The burger in Drake’s stomach turned into a rock as the world tilted on its axis. The ignorant douche-nozzle was finding great pleasure in maiming the kid whimpering on the ground. Rage, like thunder, rolled through him. He’d clenched his jaw, reined in his fury, and pinned the shithead with an icy smile.
“Hell, why not.” He shrugged. “Back your asses up and give me some room.”
But before the stupid fucks could step aside, Drake pivoted and exacted his own brand of revenge for the innocent man at his feet. With fists flying, he unleashed his rage. Bones and cartilage snapped beneath his knuckles but did little to appease his fury. The shitiots’ screams and pleas didn’t even register. All Drake could hear was the pain-filled cries and sobs of the injured gay man, which only fueled his wrath all the more. One by one he felled the gutless pricks until they lay stunned or unconscious and covered in blood on the cement.
With a feral roar, he released the traces of rage lingering within before drawing up all the tenderness he could muster. He gently lifted the blond into his arms, shocked at the featherlight weight of the victim. Each bony rib beneath the man’s blood-soaked shirt rippled over Drake’s fingers. The guy felt like a skeleton and it alarmed Drake on a visceral level. Upon further inspection, he noticed the guy’s clothes were tattered and full of holes, making him wonder if he’d been homeless and trying to survive on dumpster droppings. An overwhelming impulse to help the malnourished man slammed Drake hard.
He flagged down a cab and ordered the driver to get them to the nearest hospital. Sitting in the backseat, he cradled the lifeless young man. Drake didn’t care that he was covered in blood now, too; his focus was on getting help before the kid died. He watched as the victim’s pretty yellow eyelashes fluttered open.
“Hey. You awake?” Drake asked.
“Unfortunately,” the guy replied dryly with a wince.
Humor was the last thing he’d expected to roll off the young man’s tongue. “What’s your name?”
“Trevor.” Peering through a slit in one swollen eye, he studied Drake. Suddenly his frail body tensed. “Who are you? Where are we at?”
“Relax, man. I’m Drake. We’re in a taxi on our way to the hospital.”
“Mmm,” he mumbled as if drifting back to unconsciousness.
“Hey. Stay with me. What did you say to cause those pricks to start wailing on you?”
Through the mangled mess left of the guy’s face, Drake saw the horror his question evoked.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
When Trevor dropped his gaze, Drake’s heart slammed against his ribs. The young man yielded to him like the sweet submissive boys he played with in Chicago. His insensitive cock sprang to life.
“’Nothing. They did it ’cause I’m gay,” Trevor confessed in a quivering voice. His body trembled. Fear marred his bloodied face. “Are you going to finish me off now?”
Drake wanted to howl knowing Trevor thought he meant to hurt him. He shook his head and leaned in close. “No, baby. I’m not. I’m gay, too.”
Easing back, Drake saw a look of shock ripple over Trevor’s swollen, battered features. A spark flashed across his pretty blue eyes as his body relaxed. He didn’t say a word, simply stared up at his savior for several long minutes. Then, busted lip and all, Trevor flashed him a shy, infatuated smile. Every bone in Drake’s body melted. That one crooked grin was all it took. The sweet, innocent man instantly crawled inside Drake’s heart.
When they reached the hospital, Trevor refused to let go of Drake’s hand even when he was rushed into the ER. One of the nurses asked about his next of kin and Trevor pointed to Drake.
“Him. If that’s all right with you? You’re the only one who’s ever been kind to me.”
A lump of emotion balled in Drake’s throat. Unable to speak for several long seconds, he finally swallowed and sent Trevor a tender smile. “I’d be honored.”
While the doctors and nurses assessed all the injuries, Drake unconsciously pulled out his cell and cancelled his flight to Chicago. He didn’t know why, but he was mysteriously drawn to the fragile blue-eyed boy. Maybe it was Trevor’s sense of humor, his innocence and vulnerability, or maybe it was destiny that Drake had been the one who intervened. He only knew that he wasn’t going to leave the sweet young man alone to recuperate. After promising to return, Drake caught a cab back to his hotel, he packed his things and returned to the hospital, and remained staunchly by Trevor’s side.
The days bled into one another as Drake fed, bathed, and nurtured Trevor back to health. Except to deliver medication, the nurses stayed away. He and Trevor talked, laughed, and learned volumes about each other. It didn’t take long for him to discover that Trevor had a loving spirit, a witty mind, and an extremely sassy mouth. A mouth Drake ached to fill while he clutched the sexy man by his long, luxurious hair. As a special bond began to develop between them, Drake found it harder and harder to keep his carnal cravings in check. He watched Trevor sleep and dreamed of the day he’d hear desperate gasps and moans tear from the back of the man’s throat…feel the satin-soft heat of his ass as Drake pressed every hard inch past his tight rim. The lust bubbling inside him was driving him mad. Unfortunately, he had to tuck his craving away. Trevor needed to heal both physically and emotionally before Drake could ever begin to coax him to bed.
It wasn’t long before he found himself waging an internal war. Trevor would soon be released from the hospital, but Drake wasn’t ready to leave and abandon the boy. Somehow he wanted to continue to spend time with him… see if something more than friendship could grow.
After a week and a half, the taxi pulled up to the apartment—or rather, ramshackle shit-hole—Trevor called home. From the outside alone, Drake thought the place should have been condemned decades ago. Evidently he didn’t hide his disdain well enough because he saw the stain of embarrassment rise over Trevor’s cheeks. Nervously, the man invited Drake inside.
“Sorry it’s not nicer. I’ve had a hard time finding work,” Trevor stammered awkwardly. “I’ve been trying to support myself by doing odd jobs for some of the widow women in the neighborhood. It’s not steady, but every so often they have a door that sticks or a leaky faucet.”
Drake wondered how such a vibrant, warmhearted man could live, day after day, in such dank and depressing conditions. Though it was neat and tidy and void of trash or clutter, there were cockroaches crawling along the countertops in the kitchen. The water from the tap was tinged a disgusting brown.
Drake knew he couldn’t let the man spend another five minutes in the fucking hellhole. With barely any persuasion, Drake convinced Trevor to pack his belongings and go back to Chicago with him. What broke his heart more than the man’s living conditions was the fact that Trevor’s worldly belongings fit into one small, tattered backpack…including his clothes.
Confident he’d made right decision, the two had landed at O’Hare a few hours later.
Drake stroked a hand through his sleeping boy’s hair now as guilt and anguish squeezed his heart. He’d been there to rescue the man sixteen years in the past; why the fuck hadn’t he been there five months ago?
That one question started a tidal wave inside him. Drake wasn’t surprised. He spent most of his nights like this—comforting Trevor while his mind raced wildly, like a cheetah on crack. The same questions plagued him over and over again. How had Trevor rebounded so quickly the first time he’d been beaten in Alabama? While the assault last summer was decidedly more brutal, their relationship—hell, the depth of love they now shared—was ten times stronger. Back in Alabama, the two had been virtual strangers, yet Trevor bounced back in a matter of days. But this time, months had passed, and still, there was no sign of his loving boy. Was Trevor harboring resentment because Drake hadn’t been there to save him again? The unanswered questions weighed him down.
His soul was teemed in guilt and shame. And with his mind still spinning like a centrifuge, Drake flipped off the bedside lamp. Hours later, exhaustion took
its toll, and he drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER THREE
Waking to the familiar dizzy fog that filled his head and the thousand-acre cotton field that had grown in his mouth overnight, Trevor sighed in disgust. He sent a hateful glare at the bottle of sleeping pills perched on the table by his head, wishing he could flush them and smash the plastic container to bits. Instead, he focused on his chest, or rather, Drake’s heavy arm that lay draped over him. Inching up, he danced an appreciative stare over the vast expanse of man-muscle stretched out beside him and issued an internal whimper. His cock stirred, and the bubble of bliss floating up inside him promptly popped.
With a disconcerted frown, Trevor eased from beneath Drake’s arm and inched off the bed. It was pointless to wake him the way he used to—sucking on his squishy cock and savoring the way it grew thick, long, and hard inside his mouth. No, it would only frustrate Trevor more. Since his attack, nothing had been the same, especially their sex life.
Though his stitches were out, bruises healed—he’d even had his front tooth capped—Drake no longer claimed him in the gloriously savage way he used to. His Master’s commanding Dominance had taken a swan dive right out the window. But then, his submission was lost in space, far away, floating around some distant galaxy. And at the rate they were going, Trevor feared his balls would be old and wrinkled before Drake ordered him to his knees again. He ached for more but couldn’t ask the man to tie him down and fuck the bejesus out of his ass. Not when his Master was giving up so much, like sleep. He nightly chased away the ghosts that hijacked Trevor’s dreams…or during the day, when something completely benign triggered a panic attack. He’d taken to inwardly referring to the man as Saint Drake because of his unending patience. The man was his rock, and while Trevor was incredibly grateful, he was sick of being coddled and wrapped in layers of ooey-gooey sweetness. He wanted to be manhandled. Wanted the beast that lurked inside his Master to come out and play. Play hard and take Trevor by force until he rolled over and yielded to Drake’s fierce Dominance.
Memories of his Master’s scintillating lust sent a shiver of demand up Trevor’s spine. Only to be trampled by an icy blast of doubt. Was he emotionally ready for such ruthless affection? Trevor wasn’t sure. Though he looked the same on the outside, inside he felt as if he were a different entity altogether. Something not quite human but not entirely zombified, either. Frustratingly, he wasn’t certain what he needed, only that the sweet, syrupy sensitivity Drake was bestowing wasn’t filling the empty places inside him. Maybe nothing would. That scared him even more.
Take your power back. Stop giving your control over to those shitheads who beat you. It doesn’t belong to them…it belongs to you. The favorite mantra of his shrink and Dom friend, Tony Delvaggio, echoed in Trevor’s head.
“Yeah, yeah, Doc,” Trevor murmured as he tugged on a pair of gym shorts. “If I knew how to take it back, trust me. I would.”
Heading to the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee. That and a hot breakfast were the least he could offer Drake. They’d eat in a dome of silence, as they always did now, before getting dressed and heading to Club Genesis.
Trevor would spend another Saturday morning learning karate moves from his sub sister Savannah. Drake would sit at the bar, keeping his watchful eye on Trev. The man would laugh with the other Doms who hung out waiting while their subs met to discuss the lifestyle. While Trevor owed Sanna a massive debt for taking the time to teach him self-defense, a part of him felt ostracized…out of the loop. It hurt to watch his sub sisters and brothers talk and laugh. But then everything inside him hurt these days.
Frying bacon, Trevor chewed on disappointment as the coffee brewed. As he grew more irritated with his fucked up life, tears blurred his vision. Anger spiked and he inwardly chided himself for crying—yet again. He bit back a rebel yell and fought the urge to heave the cast iron skillet, sizzling bacon and all, across the room. As he blinked back his tears, the fork slipped from his fingers, and his thumb landed in the bubbling grease. With a curse, he ran to the sink and began pouring cold water on the angry burn. Tears slid down his cheeks, but now he didn’t try to stop them.
He jumped when Drake’s hot, hard body pressed up against his back. Trevor tossed a glance over his shoulder to find his lover wearing only a pair of jeans and a look of worry. He was so sick of seeing that fucking expression on the big man’s face. Not only that, but his bulging sculpted muscles only served to make Trevor feel that much more inept and incapable of protecting himself.
“What did you do?”
Drake’s whiskey-smooth voice sent an arc of longing speeding though Trevor’s system. He ached to sink to his knees and find that submissive foundation he desperately craved. But fury and guilt collided with yearning and need, churning into a blistering volatile cocktail that seared his veins.
“I burned my fucking thumb,” Trevor spat. “It’s fine. Okay? I don’t need you mothering me all the time. Just…back off. Check the bacon to make sure it doesn’t burn.”
Drake’s expression hardened, and Trevor cringed and looked away. The crash of the skillet made him jump and turn. Drake had moved the pan off the flame and was now leaning against the refrigerator, arms crossed over his broad chest, face carved in an angry scowl.
More guilt and shame rained down upon Trevor like pellets of icy sleet.
“I don’t know what to expect next from you, boy.” Drake’s tone reverberated with the tightly controlled fury rolling off his gorgeous frame. “I either find you balled up on the floor of the shower sobbing your guts out, thrashing and moaning from nightmares every night, or biting my head off. Yet each morning, I manage to dredge up another load of patience and tell myself… I’ll help my boy find his way back today.”
His words engulfed Trevor in a thick, suffocating blanket of remorse. He swallowed down the sob of failure rising inside him and clung tight to the remnants of fury.
“And every day, I wonder if—”
“If I’m even worth it?” Trevor scoffed bitterly. “No. I’m not. So you can stop trying to fix me now. Go ahead. Tell me to pack my shit and shove me out the door. Nobody’s going to blame you, least of all me.”
Drake launched forward, charging Trevor like a bull. Bolts of angry lightning shot from his silver eyes, and before Trevor could move, Drake reached out and gripped him by the hair. With a vicious jerk, Trevor’s head snapped back. Drake leaned in close. His breath was choppy. His body as tense as granite.
“Let’s get one thing straight, boy. I’ll never toss your ass to the curb. I’m not your fucking father,” he spat. “I’m your lover. Your Dom. And you are my whole goddamn world. I’m the one who will bring you back to life, even if it fucking kills me! Are we clear?”
Trevor’s heart leapt for joy.
Finally.
Drake had tossed off the façade he’d been hiding behind. Thrown off the kid gloves, and Trevor could feel the power and command leaping from his lover’s body. Grateful sobs burned his throat. He turned and threw his arms around Drake’s neck. Trevor pulled him to his mouth and pressed a watery kiss against those firm, warm lips he’d desperately missed.
With a growl, Drake clenched his fist tighter, until a wicked burn tingled over Trevor’s scalp. He plunged his tongue deep and, in an all-consuming rush, took control of the kiss. Trevor’s empty soul helplessly melted against the man’s steely body as Drake savagely ate at him.
Yes. Yes. This was his salvation. His lifeline to the living, and Trevor wanted more… wanted it all.
Without warning, Drake tore from his mouth and released his hair. “What the fuck am I doing?”
Blinking in confusion, Trevor attempted to draw Drake back for another kiss.
“Stop!” he thundered. “I can’t... I won’t do this to you.”
“Yes, you can. Don’t you see I need… I need you.”
Confusion was written all over Drake’s face. “You’re not ready for the things I want to—”
“I’m not go
ing to break, dammit,” he protested.
“You already did, baby.” Drake cupped his face. Once more, pain and sorrow shimmered in his eyes. “I won’t drag you back to the places you’re trying to escape. Christ knows I’d love to slam you up against the wall and bury my cock deep inside you, but… No, baby. Just no.”
Staring into Drake’s tormented eyes, Trevor reached behind him and turned off the tap. Gathering his courage, he drew in a fortifying breath. “Yes, you can. I need you to love me exactly like that. We both need it to fix us… fix me.”
“The kind of sex you’re asking for will only mask the issues. Or make them worse.”
“How do you know? We haven’t tried.”
Trevor dipped his head and laved his tongue up Drake’s neck. Like dry kindling, the flavor of his hot flesh ignited a flash fire within him. Like a junkie, he wanted more. Trevor trailed kisses and love bites down his chest. Drake’s muscles tightened, bulged, and strained as a hiss of pleasure snaked off his lips.
Bolstered by the man’s reactions, Trevor boldly flicked his tongue over the silver barbell embedded beneath Drake’s taut nipple. When he latched on to the brown, crinkled flesh and sucked deep, the man inhaled sharply.
“Fuck yes,” he choked in a hoarse growl. Clutching a firm hand around Trevor’s nape, he held him in place and let out a tortured moan.
As Trevor tugged at the jewelry with his teeth, he felt as if he’d found his way home. Nipping the silver bar, he soothed the sting with a soft swirl of his tongue. Rocking his hips, he felt Drake’s ready erection straining beneath his jeans. Slowly, Trevor pulled away. Without permission, he fell to his knees and reached for the closure on Drake’s pants. A tremor of anticipation rocked his system as he worked the button free. He was topping from the bottom like a newbie, but then he hadn’t been a poster child for submission for months. He sought peace and prayed he would find it, here at Drake’s feet.
“What are you doing?” Uncertainty lined his Master’s features.
Bound To Surrender BN Page 2