Epilogue
Wes
I’m running late when I burst into the locker room to get changed. I hate being behind schedule, especially now. Fallon’s been barely tolerating me lately, and I can’t say I blame him. Honestly, I know my head’s a mess. That doesn’t mean I want to lose my brother.
Our mom couldn’t take it. Neither could I.
I’m hoping that Ravi kid is still around. Fallon mentioned his former student’s new boyfriend does something with security, and I think I need to talk to someone about that. Something weird is going on at the hotel I help manage, and frankly? I’m not sure I trust our in-house staff.
At least the gym is quiet now. Most students are gone for winter break. Unlucky for me, I happened to run into one of my mine on my way here, who wanted a reference for a job at the Belle Argo Premiere. One thing I’ve learned as the night manager of that place? She does not want to work there.
Not that I could really tell her so.
I’ve never been terribly comfortable getting naked in front of strangers, so I head to the far back corner of the locker room. There’s usually nobody there. I also keep my head down, so nobody ever thinks I’m gawking like a perv.
So, I only have myself to blame when I run into someone. “Sorry, I—”
I step back when I see who it is. My mouth keeps working but I can’t manage to make sound. Because I know this guy I bumped into, and I know the one standing next to him.
“Hey, Brunch Daddy. How’s it going, Westy?” the one I bumped into says with a weird grin. Troy, I think? These two guys always seem to be together, and I tend to get them confused.
Oh hell. A cold sensation fans across my back.
“It’s Wes,” I tell them. “Just Wes. My mom calls me Westlake. Nobody calls me Westy.”
“Oh, yeah, Westham,” says the one with the shoulder-length hair.
He takes a big drink of the smoothie in his hand.
I think that’s Adam? Every other time I’ve seen him he’s got it pulled back in one of those man buns.
My soon-to-be ex would probably scoff and say man buns are out of style. Then she’d probably fuck him anyway.
Our boss has long hair, and she seemed to like fucking him just fine.
“I like Westy better,” says the one who might be Troy.
“It’s Wes,” I grit out.
The part I’m not confused about? These guys are sex workers. Like my brother’s boyfriend used to be. I’ve seen them skulking around the hotel when I’m working. I’m forced to tolerate my brother’s boyfriend, but I don’t have to tolerate these two.
I grip my duffel bag tighter and try to squeeze past them. “Look, never mind. I’m late meeting Fallon. We’re supposed to be working out while his boyfriend is fixing up his little ice cream stand.”
I’m not saying it’s the worst job, but how much money can he really make serving ice cream on a beach that’s routinely mauled by hurricanes?
“Oh, right,” Maybe Troy says. “That why you’re in a hurry? Don’t wanna have to deal with PJ? We’ve noticed you seem to have a real beef with our friend.”
I look down at where Maybe Troy has wrapped his hand around my upper arm. The last thing I want is to make a scene, but I also don’t want to keep standing here talking.
“There’s no beef.” There absolutely is. I’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m not comfortable with the way Fallon lets his boyfriend treat him, but I can’t exactly say so to PJ’s buddies.
My brother’s boyfriend used to be in one of his classes as a student. He’s over a decade younger. Worse, he seems to have the same kind of dominant nature as Fallon’s late wife had. Not exactly the same, but enough that it makes me itch to be around the two of them.
With a tug of my arm, I pull out of Maybe Troy’s grip and head back to my usual locker. I don’t realize they’ve followed me until Maybe Adam says, “You homophobic or something?”
“Hom—what? No. Of course not. I’m the one who set up PJ and Fallon on their first date. Would I do that if I was homophobic? What I am is control phobic.”
“It’s just that we remember the day you came storming into our brunch place looking ready to throw down with PJ.” Maybe Troy gestures between the two of them.
Guess that’s why they call me Brunch Daddy?
I’d been trying to get the sex worker I hired to fuck my brother to leave him the hell alone. A situation that’s been biting me in the ass since it first put me on these twenty-something thugs’ radar.
“Right,” Maybe Adam agrees between gulps of smoothie. “And then there was the way you lost your shit at the birthday party last month.”
“I walked in on them fucking when I went to ask if we had more ice,” I insist in a harsh whisper. “Nobody wants to see their little brother getting choked by his twenty-year-old boyfriend.”
“Pretty sure PJ’s, like, twenty-three. Twenty-four?” Maybe Troy nudges Maybe Adam.
“Twenty-four, I think,” Maybe Adam agrees. “Or twenty-five? No, I think he’s around a year older than you, so that would be twenty-four.”
Jesus, my head is spinning. “Look, guys. This is pointless. I told you I don’t have a problem with—”
Until I stumble backward, I hadn’t realized they’d been advancing on me. And I’d been retreating. Like they’re the predators and I’m their prey. Like raptors, I guess sex workers also hunt in pairs.
A bead of sweat trickles down my back.
Somehow I’ve let them back me all the way into the far corner, where there’s a bench seat running between the lockers for people to sit on. That I’ve awkwardly sort of landed sideways on.
“What the fuck are you…?” I don’t finish the sentence because I don’t think I want to. What are they doing? They’re probably about to beat the shit out of me—some sort of fucked-up payment for me being a dick to their friend.
I glance toward the opening to the bank of lockers, but there’s nobody. It’s why I like this spot. The only person I ever see back here is someone from custodial services, and that’s only if it’s late in the evening.
“Look, whatever this is—”
Maybe Adam’s hand comes down on my shoulder. He’s got an alarmingly strong grip for kind of a lean guy, and his fingers dig solidly into my muscles.
It gets extra confusing when Maybe Troy straddles the bench in front of me, pulling on one of my legs to make me straddle it as well. Then he scoots forward, hooking each of his legs over each of mine, trapping me in place with his crotch practically mashing mine.
I blame the fact that Gina hasn’t wanted to have sex with me in almost a year for the reason I start to get hard. Skin on skin feels good, right? Even if it’s someone you can’t stand. Even if it’s someone who looks as if they want to punch you in the face.
Totally normal.
I cough to cover the groan I almost let out when his fingers press into my leg.
Maybe…maybe this is not entirely normal.
“Adam, keep a lookout.”
The words “Got it” come from behind me, followed by the slurp of a smoothie. Okay, so the one in front of me is Troy. I’m oddly gratified to know for certain, in spite of the complete and total what-the-fuck of this entire situation.
I’m not expecting it when he reaches for my fly.
“What the hell are you—”
With head-spinning efficiency Troy’s pulled my cock out, and he’s stroking me with his hand.
And I try to tell myself I don’t want him to, until a strained “Oh, God” comes out of my mouth.
Nobody’s touched me in so long.
That little thing doesn’t satisfy me. It never has.
Remembering Gina’s hurtful comments makes me move to cover myself, but Troy only bats my hands away. “Chill, Westy. Lemme make you feel good.”
Do I protest? Do I ask him to stop?
Do I tell him I want more?
“It’s Wes” is all I say. Frankly, it comes out embarrassingly like a moan.
It’s a little painful as hand jobs go. The skin on his hands is a bit rough and he’s not using any lube, but my dick doesn’t seem in the mood to be choosy.
“Got a live one here, Adam.”
Behind me, Adam’s heavy breaths puff against my ear. He’s leaning down to get a better look, I realize. He slides one hand over my shoulder, stroking my nipples through my dress shirt.
“That’s a pretty looking cock you’ve got there, Westy,” Adam breathes.
“It’s not—oh God.” My protest is cut off by Troy staring me dead in the eyes as he leans forward and lets an obscene drizzle of spit from his mouth land right on my hard cock, and then resumes stroking me.
“Somebody likes this,” he quietly sing-songs. “Don’t worry. We won’t tell. You sit there and fuck my fist like a good boy, and we’ll let you come.”
The sound that comes out of my mouth, it’s one I’ve never heard before. I’m fucking his fist exactly like he wants me to. Like I want me to. Even though I shouldn’t.
It takes a shamefully short amount of time before my orgasm shoots through me like lightning.
I’m shaking with the force of it, unable to control my limbs.
For a moment I forget myself, opening my mouth to let the whole damn locker room know what’s happening over here, but Adam clamps a hand over my mouth from behind.
I wind up biting down on his fingers as he tries to keep my cries muffled.
In front of me, Troy only chuckles. Then he presses on my leg to let me know he doesn’t want me to move yet. The other hand, the one that’s covered in my body fluids? He stares me down as he licks every drop from his fingers.
If anyone had ever told me someone licking jizz from their hands could look like a threat, I wouldn’t have believed them. Until now.
“What the fuck was that?” I whisper. I don’t know if I’m asking them or myself. God, maybe? The old professor in the next row of lockers who’s always heading to the pool in his Speedo around this time?
I’ll take any answers at this point. Any at all. I’m at a loss.
Somewhere nearby, a locker slams, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Except I still can’t move, because Troy’s got me pinned. He’s clearly stronger than I am, but he’s also not in a post-orgasm daze.
“That?” Troy tucks my cock back into my slacks.
Gently, almost politely, given the situation.
“Just showing you how letting someone control you can be sexy, babe. Fun even. It was fun, right?” He leans forward, lips against my ear.
“Imagine what we could do to you if you weren’t so embarrassed by your own dick. ”
Fuck me.
“It was—” I don’t know what the hell that was.
But clearly Troy takes my broken-off answer as agreement, because he only gives me a smug grin.
“Thought so. Kaybye, Westy.”
By the time I’ve remembered how to use my tongue again, they’re long gone.
“It’s Wes,” I whisper to no one but myself.
The next thing I know, I’m stumbling over the bench, rushing to follow after them. I have questions. And I need answers.
* * *
THANK YOU for reading GUARDIAN!! I hope you loved this dark guardian/ward romance.