Dark & Dirty: A Dark Erotic Fantasy Anthology

by Lea Bronsen

  Where was Luke? He turned to check out the kitchen. They got off on the wrong foot yesterday, and since Luke had been so kind to help with coffee, he wanted to make up. He didn’t know why the offer to pay for Luke’s extra hour had vexed they guy. It was a natural thing to do, for him, at least. Everything was measurable and had a price, even a kitchen assistant’s time.

  Speaking of the devil—Luke appeared from behind a counter, wearing his gray uniform and carrying a tray with a sandwich and a glass of water. His features resembled those of a Viking—strong and angular, his slicked-back hair a mix of blond and brown slashes. Formidable. His striking green eyes focused on Roman, but showed no sign of recognition.

  “Hey.” Roman raised a hand. “I was going outside. Want to join me?” His heart jumped. What the hell was he doing? He hadn’t intended to go out or invite anyone to eat with him. He needed time alone to think about the divorce.

  Luke paused, seemed to consider the invitation, then nodded. He glanced at Roman’s empty hands. “You’re not eating?”

  “Um…I’m not hungry.” Another lie.

  Luke grinned. “Yeah, right.” Tray in hand, he spun and said over his shoulder, “I’ll getcha something.”

  A minute later, he reappeared holding two wrapped sandwiches and a water bottle. “I need to get some sun, too.” He waved to his colleagues in the corner and led the way out of the restaurant.

  Roman followed him, head dizzy and stomach slightly nauseous. It had to be the caffeine overdose. Or his starved bowels. He’d skipped breakfast again.

  As Luke walked before him, he couldn’t help noticing his easy, smooth step. He seemed to glide over the floor with the grace and virility of a wild animal, his large shoulders straight and head held high. Intriguing, for a kitchen assistant.

  They passed security and exited the building without a word. The high sun shone intensely, blinding and stopping them in their tracks. Roman pulled his sunglasses out of his chest pocket and put them on, giving his eyes relief. He’d spent too much time in his cool, dark office.

  Luke didn’t have sunglasses. Squinting, he walked on.

  They crossed the street, then a parking lot, and reached an open park. Their shoes crushed gravel and the scent of warm grass and dirt snuck into Roman’s nostrils. He took deep breaths. Birds sang of happiness. It was spring, his favorite time of the year. Renewal. How fitting, now that he was embarking on a new journey in his life.

  A row of tall chestnut trees cast shadows on an elderly couple on a bench. They had their eyes closed as if they, too, listened to nature coming to life. On the next bench, a teenage girl in pink sportswear hunched over her smartphone, head bobbing to music. She didn’t even look up when Luke passed her and slumped on a third bench with his legs spread in a very manly manner. He put the water bottle in the middle and handed out one of the sandwiches.

  Roman sat and accepted the gift. “Thanks.” He closed his eyes and leaned back for a moment, molding his spine to the hard wooden boards and sinking into “pause” mode. He should do this more often. With Cindy gone for a couple of days, he would never be able to catch up on the workload. “My secretary is on leave today, too,” he said on a sigh. But a sick child was a sick child.

  “You banging her?”

  “Huh?” He opened his eyes.

  Luke rolled back the sleeves of his gray kitchen uniform and unwrapped his sandwich. His forearms were pumped in a hard, chiseled way. The kind you got working out in a gym. Prominent veins and white scars zigzagged across clumsily drawn tattoos. Every move made muscles ripple beneath his pale skin. What else did his clothes conceal? He had the tough look of a boxer, a thug, someone you’d see in a mugshot.

  Roman’s head drained of blood. A mugshot? How long exactly had Luke worked in the restaurant? He could have been there for years and Roman didn’t notice. Maybe he had started out a construction worker. They were a special breed. Roman should know; he represented their employers.

  Luke turned to him, eyes gleaming. “Are you banging her?”

  “Who?”

  He chuckled. “Your secretary.”

  “Of course not.” Roman huffed. What an insinuation. He had always been faithful to Jen. Not once had he considered cheating. He couldn’t say that much about her. The affair with her young firm partner had lasted a year. Roman suspected something was up when she no longer wanted sex. She looked exquisite and filled the house with her sensuous-woman perfume and cheery laughter, but it wasn’t for him.

  He tore a piece off the aluminum foil around his sandwich. The smell of fresh bread, ham, and cheese seeped out, but…no, he’d lost his appetite.

  The sun moved, sending rays of diffuse light through the tree leaves. Something gave off a white-golden glow on his hand. His wedding ring. Why was he still wearing it? When was an appropriate time to take it off? After Jen’s lawyer advised her to claim custody of the kids, Roman didn’t want to have anything to do with her. They were over. His chest tightened with renewed pain, and he ached to go back to his office. That’s what was nice about having so much work—it helped distance him from his emotional turmoil.

  How did their relationship turn bad like this? Unlike most couples, they’d been best friends since their childhood, then married and became parents. First to Nick, a chubby mini-Roman, then Lily, the sweetest baby girl on the planet. Life was perfect. He couldn’t ask for more. For seven years, he and Jen shared everything and more. They were meant to be together forever.

  Now she was willing to destroy all they’d built and cherished. For what? Cheap orgasms with a younger guy? How crazy was that? Worse, she wanted to take his most valuable possession—his kids.

  Hot tears sprang to his eyes, as if someone had turned on a tap. He blinked to clear his vision.

  Goddammit, she was not only crazy, she was mean. He had never expected her to change and become such an evil woman.

  A tear rolled down his cheek. He put the sandwich on his lap and pulled at the ring. It slid off his finger easier than he thought, as if mirroring the ease with which she had split their loving family.

  At thirty-one, Roman was a divorced man.

  * * * *

  Until now, I wondered what the fuck I was doing in the park with the slick douche. When he invited me to join him, lines of fatigue in his face said he needed a break, and it didn’t cost me much to accept lunch with him. But then, as we sat on the bench, his fine clothes, shiny shoes, and movie-star sunglasses reminded me of who he was: a representative of those who profit on others. It didn’t help that he refused to eat the food I gave him, as if it wasn’t worthy of him or something.

  And, now—the curtain fell. He took off his wedding ring and pocketed it. Just like that. In public.

  I stop munching my sandwich and stare at him.

  He avoids me and wipes a cheek with the back of his sleeve. Is he crying? He must be at a crossroads.

  I don’t know what to say. As much as I despise the world he belongs to, his fragile sensitivity gets through to me like an arrow traversing my heart. In prison, whenever someone broke down, inmates and jailers alike would look the other way, but I would be touched and try to give a little humanity. That’s one of the few good traits I inherited from my late granddad.

  “You all right?” I resist putting a hand on his arm. We’re not exactly fraternal, Slick and I.

  He shrugs, fixing the sandwich in his lap. “If I can give you a piece of advice…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t ever tie the knot.”

  “Oh, no worries there.” I chortle. Sex partners come and go, and I never see them twice. “I don’t want a stable relationship.”

  He fiddles with the aluminum foil.

  One-handed, I reach for the water bottle and unscrew it. My hand trembles as I lift it to my mouth. I’m used to adjusting my movements and not missing a thing, but in the corner of my vision, Slick eyes me. He must think I’m a wuss. He doesn’t know shit. I swallow delicious gulps of cold water, rinsing my
throat, and turn to him. “Ask me something.”

  “What?”

  “Anything.”

  He hesitates. “Okay… Tell me something about you that I’d never guess.”

  “When I get off, I don’t make a sound.” A trick I learned in jail.

  He leaves his mouth agape.

  I chuckle. “You asked.”

  His face breaks into a grin. Good, humor always works.

  “Now, your turn.” I screw the bottle and put it on the bench between us. “Tell me something about you.”

  He draws a breath and stretches his legs, the material of his satin-looking pants tightening over long, firm muscles. Does he run? I wonder what he looks like underneath these fine clothes. If his lower body is as good as the upper I saw yesterday… My cock stirs at the thought of peeling everything off layer by layer and uncovering the goodies.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” he says on a sigh, taking off his sunglasses, his gaze following a squirrel that chases another up a tree. Spring means love in the air. “There’s so much to tell.”

  “How about you tell me your name, for starters.”

  “I haven’t told you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m Roman.”

  “Roman.” I taste the name on my tongue. “A fitting name.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s something Italian about you.” I unashamedly take in his black gelled hair, dark brows, raven-colored pupils in a frame of long, feminine lashes, and neatly bearded cheeks. He’s so devilishly handsome. If I met him in a club one night, I’d bring him home and do his sweet butt until the rise of dawn.

  “Oh.” He gives a half-smile. “Well, that’s not very surprising. I have Italian blood on my mother’s side.”

  No shit.

  He holds my gaze for a moment. Or is it me holding his? A bit longer than what is appropriate for two men of our statuses.

  The warning ’Don’t flirt with the customers’ comes back to me.

  Yeah. Step back, boy.

  I lean against the bench and put my sandwich to my mouth. Fuck me if that little interlude didn’t make my cock stiffen. Usually, roughness, a bold remark, or a daring stare will turn me on. Roman is more. He’s not only tough, he’s smart, he looks better than your average movie star, he’s not afraid of showing his feelings, and he’s available. He just took off his wedding ring.

  The sun shifts in the sky. Through a hole in the trees, a serpent of fire reaches down and lick bits of my exposed skin. With the job I have, I hardly get out, seldom did in jail either, so whenever I feel the burn, I savor each little ray of sun and store its heat in my cells for darker days.

  Last sandwich bite. I crush the aluminum wrap, throw the ball into a bin on my side of the bench, and fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from my pocket. Since Roman doesn’t eat, he won’t mind the smoke. My fingers tremble as I pull a cigarette out of the pack.

  “You don’t need to be nervous,” he says. “I’m tough in business, but…”

  He’s funny. Chuckling, I turn to him. “You think I’m nervous?” He’s a powerful man, but mentally, he can’t touch me. I’ll always be stronger, nastier, more determined. I tilt my head and whisper, voice cunning. “No one makes me nervous.”

  He gives me a steady look. Maybe he thinks I’m naïve, that I don’t comprehend the power he possesses. He can use his corrupt lobbyist connections and sleazy businessman techniques to get me fired. But he doesn’t know the things I’ve seen and done, where I come from, what I’ve endured.

  I stare at his perfectly handsome face. So arrogant, so fucking self-important. He needs to be put in his place. Now.

  I lean over the space between us, bring my free hand to his neck, and kiss him, my lips hard and firm on his. I want to show I have power over him, too. I can affect him, provoke his reaction.

  Eyes wide, he jerks back.

  Are you kidding me? I hold his neck firmly and press my lips to his a second longer, just for show, before releasing him and sitting back.

  Ha ha. Now I can light the cigarette, my trembling hands no longer a subject for conversation.

  In the corner of my eye, his chest heaves, and quicker breaths sound in my ears. A moment passes, the thudding of my heart increasing with each second. I’m aroused, my cock pressing painfully against the fly, but I’ve trespassed. What is he going to do about it? Waiting, I roll the trigger and drag on my cigarette to light it.

  He wipes his palms on his pants. Is he sweating? Did I cause it? After a while, he turns to me. “Look at me.” His voice sounds choked. “Look at me.”

  Exhaling a long chain of smoke, I turn to him, my head pounding with a sudden ache. Too much blood pulsing in there, and it’s not the nicotine.

  He looks tense. A vein beats in his neck. A thin layer of sweat covers his shiny face in the sun. His features are hard, and his black eyes deep and vibrating with emotion as he glares at me. I don’t know what stops me from kissing him again.

  “I’m not gay,” he whispers.

  Coldness invades me, then heat, then coldness again, a sweat breaking out all over. He’s telling me he thinks I want something to happen between us, but he can’t accept it because he prefers women. Even so, he’s not scolding me for kissing him. He’s not angry, vexed, or disgusted. I don’t know what to think. If he hadn’t liked the kiss, he could easily have wrestled out of my grip, screamed rape. He didn’t, so he’s using this lame excuse to cover up he can’t accept me because of who I am? It’s not about his sexual preference. It’s about him being powerful and wealthy, and me a mere kitchen assistant, right?

  “I’m not gay, either.” I have another drag and blink as smoke tickles my eyes.

  He makes a guttural sound.

  After letting my reply sit for a few moments, I add, puffing with each word, “I’m bi. I like fucking girls’ pussies and guys’ butt holes.” I glance at my watch. “Time’s up. Have a good day.” I get up and leave, passing him, the pink-dressed girl, and the couple of elderlies one after the other, not offering either a single look.

  Chapter Four

  After the episode in the park, Roman had been unable to find peace of mind for the rest of that day, or any sleep the following night.

  Wednesday morning, he was beyond exhausted as he dragged his feet through the maze of corridors, burning coffee in hand, and distributed feeble greetings to the colleagues on his floor. When he reached his office, he put the cup on his desk, sank into the leather chair, and ran a hand over his face.

  As if he didn’t have enough problems with Jen claiming custody of the kids, with Cindy calling in to say she’d caught her daughter’s disease so she would probably stay at home for the rest of the week, with the endless work calls, texts, and emails he had no chance of handling anytime soon… His mind was stuck on Luke and their awkward kiss like a CD-player choking on a broken disc.

  Roman had never been kissed by a man. Though that wasn’t the problem—using the “I’m not gay” card was just an excuse to bolt when things got a little heated. He didn’t see a relationship with another man as problematic. Gay couples were increasingly frequent and accepted in his social milieu.

  The problem was the kiss itself. And even though he knew from the gleam in Luke’s eyes he’d only done it to make a point, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the provocative gesture and take it in a cool, relaxed way. He couldn’t rationalize it or put it into perspective, the way he needed to treat every issue in his life.

  The kiss bothered the hell out of him. Mentally, it haunted him like a recurring nightmare that never gave respite, and physically, lit something hot and fierce in him. Years had passed since the last time he’d felt this kind of reaction to someone. A need had awoken, a hunger, an urge even more difficult to tame or ignore than the psychological impact. It involved caressing skin, exploring sweaty body parts, teasing with his tongue, sticking his erection into wet holes, pumping, ascending to a climax, shooting cum, screaming.

 
His brain reproduced images of Luke. His rock-hard face, high cheekbones, piercing eyes the color of emerald, and full lips breaking into an easy grin. The scar across his chin that he concealed with a goatee, and his slicked-back blond/brown hair.

  Conjuring up Luke’s features was wrong. Dammit, all the consequences from what happened in the park were wrong, yet Roman was too tired to think of the reasons why he thought so. Simply labeling the situation as “wrong” would have to do until he got some sleep, calmed the fuck down, and put some distance between all of this.

  Right, who the hell was he fooling? They worked in the same building. They had common denominators. “Lunch.” “Coffee.” “Fruit delivery.” “Elevator.” The list went on. They may never have known about one another for years, but he was willing to bet a month’s salary that from now on fate would have them run into each other day after day—mere coincidences, of course.

  He gave a sardonic chuckle. Roman, the pragmatic, man of logic, business magnate, was reasoning like a simpleton.

  Truth was, if he didn’t handle this situation very well, very soon, he was heading for a disaster. What exactly he meant by that, he had no idea, for he was blabbering.

  He took a sip from his searing hot coffee. The first of many cups today.

  Now what?

  At the very least, he needed to do some risk assessment. That’s how he rolled, how he became an executive at a young age, and how he intended to continue controlling all facets of his life.

  In this case, risk assessment meant doing a background check on Luke. The more information he uncovered, the more cards he’d have in hand to figure out how to deal.