazing at Livingston.
“I could do anything?”
“Anything.”
He hummed as he thought about what he would do if his life were different. “First, college, I took some online courses, but they said it took away from my job.”
“Okay, college, what would you take?”
“I have no idea, but I’d go. I thought about being a social worker and helping kids in foster care, but I don’t know.”
“Good plan, what else?”
“I’d get a boyfriend.”
His smile broadened at Livingston’s gruff laugh.
“Out of everything you want to do, a boyfriend would be on the list.”
“Yes, it would. I’ve never had one. Hell, I’ve never been on a date, not even with a girl.”
“What would this boyfriend be like?”
“Um, he’d be gorgeous, tall, dark, dangerous, kind of an asshole.”
“So you’d go with one of those bad boy types, go for the nice guys.”
“Naw, some of those bad boys have stories to tell, secrets, I’ve heard some of the stories of the couples and triads in the Crews.”
“You have?”
“Little likes to talk just to hear his own voice, so, I got a lot of stories when we went to the office.”
“That’s one thing Little loves to do. You have college and boyfriend on the list, no travel to exotic places, nothing like that?”
“No, I just want a place I’m comfortable and welcome, a job that I love and someone to share all that little stuff with.”
“Not a bad dream, boy.”
He grinned as Livingston pulled him back and they continued on. Livingston still didn’t say much, but asked questions about him. When it was time to go, he didn’t want to leave. It was nice to just be without the act, but he took one last look around.