When I reach the third-floor balcony, I only take a few steps from the landing before I realize my error. The guy isn’t Jordan.
Back to the railing, where I stare down. It’s just too dark for me to make out any details from up here without binoculars.
I make yet another circuit of that balcony and work my way down to the lower balcony. Another circuit, and still no Jordan.
My only option at this point is to wait near the entrance and keep watch for him. I once again head for the exit to the lobby. I’m reaching out to push the door open as someone pulls it open from the lobby, and I nearly run into Jordan, who’s holding in his other hand what looks like a fresh drink.
Inside, my sadist giggles with glee to see shock and recognition register on his face, while the rest of me is too fucking relieved to enjoy that for long.
His eyes widen. “Leo? What are you doing here?”
It’s too fucking loud to have a conversation in there, so I step forward, forcing him back into the lobby, where I grab him by the upper arm and haul him off to the side, between two of the decorative columns along the wall and out of the way of foot traffic.
I press him against the wall with a hand flat in the middle of his chest. “Why didn’t you respond to my calls and texts?” I growl in full-on scary voice. “I’ve been fucking worried about you!”
“What?”
Fuck it. I lean in and slant my lips over his, kissing the boy hard until I feel him just about ready to melt in my arms. And he’s kissing me back.
This is baaaad.
Really, really bad.
But when I lift my lips from his and stare down into his eyes, he’s wearing a glazed subby look, almost exactly like I imagined he would.
Nearly identical to the one Elliot wore earlier tonight.
Thank christ, he’s wearing foam earplugs.
I stare into his eyes for a long moment.
“Life is short. Fuck waiting. After the concert, you’re coming back to my place. With me.”
“I-I am?”
“Yeah, you are. Unless you don’t want to, then tell me, and I’ll see you safely back to your hotel. But you’re not leaving this place alone. Understand me?”
He nods. “Yes, Sir.”
I don’t know if he meant that automatically because of our ages, or deliberately, with a capital S.
I don’t care, either. I kiss him again. “I mean it,” I mumble against his mouth. I finally lift my lips from his. “I will take you back to your hotel, if you ask me to. But I’m really hoping you want to go home with me tonight. We don’t even have to do anything but sleep, if you don’t want to. I just…” I look into his eyes. “I’m tired of being alone. And I was really fucking worried about you.”
He licks his lips and nods. “I want to. Go home with you,” he adds.
More relief fills me. I kiss him once more, this time tasting and teasing and exploring. “Then let’s get back in there, baby.” I pull him away from the wall and tuck him against my side with my arm around his shoulders, where he fits perfectly, and we head inside to once again have our ears aurally assaulted.
But he’s safe.
He’s fucking safe.
I’ll process later the wave of other emotions that rode in on my relief.
For now, I want to make my boy happy by being here with him and being able to get him safely back to my place after the concert.
Because this night’s shown me there’s no way in hell I’m letting him get away from me.
Not sure how Elliot’s going to feel about it, and I’ll deal with that later.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Fortunately, Jordan wants to watch the headliner band from the lower balcony. Even better, his drink is only Pepsi, with no alcohol.
And he’s wearing his warm coat, because he knew he’d be cold, and his phones are buried down in a pocket of that.
Under the gloves, hat, and scarf I loaned him.
He looks adorably abashed when he pulls them out and sees my attempts to contact him.
Then he snuggles against my side as we stand at the balcony rail and watch the concert.
I have to say, I could get used to this. Now that my worry is alleviated, I can relax and enjoy the fucking band. They’re not bad, either.
This is something Elliot and I have never had together.
Ever.
Never been able to share the simple joy of going to a concert together.
Damn sure never been able to drape my arm around him in public, kiss him in public—
Oh, shit. I kissed Jordan.
In public, no less.
I look down and he’s focused on the stage, bobbing his head a little in time with the music. This band is more pop than heavy metal, and they’ve got a good sound.
I couldn’t care less what they sound like, though.
Not when I’ve got Jordan here with me.
Guilt slams into me. I know Elliot has issues. I get it.
Yes, Elliot gave me permission to see other people, and I told him about Jordan.
It’s not fair that, after six years together, I can’t be with Elliot publicly.
I’ve already been able to express more public affection with Jordan tonight than I have in my years with Elliot.
I send Elliot a basic good-night text and hope Shae didn’t decide to be a little sadistic and try to interfere to get Elliot off his ass regarding me by telling him where I went.
He replies almost immediately, and doesn’t indicate he’s upset, so hopefully we’re good. I return the burner to my pocket, although I leave it on in case Elliot texts me again.
He won’t, but just in case.
We eventually end up with Jordan standing in front of me, my arms wrapped around him and him holding my hands. I don’t even care he can feel that my cock’s hard, because the boy is grinding his adorably perfect ass against me.
Part of me is terrified. Jordan’s never been with a guy before. Maybe I should pump the brakes on this.
Maybe I should slow down even more.
Or, maybe it’s time I stop overthinking this.
It feels so damn good holding him. Hell, it’s okay we’re not sleeping together yet, because I get to hold him right now. I even rest my chin on his shoulder, close my eyes, and breathe.
I don’t know what the hell shampoo he uses but he smells damned good.
In my life, I’ve been with butch and fem guys, and everywhere in between. Ironically, I’ve been with Elliot for the longest. Before Elliot, my longest relationship was six months, not long after I started at the Secret Service. It’s difficult to have a quality relationship when you’re never home and sometimes have to leave on a moment’s notice if sent out on assignment.
There’s something sweetly perfect about Jordan. I even nibble on his earlobe, which earns me another kiss when he tips his head back and turns his face toward me.
While Elliot and I have technically done a lot of risky things since we’ve been together, I’ve never wanted to have public sex before.
Until now.
No, of course I won’t do that to the boy. I want him to have the best of me, not the worst.
Hell, maybe now I’m getting a glimpse of why some guys are totally into the Daddy/boy dynamic.
I could be, too, if Jordan was mine.
Please, let him be mine.
* * * *
The concert lasts until after midnight, but I don’t even care. Once the second encore ends and the house lights come up, I lace fingers with Jordan and we follow everyone downstairs so we can make our exit.
Again, something else I’ve never been able to do with Elliot. Never walked holding hands with him in public.
It’s been years since I’ve been able to have any kind of PDA with a guy, and damned if I didn’t realize how much I missed it before.
Life is fucking lonely, man.
Maybe Elliot wants to live like this, but tonight’s shown me that I don’t. I can’t. If Jordan’s honestly willing
to let me be poly with him and Elliot, then this is going to be my life going forward.
If I can talk Jordan into staying in DC and not returning to Florida.
Not even going to lie, I’m already running through ideas for that in my head.
We make it as far as the lobby when I hear something from outside that makes my blood run cold: tires squealing, and angry shouts cutting through the din of the crowd noise.
As my instincts and training kick in, when the gunshots split the night I’m already pulling Jordan back toward the auditorium doors with one hand and reaching for a sidearm I don’t have with the other.
Adrenaline spikes through my system. I go big, putting myself between Jordan and the throng of people flooding back inside the lobby and charging toward the auditorium doors. I’m shoving Jordan in front of me and reach around him to yank the door open so we can race through it.
Behind us, there’s a screaming, panicked stampede of terrified people. I realize it’s probably a drive-by, not a coordinated attack, as I suddenly remember the gang members I saw earlier.
Like hell am I going out there. I’m not armed, and I have to protect my boy.
I remember where the back entrance is from my earlier search and I practically carry him in that direction. This all happens in the space of less than ten seconds, maybe not even five.
“Keep your head down and don’t look back!” I yell at him when he stumbles as he tries to look behind us. He won’t fall, because I’ve got an arm around him. Hell, I’ll carry him, if I have to.
I hear two more shots behind us out front and pray I’ve guessed correctly about this being a gang thing and not a terrorist thing. Otherwise, we could be running into a trap. But I’m damn sure not going upstairs, because there is no fucking cover and we’d be sitting ducks.
I hit the bar on the emergency door shoulder-first at a dead run, taking the brunt of the impact and shielding Jordan from it. I also want my body between him and whatever’s outside, in case I’ve guessed wrong.
Outside, the air feels frigid, even colder than earlier. We emerge in a side alley. While I see people running away from the theater, I don’t see any cars.
Or, more importantly, any shooters.
I get my bearings and take off running in the other direction, forcing Jordan along with me. I want to cut over two streets, back to a main street where I can grab us a cab, or at the very least find an open business to retreat into and order a ride share.
My world shrinks and time slows as we pound down the sidewalk. Sirens wail all around, bouncing off the houses and buildings, but I wait to slow our stride until we emerge right where I thought we’d be. Jordan keeps up with me without any problem.
I finally stop and pull us into a doorway of a closed store to check Jordan over and catch our breaths. My leg is fucking killing me but, right now, it’s registering as a secondary annoyance. “Are you all right?”
He numbly nods, his eyes wide with terror. “Are we safe here?”
I pull him in for a desperate hug. “Yeah, boy. We’re safe here.” I only allow us this for a moment, and my head’s on a swivel the entire time.
You know, there was a time in my life when I would have run toward trouble. It was kind of my job.
But I don’t have a badge. I’m not wearing a gun or body armor.
And I have to protect Jordan.
So, no, in this case, I don’t feel guilty about turning tail and running.
There’s a bar at the far corner of this block. I grab Jordan’s hand again and aim for there, pulling my phone out and calling up a ride-share app as we fast-walk. I keep Jordan on my left, between me and the building, just in case. More sirens are wailing everywhere, police cars running lights and sirens speeding toward the club, and I only now realize I’ve still got my earplugs in. So does Jordan.
I remove mine, then grab his, pocketing them all. “Don’t say anything,” I tell him before we step inside the bar. I don’t know what kind of place it is, and I don’t want to go from frying pan to fire.
The app refreshes. Available rides disappear before I can even book them. I don’t know if we’ll be able to get a car right now. Police are cordoning off the area, I’m sure, and there’s probably a large crowd of people also trying to book rides.
I switch to a different app, where I find one driver’s only five minutes away, and I book them. I’m doing all this one-handed, while my left arm is slung around Jordan’s shoulders and keeping him pressed against me.
Fortunately, the place looks like it’s okay, average neighborhood hangout.
A guy walks over and sticks his head out the door. “What’s with all the sirens?”
“Don’t know, man,” I say as I clamp down on Jordan’s shoulder with my hand to keep him quiet. “Heard something a few blocks over. Pretty sure it was gunshots. We decided we’re done walking.”
“Fuck, man. Don’t blame you.”
Jordan trembles against me as the events finally begin to filter into his conscious brain for processing. I book the ride and take a moment to look around. Only a couple of people in the bar are looking in our direction, besides the guy who spoke to me. He’s apparently a patron, because now that his curiosity’s satisfied, he returns to a high top where two other men are standing, and he picks up a drink.
We step outside again, because when Jordan has his inevitable meltdown, I want him to have privacy.
And he will melt down about this. I can feel it in him already. He might as well be attached to me at this point. I really don’t have to direct him, because he’s glued to my side and trembling like crazy.
We lean against the wall and I press a kiss to his temple. “Hold it together for me just a little longer, baby,” I softly tell him. “We’ll be in the car in a minute. I promise I’ll take care of you.”
I damn well know it’s not just the cold making him shiver. Shedding my coat, I wrap it around him, leaving me in my blazer. Right now I’m hot, which is, I know, my body’s way of coping with the adrenaline dump I just experienced. I reach up and loosen my tie and unbutton my collar.
The car, which has a lit badge sporting the ride-share company’s logo stuck to the inside of the windshield, pulls up a minute or so later. After I match the driver to his picture in the app, we get in the back seat and I don’t even bother buckling up.
“Man, police are fricking everywhere,” he says. “What happened?”
“Same shit happens in DC all the damn time,” I wearily answer. “People shooting people.”
I pull Jordan over so his head’s in my lap and I find one of his hands, taking it in mine and squeezing. It’s ice-cold.
That’s when he starts crying.
The man glances in the mirror. “Everything all right?”
“He’s not from around here,” I tell the guy. “Sound of the shots freaked him out. That’s why we stopped walking and called for a ride.”
The driver hands back a tissue box between the seats.
“Thanks, man.” He just earned himself a huge fucking tip and five stars.
Jordan sobs in my lap almost all the way to my apartment. Once we’re safely in my lobby, and the door’s shut behind us, I keep my arm around him all the way up the stairs to my floor.
The memory of my coat swaddling him will likely be one I take to my grave. I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of him. Hell, I’ll fucking support him, if he wants to be mine, and he can stay home and do nothing but take care of the apartment.
Which I totally understand is a completely irrational feeling, most likely born from the adrenaline still bouncing through my system.
Except we just escaped a legit brush with death. Not my first by a longshot, but it’s probably Jordan’s first. If it was only me tonight, I would have already shaken it off.
Seeing it from Jordan’s perspective, however, and having him to worry about, is a new one, for me.
I’ve never been personally involved with a protectee before, so being emotionally ves
ted in someone and protecting them at the same time is…
Freaking me out, a little.
Hell of a first concert outing together, I suppose.
Damn sure won’t forget it.
He doesn’t speak, and I finally release him once we’re standing in front of my door so I can dig my keys out of my pocket and unlock it. I get him inside and disarm my alarm while he closes the door behind us.
When I turn so I can lock the door, he throws himself at me, wrapping his arms around me, my coat sliding off his shoulders and puddling on the floor as he jumps up and his legs circle my waist.
And he kisses me.
Not any of the tender or even insistent kisses we’ve already shared tonight, but a tongue-swallowing, desperate snog that instantly hardens my softened cock.
I cup a hand under his ass as I kiss him back, blindly flailing my other hand to find the deadbolts and knob to get them locked.
We’re still kissing as I turn and carry him into my bedroom.
Yes, I know what’s going on here. This is the back end of his shock, it’s adrenaline and fear and a messy soup of brain chemicals mixed with emotions and sexual attraction, and we really should talk about this, right now. I’m older, I have the experience, the knowledge.
Fuck, I’ve got the goddamned training.
So what do you think I’m going to do?
If you answered anything other than I’m going to fuck and claim this boy and make him mine, then you’re dead-ass wrong.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Desperation tinges Jordan’s kisses as I kick off my shoes and turn to sit on the edge of my bed. He ends up straddling me, pushing me back onto the bed and holding on to my blazer lapels as he kisses me and climbs me like a damn tree.
We’re still kissing even as I reach up and slide his coat off his shoulders so he can shrug out of it. Under it, he’s wearing a long-sleeved button-up with an undershirt, and jeans. I start working on his buttons as I feel him reach back and yank the sneakers off his feet. His hands loosen my tie while I’m already tugging his shirt and undershirt out of his waistband and pulling them off over his head.
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