by K. C. Wells
Darren plundered his mouth, his hands stroking carefully over JJ’s chest, lingering at his nipples. JJ winced, and Darren quickly withdrew. “You need to leave now before I pull down these sinfully tight jeans and take you on the supply room floor,” he whispered.
JJ chuckled. “Maybe I’d like that?”
Darren pulled him away from the door and smacked his arse, making him yelp.
“Out, tempting boy.”
JJ pouted, but he couldn’t keep up the pretense for long. He gave Darren one last kiss. “I’ll see you tonight. I’m not working, so I’ll be waiting for you when you walk through that door.”
Darren grinned. “Then you’d better make sure you’re naked and on your knees.”
JJ’s heart gave a stutter. “We going to play tonight?”
Fuck. The look Darren gave him was so hot, JJ felt sure he’d just melted into a puddle of goo.
“Count on it,” Darren said huskily. Then he whacked JJ’s behind once more. “Now out!”
“Yes, Sir,” JJ whispered.
Darren stilled. “Do you know what it does to me when you say that?” He placed a hand to his own chest. “I feel it in here.” He took JJ in his arms and kissed him, more slowly this time, with less heat and a whole lot more tenderness. When they parted, he smiled. “I don’t really want you to go, you know, but—”
“It’s okay,” JJ said, stopping his words with a kiss. “You have a business to run. This can wait.”
The door opened. “Darren?” a hesitant voice asked. “Mrs. Murtaugh is here for her appointment.”
Darren sighed. JJ looked up, and for just a second, he could see Paul giving him an evil glare before turning around and storming out the door.
He shook his head. “You know, you should bring him to the club one night. Might do for him to find himself someone to take him in hand.”
“I know. I’ve thought the same thing more than a few times.”
JJ arched his eyebrows. “Actually, I was serious. I think Paul wishes it would be you, but you’re already taken.”
Darren pulled JJ to him. “Incredibly taken,” he said in that rich, deep voice that sent shivers down JJ’s spine.
At this rate he’ll never do any work.
With extreme reluctance, JJ stepped back. “I really do need to go, don’t I?”
Darren nodded, his expression sobering. A thought crossed JJ’s mind.
“Mrs. Murtaugh? Do you get ladies here too?”
Darren chuckled. “Does it say Men Only above my door? No. It doesn’t. I get both sexes. A lot of my female clients say they prefer coming here. They like what we do with their hair, but apart from that, they say the floor show is always entertaining.” He opened his eyes wide in mock innocence. “I’m sure I have no clue what they mean by that. We do have quite a few ladies, however. I get the impression they like gay hairdressers. I’m not about to disillusion them by telling them Christopher is straight.” He glanced toward the door. “And now you really do have to go.”
JJ couldn’t resist. He grabbed Darren’s thick cock. “Keep it hard for me.”
Then he scooted out of there before Darren could react. As he passed through the salon, he got grins and calls from the guys working there. JJ laughed and left the salon, grinning like an idiot.
I love my life.
He strolled along the street, his heart light, a spring in his step.
“Excuse me?”
JJ turned. A young man dressed in a black jacket and jeans was standing by the newsagent’s window. He seemed vaguely familiar. “Yes?” JJ said. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
The young man smiled. “You might have seen me at Collars & Cuffs. That is, before I was flung out on my ear.” The smile faded.
Oh hell. JJ suddenly remembered where he’d seen that face. “You were the reporter who hassled Peter.” He’d seen one of the copies of his photo, taken from the security cameras. JJ set his jaw. “We have nothing to discuss.” He strode away, his heart pounding.
“Oh, but we do!” the guy called out.
JJ didn’t turn around but kept on walking. The reporter caught up to him, grabbing his arm.
“You need to hear me out.”
JJ shrugged free of his grasp. “No, I don’t,” he gritted out. “Now get lost.” He carried on walking away briskly.
“Fine!” the reporter yelled. “I’m gonna write the article, with or without the help of Jeremy Justin Taylor—or should that be Rogers?”
JJ froze, his heart pounding so hard he thought it would burst.
The reporter walked up behind him. “Yeah, I know who you are. So the way I see it, you have two choices. You can walk away and I’ll write the damned thing anyway. Or you can come with me, answer a few questions, and give me your version.” He smiled smugly. “I’ll even buy you a coffee.”
JJ was so angry he was shaking. “My version? What makes you think I know anything?”
The reporter tilted his head to one side. “There’s a coffee shop right across the street. How about we go there and chat for a bit?” He held up a leather folder. “I think you’ll find we have a lot of things to talk about.”
JJ hesitated. Part of him wanted to run, all the way to the salon and the safety of Darren’s arms. But in his mind a question burned. What does he know? Even if JJ never said a word, at least he’d be forearmed as to the content of the article. And maybe there’s a chance I can put him straight about a few things. What did he have to lose?
“Okay,” he agreed grudgingly. “Let’s go.”
The reporter beamed. “Excellent!”
He waited at the curb for a gap in the traffic and then crossed the road, JJ following. They entered the coffee shop, and the reporter pointed to an empty table in the corner.
“We can sit there. What do you want? Coffee, tea, hot chocolate?”
“A coffee will do, thanks.” JJ walked over to the corner table and sat, trying to regain his composure. He didn’t like being in the dark. Minutes later the reporter joined him, placing a tray on the table. He handed JJ a mug.
“So, do you like working at the club?” He smiled pleasantly.
JJ was in no mood for pleasantries. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?” he said brusquely.
He stared at JJ and then sighed. “Fine.”
“I have a question before you start,” JJ said quickly. “How… how did you know that Curtis was my father?”
The reporter smiled again. “You asked if you’d seen me somewhere?”
JJ nodded.
“The night we met, I was at the club, ostensibly checking it out. I stopped you and Peter to ask you some questions, but he brushed me off. Then you and he went to talk to Curtis’s former sub, Christian.” He leaned back, his smile growing smug. “I heard every word.”
“If that’s true, then you don’t need me, do you? You have everything.” JJ pushed back his chair and stood. “You should be talking to Christian.”
“I already did,” the man replied. “He told me some very interesting things about you and your father.”
For the first time since the reporter had approached him, JJ felt a measure of confidence. “Bullshit. Joe wouldn’t let you within two feet of Christian. We’re done.”
“How do you think the owners at your precious club would feel if they knew who you were? Isn’t one of them Peter’s so-called Master? Imagine how he’d react if he knew your connection to Curtis.”
JJ merely raised his eyebrows. “You’re not very bright, are you? You say you heard me talking with Peter and Christian? Well then, Peter obviously knows. Do you think he’d keep that from Thomas? And for your information, they already know who I am.” He smiled coldly. “Like I said, we’re done. Thanks for the coffee, but I won’t stick around to drink it.”
“Does your mum know where you’re working?”
“What?” JJ stiffened.
“I’ll take that reaction as a no.” The reporter opened his folder and pulled out a notepad. He flipped thr
ough it. “I was going to put her in the article. I wonder how she will react when she finds out that her only child is heading down the same path of depravity that his father did. She’s what now? Almost fifty, right? That can’t be good for her.”
JJ spun. “You leave my mother out of this,” he snarled.
The reporter shrugged. “If you won’t talk to me, I have to speak with her. Simple enough, really.”
“This article. It’s about Curtis?”
The reporter nodded.
“Well, she won’t have anything new to tell you. We’re talking about a one-night stand, twenty-five years ago. That’s the extent of her relationship with Curtis.”
He widened his eyes. “And what does that say about your mother?”
JJ sat down, his hands clenched into fists. “I’ve seen the newspapers from when Curtis was arrested, up to his sentencing. What can you possibly have to say that hasn’t already been said?”
The reporter’s eyes grew flinty. “I’m trying to make a name for myself. I figured if I could come up with another angle on Curtis’s case, now that he’s in the public eye again with the suicide, I could drum up some interest. I went to Collars & Cuffs to find Peter, after I’d read the trial transcripts.” He grinned. “Finding you was a bonus. It gave me a whole new angle. I can see the headlines now. ‘Sadist’s Son Follows In His Father’s Footsteps.’”
JJ snorted. “Like people will care about me.”
That smile grew more satisfied. “No, but they will care about your boyfriend.”
Ice slid down JJ’s spine. “What?” he whispered.
The reporter slid some sheets out of the folder. “Yeah. Imagine what it will do to his business when his fancy customers see these. When they see what kind of a man is cutting their hair.” He handed JJ the sheets.
JJ turned them over and froze in shock. They were photos taken inside the club, showing some of the members taking part in scenes. They showed the St. Andrew’s cross, whips, canes, paddles, the guys in harnesses. The last couple of prints showed him and Darren, him kneeling beside Darren’s chair, Darren’s hand on his head.
“Where…?” He fought for breath. “Where did you get these?”
“I had a mate visit the club under the guise of checking it out. He was able to take these for me, seeing as I couldn’t get near the place once they’d thrown me out,” he snarled.
JJ regained a little self-control. “So what? These photos of me and Darren, they’re fine. We’re not doing anything his clients would find remotely interesting.”
That smug smile was back. “They don’t need to. Human nature, JJ, is a wonderful thing. People will see you and Darren, then they’ll see these pics of deviants, and they’ll simply put two and two together. I won’t need to write a word that isn’t true. What’s in the readers’ heads will do that for me.” He leaned back. “Just think how shocked and appalled his clients will be. Their lovely Darren, whipping the shit out of his boyfriend, JJ the submissive.” His eyes gleamed. “You’re obviously not the man your father was. He’d never have gone on his knees for any man.”
JJ couldn’t take another second. He lurched to his feet. “We’re done,” he croaked.
“You can leave now, sure. I’ll just write the article as I’d planned. If you’re sure you want to live with the consequences. Think about it. Is Darren going to want to keep you after his business goes under? Which do you think is more important to him?”
Fucking hell. That made some sick kind of sense. His stomach churned, and bile rose in his throat. He swallowed hard, grimacing at the bitterness. What the fuck do I do now? There has to be something….
Then it came to him.
“It would only hurt his business if he were still my boyfriend,” he said slowly.
The reporter sat bolt upright. “Excuse me?” He stared incredulously at JJ. “But he is your boyfriend. You live together.”
JJ nodded. “But what happens if we break up? What happens if I’m no longer part of his life? He could tell people we broke up because he couldn’t take my ‘deviant’ lifestyle. He wouldn’t lose clients. He might even gain more, people who read the article. And he’d get the sympathy vote. Clients who feel bad for him because he got sucked into this mess.” He nodded once more. In his head it made perfect sense. Heartachingly painful but perfect. “Me walking away from him could be a blessing in disguise.” His heart quaked at the thought, but he knew staying would mean exactly what that bastard was predicting—Darren’s business would suffer. JJ couldn’t let that happen.
And if I really love him, I’ll do the right thing.
The reporter gaped at him. “You… you wouldn’t leave him.”
“Wouldn’t I?” JJ said, choking back the panic bubbling up inside him. “Watch me.” He turned and walked away, ignoring the reporter’s repeated calls for him to come back. He ran across the street, dodging an oncoming car, and headed toward the bus stop, trying to fight back the tears. They would have to wait.
He had things to do. And someone to see.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
THE COACH pulled into Chorlton Street bus station, and JJ grabbed his bag from the bench where he’d been sitting, a dull ache in his chest. He still wasn’t entirely convinced he was doing the right thing. Unfortunately, what the reporter had said was the truth. He could destroy Darren’s business, and JJ simply couldn’t allow that. But running like this?
For the umpteenth time that morning since he’d left the house, JJ was questioning his actions. He’d had a little time to calm down since leaving the coffee shop, but his thoughts were still a chaotic mess. One thing he knew for certain—there was no way he could let Darren get hurt by the fallout from this mess.
It would be better if we simply forgot one another.
A clean break. Walk away now while they were still relatively new to each other. It wasn’t as if he and Darren had been together all that long, anyway.
Then why does my heart ache so much?
JJ closed his eyes, as if this would block the painful thoughts that plagued him.
No such luck.
He climbed aboard the coach and tossed his bag up onto the luggage rack. Once he’d found his seat, he took off his jacket, rolled it into a ball, and shoved it between his head and the window. Leaning on it, he closed his eyes and tried not to think about the mess he was making. There was his job, for one thing. He had no clue what he was going to say to Thomas or Leo about walking out on them again. He hadn’t gotten up enough nerve to call them yet.
He stared out of the window at the boring landscape that was the M6 motorway. A couple of hours and he’d be in Birmingham. Less than a hundred miles from Manchester but a long way from where his heart was telling him he belonged.
October so far had been bleak, the skies overcast with thick gray clouds, occasionally giving rise to cold rain. But then everything seemed bleak. As the coach passed through Birmingham’s suburbs, the sights grew more familiar, yet not. The houses JJ had thought beautiful when he was growing up now seemed grimy. There was the park where he’d played. The trees that he’d climbed as a child, scaling the branches to touch the sky, now seemed gnarled and uninviting.
I’m not the same JJ, though. Maybe that’s why everything seems so… different.
He no longer saw things through the eyes of a child. Now they were seen through the eyes of someone who’d given up the best thing he’d ever had—his first real love.
His eyes blurred, and suddenly the view through his window became less distinct.
“Do you need a tissue?” came a frail voice from across the aisle. An older woman smiled at him and held out a package of Kleenex. He shook his head and murmured his thanks.
She ignored him and pressed the packet into his hand. “Go ahead and take them. I think right now you might need them more than I do.”
“Thank you,” JJ whispered. He pulled one out of the pack and wiped his eyes.
“Is it really that bad?” The sweet lady’s brow w
as furrowed, her eyes kind.
JJ reflected for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, it is.”
Her face fell. “Then I’m sorry. I wish I could do more.”
“These were great, thank you,” JJ replied, attempting to hand the packet back to her.
“Keep them,” she said with a smile. “At my age I always have plenty in my handbag.”
The rest of the ride was spent in silence, for which JJ was grateful. He needed to clear his head for what he was about to do. When the coach pulled into Birmingham coach station, he stepped off and slung the bag over his shoulder. Five minutes later he was on the bus for the short ride to his destination. The streets had been so familiar to him but now seemed like a foreign land. When he saw the white house with the dark green painted sills, his stomach clenched. It took everything he could muster to put one foot in front of the other and walk up to the door. He knocked softly, part of him hoping no one would answer and part of him praying someone would. When the door opened, JJ gasped.
“JJ?”
She looked older than he remembered. Her hair had strands of silver in it, and her face had gone thin. Right then she was a welcome sight. “Hi, Mum.”
She stared at him, her eyes wide. Then she pulled him into a hug, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He began sobbing into her shoulder, crying so hard he was unable to draw a breath.
“Hey, baby, it’s okay,” she said, rubbing his back. When his tears had abated a little, she led him into the living room, where she pushed him to sit on the couch. “You look exhausted.”
There were no words of recrimination. No angry outburst. Nothing about the amount of time since she’d last heard from him. Just love that shone in her eyes, the way she held him.
Mum sat next to him and put her arm around him.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “So very sorry.”
“Shh. It’s okay.” She rubbed his shoulders, her touch warm and comforting.