The Subject Was Rose [The Sunset Palomino Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  Drake had pulled these maneuvers many times on innocent women. Pulling it on a man was barely any different, except for some reason Drake imagined that gay men were even more susceptible to the tease. In fact, Drake sort of got hard just thinking about such a devious plan. It was the power wielding Drake got off on, not the gayness of the plan.

  When Stony showed Burt Macklin to the library, Drake told him, “Have Jesse come in here when we’re done, will you?”

  Then he turned to Burt Macklin.

  Holy shit. He’d seen this guy somewhere before.

  Chapter Four

  Right. Drake had seen Burt Macklin at the Cavern on the Green restaurant at the Searchlight Motel. Burt looked just like Don Draper on Mad Men, down to his slick Superman-colored hair, and the way his pupils were so dark with bullshit he looked like he had no irises. Burt even wore a suit, as though their business was of the deadliest importance. Was this asshole stalking him? Drake shook Burt’s hand smoothly and invited him to sit in one of the tulip chairs. Drake showed his domination by taking the one at the head of the table. The guy had no briefcase or laptop, as though his work was stored in his brain’s filing cabinet.

  “So you were an associate of my father’s? You’re too young to have been around since the Nixon years.”

  Burt unbuttoned his jacket suavely. “Thanks for the compliment. I actually was quite young when your father and I originally did our business.”

  Drake wasn’t falling for any of this musty old claptrap. The business end of ranching was the worst part of it. He was anxious to talk to Jesse, and he just wanted this old sixties impersonator out the door. “And exactly what was your business with my father? Harvesting hay? Forage or grain?”

  Again, Burt cleared his throat and looked meaningfully to one side. “Actually, no.” He looked straight at Drake again, just like the straight-shooting son of a bitch he was. “I leased ten thousand acres to your father.”

  Drake sat up straight now. “Excuse me?”

  Burt repeated, “I leased ten thousand acres to—”

  Drake slammed his palm on the tabletop. “I understand that part, Macklin. The part I’m having trouble with is why. My father owns the entirety of Shining Lands Ranch, lock, stock, and barrel. Sixty thousand acres of cattle and sheep land. He subleases some to a vineyard and that’s it.”

  “I thought this might be a surprise to you.” Burt reached into an inner suit pocket and handed Drake a business card. Burt Macklin was the Field Manager for the South Coast Branch of the Bureau of Land Management. A fed. “The lease is about to expire and needs renewing, that’s why I’m here.”

  “So part of my father’s sixty thousand acres really belongs to the government? What’s in it for you guys? He must make hefty monthly payments to you.”

  Burt shrugged. “Well, Sam turned around and dedicated part of it to protecting the fringe-toed lizard.”

  Drake rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah, my father the bleeding heart. So I really only own fifty thousand acres for my cattle? I want to take a look at this lizard preserve.”

  “Yes, I’d highly recommend that you do that,” Burt said pleasantly.

  “You bet your sweet anal massager I’ll do that,” snarled Drake. He realized too late he shouldn’t make quips about anal massagers. Not after those Goan photos had been widely viewed on the net. Burt Macklin had certainly googled Drake’s name before coming out here, and the less Burt had on him the better. “Show me on this map.”

  There was already a map spread out at the other end of the table. Drake and Joaquin referred to it often. Burt pointed. “You go out Highway Ten toward Indio then take this dirt road toward Asbestos Mountain.” Of course the map didn’t say “Fringe-Toed Lizard Preserve,” if such a thing even existed, and Burt’s finger circled where it approximately was. Drake could just plug “Asbestos Mountain” into his GPS.

  “Well, until I see this land and see the written lease agreement, forgive me if I act like you’re blowing it out your ass,” Drake said with folded arms.

  Burt put up both hands in surrender. “Of course, of course. That’s understandable. I figured you’d be just like your dad. He gave me a wonderful interest-free loan to expedite the process and eliminate the need to get competitive bids. Sam was the only one I remotely considered leasing the land to. Great guy. I’m sure you’re just like him. We used to go sample the wares at the Sunset Palomino Club. That’s right, I saw you there last night.”

  Drake glowered. “I’m nothing like my dad,” he sneered, though the idea Burt was right had caused him years of agony. “And what’s this interest-free loan all about? By law don’t you need to at least allow a bunch of other people to bid on the leasing project?”

  “Exactly,” Burt said happily. “Thus the loan. And that’s another thing. When we renew the lease there should be another loan in there for me, adjusted for inflation of course.”

  Drake genuinely hated this guy. He didn’t have to pretend. “Of course. Well I’ll believe that the day I see the document.” He started walking to the library door to indicate it was time for the guy to leave. Drake’s head was swimming with all of these implications, and Jesse Factor was waiting outside the door.

  “Bring that document,” were his last words as he shook the sleazebag’s hand. “Jesse!” he cried, even more eager now because he wanted to shut the door on the strange BLM agent.

  Jesse asked, “Are you coming around to my way of thinking about the uneven number of chairs?”

  Drake pretty much had no choice, if he wanted to dispose Jesse favorably toward him. He gestured for Jesse to sit in one of the tulip chairs with the red vinyl seats. He, however, folded his arms and leaned his butt on the edge of his desk. His giant slug of a cock had deflated talking to that lacquered con man, but now, viewing the beautiful mixed race Jesse with his creamy cafe au lait skin, his hair nearly shorn to his skull, Drake’s prick began to plump again. Good. He’ll be impressed by the size of my package, fall under my spell, and will say yes to anything I ask. “Yeah. You know, now that I look, especially from this angle, I see your point. Why does everything have to be so damned symmetrical? Takes all the fun out of it.”

  Jesse sat on the edge of the chair, excited. “Right? It creates more of an aura of danger, of adventure, of anything can happen. And you’ll love the Lucite Eames lamp I scored for one of your guest rooms. I’ll have to drive into Redlands tomorrow to pick it up so I’ll be gone for about four hours.”

  “Tomorrow? Why, no, Jesse, no! Didn’t I tell you? I guess I might’ve forgotten to invite you. It’s all been so last-minute. But I’m having a dinner party tomorrow night in the Grace Room.” The Grace Room was the super-formal dining room named after Drake’s mother, the woman Sam had cheated on—many times, if he now counted all the “Fillies” from the Palomino Ranch. Yes, hookers counted. That was cheating. I am nothing like my father. Drake had always assumed that if he committed to no girlfriend, he could do no cheating. Constant casual hookups, whether in a club or a yacht or a penthouse, did not constitute cheating. What Drake’s father had done was cheating, and it would’ve devastated his mother if she’d found out, which was why he’d been shipped to Andover.

  Jesse put a hand to his chest. “And you want…me to come?”

  Drake understood. He’d never been particularly chummy with his poor interior decorator. There was nothing wrong with being gay, but the natural Dom in him liked to order people about. He knew Jesse had seen him performing wax play upon a play partner bound to a spreader bar that kept her ankles far apart. Jesse had stood in the bedroom doorway with a lamp or clock of some sort in his hand, about to ask a question, his lower jaw dropping. Drake knew that cock harness made his dick look even longer and juicier than its normally erect state, and no doubt Jesse couldn’t take his eyes off it. Drake worked out every day—he’d had a whole gym installed before he’d even arrived on ranch property—and he knew he was carved like a turkey. His prematurely graying, close-cropped hair lent an air of auth
ority, and the brand new leather chaps he’d taken to wearing framed his muscular ass cheeks beautifully.

  Drake had paused, holding the candle in midair as he stood by the side of the bed, and allowed the wax to pool in the pit of his sub’s belly. That gay decorator wasn’t gaping at the bound girl. How could a person not stare at and admire Drake’s jutting penis engorged with blood, throbbing with his heartbeat, bound with the five metal rings? Drake could feel his balls tighten and draw closer to his body to be admired like that. He knew he was somewhat of an exhibitionist and never chose the private rooms in clubs. Jesse was obviously just struck mute with surprise and admiration, and within one second the bulge in Jesse’s designer pants grew, too, and he fled. But not before riling Drake so heavily he’d blown out the candles and gone right to balling the hell out of the bound girl.

  “Yes,” he said lightly. “Of course I want you to come. Troy Placker will be there, you know Troy, and Heidi Gabor, the great-granddaughter of one of the Gabor sisters. Or wait. Maybe Ben Niven will be more to your liking.”

  Why was Jesse laughing and blushing? “Actually, there is someone I’ve got in mind, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Sure. The more the merrier! Who?”

  “Remember that woman I was with in the Searchlight lobby? You caught us looking at that erotic menu?”

  “Sure…” Drake said uncertainly. “Rose Britton. You want to invite her?”

  “Sure. Why not? I mean, she isn’t an heiress of anything, or the granddaughter of some Rat Packer, but—”

  “No, no, that’s fine, who cares about someone’s financial station? I’m just surprised you chose a woman. Being gay is perfectly fine around these parts, or so I surmise. You don’t think you can be open about it?”

  Jesse sighed with exasperation. “I’m not gay, Drake.” Then he chuckled. “But I sure thought you were until I saw you with that, eh, that—”

  Drake grinned. “One damned lucky sub.”

  Jesse didn’t seem to know what a “sub” was. “Well, after I heard about that, ah, that India incident—”

  “Not that damned thing again!” Drake punched the air and spun about just to blow off some steam. He jammed his hands onto his hips and walked in little circles. “That fucking incident is going to haunt me the rest of my damned life. Do I need to get a tattoo, ‘I’m Straight’? I was hammered, Jesse, absolutely blitzed, and how was I supposed to know it was a homosexual club? Everyone looked like women, and they sure sucked cock like women. What’s the big difference?”

  “Hey. Like you just said. Around here no one has to be ashamed of it.”

  “Yeah. Unless my father’s around here.”

  “Oh. God.” Jesse looked around as though Sam was lurking behind the turquoise California Pottery vase. “Is he really bad about that sort of thing? I mean, since everyone assumes I’m gay. I must be the only straight interior decorator in America.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty bad, but don’t worry. I’ve told him a dozen times to stay out of my business so I doubt he’ll be coming around. Knock on wood. But this Rose woman…I actually was wondering if you could convince her to cook for the dinner. Is that all right? I tried earlier, but she claimed she was way too busy. I thought maybe you could butter her up. She’s allowed to take a night off the Searchlight, right?”

  “Oh, for sure! I don’t think that’s the sort of date I had in mind, though.”

  “Well, it’s better than no date, right? If she’s too busy to work for me for beaucoup C-notes, she certainly wouldn’t go on a date with you. No insult intended.”

  Jesse frowned. “Insult taken. Maybe she told you no because you’re an overbearing, arrogant ass.”

  Drake laughed. He knew he created that impression. It was usually intentional. “That’s just my Dominant personality coming through.”

  “Like…the way you tie women up and pour hot wax on them?”

  “Right.” It struck Drake that his penis had been expanding now that he was back leaning his butt against the desk. With his boots crossed at the ankles, the tight pouch of his briefs displayed his manhood with great contrast. The chaps he’d donned that morning helped cradle his big tool and balls, and his nipples stood out stiffly under his thin T-shirt. Drake loved being admired, and it had turned him on thinking Jesse wanted to fall to his knees and slurp his dick down his throat. Now that he knew Jesse was straight, the challenge turned Drake on, possibly even more. Why was he suddenly thinking along these lines? He’d rarely had any gay fantasies before. “I’m a Dom, a lifestyle Dominant, and I like to order people around, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Is that why you ride me so hard?”

  “Maybe you should rephrase your words.”

  Jesse laughed. “All right. I’ll ask Rose. She already told me she’s abstaining from men for a while, so it’s not like she’d go on a date with me anyway. This would be a good way to get to know her better without it being a date. I know she wants her portrait painted, too, and I was wondering if we could do that in my cottage.”

  Drake had given Jesse one of the spacious “cottages” out back, over a bridge that spanned one of the reflecting pools. He felt no risk from the young, earnest, hard-working man. After all, he was an interior designer. How much of a slob could he be? “Sure. I never saw that one you did of Willow Paige.”

  “You must know Amadeo Barbieri, being a fellow rancher. It’s hanging over at his Sunset Palomino Ranch house. His house is amazing, too. Built around giant boulders.”

  “Yes, yes, I should invite them as well. Can you call Rose now?”

  Drake found his eyes lingering on Jesse’s ass as he sped off to do Drake’s bidding. That guy is one fine piece of work. He’d make a fantastic pet. Maybe he’d let me collar him and try some cock and ball torture. He isn’t getting any out of that Rose bombshell. Wait, that means I’m not either if she’s abstaining from men. Well, if anyone can convince her to fall off the wagon, it’s me.

  Why am I even thinking of Jesse in that way? The experience in Goa proved to me I have no gay leanings at all. I should be looking for that damned BLM contract.

  It had been dawning on Drake that in his effort to distance himself from his father, he was turning into Sam. Now Drake was a womanizing, callous, superficial asshat. The only way to remedy that would be to start caring deeply for someone else. Was that even possible? The excitement of a fresh new enterprise enlivened him.

  Drake bypassed the two built-in wooden file cabinets he knew didn’t contain any contract. He’d been though those already. He started on a third that seemed mostly to contain vendor product brochures for equipment, feed, hay, fencing. The fourth one, however, contained a treasure, as though stashed there especially for him.

  Drake had seen one of these saddle-like things before in someone’s villa in Greece or somewhere. There was an electric motor and gearbox underneath it, hidden from view, and one could attach a wide variety of things to the rod protruding from the hole in the middle of the saddle. Drake raced to plug in the Sybian. What the fuck! Weren’t Jesse and Rose just talking about a Sybian? It must’ve been on that sex menu they were Xeroxing. Well, now I’ve got one. This would make a fine gift for Rose.

  It seemed to work well, for something that hopefully had been sitting in its original box since the eighties. The attachments, most of them penis- or finger-shaped, were still in their original plastic. Women would love this toy, but Drake started to see where a man could experiment with it, too. Using one of the smaller dick attachments.

  He played with the control box and changed the intensity, vibration, and rotation of the biggest dick’s movements. It sounded like a damned lawn mower, but it would obviously get the job done, and without tiring out any human body parts. There was a pad of nubbins that were designed for clitoral stimulation. If I give this to Rose, she’ll know I know her celibate secret. But so what? I’m sure she’ll be relieved she doesn’t have to fight me off.

  Then Drake realized something. For the
first time in his life, he had run out of women play partners, and the only fresh feasibility on the horizon that he’d even entertain the notion of was a man. At the ripe age of forty-four, was he finally blossoming into a switch-hitter? Maybe I’m heteroflexible. That thought was a bit more comforting to Drake. After all. He was a worldly, adventurous bon vivant. And bon vivants should try everything once.

  Chapter Five

  “Rose, your lobster thermidor was a giant hit.”

  “How is the marshmallow fruit loaf doing?” Rose asked Jesse tensely. The cream and gelatin dessert had begun to melt the second she’d unmolded it. “Did it dissolve into a big puddle?”

  “No worries,” said Jesse, picking an onion straw off Drake Stinson’s counter and popping it into his mouth. “Those guys ate it so fast it didn’t get a chance to melt.”

  “Pshew.” Rose exhaled mightily. With hands on the small of her back, she took a few enormous breaths. She needed to wind down. “How are you doing? Are you having a good time with Drake’s friends?”

  Jesse shrugged and chewed slower. “They’re all right. Drake himself is a big trip, isn’t he?”

  “In what way?”

  Jesse looked pensively out the kitchen window. The sun had just set, leaving a still, gray pallor to the silhouette of the San Jacinto Mountains. Jesse finally swallowed his onion straw. “I know he’s been this hugely dominant, overbearing asshole just traveling around Europe, used to having everything his way, with everything handed to him on a silver platter thanks to his dad.”