Evan

by Allie K. Adams

  He still hadn’t wrapped his brain around how he felt about the entire situation. If he said anything to Patsy, she’d overreact as usual and vow to cut off vital parts of Clint’s anatomy. There’d be collateral damage, for sure.

  “I have my reasons,” was all he said.

  “Which are?” She placed her hands on her jutted-out hip when he refused to answer. “Evan Marie McKoy! I’m your best friend.”

  “You know that’s not my middle name.”

  “It’s everyone’s middle name,” she countered. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to go ask him?”

  Oh shit. She’d do it, too. If he didn’t give her something, she’d definitely follow through on her threat. “I went home with him last night.”

  She gasped and stumbled back as she clutched her pearls. Talk about a drama queen. “No! Not my sweet innocent Evan. Say it isn’t so.”

  “Why are you acting like you hitched a ride in the DeLorean when Marty came back to the future?”

  “Blame Netflix. There’s some weird shit on there. Anyway, spill. I want every detail. Gay sex is so hot.”

  He had to agree.

  Evan followed her gaze and jerked up straight when Clint swung that powerful gaze his way, snagging Evan’s. It hurt to even look at him. The memories of what they’d agreed to, what they’d already shared together, echoed through his heart. Clint expected him kneeling in front of the playroom tonight promptly at nine. Even a minute late would result in punishment.

  He blinked to clear his mind and turned away from the man who’d deliver said punishment. Evan wasn’t a child. He refused to be punished for being late. He also refused the urge to want to defy Clint just to find out what punishment he had in mind.

  No, damn it. He’d already made his decision. The contract—should he choose to still sign it—wasn’t legally binding anyway. Clint Duke would be spending tonight and every night alone until he took another lover. No, not took. Signed. No matter how much Evan wanted to have just one unforgettable experience in that playroom.

  “Why are Thursdays always slow?” Patsy whined. “I’m so bored.”

  “You could always work the floor.”

  “I haven’t done that in years.” She snorted.

  He was too afraid to ask for details and kept his attention on the tedious task of matching sales to physical inventory. He hated it, but it was the only way to stay on top of his stock. It also kept his mind off the fact he didn’t have the balls to confront Clint over the bomb Walsh had dropped this morning.

  He’d worked it all out in his head and had even practiced the hard look he planned to use to deliver the lecture. He’d broken just about every speed limit in his rush to get here. He’d stormed in, ready to lay in to the man for thinking he had the right to play Evan.

  But then he’d spotted Clint, and when their eyes met, everything else had disappeared—including Evan’s anger. Which brought him full circle to why he wished the man wasn’t so beautiful. It’d be so much easier to resist him if he didn’t have endless pools of chocolate eyes or a dimple on his right cheek whenever he smiled.

  “Incoming,” Patsy sang.

  Evan lifted his gaze in time to spot Clint waltzing toward the counter. It was now or never. He moved out from behind the counter to meet him halfway. As soon as they were close enough to share the same air, Evan smelled him. Dear God, the man’s scent should be bottled and sold. At once the memories of their times together slammed into him, attacking him like a feral beast. He thrust out his chin and threw up his best defense. “Mr. Duke, a word?”

  Clint glanced up from his phone and grinned, the gesture lighting up his incredible eyes. “Hi.”

  Evan looked around the store to see who else saw the way they both melted just by looking at each other. No one else seemed to care, aside from Candy behind the perfume counter. She glared at him as if he’d committed the cardinal sin—thou shalt not covet thy other’s customer.

  “Your tuxedo will be delivered to your penthouse tomorrow. I’ve already made the arrangements.” Though he still hadn’t figured out the event Clint needed the tux for. The charity auction was next Friday, not tomorrow.

  Clint frowned and looked at him. “Will you not be delivering it yourself?”

  “No.”

  “And why not?” He dropped the phone into his pocket.

  “I don’t make house calls.”

  Clint’s nostrils flared as he placed his large hands on his hips. “Since when?”

  Momentarily thwarted, Evan simply blinked at him. Did he really just say that? For a man hell bent on keeping his sexuality a secret, looking at Evan like that—lust boiling in his eyes—wouldn’t convince anyone.

  “I’m sorry, Evan. I didn’t mean that.”

  Evan squared his shoulders and stiffened his guard. He refused to fall for any more of Clint Duke’s lines. “You seem to be good at delivering words you don’t mean.”

  “What are you talking about?” The hurt in Clint’s eyes stabbed into Evan’s heart. But, damn it, this was business. Clint crossed the line when he seduced him, made promises he had no intention of keeping, and gave him hope they’d be more than just a contract.

  “Was there anything else, Mr. Duke?”

  “Evan, what’s going on?”

  The more he thought about it, the more everything made perfect sense. Clint came in Monday and approached Evan before the store opened. Of course, he’d single him out. Aside from the actual Kelley family, Evan had been at Kelley’s longer than most of the other employees and was definitely the most social. He knew everyone at the store, from the current CEO, to the janitor, and everyone in between.

  The board meeting must have been a test. Apparently, Evan passed. Toss in the scene at the bar to snag the paparazzi’s attention and give them a reason to be seen in public together without raising any eyebrows, the open flirting with Candy to keep up the false image, and it all made perfect, painful sense.

  But then Clint called him when his uncle had been rushed to the hospital. He’d asked Evan to stay with him, not under any false pretense, but to bring him comfort when he needed it most. The deep emotional connection they’d shared that night, coupled with the physical connection, not to mention the potential contractual connection now…

  None of that fit. If Clint wanted to play Evan, he wouldn’t go to the extent he’d already gone to be with him. He wouldn’t have had a contract drawn.

  Clint nodded for Evan to follow him into the backroom and over to the corner housing the items still needing to be marked down for clearance. “Talk to me.”

  Evan inhaled sharply and dropped his gaze to shut out the power of Clint’s gaze. He wouldn’t let him win this round. The longer he spent, the weaker he became. “I have to go.”

  “Will you be delivering my tux?”

  “As I’ve already said, Mr. Duke, I don’t make house calls.”

  “And as I’ve already said,” he growled. “Since when?”

  “I don’t answer to you.”

  “The hell you don’t. You are my personal assistant.” He lowered his voice as he barely whispered into Evan’s ear. “You belong to me, Evan McKoy, and you will do as you’re told. Disobeying my commands will result in punishment. You don’t want our arrangement to start off in the wrong position.”

  Evan swallowed to wet his throat. His pulse pounded in his ears. Clint’s words tickled his skin, teasing him with anticipation. He fought to keep his breathing steady. That did not turn him on, damn it. The thought of Clint punishing him did not have him ready to submit, just so they didn’t, indeed, start their arrangement off in the wrong position.

  Damn it. Goddamn it. Before Evan could stop himself, he kept his attention down and nodded.

  “Words, Evan. I demand words.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ll be in front of the playroom tonight?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t want to have another conversation like
this again, Evan. Especially in public. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Clint sighed. “I wish I could touch you right now, to show you how pleased I am.” His comment drew Evan’s gaze. Dear God, that heated, hungry look in Clint’s eyes bore into Evan and nested in his very soul. He couldn’t hide the smile or stop his body’s reaction. Pleasing Clint Duke—knowing he’d pleased him—gave him a crazy high he never expected. It was better than any drug.

  That glimmer in Clint’s eyes intensified as his gaze darkened. It was as if he’d read Evan’s thoughts. “Is everything okay? You know you can talk to me.”

  “Is that allowed?”

  He tilted his head, confusion deepening the lines on his face. “Why wouldn’t it be allowed?”

  “I thought, you know, our arrangement was pretty much you barking orders and me blindly following them.”

  Clint stepped back as if the words had physically slammed into him. “Is that what you think I want from you?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No, Evan. It isn’t.” He drew in a quick breath to say something else, but shook his head and walked away, leaving Evan numb.

  “Mr. Duke?” He hurried after him. “Clint!”

  As soon as they emerged from the backroom, Clint faced him and spoke loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “I expect my personal assistant at my penthouse promptly at seven every night for a debriefing.”

  He did not just say that.

  Evan stumbled to a stop and glanced around. No one seemed to notice—or seemed to care—that Clint had just admitted to debriefing Evan. Then again, maybe he was the only one who took it that way.

  “Seven?” he asked when he recovered. What happened to nine?

  “Every night.”

  “I—” the protest died on his lips when Clint lifted his chin, silencing him with the gesture. Evan dropped his gaze and glanced up through his lashes, submitting. “Yes, sir.”

  Clint’s lips twitched as he gave Evan a nod of approval. It shouldn’t mean so much to him. It shouldn’t have him ready to follow the man to the ends of the earth, just for the chance to please him again.

  He was in serious trouble here.

  14

  Clint couldn’t believe Evan thought their arrangement was so cold, so formal. He’d spent the rest of the day pacing his office in Belltown. It bothered the hell out of him he thought they’d be nothing more than a Dom to his sub. They’d shared his bed—twice—and hadn’t had sex either time. He hadn’t made any demands then.

  He wanted more than sex with Evan. Yes, he wanted sex. Raw. Carnal. Uninhibited. He also wanted companionship. He wanted someone to talk to outside of the playroom. He wanted someone to have dinner with, to share his day with, to share his night with. It didn’t always need to lead to the playroom. The past two nights had proved that.

  It wasn’t emotion. He refused to believe it had anything to do with emotion. Now, how to convince Evan of that when Clint wasn’t convinced of it himself?

  Maybe he pushed too hard. He should back off and let Evan come to him. The only problem with that? Clint wasn’t a patient man, not when it came to something he wanted. And he wanted Evan McKoy.

  He pushed away from the giant oak desk he’d inherited, along with several billion dollars, when Franklin Duke had passed. It was such a stony, desolate office. Dark. Dismal. Even the furniture looked depressed. He hated it but kept it as his father had left it out of respect. Respect and memories.

  Checking his watch, he jumped to his feet when he realized the time. Evan would be at his penthouse in less than ten minutes. With Seattle traffic, it’d take Clint twice that. He grabbed his phone and dialed, not expecting Evan to answer. When he did, it took him by surprise. “Evan?”

  “Clint?” The background noise made it hard to hear.

  “Am I on speaker?”

  “Car phone.”

  “How close are you?”

  “I’m turning onto 5th right now.”

  Shit. He hadn’t even called for a driver, yet. He’d never make it across town in time. Disappointment squeezed him. He’d rather cancel than be late to his own session. He had the control, damn it. “I’m sorry to do this on such short notice.”

  “Please don’t cancel,” Evan jumped in, his tone thick with regret. “Was it because I stood up to you today?”

  “Not at all,” he chuckled. Although he didn’t condone his sub challenging him, especially in front of others, he couldn’t blame Evan for being defiant. Clint had given him no real reason to trust he’d take care of him. Everything Clint did was for Evan.

  Now how to make him know that?

  “What, then? Why don’t you want to see me?”

  “I want to see you more than you know. It’s just that I’m still at the office and forgot to call for a car. It’ll be half an hour before one gets here and then another twenty minutes before I can be there.”

  “That’s why?”

  “I don’t like to be late to my own party.”

  “It’s your party, Clint. You can’t be late. It doesn’t start until you’re there.” His voice changed, warmed. “Stay put. I’m coming to get you.”

  In half the time it would have taken a car service, Evan had his little sports car out front of Clint’s building. They exchanged grins in greeting. As soon as they pulled away from the curb, Clint rested his hand on Evan’s thigh.

  And inched it higher. And higher. He didn’t slow until he had Evan’s package cupped nicely. The man didn’t protest and simply smiled. When Clint squeezed, Evan sucked in a breath.

  “Where do you live?” Clint squeezed again before unfastening and unzipping the pants. He reached through the front of the boxers and wrapped his fingers around Evan’s flesh. To his satisfaction, he was pleasantly warming up, his dick swelling in Clint’s fist.

  “Lower Queen Anne.” He spread his legs to grant Clint better access.

  “Isn’t that right up the hill?”

  He rolled his hips, pumping his cock in and out of Clint’s grip. “Just around the corner, really.”

  “I haven’t been to lower Queen Anne in a while.” He worked his hand in steady strokes, using the pre-cum glistening the tip to keep the friction nice and slick. “How close, did you say?”

  “Not too far off.” Evan looked at him.

  Clint increased the pressure along with the pace. “Getting closer?”

  He released a ragged breath. “Oh, yeah. Just a little bit more.”

  “We almost there?”

  “Jesus, yes.” He rocked his hips. “Just a few more…ah. Just a—oh, shit!” Evan stiffened and shot all over Clint’s hand. He kept remarkable control over the vehicle. Since they were barely doing twenty on side streets, they weren’t in any danger even if he had lost control.

  Clint grabbed the handkerchief from his inside pocket and cleaned away the evidence before tucking Evan into his pants and closing them. They pulled up to a gate and waited for it to open. “I’ve always loved this area.”

  Evan hit him with a sideways glance. Clint returned the gesture.

  And then they burst out laughing.

  “You’re crazy.” Evan drove through the gate and parked before turning in his seat.

  They stared at each other for an eternity. Time stopped as they lost themselves in each other. At the same time, they both sprang and attacked the other, connecting in a kiss to set the bar for the rest of the night. They were feverish in their want, their need to feel the other.

  Evan groaned into his mouth as Clint weaved his fingers through the smaller man’s hair and locked him in place. God, how he loved that sound falling from his lover’s lips. The chills sprang from his scalp and washed down his spine.

  Dear God, Evan tasted so damn good. If he didn’t get him inside, he’d end up taking him right here in the open.

  “Let’s take this upstairs,” Clint whispered into Evan’s ear before sucking the lobe between his teeth and nipping gently. “Before we do som
ething that’ll get us both arrested.”

  “Agreed,” Evan replied and moaned as Clint trailed his lips down Evan’s neck.

  They broke from each other, both panting and dazed as they stared at the other. He couldn’t make sense of the flurry of emotions assaulting his senses and didn’t want to. This man, this perfect, gorgeous man, made him feel.

  Clint unfolded out of the car, cursing it for being so damn small. “We definitely need to get you a bigger car. I can barely fit in this thing.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the size difference,” he countered, those pale, blazing blue eyes on him. “If you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He followed Evan past stairs and stopped in front of a small elevator. The single door opened to reveal a small cart with stained carpet and cracked paneling broken up by mirrors that looked like they were from the 70s. Evan stepped in and faced Clint, waiting.

  He stood next to Evan, his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching for the smaller man. That’s when he picked up on the smell. “Is that diesel?”

  “Hydraulic oil.”

  That didn’t make him feel any better. Elevators shouldn’t smell like a repair shop. Slowly, the cart rattled to the third floor and dinged. As soon as the door opened, Clint rushed out, vowing to take the stairs next time.

  When they moved Evan’s things into his penthouse.

  They approached the door closest to the stairwell, and Evan hesitated as he slipped the key into the lock. He glanced over his shoulder and gave him a shrug. “It isn’t the penthouse, but it’s home.” He opened the door and motioned for Clint to enter before following him inside.

  “Do you want a tour?” He hung his keys on a hook by the door.

  “I’d love to see the bedroom.”

  Evan chuckled. “You’re standing in it.”

  Clint frowned and glanced around the tiny room. He didn’t even see a bed. “I am?”

  He moved across the room, over to a wall with a gaudy watercolor picture hanging on it. He reached up and grabbed the top of the picture, and the wall swung down to reveal a bed that folded out.