He was also sending out so many mixed signals that even Nico, who was adept at reading physical cues and the subtext beneath the banter, was bewildered. The general’s dossier had said Littlewood would be seeking companionship, and he certainly looked keen whenever Nico caught the secretary studying him, but the more amenable to passing time Nico let himself appear, the less interested Littlewood became.
“I guess I’m just in the mood for an adventure,” Nico remarked, trawling out careful bait when the opportunity arose over their second drink.
Littlewood cleared his throat, his eyes darting to the side as if concerned someone might be listening in. “What kind of adventure?”
Nico looked down at his glass, flicking a few rapid glances at Littlewood without meeting his eyes. It would come off as covert admiration while Nico surreptitiously assessed the secretary. This was where he’d normally come right out and tell a client he was perfectly amenable to being held down and pounded into the mattress, maybe even bruised and welted a little, but the vibe he was getting warned him against it. If he came on that strong, Littlewood would walk away, he was sure of it.
“Oh well.” Nico shrugged awkwardly, as if making a shy admission. “You know, something . . . maybe a little unusual. Possibly even dangerous.”
“Oh.” The secretary’s mouth tightened, and he tipped back his whiskey, giving Nico an irritated look. “I’m not interested in that.”
Nico blinked. Was Littlewood ashamed of his predilections? But no, that didn’t track, either. Nico was used to smoothing the way for clients who were embarrassed to admit what they truly wanted. Hell, he was good at it. The key was putting them at ease with it, making them feel like it was all normal and that Nico wouldn’t be repulsed by anything they requested of him. But any attempt Nico made in that direction with Littlewood had the opposite effect. He didn’t like Nico being comfortable and open-minded and unapologetic.
He accepted his third glass of wine, his other hand lightly brushing Littlewood’s knee. Perhaps the secretary didn’t know how such games could be played with the consent and satisfaction of all involved. But Littlewood didn’t come across as that naive. He hadn’t seemed confused by Nico’s hints, but rather, annoyed. That hungry look in his eye was being replaced with disinterest. In fact, the more worldly Nico acted, the less engaged Littlewood became.
What was his kink? Did he want an ingenue? Someone he could instruct? A virgin? Someone maybe a little reluctant that he could “convince” to play his game?
“That? You mean— Oh no, not that.” Nico laughed lightly, pushing on Littlewood’s knee as though the secretary was joking with him. He couldn’t quite manage a blush, but he ducked his head to convey embarrassment. Maybe even inexperience. “Not anything, you know, perverted. Just . . . exciting. Out of the ordinary. I’m making a fool of myself, sorry. I, um, don’t usually do this.”
There. That did it. The interest was back and stronger than ever. He looked at Nico like he wanted to devour him. Instead of satisfying Nico that he was finally on the right track, though, his nerves started jangling with unease. Suddenly he didn’t feel safe, and that hungry look in Littlewood’s eye was far less sexy than it should have been with Nico’s admitted penchant for alpha males. His smile wobbled, and Littlewood’s eyes grew darker in response to that hint of fear. Something wasn’t right; all his instincts were screaming at him, telling him to be careful. And Nico’s mother and tutor had hammered into him the importance of listening to those instincts.
Littlewood liked it rough, but he didn’t want Nico to like it rough?
Everything fell into place, and a shiver ran through him.
Littlewood wanted someone innocent and unworldly, someone shy and easily embarrassed, someone with no taste for rough play, so that he could—what?—force it on them?
Oh. Oh shit.
The general’s dossier hadn’t prepared Nico for this.
One of the first things he had learned when he’d started training to work for Costas Companions was spotting the warning signs of a potentially violent or abusive client. It was standard training for all his mother’s employees: how to avoid dangerous situations before they became dangerous. That was what had him alert. If Nico was right, he was looking at a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a true predator beneath that understated demeanor. Possibly even a criminal predator who hadn’t yet been caught, or against whom charges never managed to stick. A white man with enough money could get away with everything up to and including murder, especially if the victim was brown. A charge brought by a Latino rentboy would be laughed out of court if Littlewood had the money to hire a half-decent attorney.
No self-respecting practitioner of the arts of pain and dominance would have anything to do with this man. Littlewood’s desires had nothing to do with games of mutual pleasure agreed to by both parties. He wanted to hurt Nico, and he didn’t want Nico to enjoy it. He didn’t even want Nico’s consent.
Nico swallowed hard, draining his glass faster than he’d intended. Had McClosky known about this? That Littlewood was so dangerous? No, surely not. He would never have sent Nico here if he had. Would he?
With an uncertain smile that Littlewood lapped up, Nico turned away under the pretense of ordering another drink, his mind racing. He should get out of here. His mother would kill whatever Littlewood left of him for carrying through with the job knowing what the secretary was. She’d refund General McClosky and that would be the end of it.
But then McClosky would be left without the recommendation he needed, and Nico desperately didn’t want to disappoint him.
Nico made a show of craning his neck, stretching out the sudden tension while looking for the waiter. Anything to avoid that predator’s gaze Littlewood had fixed on him, while he quickly weighed his options.
Okay. Littlewood wouldn’t kill him. He likely wouldn’t even injure him seriously. He just wanted to force something unpleasant upon Nico against his will. But . . . the secretary was hesitant about that desire. Did he feel guilty, perhaps? No. That didn’t ring true. More likely, he was afraid of being caught and charged. Or even just exposed. He knew he should lay low, but hurting others was a compulsion for him. He had to have it.
Someday he could be truly dangerous if he had nothing to lose by cutting loose. But right now he had other forces keeping him in check.
That’s what Nico needed to use to his advantage.
He turned a self-conscious smile on Littlewood. “Oh God. I was so hungry and tired and stressed out when I got to the hotel that I forgot to check in. Would you mind waiting here for a moment while I take care of that?” If he was going to do this rather than call the whole thing off, he needed to get the secretary alone in a space he controlled.
“How long are you here? Do you live with parents? Roommates?” Littlewood asked. His smile was attractive, even a little charming now that he thought Nico was what he wanted. But there was something sinister under the question. What Littlewood might very well really be asking was when he was expected elsewhere, who might notice if he was hurt or scared or showed up late and worse for wear. Did Nico have anyone to look after him, and how much trouble could they make for Littlewood?
“My plane doesn’t leave until late tomorrow morning. I’m heading home to see my parents.”
Nico watched the secretary do the math. Jesus, he was scary now that Nico could see how much of what was going on behind his eyes was a cold calculation of the amount of hurt he could inflict, and for how long, without risking anything.
“You didn’t say what brought you to DC, did you?” Littlewood ventured, and Nico had to stop himself from squinting as he tried to figure out the point to the question. Leverage, maybe? Looking for something he could use to coerce Nico into not making any waves for him?
“Oh, right! I’m here for a job interview. I graduate in the winter, and I might have something lined up. But gosh, you know, DC . . . Being raised in upstate New York never prepared me for living here!” He chuckled and ducked his h
ead shyly, playing it just right. Harmless enough to keep Littlewood on the hook, but with enough of a hypothetical support network to keep him from getting reckless with whatever he had planned. “Stupid, huh? I was trying to impress you, acting like I was all sophisticated. I should have known better.”
“That’s fine. You don’t need to impress me. You’re charming just the way you are. Very sweet.” Littlewood’s indulgent smile made a cold knot of fear settle in Nico’s stomach. The hungry look in his eyes flared into something downright voracious.
Nico stomped the urge to get the hell out of there under his heel and continued playing the innocent. “So, would you mind excusing me for a moment? I’ll get checked in and then . . . I don’t know, would you like to . . . maybe . . .”
“Come up to your room?” Littlewood lifted a smug eyebrow, amused and magnanimous. Of course, the idea of having a naive target was even more appealing than the idea of having a street-smart one. “I’d like that very much.”
“All right.” Nico bit his lip, feigning the nervous habit that he’d long ago broken. “Just give me a few minutes? I’ll be right back.”
Fuck, his mother was going to kill him when she found out he was playing this close to the edge. He’d be lucky if she didn’t fire his ass. But he wasn’t about to let McClosky down. He couldn’t.
He quickly checked into a room, charging it to his personal account rather than the Costas corporate one—he’d still bill McClosky for it, but he didn’t want it directly traceable back to the general or Costas Companions—and sent his small bag up with a bellhop before rushing back to the bar.
“Done!” he declared, looking breathless and hoping the flush from scurrying would make him seem excited rather than afraid.
Littlewood unfolded himself from his chair and rose, reaching to hook one hand around Nico’s hip and tug him closer. Playing it like a seduction. “Good. Let’s go, then.”
The whiskey on his breath as his lips brushed Nico’s face smelled rich and heady, which was horrifying because it seemed like he should be foul in all ways. The only thing that made him appalling was the knowledge of what he was.
Whatever Littlewood was being cautious about, being seen with another man wasn’t it. The elevator doors had no sooner closed behind them than the secretary pushed Nico face-first against the wall, gripping his ass hard, gnawing on his neck. Not quite enough to be painful, but if this was the starting line, Nico knew he was in for some hurt.
It wasn’t hard to come across as nervous, though he tried to play it off as shy. “Wait. What if someone else gets on the elevator?”
“So what?” Littlewood grunted. “I thought you wanted something exciting. Different.”
“I know, but . . .”
“Just shut up and go with it. I know what to do with you.”
Nico swallowed hard and closed his eyes, his forehead pressed against the cool metal wall of the elevator. The nipping at his neck was replaced by suction. Not pleasant, teasing suction, but hard and merciless, leaving what Nico knew would be a vivid mark on his skin. Branding him.
He had no expectations that he would enjoy what was going to happen once they reached Nico’s room. Yes, he could take pleasure in some rough play, but this wasn’t that. On Littlewood’s part, at least, it was entirely real, an act of violence and corruption, and even if Nico did like his sex that edgy—which he didn’t—knowing it wasn’t a game for Littlewood was enough to strip any potential for pleasure from it and just creep him right the fuck out.
He’d had clients who hadn’t bothered with his enjoyment before. He’d had clients who had been rough and hurt him before. But it had all been negotiated in advance, part of the fee, with boundaries firmly established. His mother insisted on it for all their clients, citing the abuses of the brothels as her rationale for conducting business differently. A couple of clients had wanted to renegotiate on the fly, but Nico had shut that down quickly—per her rules—and anyone who had tried to press the matter beyond that had ended up watching Nico walk out the door and hadn’t had their money refunded, as stipulated by their contract.
But that wasn’t what Littlewood wanted. He didn’t want a playmate, or a toy, or a masochist, or a submissive.
He wanted a victim.
Nico’s hand shook as he fumbled with his card, trying to swipe it past the scanner. He got it on the third try and opened the door, turning on the light as he stepped inside.
“I have a diffuser,” he stammered, playing his near-virgin role to the hilt for the secretary’s benefit. “You mind a little cannabis oil?”
“If you wish.” Littlewood smiled. Nico knew that idea would appeal to him. It had been nearly seventy years since marijuana was legalized across the nation. Sonic diffusers had become a popular means of getting the effects of THC. And anything that could lower Nico’s guard and weaken his ability to fight back would appeal to Littlewood.
What the secretary didn’t have to know was that the oil was laced with a drug that wasn’t even remotely legal. Officially, it didn’t even exist. McClosky had entrusted it to Nico and his mother for times when he needed an intended mark to be particularly suggestible. After plugging in the diffuser, Nico slid a data card into the entertainment unit and turned on some low music, playing off the puttering as nervous dithering. Nico had programmed the playlist that afternoon, layering a subliminal message under the songs that extolled the virtues and benefits of McClosky’s new project, Juggernaut. Nico had no idea what it was, but it didn’t matter; that was McClosky’s business. His job was getting Littlewood on board with it.
And the opportunity didn’t get much better than this. The secretary was so focused on the assault he had planned for his victim, he’d never even suspect he was being influenced.
“That’s enough.” A harsh note of cruelty crept into Littlewood’s voice now that they had privacy. His eye was on the prize, and the predator was beginning to emerge from behind that unassuming facade. “Take off your clothes.”
Nico affected a pout, then shrugged and began stripping. “Jeez, that’s not very romantic.” From beneath his lashes, he watched Littlewood’s eyes narrow dangerously. The secretary jerked his tie from his collar and tossed it, along with his coat, on the bed. He pulled his belt out of the loops and ran it almost lovingly through his hand before dropping it on the bed too. He began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a chest that looked like it had a substantial slab of muscle underlying an inconsequential layer of middle-aged paunch. It was enough to make Nico’s lithe twink’s physique seem fragile in comparison.
When Nico was down to his minuscule briefs, he stepped closer to Littlewood with a flirty smile, hoping the fear he knew showed in his eyes would come across as inexperience and nerves. “I, um, I haven’t done this much,” he murmured, ducking his head. “What do you . . . What would you like?”
Littlewood grabbed Nico by the arm and shoulder, and tried forcing him to his knees. “I want you to suck my dick.”
“Ow! Not so rough!” Nico tried to jerk away, making a display of his wince when Littlewood’s grip tightened. He half wished Littlewood would react angrily. It would be comforting to see some sign of human emotion, but the secretary’s eyes were reptile cold.
One hand released Nico, the other still digging in hard enough to leave bruises on Nico’s russet skin, and Littlewood backhanded him almost casually. Nico didn’t have to feign the cry of surprise or pain. He would have fallen against the bed if not for the grip on his arm.
“Shut up and do it.” Littlewood took advantage of Nico’s momentary disorientation to drive him to his knees, jerking his fly open and shoving his trousers and underwear down with one hand.
Shit. The name wasn’t apt. Not at all. It would be worse than Nico had anticipated. For a moment, he considered calling the whole thing off, incapacitating Littlewood, and getting the hell out of that room. Only the fact that the job was for McClosky kept Nico from sweeping the secretary’s legs out from under him, breaking his kneecaps, and
running away.
Littlewood wouldn’t kill or maim him, he told himself, fighting back the panic and drive for self-preservation. McClosky wouldn’t send him into a situation that dangerous. Anything else was endurable—as long as he chose to endure it—and no matter what Littlewood thought, Nico was choosing this, however little pleasure he might take in it.
Littlewood’s cock jabbed at Nico’s mouth. “Suck it.”
“No—” Nico began to shake his head, but the secretary grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking hard. Nico cried out in pain, and Littlewood took the opportunity to ram his dick down Nico’s throat. He didn’t even have time to suppress his gag reflex.
“That’s right, you bitch, choke on it.” Holding Nico by the hair, Littlewood began to pump his hips, fucking into Nico’s mouth as reflexive tears streamed down Nico’s face with each barely suppressed effort his gorge made to rise. Time ceased to mean anything, each instant drawing out into an eternity as Nico wondered if he’d critically, maybe even fatally, underestimated Littlewood. His battered throat convulsed around the secretary’s cock as he gave one last brutal thrust and came with a groan. He jerked out almost immediately and let Nico collapse to the floor, coughing and gagging and trying desperately not to retch.
Littlewood panted feral breaths, his fists clenching at his sides. Nico cringed, forgetting everything he knew about self-defense for that vulnerable instant. He wondered if Littlewood was going to beat him.
He lay there longer than he actually needed to, trying to collect his thoughts and strategize. He heard the soft music in the background under the rushing of his own pulse in his ears. He could smell the pungent cannabis oil as the diffuser vibrated molecules of it into the air. The longer he kept Littlewood in this room, the greater his suggestibility would be.
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