Chapter Seventeen
Wes
I’m not sure what time it is when that Jalen guy drops me back at the hotel. The sky is still dark, but I smell coffee as I trudge across the shiny tiles toward the elevators. Probably morning, then. My head’s fuzzy, so I’m not sure.
I’m not sure about anything.
He gave me back my phone—found in a trash can where we were being held, with the screen shattered. The battery was dead anyway. I’m too busy spinning in circles to care.
I head straight to my room on the second floor of the Premiere. Muffled voices surround me. If anyone speaks directly to me, I don’t know and I don’t care.
A few minutes after I get inside and plug my phone in, it sets off a series of rapid text message pings.
My brother, trying to find out if I’m okay.
What a difference a kidnapping makes. A few days ago he was barely speaking to me.
Even though I can read the messages through the cracks in the screen, typing is another matter. I manage to voice dictate a simple “I’m okay” message to respond and then plunk the broken thing down to go take a shower.
I don’t get far. Attempting to undo the buttons on my shirt reminds me that some of them popped off during… Well.
All of a sudden I’m shivering. Uncontrollable body spasms like I haven’t had since the last time I had a bad flu. I try to chafe my arms with my hands, but the chills have that bone-deep feeling like I may never get warm again.
The kind another person’s body heat would help chase away.
Since I’m probably not supposed to be wishing Adam and Troy were here, I do my best to push any thoughts of them away.
I’m on my way to the shower when the phone rings. My brother calling.
“Hey, man.” My voice sounds flat. It’s all I’ve got at the moment.
“Wes, Jesus Christ. Thank God. Adam sent a message to PJ’s group chat saying you guys had been kidnapped. Nobody knew what the hell was going on. Are you okay?”
“I sent you a text that said I’m okay.”
With one hand holding the phone, I unplug it again and pry my shoes off. Maybe the barely charged battery will die again, and I won’t have to continue this conversation with Fallon right now. As much as I want to make amends, I’m too raw to get into it all now.
I amble toward the bathroom to turn the shower on. I crank it almost to the hottest setting. There’s still sort of, I don’t know, this odd sensation inside me. Everything’s a little off and I can’t put my finger on why.
Am I still high? Is it because I got kidnapped, like, a day ago and now I’m back in my hotel room as if nothing happened?
Is it because I’m still processing how I feel about getting fucked at both ends by two men half my age while people watched? And filmed the whole thing?
Is this about the fact that I didn’t hate it, but I know I was supposed to?
The shivers ramp up in intensity.
It’s at least partly that last thing.
I shake my head, realizing my brother’s still been talking while my brain wandered off.
“…told them they should call the police, but PJ said Brennan could probably get there faster.”
“He’s right. Besides, it’s better the police didn’t come.” I’m not sure I even sound like myself. Never thought I’d see the day when I’d agree with Fallon’s asshole boyfriend, but I guess it’s a day for firsts all around.
First blow job given. First time getting hate-fucked. First time admitting to killing someone I didn’t actually kill.
First time wishing the men who sort of hate-fucked me could get into bed with me and cuddle until I’m not cold anymore.
“What the hell do you mean it’s better the police didn’t come?” Honestly, I’ve never heard my younger brother sound this much like our mom. Anxious and frantic. I’m the controlling one. Fallon’s the more laid-back one.
The order of the universe has been disturbed.
“Uh…” I study myself in the mirror. Right now you could put my picture next to the definition of “hot mess.” My hair’s standing out all over. My cheek is swollen. My shirt is in tatters. I’m covered in so many scrapes and bruises I’m a walking cautionary tale.
It’s probably for the best I can’t see my own asshole right now. It’s sore as hell.
My skin is itchy where Troy’s cum dried on me.
“Wes?”
“Oh. Sorry.” I don’t really know how to answer my brother’s question, but I’m too worn out to make up excuses. “There were, uh…bodies.”
“Whose bodies? What happened?”
“The people who took us. And it’s a long story.” I’m hit by another round of shaking. “Look, we probably shouldn’t be talking about this over the phone. I need a shower anyway. I need…” So many things.
“Yeah, okay.” Fallon’s voice is quiet. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” I think?
“Hey, Wes. Before you go.”
“Hmm?” I drop my pants to the floor. I don’t know where my shorts went after Troy took them off of me.
Did I really announce my anal virginity to a room full of strangers? I still can’t believe those words came out of my mouth.
My brother huffs through the phone. “Look, I know you’ve been going through a lot. And I know I haven’t helped. I’ve been kind of a dick to you lately, and I apologize. I want you to know I’m here if you need anything.”
There’s pressure behind my eyes. Honestly, my little brother is one of the best people I know and I don’t deserve him.
“You had every reason to be a dick to me, Fallon. I hired a male escort to get you laid and then accused him of being a gold digger when you fell in love. I tried to split you up, repeatedly. If I were you, I wouldn’t be speaking to me.”
“You didn’t get my relationship with him. Or with Marina. I shouldn’t have expected you to understand.”
Fallon’s submissive. Both his current boyfriend and his late wife were dominants. He’s right. I didn’t understand. Not really. I didn’t want to.
After what happened in that building with Adam and Troy, and the way it made me feel, I think I understand better. Every one of my thoughts keeps circling back to them.
“You’ve got a secret desire to be dominated, and we’ve got magic hands.”
Where are they? Is Adam okay?
When will I see them again?
Is it completely and utterly wrong that I want them here right now?
“Most of the years Gina and I were together she was controlling,” I admit to my brother.
“Not like Marina or PJ, but… She was in so much pain after those miscarriages. Hurt. Angry. When I got sick, and the treatments left me sterile, things got worse between us. Every time I looked at you and your relationships, I couldn’t help but draw parallels.
I was miserable, so I assumed you were too and just afraid to say anything. ”
Fallon makes a sympathetic hmm noise. “It’s not the same. But I get it. I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I didn’t realize how bad things were between you.”
“It’s okay. I think… No, I know. I shouldn’t have judged.”
“You’ve got a secret desire to be dominated…”
I close my eyes against a rapid assault of mental images, going back in time from Troy slapping me and demanding I look at him while he fucked me to Adam holding my shoulders in the BAU locker room while Troy reached into my slacks and pulled my cock out.
Astonishingly, the last one makes my cock twitch.
“ I just wanted to show you how giving up control can sometimes be a lot of fun. ”
Troy’s words make my skin tingle.
“I get that you were trying to help,” Fallon says.
Shit, I’d forgotten we were talking again. “Hey, I don’t want to be rude, but I really have to go, man. I’m exhausted and honestly not feeling great. I need to get some rest.”
I’m lying, sort of. It’s true that I’m fucking exhausted. I’m also so wired I may never sleep again.
“Yeah, okay. Call me if you need anything.”
“Sure, little brother.”
As the older sibling, I’ve never called Fallon for help in my life. I doubt that’s going to change now. Not when I can’t see how he’d understand what I’m dealing with.
One of the benefits of living in a hotel is unlimited hot water.
When you have hundreds of guests all showering at a time, you need to be sure you can keep it going.
So I step under, grateful for the heat beating on my sore muscles.
I’m trying not to replay the last few days, few weeks, but doing it anyway.
At some point I manage to work shampoo into my hair. I lather up, scrub the dried cum from my skin. Then I rinse and squeeze a dollop of conditioner from the wall-mounted dispenser.
With the sensation of choking on Adam’s cock fresh in my head, I find my hand wandering down to my erection.
My initial light strokes do nothing but frustrate me.
I find myself getting faster and more aggressive.
Wiping off some of the conditioner, because it makes the glide too smooth. Scraping with my short nails.
My breath comes faster and more ragged as my hand squeezes tighter. I touch myself with long, firm strokes. I move faster, thrusting into my own fist. It’s good, pleasurable enough, but not what I’m looking for.
I’m struggling to recreate the way they touched me. It’s not really possible on my own.
Behind my closed eyes I see Troy’s sharp gaze, full of malice the first time he wrapped his hand around me. The obscene way he spat on my cock. I feel the even filthier way he ran his tongue up my throat outside of his apartment building.
Before I can overthink it, I’m resting one foot on the corner of the tub. One conditioner-slicked finger is working its way behind me. Prodding at my hole.
It’s sore. Really fucking sore. I push my finger in anyway, searching for that magic spot Troy found.
The sound that comes out of me this time isn’t a scream. It’s not a performance required to please someone watching us fuck. It’s a low, quiet moan that’s for nobody but me.
Now I understand what Adam meant when he said sex is different when it’s not a performance. But is it also different when you’re performing with someone who legitimately turns you on?
I wish I could talk to them about this. Who else would I ask?
A coworker? My brother? Hell no.
There’s nothing I can fill my mouth with to make myself feel like I’m tasting Adam’s cock. Anyway, I don’t have enough hands. Maybe it’s messed up that I’d want to recreate what happened, but the strange thing is, it wasn’t awful.
I hate the reason. If I let myself think that we all could’ve been killed, or about where those missing employees may have ended up, I’ll lose it. But I also had one of the most explosive orgasms of my life when Troy was inside me.
It would probably take a lifetime of therapy to sort through the tangle of my emotions.
The insistent ringing of my phone interrupts my exploration, pulling me back out of the shower. Fuck.
Don’t people know I’m busy having a mental breakdown right now?
It’s not my brother this time; it’s Max.
“Where the hell are you?”
All of my fucks must be back in that illegal porn studio, because I don’t have any now. Especially not for Max.
“I can’t work tonight, Max. I had an emergency.”
“You missed your last shift. You can’t miss work without arranging a replacement.”
Entitled prick. “Perhaps you don’t understand what emergency means.”
Ignoring his rant, I put the phone down while I slide into my robe. I’m still cold, but the hot water helped. When I pick it up again, he’s still going.
“…right now. I would rather not have to fire you, Monroe.”
“You didn’t seem to mind taking my wife and my place to live.
I’m sure you wouldn’t mind taking my job.
” I don’t wait for him to respond before I plow forward.
“Look, Max, I’ve had the world’s shittiest day.
I feel like hell. I’m going to bed. Fire me if you want.
Good fucking luck replacing me on short notice. ”
He’s still sputtering when I hang up.
I add an extra blanket to the bed and climb in. Then I close my eyes and relive the moment when I woke up in that van, sandwiched between Troy and Adam.
Honestly, if I hadn’t been terrified, it might have been nice. I didn’t expect to have getting smooshed between two men on my “life after forty” bingo card, but remembering the heat and pressure of their solid bodies eases the chill inside me.
For a while I try to sleep, but all I do is stare at the ceiling. A siren going past the hotel has me freezing in place, heart racing with the certainty that someone will come for me after my fake murder confession. But nothing happens. At some point, I lose track of time.
Along with everything else I’ve been stewing on, I can’t stop worrying about how Adam looked when I last saw him. I’d like to know he’s okay.
If I had his number, I could send a text, but I’d have to ask someone for that. My brother or, God forbid, PJ. That’s a no. Given what they did to Adam’s phone, it might not have been salvageable anyway. I’d be replacing mine right now if I thought I could afford to.
Brennan said they were taking Adam to the hospital in Beacon Hill.
I pull my phone off the charger and dig my spare car key out of my suitcase, heading down to the employee lot to get my car.
The sun makes me wince when I step out. The shock of it starts my head pounding. I get in the car anyway. As I pass through, I’m studying bumper stickers and license plates. Anything to ignore what happened here before.
Once I can be sure Adam and Troy are all right, I’ll feel better.