Saints United [For Love of Authority 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Rhiannon Ayers

  Austin sat back as if chastised, but A.J. wasn’t finished. His voice was a deep rumble edged with the pain of his lost dignity. “You’ve never had to start your entire life over with the ashes of the old one still on your hands. Don’t fucking sit there and tell me you know what it’s like, Austin. You don’t. You can’t. Don’t fucking go there.”

  Austin regarded him in silence for a long, tense moment. Long enough that A.J.’s ire waned, leaving embarrassment in its wake. Austin didn’t move, didn’t speak, until A.J. swallowed uncomfortably and broke eye contact, cheeks burning.

  “What I was about to say,” Austin murmured, “is that I know what it’s like to move to a new city, to have to start over and make new friends.” His eyes held sympathy, but his tone was hard. “I was going to say I know what it’s like to need something, want something, yearn for something, but not know how to get it. And I know what it’s like to take that last step, to accept that inner fire and turn it into something beautiful. That’s what I was going to say, A.J. Before you decided to put words in my mouth.”

  Shoulders hunched from the pain of that verbal slap, A.J. looked down at his hands clenched around the water glass. “Sorry. I jumped to conclusions. Force of habit.”

  “Yes, it is,” Austin agreed. He waited until A.J. looked back up at him before continuing. “And your apology is accepted. But, since you brought it up, I will say this. Marian divorced you, A.J. It finalized six months ago. And yes, I do understand some of the pain you’re going through, whether you believe me or not. But six months is long enough to wallow in grief for something you have no hope of changing. It’s time to move on. Time to get your own life back.”

  “And you think this,” he gestured toward the invitation with his chin, “is the way I’m going to do that?”

  A shrug. “You never know, do you? It certainly can’t hurt. Or, maybe I should say it won’t hurt any more than you want it to.” The last was said with a little smirk that was both lust-soaked and filled with promise.

  A.J. squirmed. “Look, I really do appreciate you trying to look out for me. I do. I just…don’t know if this is…the right thing for me.”

  I can’t afford to let it be the “right thing for me.” But he didn’t say that out loud.

  “You’ll never know until you try,” Austin riposted. Then he sighed. “At least think about it, okay? Even if you don’t want to participate in the auction, there’s still the charity ball afterward. You could mix and mingle without being on stage.”

  He didn’t want to. God, he didn’t want to know. But, he had to ask. “What, exactly, does the slave auction mean? How does that work?”

  Oh, the look of triumphant amusement on Austin’s face. “Exactly what it sounds like.”

  For the first time, the other man glanced over at the family to make sure they weren’t paying attention. Then he leaned forward conspiratorially. “Think of it like a date auction if it makes you feel more comfortable. Except in our version, the ‘dates’ being auctioned are slaves—sexual submissives like you—and the bidders are Dominants. They bid on you for the right to a three-day contract. For those three days, you belong to them.”

  A.J.’s cock was getting harder with every word Austin spoke. “What if…” He had to clear the lust from his throat before he could continue. “What if the…slave…doesn’t want to spend three days with the…person…who wins the contract? Do you…I mean, are you forcing them to agree to…to be raped?” The last came out in a horrified whisper.

  “No,” Austin said sharply, so loud the two kids looked up from their drawing project and stared at him for a moment. Austin cleared his throat, and didn’t speak again until the children lost interest. He gave A.J. a scathing look. “How can you even suggest that? Everything in BDSM is consensual. Didn’t you learn anything during our night at the club in Virginia?”

  Oh, he’d learned a lot that night, for sure. Learned far more about himself than he’d ever dreamed was possible through a purely sexual encounter. And he’d learned a hell of a lot more, when he went back…alone. Some of those encounters had been sexually gratifying on an epic scale, while others had been disastrous nightmares that left him hollow for days afterward. Which was why he was asking these questions. Austin didn’t know about A.J.’s additional trips to the club, didn’t know he was more experienced than the other man believed. He knew what he did want, and what he didn’t. He had no desire whatsoever to put himself into a compromising position again.

  When A.J. said nothing, Austin growled, “It’s a voluntary contract, A.J. All parties have to agree to it before anything else happens, sexual or otherwise. We’d never put our submissives in danger like that. How could you even suggest it?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” A.J. said finally. “I guess what I’m trying to find out is…If someone bids on me, and I don’t want to be with them…”

  “Then you won’t be,” Austin said flatly. “That’s all there is to it. This is supposed to be fun, like a BDSM version of a date auction. Stop over-thinking it. It’s a charity event, for crying out loud. All I want is for you to be part of it, whether you do that on stage or simply join us for the party afterward. I promise.”

  He held up both hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll think about it. Although, I don’t know how much difference it will make if I go or not.”

  Austin smiled, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “It will make a difference. Trust me. I promise, A.J., you won’t regret it. And besides, it really is for a great cause. Street Smartz needs all the help it can get.”

  “I’m meeting with the lady from Street Smartz today, actually,” A.J. shared, grateful for the change in topic. His small IT company handled server integration, internet security, and workflow management for a variety of local businesses. He’d started the company right after moving to Houston—with Austin as his primary investor—and business was booming. Apparently, there was a high demand for former FBI computer technicians turned private IT computer specialists. “Thanks for the referral, by the way. She said I came highly recommended. Amber something.”

  Austin nodded, seemingly pleased. “Amber Henley-Jones. Good. I’m glad they took me up on the advice. They could really use your help.”

  “So what is it, exactly?” A.J. cocked his head, idly running a half-eaten French fry through a puddle of ketchup on his plate. “I know it’s a charity, and I know they deal with kids. But I don’t know why they need IT tech services.” He glanced over at the family on the far side of the patio, then lowered his voice. “Or why a BDSM club would hold a charity event to benefit them.”

  Austin waved a dismissive hand. “Easier for Amber to explain the charity to you. We’re involved because I’m on the charity’s board of directors. The money we earn through the Club S event will be filtered through my foundation. The kids don’t need to know where the funds came from. They just need the money.”

  “Fair enough,” A.J. said. “But why do they need IT services?”

  “What time is your appointment with Amber?” Austin asked instead of answering.

  “Three-thirty.”

  “Then you’ll find out then, won’t you?” The guy looked positively gleeful.

  A.J. snorted. “Way to be mysterious. All right, fine. I’ll wait for Amber to tell me about the charity…and I’ll think about being in the auction.” Easy enough to promise, now that Austin wasn’t trying to shove it down his throat. “Now, can we please change the subject? How have you been? How’s the new boyfriend?”

  “Who, Lake? We broke up,” Austin said airily. “But it’s okay. I met a new guy.”

  The rest of their lunch passed without incident, thankfully. They talked about lighter subjects while they finished eating, even laughing together when their over-worked waitress discovered the “artwork” left behind by the family of four. It wasn’t until Austin had paid for their meal—the guy turned into a snarling demon whenever A.J. offered to buy, so he no longer even made the attempt—and they were h
eaded for the parking lot that Austin brought the conversation up again.

  “Look,” he said, pausing next to A.J.’s beat-up Ford F-150. “I know you don’t like talking about Marian. Hell, I know you don’t even like thinking about her. And you shouldn’t. But I need to say this, and you need to hear it.”

  A.J. hid a sigh, fisting his key-ring so the keys dug into his palm. “Go ahead.”

  The other man’s face was full of some emotion A.J. couldn’t even begin to name. “I know she hurt you. And I know you blame yourself for what happened between you. But you need to let it go, man. Seriously, what I said back there…I wasn’t just being a smart-ass. You need to move on. Find someone different. Someone better. I know having a kid with her made it harder, made it hurt more. But it’s over, A.J. You really do need to move on.”

  A.J. pasted a smile on his face. “I know. And I know you mean well. But…it’s something I need to work out on my own.”

  “Really?” One blond eyebrow arched upward. “And how’s that been working out for you, huh?”

  A.J. ground his teeth. “Austin…”

  The other man held up a hand. “Fine, fine. Sorry. But you know I care about you, man. I wouldn’t have invited you to move out here if I didn’t. And as surly as you’ve been these past four months, I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t still care about you now. I just…want to see you happy. And you’re right, maybe the auction isn’t the way to do that. But the club…” Austin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The club could be a place where you could feel free to let it go for a while. That’s all I’m trying to get you to do. You understand that, right?”

  Yeah, A.J. understood that Austin meant well. He just didn’t understand. But A.J. wasn’t about to say any of that right now. “Yeah, man. I know. And thanks for putting up with me and all my bullshit. I’ll get it together. I promise.”

  Austin gave him a dubious smile, but didn’t challenge the statement. “Good. Do yourself a favor—open the damn welcome packet, okay? I promise you with everything I am, you’ll like what you find.”

  A.J. groaned. “Why won’t you just tell me what the fuck it is?”

  A laugh. “Because you wouldn’t believe me if I did. Open it, A.J. Then call me and let me know if you’ll be entering the auction. I need an answer by the Friday before the event. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  They said good-bye, and A.J. climbed into his truck. Tossing the invitation Austin had insisted he take with him onto the passenger seat, he drove home to get ready for his afternoon meeting.

  Yeah, Austin meant well. But he had no idea what it was like to watch your whole world torn apart while you could do absolutely nothing to stop it. Had no idea what it was like to have lived with—and nurtured—a lie that eventually destroyed everything that ever meant something to him. And he had no idea, none, what it was like to lose the only person he ever really, truly loved.

  Had no idea how one mistake could echo through the years of someone’s life and wreak havoc with it, simply because the mistake had been made when he was too young and stupid to realize it was a mistake.

  The saddest part? He wasn’t even referring to his marriage. That mistake was just one of the exponential repercussions of the original transgression. No, this went back further, before Marian, before MIT, before he even met Austin. All the way back to his earliest college days, when he was an undergraduate student at UT Dallas. Back when he was still a bright-eyed teenager with aspirations toward becoming a detective instead of a computer specialist for the FBI.

  Back when he fell in love with his roommate, Ryder St. Claire.

  One night. He’d had one long, glorious night in Ryder’s arms. One night to indulge all the taboos he’d started craving the moment he met the man. One night to pretend, just for a little while, that he could be in love with a man…and there would be no consequences.

  Chapter 2

  Eight Years Ago

  A.J. sat on his bunk in the tiny dorm room he shared with his best friend and thought, Him and his fucking wet dreams.

  A.J. glanced at the clock. Almost midnight, and on his very last day as a college student at UT Dallas. Both he and his roommate, Ryder, had earned undergraduate degrees in Criminology, spending the last four years learning the ins and outs of the criminal justice system so they could both become educated members of the police force. But where Ryder was content to go straight to the Police Academy, A.J. had decided to take his second love—computers—to the next level. He’d applied to MIT’s prestigious Computer Science program, hoping to become a forensic computer specialist when he eventually graduated. Ryder was all gung-ho on becoming a detective, chasing down bad guys and wiping the streets clean for the good of humanity. A.J. just wanted to use his natural gift for technology to help keep people safe from cyber-crimes.

  The two guys couldn’t be more different. Ryder was tall, well over six feet, with short, dark-brown hair and heavy muscles that made other dudes pause before thinking of messing with him. His eyes were the weirdest color A.J. had ever seen—light brown, almost an amber hue, with darker brown rings around the irises. He’d recently started growing a goatee, which somehow made his strong jawline and long nose more distinguished. His booming laugh and carefree smile made people enjoy his company, and he could make friends as easily as breathing. A favorite of the ladies, the other guys in their group of friends called Ryder ‘The Panty-Collector,’ since chicks were more than willing to leave them behind after they got a look at that gorgeous face and killer body.

  A.J. was none of those things. At five-foot-eleven, he wasn’t exactly towering over anybody these days. He kept in shape, so he wasn’t some twink, but Ryder dwarfed him easily. He’d always thought his baby-blue eyes looked washed out and vacant, to the point where people assumed he was an idiot until they really got to know him. Not that he let many people do that, of course. Growing up the lone genius-level half-Latino in a very white, very rich neighborhood had left him with serious self-esteem issues. Where Ryder overtook a room just by walking into it, A.J. tended to blend into the background, so people often forgot he was there until he opened his mouth—which was usually when they did a double-take. If Ryder hadn’t been his friend, nobody would ever have talked to him at all.

  At least he did get some attention from the ladies. His black hair, brown skin, and blue eyes often led to questions about his heritage, which curiosity sometimes led to further exploration between the sheets. While definitely not a ladies’ man, he wasn’t exactly a monk, either. He had that much going for him. And sometimes being Ryder’s friend had other benefits, since the girls would sometimes settle for A.J. if they couldn’t get the guy they really wanted.

  But that was the real kicker, wasn’t it? The ladies always wanted Ryder—and so did A.J.

  Across the darkened room, Ryder moaned softly. A.J. bit back a curse, burying his face in his hands. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, naked but for a pair of tight black boxer-briefs. He’d been asleep until about ten minutes ago, when a soft sound suddenly woke him. And the moment his eyes popped open, the moment he realized what those sounds meant, A.J. knew he was in big, big trouble.

  You’d think he’d be used to this by now. Ryder was a typical horny college kid, getting laid as often as physically possible, and when he did actually come back to the dorm, that sexual proclivity continued in his dreams. A.J. had been listening to the guy moan provocatively in his sleep for years now—and watching the way the sheets tented over Ryder’s obvious erection.

  You’d think he’d be used to it by now. And yet, even after four years, the sight still made him rock-hard.

  A.J. shivered, wrapping both hands around his neck and squeezing his eyes shut. He was not gay. At least, he didn’t think so. He’d never been interested in another guy his whole life. Yet the moment he met Ryder, a bizarre, twisty feeling churned in his lower belly, telling him something was way off. He’d shrugged it off, assuming it was just nerves.
That is, until the first time Ryder undressed in front of him—and he had to run out of the room, find a private bathroom, and jerk off twice.

  This wasn’t normal. He knew that. His bizarre attraction for his roommate was nothing but a physical anomaly, something to be acknowledged but fiercely ignored. And he’d done so, successfully, for four solid years.

  Except for tonight.

  It was their last night together. Probably wouldn’t see the guy ever again after tomorrow. This was the last night he would have to go through this torture, the last night he would have to listen to his best friend jerk off in his sleep—and stuff down the desire to crawl into his bed and help him do it. He should be happy, ecstatic, to finally be free of this unwanted desire. He should be sitting here praying for dawn, looking forward to moving on and getting over this ridiculous attraction for his best friend.

  Unfortunately, the opposite was true right now. A.J. felt like a million tiny electrodes had been attached to his skin, shocking him all over every time Ryder made a sound. Every cell in his body was screaming at him, telling him this was his last chance to do something about the lust that had nearly choked him every single day for the past four years. After tonight, they would be miles apart, forever separated by their chosen professions, even if they would both technically work in the same industry. The odds of them ending up in the same city, much less the same precinct, were less than zero.

  If he wanted Ryder, tonight was his only chance.

  Except it wasn’t, really. Because Ryder wasn’t gay, either. And if he so much as suspected how much A.J. wanted him, he’d freak out, probably beat him to a pulp. Yes, this was A.J.’s last night in Ryder’s company—but right from the beginning, he never had a chance.