by LAURA HARNER
“It was our pleasure. I’m sorry I didn’t get to warn you ahead of time that Chance was bringing Rory, though. That must have been a shock.”
“No, actually, I already knew they were back together, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. Plus, Chance called me just before I left the house. Gave me the choice, neither of them or both. It was—” He laughed and it sounded good on him. “It was actually good. I’m glad Chance is happy.” There was a long pause, before he spoke again. “I never could have made him happy in the long run, could I?”
I thought about my answer for a moment and wondered if I could be completely honest, without betraying my old friend, Chance. I thought I owed Cannon that much…he’d glimpsed some truths about himself when he’d watched me in a scene at an after hours play party at our former club, Wilde Sides. It had been intense bondage and discipline with the cat. The sub was counting the strikes, and as was my habit, I searched the room for Archer between lashes. My gaze found Cannon instead—he was counting along with the sub.
“Noooo…actually, I think maybe it’s the other way around, Cannon. Chance wouldn’t be able to give you what you need, not in the long run. Do you remember that party you crashed at my place about six months ago?”
His answer was long in coming, and the self-assured voice came out a little breathy. “Yes.”
“The man I was talking to right before I came over to you…his name is Peter, and he’s a trained Dom. A Master. I’m going to give him your number and I want you to meet with him.”
“Oh. I don’t think—”
I dropped my voice to a low growl. “Yes. You do. You think too damn much. You spend eighty-plus hours a week making life and death decisions, being the one in charge, always having to maintain control. I am going to find you some one who will take control from you for a while. Let you feel, keep you safe…make you scream. Master Peter will call and you will meet with him. If he doesn’t suit you, I will find someone who will.”
“I don’t suppose you—”
“Cannon,” I said, my voice sharp. “You will not direct this situation. Hang up the phone and wait for Master Peter’s call.”
Ending the call with Cannon, I next gave Peter a quick jingle and told him exactly what was needed. After a long, low, delicious laugh he hung up, and I got back to the case at hand.
The rest of the way home from Ken Gregg’s, I thought over what the deacon told me and decided, overall, the information didn’t add much to what Gabe—Nick—had provided. Except corroboration that Father Tim did indeed have an interest in men beyond the confessional. It was interesting that Deacon Ken—who seemed an easygoing sort—didn’t particularly care for the priest. With thoughts of parish scandals and clergy in-fighting dancing through my brain, I’d been unprepared for a different type of dancing when I opened the door to the study.
“Holy shit.” The words exploded, taking my breath with them, leaving me light-headed.
With the click of a remote, music filled the room and Joe Cocker invited me to leave my hat on. Archer sat on the couch, his knees apart, hands behind his head, slight curve to his lips. Jeremiah stood before him, dressed in skinny jeans, a black tight knit tee clinging to his long, muscular frame, and topped by my gray fedora. With a wicked wink and a grind of his hips, Jer put a bump in my pants, and I rushed to lock the door. Unable to look away long enough to see where I was going, I managed to bump into the arm of the couch and nearly fell over Archer’s legs before he grabbed my hips to steady me.
“You like?” Jeremiah did a slow turn, thrust his hips forward, then twirled back a step. With his back to us, his ass swayed and his arm moved suggestively…like he might be touching something I considered mine.
Growling, I leaned forward to grab my boy, but Archer kept me locked in position between his legs, and his long arms wrapped me up tight before he scraped his fingernails along the inseam of my jeans until his hand landed on my fly. With a practiced hand, he slid the first button loose. My hips jerked forward, a human divining rod pointed right to what I wanted. Jeremiah’s laugh was low and oh-so-fucking sexy.
The second button gave way, then the third. Then Jer dropped to his knees to undo the fourth button with his teeth. Definitely not an easy task at any time, and made more difficult with my cock straining for release. The boy pressed his face against my groin, pushing hard, the friction delicious.
When the button finally tugged free, Archer pushed him back. “Back on your feet and dance, boy.” His voice was like silk over gravel, smooth, deep, and snagging on every one of my nerves.
With another click of the remote, Jer started the song over, and rose to his feet, hips swaying, one hand on the hat he wore low on his head. Archer shifted his position on the couch to press his knees between my legs, forcing me to widen my stance to keep my balance. Unfastening my last button, he pushed my jeans down as far as they would go, leaving me perfectly restrained and in his control. And hard. And oh-so-fucking hungry for more.
“Lift your shirt, boy. I want to see you play with your nips.”
Jeremiah and I moaned in tandem, especially when Archer tugged my shirt over my head, leaving me completely naked, from the knees up. Jer moved in time to the driving beat, using the hard blast of trumpets as cues to tweak and pinch his tiny nubs. Archer mirrored Jer’s motions, his hand dragging and scraping across my chest until his fingers found my nipples. “Want to pierce these, babe,” he whispered.
“Oh fuck.” We’d never done any piercing before, and my cock leaked at the idea.
“Want to pierce both of you. Make you match, just for me…wear my rings.” His mouth worked across my back, biting hard enough to leave marks and buckle my knees.
“Please,” I said, and Jer shivered.
With a hard squeeze of his hands, Archer made sure I was steady. “Stay right there, lover. Watch your boy.” Archer leaned a little to the right, to look around my side. “Time to take out that sweet cock, Jeremiah. Are you hard for us?”
With a moan low in the back of his throat, Jer stroked languidly over his fly, gaze locked on mine, teeth caught on his lower lip. One button. Stroke. Another button. Stroke. When his fly was all the way open, I could see he’d gone commando, like me.
With his hip action heating up, he slid his jeans off. One. Slow. Inch. Then another. Hips thrust forward, then back, the tip of his cock glistening. Goddamn he was killing me.
Archer’s hand gripped my cock, his thumb swiped over the slit, then pressed down, and I swallowed hard, fighting for control.
Jeremiah shuddered nicely, arched his back, his stomach muscles rolling, cock bobbing free, leaking, begging for a touch. I wanted to drop to my knees, take that long, sweet cock into my mouth, but Archer was pulling all the strings today.
Archer’s hand slid along my back, and I jerked hard, the touch shooting sparks all over my skin. With a firm push on my hips, I was turned to face him on the couch, falling a little forward with my feet still tangled in my jeans. Gripping Archer’s strong shoulders, I felt Jeremiah step up close behind me, the rhythmic thrust of his cock as he rode my crease. “Fuck, yeah. Please, Archer…” I was ready to beg.
Archer’s chuckle was smug. With the air of a conjurer, Archer reached between the cushions of the couch and retrieved a length of leather. I surrendered to the dueling forces dragging me apart, leaving me shaking with desire. He was going to make me wait. Archer knew me so well.
Slipping a lasso of leather around my balls and the base of my cock, Archer looped, twisted, and looped some more, until I was beautifully bound in a figure eight—snug enough I would know it was there, but not so tight to do permanent damage over the next several hours. He gripped the restraint, and I moaned with his squeeze, letting my lover know the discomfort was oh-so-good.
“Come here, boy,” he said to Jeremiah. He had another leather length in his hand, and despite the cock binding, I almost shot my load from the sheer erotic pleasure of watching him work Jeremiah’s balls and cock into a similar restrain
t.
“Get dressed, Zack. We have work to do.” Archer stood, brushed his big hand over the bulge in his slacks, then moved to the table and the monitoring equipment Jeremiah would wear. He looked at me, a smile playing about his mouth. Archer knew exactly what he’d done to me. I was about to lose my fucking mind, and I was going to love knowing that Jer and I were both bound and waiting for Master Archer to give us our release. Hot? Fuck yeah. God, I loved this man.
After a few deep breaths, I was able to pull up my jeans and button my fly. Once I slipped on my shirt, I moved to stand next to Archer. When I looked back, Jer’s eyes were closed, lips swollen and parted, his cock hard with an angry flush as it strained against the leather. One hand rested against the back of the couch, and he swayed gently, as if he could still hear the music that had stopped playing long minutes earlier. Lust-glazed eyes opened slowly, blinked, then finally seemed to focus on us across the room. Fuck-me-on-a-stick delicious.
“Jeremiah, come sit down before you fall down, boy. Z needs to put your wire on so he can hear you with Father Tim.” It wasn’t exactly a mood killer, but as a motivator to get Jer moving, the comment was effective enough. Moving with the alacrity of a sloth, Jeremiah shuffled his way to us and sat in the chair as directed.
As I went about the business of taping the transmitter to my young lover’s chest, I played the scene back in my head, realizing just how well they had both prepared for my return. The hat, the song, the leather binding. My men had planned this afternoon delight—for me. I could hardly fucking wait to see what they had planned for later tonight…
Chapter Five
I sat on the hard wooden bench and stared at the long padded knee rest, wondering if I should lower it and kneel. Opting for relative comfort, I remained seated and focused my attention on other things…like the sound of Jeremiah’s soft-soled chukka boots as he walked through the nearly empty sanctuary. He’d kept the skinny jeans, but opted for a long-sleeved cotton shirt, rolled to three-quarter length, loosely tucked. Casual without being sloppy, and he could very easily pass for a college student. Fuck. He was a college student. Shifting uncomfortably, I pushed away the unwelcome thought.
According to what we’d been told by Nick, Father Tim targeted those under twenty-five, but of legal age—should I thank God for small favors? Jeremiah fit. And there was no doubt that if Tim was still trolling—he’d snatch Jer right up.
I’d entered the church nearly ten minutes earlier, and taken position near the confessionals, my gaze lowered to my lap or occasionally looking up as if in supplication. Presumably, anyone who noticed me would assume I was there working up my nerve for confession. Each confessional was comprised of three small cubicles with the priest in the center. St. Joe’s offered the contemporary style face-to-face confession as well as the more private behind-the-screen option. No doubt about which one Jer would opt for—we needed him to be seen.
It was a slow afternoon for confessions, apparently, for although the green light above the door showed the priest was available, only the door on the left had a red light, indicating it was occupied. After a few minutes, an elderly woman emerged, wearing the old style lace covering over her hair. She toddled her way toward the front of the sanctuary, her fingers working a rosary, lips moving.
Jeremiah passed me without an acknowledgment, then the narrow door snicked closed, taking him from my view. In the earpiece, Father Tim began to speak almost at once, his voice a breathy quiet that nevertheless carried over the little transmitter hidden in Jeremiah’s collar. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Then there was a long pause. “Would you like the confessional privacy curtain opened or closed?”
“Open, I guess.” There was a slight rustle of movement, the sound of cloth against cloth. Then a heavy sigh. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…uhm…six months since my last confession.” Jeremiah’s whispered voice was clear in my headset, the shakiness of his voice setting just the right note for a man about to confess to a major church no-no.
After a long pause, he cleared his throat, then in a rush, he began the rehearsed words. “These are my sins…I have taken the Lord’s name in vain, and I drank too much, too many times, and I have not been to church in six months, and, uhm…Ihadsexwithothermen. Oh please…Father…” His swallow was audible. Then in a quiet voice, he finished, “For these and all sins of my past life, I am truly sorry.”
There was a very long pause, before I heard the priest’s response. “Will you repeat your list of sins, for me, please?”
This time Jer hesitated slightly before repeating the last one, the pause adding additional weight.
Father Tim’s response was more than we could possibly have hoped for…
“I hear the hesitation in your confession. There are questions that must be answered before you can truly seek forgiveness.”
“Sir? I mean, Father? What more should I say?”
“How many times in the last six months have you engaged in homosexual acts?”
“Oh. Uhm…lots. I don’t know, many times…”
“Do you truly repent of your actions? Do you ask God’s help in avoiding acting on your homosexual impulses in the future?”
“I…uh…I think…” Jeremiah’s responses were perfectly vague, hesitant enough that I nearly believed him. Or I might have, if I didn’t know what he wore underneath those tight jeans.
“Listen, son.” Timothy’s voice remained barely above a whisper, but a new authority seemed to resonate through the earpiece. “This is clearly an issue in which you need more counseling, more penance than a few prayers before you head out the door.” There was a shuffling noise. “I am available at seven tonight. I will meet you at—”
“Wait. You want to meet me?”
“I will meet with you privately, yes. Later, I may have you come to a meeting I hold for similarly troubled men. Tonight, let’s just talk and get to know one another so that you are more comfortable working through this issue. Since we both need to eat, we can meet for dinner; break bread together in the name of our Lord.”
“Uhm…sure, I guess. But could we meet near my work? I start at nine, and I can’t be late, again. How about at the Chances Are? They’ve got great burgers, and I live in a little apartment upstairs. Oh! Are you allowed to go in a bar?”
Father Timothy’s laugh was muffled. “I’ll see you there in an hour.”
*
After a quick call to make sure that Jeremiah’s improvisation didn’t put Chance in a bind with the apartment, we called Archer. I let Jer recap it his way, then added a few missing details. “Jeremiah did a great job, A. You’d have been so proud.”
“I’m proud of both of you, Z. This is quite an early return on the investment. You don’t have much time before they meet, what’s the plan?”
“I think meeting at Chance’s place was inspired. As we’ve said from the beginning, there isn’t any legal or monetary restitution to be gained. The best we can do is hurt Timothy within the local parish, and hopefully get him kicked out of the local area, and maybe even disgraced within the church, as a whole.” I blew out a breath.
“I need to make a few calls, Archer, but I’ll call you with the details as soon as I know for sure what the plan is,” I said.
“Try to catch Wick for the camera work. See if he can loop me in for the video feed.” There was a long pause. “I should be there…” The sadness in Archer’s voice pulled at me. “Maybe I should—”
“Archer—don’t. We need you to set up the contacts within the church that will finish this job. I need to go. We have less than an hour to get the first part of this set up. I love you.”
I ended the call, and for a minute, I thought about taking it out of speaker mode before I made my next call. Wick and Jer had some uncomfortable vibes going on between them, and there was no telling what Wick might say. On the other hand, Jer was mine and we were partners in this case. He had every right to know what was happeni
ng. I glanced over to where he sat curled against the car door, his thumbs dashing over the virtual keyboard of his iPhone as he sent one text after another. Making the only right decision, I left the phone on speaker and called Wick.
“Hey, babe, I need a favor,” I said as soon as he answered.
“About time you realized it. I knew those two limp dicks would never be enough for you. When and where? Don’t worry about the how. I got that and the lube.”
“Ha. Very funny. This is serious. I need Chance’s apartment wired for a video feed. Preferably to both his office and to Archer.”
“Yeah? Let’s see…Chance already has the place wired for security…” I could practically hear the wheels turning. “Yeah, shouldn’t be too hard. When do you need it?”
“Time is critical. By eight tonight at the latest. That is, if you think you and your boys are up to the challenge…”
“Trying to manipulate me, huh? Gonna cost you extra now.”
“Manipulation? Hell no. Appropriate application of id versus ego, Wick.”
“Yeah. That’s just fancy bullshit otherwise known as give the arrogant bastard a challenge he can’t resist.” The call ended, leaving me smiling. And, as usual, in no doubt that Wick would take care of things.
*
Inside the bar, I looked around and saw Chance sitting in his usual spot. Well, not so usual recently, but it seemed like my old friend was coming out of his funk and taking an interest in life again. Good to see. As he stood and weaved through the crowd near the bar, I realized the place looked a little busier than a typical Tuesday night, then noticed the new bartender flashing it up like he thought he was Tom Cruise starring in his own personal version of Cocktail.
As we moved toward each other, I rolled my eyes in the direction of the bar. Chance followed my glance, then our gazes met, and he returned my grin before awkwardly leaning a shoulder into my embrace. I was so damned glad to see him, I didn’t care he wasn’t the touchy-feely type. Just pulled the guy into a hug and held on until he relented and hugged me back. Our friend Marc’s brush with death last month was having its effect on all of us.