by Cecilia Tan
Riptide Publishing
PO Box 1537
Burnsville, NC 28714
www.riptidepublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.
Watch Point
Copyright © 2017 by Cecilia Tan
Cover art: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm
Editor: Sarah Lyons
Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at [email protected].
ISBN: 978-1-62649-670-5
First edition
November, 2017
Also available in paperback:
ISBN: 978-1-62649-674-3
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Twenty percent of the proceeds of this title will be donated to the Russian LGBT Network.
A Statement from the Russian LGBT Network
The Russian LGBT Network is an interregional social movement that unites various LGBTQI(+) initiatives across Russia. In the headquarters in St. Petersburg a team of 15 activists work every day to promote human rights, to fight inequality in Russia, and to build a strong and powerful community of LGBTQI(+) activists and their allies.
The Network provides various services to the community: we offer psychological and legal assistance to the people in need. Our Hotline services – land line and on-line chat – function 24 hours a day and provide assistance to
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The Network also provide Emergency assistance to the LGBTQI(+) people, who suffer persecution and prosecution, who find themselves in dangerous situations and fear for their lives and wellbeing.
In April, the world became aware of the fact that LGBT people in the Chechen Republic are being persecuted, unlawfully detained, tortured and killed. We, the team of the Russian LGBT Network, have been working hard to help these people to flee the republic, to restore their feeling of safety and security, and to find sanctuary outside of Russia. It has been especially hard since both Russian and Chechen authorities have continued to deny that this crime against humanity is happening in the North Caucasus. They need to hear our voices. They have to.
We are immensely honored that Riptide Publishing selected us as their Holiday Charity. Our philosophy is that human right defenders and the civil society are capable of ending LGBTQI(+) inequality all over the world. We, the team of the Russian LGBT Network thank you for showing you solidarity with the cause. Right now, we need you, because when we unite our efforts, we can create a better tomorrow.
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Russian LGBT Network.
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Eric Sakai-Johnson joined the Navy SEALs to protect his country and the people he loves. After discharge, he finds himself relegated to protecting big pharma billionaire Aiden Milford from assassination attempts and kidnapping. Until Aiden reneges on a promise, fires Eric, and lets Eric’s mother die with millions of dollars in medical debt.
Now Eric is the kidnapper. Snatching Aiden’s twenty-two-year-old son, Chase, for a multi-million-dollar ransom is the only way to get justice. It’s time for Aiden to learn what it’s like when someone you love is at the mercy of forces beyond your control. Eric has it all planned out. The one thing he didn’t plan for is the intense erotic spark between him and Chase.
Chase has been chafing under his father’s autocratic control. A gay hookup app has been his only ticket to rebellion—to clandestine moments of freedom, excitement, and danger. Now it’s his ticket to a deep connection and amazing sex with his “captor.” On the rocky island where they’re sequestered, Chase finds Eric to be everything he wants in a man: quiet, strong, capable, and honorable . . . until he finds out he’s been captured for real.
For everyone who served our country,
even when our country didn't serve them.
The purpose of today's training is to defeat yesterday's understanding.
—Miyamoto Musashi
About Our Charity
About Watch Point
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Acknowledgments
Also by Cecilia Tan
About the Author
More like this
Time stamp: 2104 Monday, Middleborough, Massachusetts
I used to think I was a good man. My mother died believing that I was. If I am, though, there’s no way I should be here. I check the equipment: gag, restraints, hood, all in place.
Target acquired.
I knock on the door of room 212 at the Super 8 Motel three times: rap-rap-rap. Chase Milford opens the door without hesitation. Oh, sure, according to the app his name is “Randy Houle,” but it’s unmistakably him. He’s making this way too easy. A gay hookup app, a secret rendezvous—he’s already covered his tracks.
I stare into wide hazel eyes framed by blond-frosted hair, barely registering that he’s already shirtless, wearing only running shorts. Never mind that it’s December—apparently, this motel room is the Tropic of Chase. He licks his lips hungrily as his gaze travels down my body, then back up to my chest without meeting my eyes again.
I wonder what he sees. Hopefully only the superficial: cotton T-shirt a size too small molded to a hard chest, black jeans, gear bag and coat in my hand. At last his eyes flick up to take in my face. I match my photo on the app, black hair grown
out, black goatee, a tanned face that could be almost anything: Native American, Italian, Puerto Rican, Hawaiian. I’ve been mistaken for all these things. (The last man who asked me “what” I was, was politely encouraged by a good friend of mine to choose between “American” or the slug of a .44 as an answer.)
Chase doesn’t seem to recognize me. Good.
I push my way into the room, impatient to get this part of the operation over with, but I’m not expecting his hand to slide right into my jeans, his palm fitting perfectly against the bulk of my cock. He has mistaken my forcefulness for ardor and met it with unexpected boldness of his own. I would have pegged him for the passive type, a do-me queen. He’s the spoiled son of a spoiled-rotten man. The last time I saw him, he was barely a teenager, a near-silent homeschooled wallflower. Maybe time—or a stint in culinary school, if my intel is correct—brought him out of his shell?
He’s bold enough to cruise for gay sex via app, anyway.
I thrust into his warm hand while trying to make sure we move away from the door. It shuts behind me, and I reach back to throw the latch. If he tries to escape, that should slow him down.
Right now, escape seems the furthest thing from Chase’s mind. My cock is hardening, lengthening in his grip, and he’s making needy sounds in the back of his throat like the anticipation is killing him. My mind races. You’re here to kidnap him, not have sex with him. A half-naked man is too conspicuous. I need him to put clothes on. I need to take control of this situation. I need to keep my head clear.
I need his mouth on the full package inside my briefs as he strips my jeans down to my thighs and sets his tongue against me. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. I haven’t been touched like this in forever.
“You hungry?” I hear myself say, and he nods, popping my boner free above the waistband and swallowing me. If I’ve ever had a more eager mouth, I literally can’t remember.
He’s on his knees and has worked his own hand inside his shorts, tugging on himself, and something in me snaps.
“Greedy little fuck.” I grab him by the hair and pull him off me. “Who said you could touch yourself?”
He raises his hands like I’m pointing a pistol at his face, not my dick, but his eyes are bright and eager, and my blood pulses even harder. Eyes looking upward always seem beseeching, don’t they? Those eyes give me ideas. “Put your hands behind your head.”
He does it. I whip his cheeks with my cock, and he sticks out his tongue as if he can catch it, like a frog catching a fly. Ha.
“Will you fuck me?” he asks, and it doesn’t come out wanton at all, just breathless and heartbreakingly simple. His need is so raw and undeniable as he adds “Please?” that I’ve said yes before I think it through.
I’m a man of my word. I keep my promises. If I don’t have that, I have nothing. But I’m not sure promising to fuck my former boss’s son counts as upholding my honor. I’m not sure of anything, because I can’t think straight with all my blood in my dick instead of my damn brain.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” I add. I’m not even sure why. Maybe to remind myself that fucking him isn’t my end goal. I’ve got to keep this operation moving.
“Okay,” he says, like this is some kind of negotiation. “The only foreplay I need is, um . . .”
His boldness finally falters. He jerks his head toward the bed, where his own gear bag lies unzipped. I edge toward it, never turning my back to him, and reach into the bag.
Restraints. Rope. Leather. The heavy canvas of a straitjacket. Chains.
Chase Milford is a kinky fucker. And he’s making it way, way too easy for me. “On the bed,” I bark.
He scrambles up naked, leaving his shorts on the floor as if he moved so fast they fell on the spot like something dropped by Wile E. Coyote.
I know in that instant I am going to fuck him. I’m going to go through with it. It’s just a slight change of plan. He asked, I promised, and if I need a justification, it’ll only help me if I want to put him in restraints. Hell, it means I’ve already got his trust. Getting him into my truck might not even require a struggle. I’d like to avoid that. My beef is with his old man, not him.
Wrist cuffs attach his hands together, and I use rope to secure him to the headboard. If he notices the extra rope that ensures he can’t free himself, he says nothing about it. His cock is red and straining upward against his belly, straight as an arrow, complete with triangle-shaped head. Pre-come drips from the slit onto the plane of his stomach, glistening in the bedside light. I used to crave that flavor, that salt and musk.
I have jittery momentary flashbacks to Cassidy, to Ruiz, to Garrett, three cocks I used to suck on a regular basis, on my knees in the back of a moving vehicle, rough cloth of their uniforms chafing my cheeks, a lifetime ago. I wonder vaguely where they are now, dead or alive.
The man under me is most definitely alive. I press my tongue against his cock and run it up the ridge, then tickle his slit with the tip and revel in the salty-sweet taste. His legs are free, but they twist ineffectually as he tries to push more of his flesh into my mouth. I pull up and work him with my hand.
“I don’t want to come yet,” he pleads, voice rough and breathy with desperation. “Please, please.”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me first. Or during. Whatever. Please.”
I had no idea Chase Milford had grown up to be such a slut. His father would shit himself if he knew. His father, Aiden, hates cocksuckers so much that he’ll break a promise to one just for finding out that man is gay.
Maybe I should’ve let Aiden take that bullet himself. Maybe he would’ve survived it. Maybe.
There’s no use regretting the past. I’m too caught up in the present: Chase is wiggling his ass enticingly, and I’m pouring lube into my hand and slicking him with it—cock, balls, hole, everywhere. I can’t tell if the lube has some kind of stimulating chemical or if something about Chase himself is making everywhere our skin touches tingle. His noises have never stopped—like a puppy or a baby bird—something utterly helpless, utterly needy.
Getting the condom on proves tricky because my hands are so slippery I can’t get the packet open. It takes bared teeth to do that, my need for him growing more feral by the moment, and I’m barely adequately sheathed before I search the trough between his cheeks with the head of my cock for the way in.
When I finally shove at the right angle—and pop, there goes what I fantasize is his cherry—his desperate noises stop, and he sighs like an alcoholic drinking from the altar wine, like it’s everything that makes him whole, body and spirit.
I am suddenly no longer in a hurry. I am buried in a warm body, a willing man, a consenting partner. This part is true. He thinks this is what I came here for.
Maybe I did. That at least would be honest.
I begin a slow fucking the likes of which I’ve not often performed. Too many couplings in my life have been in haste, in barracks, on benches, all the more passionate for their brutal quickness. But there’s no need to hurry now. Chase is at my mercy.
My cock luxuriates inside him, riding him slow and easy until his hole is fully stretched, then pulling all the way free to plunge in with sudden force. He gasps as if each penetration pushes the air right out of him, his eyes closed and mouth slack in rapture.
It’s good. It’s very, very good. When he begins to moan, there’s a tinge of disbelief in the sound, as if he never dreamed it could be this good.
My hands are still slick from the lube, and I switch to short thrusts as I work his cock. He comes suddenly, far more quickly than I thought possible. Every muscle of his trembles as he turns to jelly on my prick, completely helpless under me. I take gouts of his come on two fingers and shovel them into his mouth. He eats it just as hungrily as he’s taking my cock, and I come just as unexpectedly, triggered by something primal and deep about this coupling, something beyond understanding. I search his mouth with my tongue then, chasing that primal need myself, leaving us both gasping.
/> His eyes search mine for a few long moments. “You look familiar,” he says.
Shit. “Everyone says that,” I reply, and slump against him as if I’m exhausted, slowing my breathing purposefully, letting tension leave my body with each exhalation. He’s caught up in it, too, unknowingly matching his breathing to mine as his eyes flutter shut. I’m lulling him to relax and keeping myself calm at the same time.
Before long he’s asleep of his own accord, still tied to the bed, still covered in spunk and lube. I decide not to take any chances with him remembering me or getting suspicious. A little needle prick, a small dose of sedative—he’ll remain asleep as I clean him up, dress him in some nondescript clothes I brought, and prepare him for transport. The operation hasn’t gone at all as planned, but the outcome will be exactly as desired. I will have kidnapped Chase Milford without hurting him.
After all, I wouldn’t want to lie in the ransom note when I say he’s unharmed.
Time stamp: 0114 Tuesday, Natick, Massachusetts
My next stop after acquiring Chase is a rest area off the interstate that has free wi-fi. I park as close to the building as possible on the far side of the gas pumps, and a giant inflatable Santa looms from the roof over the truck. At this time of night, the restaurants are all closed except for one crappy drive-thru window, but even if the place is nearly deserted I don’t dare go inside the building and get caught on camera. I can hop on the wi-fi from the truck. A wordy box pops up on my tablet screen, and I click on it: “I agree” not to commit any crimes through the service. I have a feeling if I get arrested for kidnapping, violating this Terms of Service agreement won’t be high on the list of charges.
I send the ransom note through the darkweb. Anonymous. Untraceable. I’m demanding $4.17 million. It’s a very specific amount, and even though giving a clue to who I am could be a tactical error, part of me is counting on Aiden knowing why this is happening. I want him to realize that if he’d just kept his promises to me, none of this would have ever happened.