Chapter 12 #4
Yeah, Zavier was right. His self-control was nonexistent, especially as of late. Hell, Zavier had borne the brunt of that. Still, he didn’t know what control had to do with submission. “But—”
Zavier held a finger up, and every bit of Ray shivered.
“Submission is an exchange of power. It’s a gift. You have to be in control of yourself to release that to someone else.”
Ray’s heart thumped against his ribs. “Then what was...” He gestured to the spot where they’d stood, where his semen was drying on the carpeting, where Zavier had told him to come. “What was that?”
A little crack appeared in Zavier’s perfection and poise. “Maybe a taste of that type of exchange—for both of us.”
What would it take to get Zavier to fuck him? Hell, what would it be like to kneel and suck him off? Why was he even thinking about that? He couldn’t stand the guy!
Except that was another lie. Might’ve been true the day Zavier had walked into the audition, but it certainly wasn’t now. Even when he’d flipped Zavier off, the anger had been superficial, born of hurt and rejection and—whatever it was that flowed between the two of them.
Not only had Zavier saved his ass tonight, he’d listened and cared all the weeks before.
Provided solutions when the band had run up against issues.
Even gone hunting for information about Carl.
He wasn’t the arrogant bastard Ray had assumed he was when he’d walked into that audition months ago.
“Could we—do this again?” In a different place. At a different time.
“No.” A soft word, but final. “You’re not in the right space. At all.” Zavier deflated into pensiveness. “This was ill-advised of me in the first place.”
Who actually talked like that? “Well, it did clear my head.”
A huff of laughter. “Then something good came out of the night, at least.”
Time stretched a bit, and Ray got the distinct impression Zavier was examining him—for what, he didn’t know. “What if—” He took a deep breath. “What if I found self-control?”
Zavier nodded. It was slight, and maybe unconscious, but there it was.
Ray’s body flamed.
“I guess we’ll see,” Zavier murmured. He rose and headed to the door. “Get some sleep, Ray.”
“Zav.” Another word that came out unbidden.
Zavier stopped, his hand on the door handle.
“Thank you.” Tight words. For interrupting Ray. For saving the band. For making him come. God, that orgasm. Even the memory curled his toes.
For a moment, under the glow of the light in the room’s entryway, those blue eyes looked back at him. No smile, but no frown, either. “You’re welcome.”
Then Zavier was gone and Ray was alone with nothing but the ashen taste of humility and fear in his mouth.
Yeah. He was out of control. Maybe not like the tabloids thought, but yeah. It was a problem with only one solution: stop being a fuckup. Stop letting Carl get to him. Stop pushing away the very people who kept him sane.
Easier said than done. Ray rose and started getting ready for bed.
Both Mish and Dom were waiting for Zavier in the hallway. Hell. Too much time had passed since he’d chased the groupie off, time he’d spent playing with Ray and tangling himself into knots.
Who knew what they thought of that delay.
He needed to process what had happened, pick apart the whole thing and figure out what the fuck had been going through his head when he’d decided to play out that little scene.
It was reckless and foolish. Yes, there was the sharp thrill of being obeyed and the deep satisfaction of meting out punishment, something he’d missed so much.
Only Ray wasn’t his sub. Ray would not be his sub. That path was utter madness.
Dom coughed. “Is he okay?”
“I saw the guy come out with a bag of drugs. What the hell was Ray thinking?” Mish’s thoughts were closer to his own.
“He’s suitably horrified, chastised, and he wasn’t thinking at all.” Exhaustion was quickly catching up with Zavier. He leaned as casually as he could against the wall and let it hold him up.
“Ray didn’t...do anything foolish or get hurt or anything...right?” Dom’s face colored, then paled.
For someone in a rock band with albums that had parental advisory warnings on them, Dom could act so...sheltered at times. “No. I got in there before anything happened, Ray didn’t know about the drugs, and the guy was of age anyway.”
Both of them relaxed. Good.
“Turned out the guy was twenty-one.”
Mish grunted. “He didn’t look that old.”
“Yeah. I felt pretty rash about rushing in there, until the drugs fell out of the shit’s pocket.” He pushed off the wall. “I don’t think Ray’ll be letting anyone in his room again.” Would likely turn away anyone not associated with the band.
“He takes too much on his shoulders.” Dom’s quiet voice.
Zavier turned and studied Dom, the words Ray had thrown at him coming back. Dom would do you in a heartbeat. There was history between Dom and Ray he didn’t know, but he was certain Ray was wrong about Dom. If Zavier propositioned, Dom would say no, in that same heartbeat. “What do you mean?”
“All the criticism, the journalists, the press. All Carl’s yelling and Kevin’s troubles. He takes it on, blames himself, and then—” Dom gestured at the door. “Goes off the deep end.”
“Not the first time he’s done this?” God, he didn’t want to be staking out Ray’s door every night to keep the groupies away. How the fuck had that guy known where to go? Shit. They didn’t have bodyguards.
“Not this,” Dom said. “Last tour, he’d find a member of the crew to screw and everything would be fine.”
“Carl hired a new crew,” Mish said.
Always back to that asshole. Zavier pushed a hand through his hair. “Ray was talking to us, on the bus. He had an outlet, at least for a while.” Before the journalist had rattled him. Before he’d flipped Zavier off. Back when they’d shared a couch and leg room.
A little thought niggled at Zavier, one that reminded him he’d pulled away exactly as Ray was reaching out—which meant he was at fault for all this, too.
But he couldn’t change the past, couldn’t go back and undo his actions.
His soul roiled. And here he thought himself so careful, so controlled, yet his emotions and fears had gotten the best of him.
“A shared burden is an easier one,” Mish said.
Very true. But far too tempting. “Well, this crisis is averted. We should all turn in.”
Dom nodded and headed back to his door.
Mish stooped, picked up the ice bucket that had been sitting at her feet, and handed it to Zavier. “It’s a little melted.”
“I’ll manage.”
She chuckled and gave him a smile. “I still like you. You’re messed up, but you have a heart.”
“Gee, thanks.” One tired smile later, and he was back at his own door and into his room, shutting out the chaos behind it.
Except he still heard the echo of Ray’s moan in his head and felt the heat of that body in his fingertips, even when he plucked some ice out of the bucket to add to his glass of water.
He hadn’t lied when he’d told Ray he wasn’t a sub. Ray couldn’t be Zavier’s submissive, for so many reasons, self-control aside.
God, he so wanted to take on that bundle of nerves and desire and need, but Ray made him impulsive and uncovered too many of his own worries.
Leaving Dimitri and the orchestra had been easy—not entirely painless, but easy.
Leaving Twisted Wishes would gut him completely.
He’d already tangled his own hopes and fears, the want to make it big and the terror he’d screw their chances up somehow.
He fucking cared for Mish and Dom and especially beautiful, fractured Ray Van Zeller.
He had no idea how to prove to Ray that he was worthy of every bit of praise, that Ray was the reason the band was skyrocketing in popularity.
Yeah, the media focused on Zavier as the point of change, which was unfair. Ray was the heart and soul of Twisted Wishes. If he was cut out—the terrifying suggestion Ray had made—they’d all wither and die.
Problem was, Ray took the weight of the band onto his back.
Zavier could take that weight off Ray, if only for a time.
He could. He so clearly could. The desire was there, wound so tight around his core.
It would be a delight, and honor. And if it went wrong, an act that would tear their whole world apart.
Zavier downed his glass of water, then poured another. He couldn’t risk Ray or the band, not even to help in the one way he knew how.