Chapter Five Tristan
Chapter five
Tristan
Did I think I’d see him again?
Of course fucking not.
Did I want to? Abso-bloody-lutely. But shock didn’t even cover it.
I’d dragged Benji along tonight. Or he, me.
I wasn’t sure. The only one in our lot who occasionally dabbled outside the straight and narrow, he was the only one who would indulge me in a gay bar out east. Benji hadn’t settled on a label yet; pansexual was the gist, so he was game when I said I was interested to learn more about The Yard, where Ollie had obviously found himself.
The excuse? To shove Ollie’s face in it.
To show him what he’d thrown away. Zara and Henry stayed home, pretending they weren’t screwing each other senseless while they had the house to themselves.
And I’d dressed to impress. Course I had.
Wide-legged trousers, mesh top, leather harness.
I wasn’t some gutter rat, no matter what that bloke, the one who’d had me on my knees in an alley, might’ve thought.
But that he was in here now, leather coat flaring as he moved through the crowd, not lurking in shadows outside, that was sheer fucking serendipity… or trouble I should’ve seen coming.
Run from.
But when his eyes locked on mine, I knew. He hadn’t forgotten me. And I couldn’t decide if I wanted to bolt or dare him to come closer.
“Come on, what’s your name?” That wasn’t him, though.
That was the other contender, mouthing into my ear, who’d probably do for a rebound fuck.
Harmless enough. But he didn’t even touch the edges of the heat rolling off the one cutting through the crowd towards me.
The one who paid for his kicks. Who hunted down messes of men and tossed a fifty for a quick suck.
I should’ve been disgusted. Should’ve turned into the body pressed into my side, let him buy me a drink, maybe a night.
But I couldn’t. Because that man—him walking towards me—had got under my skin.
The danger in him, the weight of him, curled round my gut like smoke.
And I wanted to see if he’d want me without the money.
“Take a walk, fella.” Leather Coat stepped up beside me, his scent hitting like a drug I didn’t know I’d missed. A full-sized fucking popper wrapped in muscle and black leather.
The bloke on my other side froze. It was obvious Leather wasn’t asking me to trot off. Not with the way he stood so close, heat rolling off him, eyes locked on the stranger in warning.
“Excuse me?” The bloke tried to square up. Futile. Even I could see that. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Someone you don’t wanna mess with.” Leather leant in closer, menacing, jutting his chin. “So be a good little boy and fuck off.”
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, it wasn’t, but good little boy?
The bloke beside me was well over thirty, and Leather looked mid-twenties at most. I tended to attract the older ones.
Could’ve had a sugar daddy in any club with a queue.
They never knew I was worth more than the buildings they drank in.
And right then, I thought there’d be a fight.
But even I could see the threat simmering within him.
Those eyes that had caught me yesterday, that I thought I’d seen some secret inside, now burnt with pure menace.
He didn’t need to shout. Nor even move. All he needed to do was stare, cold as steel, and sure enough, the other bloke caved. Slipped back into the crowd.
Which left me a sitting duck. Heart in my throat.
Until Leather’s hand closed around my arm and instead of fear, something else snapped loose in me. Heat. Thrill. Want.
He leant down, voice low at my ear. “Sold.”
I should’ve told him I wasn’t for sale. Should’ve said the truth. Yesterday was a mistake, a misunderstanding. But right then? He’d bought me with nothing more than the promise in his grip. And I didn’t want to be discarded for someone who was for sale.
Yeah. I was messed up.
But I was also used to a challenge. “I might’ve wanted him.” I angled my head towards the retreating bloke.
Leather’s gaze tracked him over the crowd, watched him rejoin his mates, licking his wounds. “Yeah?” He looked back at me. “I’ll call him over. We’ll do a bidding war. What do you reckon he thinks you’re worth?”
“He offered me a drink.”
“A drink?” Leather raised his eyebrows. “Bold. Can see why you were tempted with that level of luxury.”
I bit my lip to swallow the smile. “What do you think I’m worth?”
Leather’s grin was slow. Dangerous. “Me.”
And with that, he took the glass from my hand, tossed it onto the bar, and jerked his head towards the back.
I waited all of a millisecond before I followed.
Course I did. I didn’t call out to Benji.
Nor tell anyone where I was going. Because danger had its claws in me.
And that’s exactly what I’d come here chasing.
To dabble in what Ollie had dangled like a secret.
To prove I wasn’t some rich boy marching the line my father drew.
That this reckless, stupid thing was mine. My choice.
Even if it felt anything but.
Leather led us through the corridor, passing doorways filled with bodies pressed tight.
Men moaning, moving, lost in it. The air was heavy with sweat and noise, and when he shoved open the back door, cold night slapped the heat from my skin.
The alley beyond was busy. Figures tangled against walls, hands and mouths finding whatever they could.
He scanned the crowd. Quickly, warily, checking faces as if cataloguing threats, not thrills.
As if he wasn’t used to having an audience for this.
Then he stopped at the end of the alley where the wall met darkness, far enough from anyone else to be alone.
He turned to face me and, Christ, he was brutal in the shadows.
Black leather, black tee stretched over solid muscle, jeans hanging low.
The way he looked at me made my pulse stumble.
Maybe I’d been dosed. Maybe Benji had slipped something in my drink because no sober version of me should’ve been standing like this again. But there I was.
He popped the button on his jeans and held my gaze.
God, I wanted to kiss him.
To see if the pull between us was real and if he felt the burn under his skin that had nothing to do with cash or craving, too.
Or if I was just being a mug, reading too much into a mouth that wasn’t meant for me.
But I knew what would happen if I tried to kiss him.
He’d laugh. Give me the reminder that this was work, not want.
Not love. Not even affection. It was another transaction waiting to be done.
But I did it anyway.
I kissed him.
And he stilled.
He hadn’t expected that. And his reaction to it made me wonder if no one had ever bothered to kiss him properly.
Because he didn’t move. Until something changed in him and, as I coaxed the shape of a kiss he didn’t seem to know how to give but wanted anyway, he kissed me back.
Tentative. Unsure. So I pressed closer to him, my cock straining against his thigh and the thought that I wouldn’t be getting anything in return, that I was the one offering, made something inside me twist and ache.
Then he opened his eyes and I pulled away to breathe hot air into his parted lips.
“You’re right,” I rasped into his ear. “You are definitely more thirst quenching than a drink.”
His breath shuddered against my mouth and a low sound slipped out of him before he could bite it back, and that was it.
The moment the whole thing changed. I’d bet if he paid for it, he wasn’t used to someone this keen.
This wrecked by wanting him. So I opened up his jeans, dipped my hand inside and gripped his eager hard cock, sliding my thumb over the slick bead at his tip.
Smearing it. Taunting him with it. My hips moved on instinct, dragging my hardness against his thigh until the friction made my breath catch.
Maybe I wasn’t brave. More stupid. Soft from a life where danger was a story told from the safety of a penthouse.
Because what I did next was reckless. I undid my trousers with my free hand, let them drop, and pulled myself free.
My briefs clung, small enough to be obscene, and when I tugged them down, the air hit me cold.
He didn’t stop me. No. He stared. Hungry.
Uncertain. Undone. And for a heartbeat, I saw myself from above — Mayfair golden boy in an alley with a man whose name I didn’t know.
My father would call this madness. My mother would call it ruin.
So why did it feel like the first honest choice I’d ever made?
I stepped in again, close enough for the air to disappear between us, and lined our bodies up.
My cock slid against his. Skin to skin, heat to heat.
A slick, electric drag punching the air out of me.
He was taller by a head, so he widened his stance, leaning back against the wall until our lengths fitted perfectly in my hand.
“Dirty boy,” he breathed. Rough as gravel. Smoke threaded through every syllable.
Christ. My whole body trembled. I could’ve come from the sound alone. That roughness brushing over the softness in me I pretended didn’t exist. Then he groaned. Low. Wrecked. As if giving in to the moment. My touch. And pulling me under with him.
“Fuck, pretty boy,” he rasped. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I need this done.”