1. Brooks

CHAPTER 1

brOOKS

You’re eye-fucking me like you can handle me,” I murmured softly to the man kneeling near my feet, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. I had a whiskey in one hand, propped gingerly on top of my knee while I gave an appreciative once over to the pretty little thing currently on his knees between where Ford and I sat.

Kale had been too caught up with his own shit to notice the way Ford had negotiated his way into the deal, reaching back at one point and patting his billfold before the stranger had followed obediently behind him to our table. Ford had no place soliciting anyone at The Black Door, but being in a secret relationship with your best friend’s brother drove people to desperate measures sometimes, I imagined. I’d never know because I wasn’t stupid enough to fuck Kale’s baby brother, but I did enjoy watching Ford try to dig himself out of the mess he’d made.

“I can,” he answered simply, tipping his chin up in what I imagined was an attempt to make him look more powerful than he was .

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know your name is Astor Brooks,” he countered, arching a golden-brown brow.

Fucking Ford.

“You don’t know anything you haven’t already been told,” I corrected.

“Enlighten me then.”

I sighed, uncrossing my legs and leaning down closer to his face. In one swift motion, I set my drink on the table and collared my hand around the gorgeous, slender throat of the presumptuous man Ford had paid off. His eyes went wide when I grabbed him, but beyond that he barely moved an inch.

“I’m not a sadist,” I whispered, letting my lips dust across his ear.

“Brooks, play nice,” Ford warned from his seat beside me.

I gave him the finger, not even bothering to turn my attention upward.

“You can tell him to stop if you want him to stop,” Ford went on.

“He knows.” I gave his throat a squeeze. “Don’t you? Since you know so much?”

“I know,” he rasped, swallowing. His Adam’s apple bobbed against the palm of my hand and, like a reflex, my cock throbbed. “Tell me the rest now.”

“I’m not a sadist,” I said again, “but I like it rough.”

“I can handle that.”

“I get off on making people cry,” I warned.

Even thinking about tears streaking down this man’s cheeks was enough to get me halfway to hard. I had to count backward from ten in my head to stop myself from tightening my hand around his throat so I could watch him scramble for air.

My confession was as much the truth as it was a lie. When I’d been younger and just learning the ropes of my kinks, lots of people had called me a sadist, but the pain I inflicted wasn’t anything more than the cause to the event. I loved making my partners cry. There was something so vulnerable, so revealing about it, and there wasn’t a thing in the world that made me more aroused. Breath play, though…breath play was a very close second.

I wondered sometimes if I played too close to the edge, because my kink was rarely safe and sane, but always consensual. I tried to pick my partners well, finding men—or women—who understood what my end goals were so they didn’t get scared off while we were heading there. I often got mean during sex, rough, and I’d even been called cruel once or twice.

But I always softened in the end.

I would take the time to kiss the bruises I’d left behind, trace the outlines of them with the tip of my tongue and commit them to memory, even if I’d never even bothered to learn my partner’s name. I provided water, a warm shower—sometimes a bath—and I always, always , paid for their car ride home at the end of the night. And once I was alone again, I’d replay the events of the night and get myself off a second… or third, or fourth time before going to bed.

Alone.

“I’m not scared,” he said, blinking slowly at me. “My name is Tate.”

I grimaced, shaking my head. “I don’t care.”

That was half a lie. It was a lot easier to think about him with his name instead of referring to him as the troublemaking piece of ass that Ford had all but dropped into my lap.

“That’s fine.”

I flexed my hand around Tate’s throat and then let go, moving so my back was tucked into the corner of my chair. At the loss of my touch, Tate had the decency to look bereft, which earned him almost enough points to get him home and into my bed.

“Are you done playing with my food, Brooks?” Ford asked, feigning insult. I knew he was putting on a show because I knew he was in love with Kale’s younger brother, Boston. I knew he was pretending because Ford was one of the best negotiators I’d ever met. When we were in school, he aced Business Econometrics without even stepping foot inside the classroom. Some things just came easily to some people, and if he played his cards right, Tate was going to be coming easily for me in less than two hours.

“He’s so tempting, though,” I said, finishing off the last of my drink. “I think I’m taking him home.”

Ford’s eyes went wide before he closed them. His shoulder sagged and he managed a nod.

“It’s early,” Kale complained from his seat beside us. “Can’t you take him into one of the rooms in the back?”

“However long you think you can stay sober enough to want to be here, I promise you I’m going to fuck him longer than that.” I stood up, patting my hand on top of Tate’s soft brown curls. “Better luck next time, Ford. I’ll see the lot of you next week.”

Tate exhaled a slow breath, like his brain was finally catching up to the next steps of our itinerary. Even on his knees, he swayed a little bit, eyes already glassy like he was naked with my cock up his ass.

“You don’t have to take me home,” Tate said, licking his lips like the seductive little devil he was. “I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

I huffed, grasping hold of his hair and giving his head a rough tug. The way the dark neon lights reflected off his eyes made it look like he was already well and close to crying, which meant I might not even have enough time to get him home before needing to take him.

“You’re pushy.”

“I just know what I want.”

“Please, get out of here.” Kale groaned and waved us off dismissively. “I thought I wanted to come out with you, but this is just making me miss Christian and now I’m turned on and alone.”

“Sad and horny,” our otherwise quiet friend Alex said from Kale’s other side.

In all honesty, I’d forgotten Alex was even there. For the whole night, he’d sat beside Kale, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but where we were. There had been a time when The Black Door was a sanctuary for us, but times were quickly changing and with Kale and Ford both in monogamous relationships, and with Alex still silently mourning the departure of our other friend, Beamer, it wasn’t the same as it had been before.

“You can go FaceTime Christian,” Ford suggested to Kale.

I tuned them out, looking down and finding Tate’s stare still focused on me. The grip I had on his hair was barely enough to keep him there, and I appreciated that he hadn’t moved from the position I’d put him into. Not that I was looking for a submissive, but I did enjoy when my partners had those qualities.

“Get up,” I said.

Tate climbed to his feet with the grace of someone whose knees were still on the right side of thirty. Up close, he was taller than me, I realized, but most people were. I shot up to five-foot-eight in high school, long before my friends had even dreamed of a growth spurt that substantial, but that had been it. I stopped growing while all of them continued to inch up past me. It got old, being the short one in a group of six-foot tall giants, but I more than made up for it elsewhere.

“How old are you?” I asked, realizing for the first time that those young knees might have been closer to twenty than comfortable.

“Twenty-four,” Tate answered.

“Is there anything I need to worry about with you?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Do you have any limits I need to be concerned about?” I hated how clinical the introductory line of questioning always felt, but I appreciated the necessity of it.

“I don’t want to kiss,” Tate whispered. “I don’t want to bleed.”

That all felt reasonable, if not a little adventurous for a first time with a new partner.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Stop.”

I shook my head, lower lip pushed into a frown. “I like to play hard, Tate. That’s not going to work with me.”

“Red,” he said instead.

“Unoriginal, but fine. Red it is.”

“What about yours?” Tate asked.

I cocked my head to the side, eyes narrowed into a squint. “What do you mean, what about mine?”

“If you need to stop,” he said.

“Then I’ll stop.”

“But how will I know if you’re stopping to stop, or stopping to take a breather or something?”

Tate needed a cock in his mouth immediately.

“I’ll say red,” I conceded. “Is that fair?”

“It’s fine.” Tate lowered his hands, splaying his fingers out a little bit in front of him to cover what I imagined to be his bulge.

“Please leave,” Kale whined. “I’m not above begging.”

“That’s what Christian told us,” Ford teased.

I’d honestly forgotten they were there, but I’d had enough. Turning my attention back toward Tate, I jerked my chin toward the elevators.

“Let’s go downstairs and get a room,” I said.

He nodded quickly, scampering off. I gave all of my friends a mock salute, then slowly strode after him. I caught up just as the elevator doors opened, and Tate turned to walk backward into the small space, watching me follow him inside.

“I’ll make sure Ford pays you whatever you two agreed on,” I said once the doors closed.

Tate grunted, folding his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not a prostitute.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

I pressed the button for the main floor and the elevator dropped us down in under ten seconds. I didn’t say another word to Tate, stepping onto the main level of The Black Door and trusting he would be close behind. Sure enough, I felt him on my heels as I snaked my way through the crowds near the bar, the anticipation rolling off of him in waves once we reached the back hallway where the private rooms were located.

The Black Door was built for voyeurism and exhibitionism, which was another one of my favorite pastimes, but the owners appreciated that not everyone wanted to get down and dirty in the open. The back hallway was dark, save for the lights on the ceiling in front of the doors, lit up red and green to indicate whether they were occupied or available. The room at the very end had a green light, and I pushed the door open, waiting for Tate to step inside.

It had been awhile since I’d used the club facilities, normally preferring to take my partners home. That was contrary to how my friends tended to operate, but I found aftercare was easiest when I had all the necessary tools at my disposal. The Black Door had generic bottles of water and nice enough washcloths in the utilitarian bathrooms, but it wasn’t quite the same.

I gave the room a quick scan, registering all of the usual sex club suspects—a nondescript bed fitted with O-rings on every corner, a small couch against the opposite wall, a St. Andrew’s cross in the corner, and a closed door that led to the equally depressing bathroom.

“Are you sure you don’t have another half hour in you to make it back to my place?” I asked, turning to already find Tate half undressed, hand braced against the wall while he struggled his way out of his sneakers.

“Here is fine.”

I dragged my tongue across the front of my teeth, amused at the fight Tate was having with the rest of his clothes. Before I could even bother to get condoms and lube out of the cabinet by the bed, he was naked before me, fingers twisting together nervously in front of his dick.

“Let me see your cock,” I demanded, my voice already slipping into that lower register that went hand in hand with my own arousal.

Tate swallowed, fidgeting his hands one more time before letting them fall away. He tapped his fingers against the outside of his thighs, cheeks flushing pink to match the darkened length of his gorgeous, swollen cock. He was already hard, his erection short and thick, and I found it almost a shame that I was exclusively a top.

“What are you hoping for, Tate?”

Tate was frozen at the foot of the bed, and I moved across the room, making sure to undo the fly of my own pants before sitting down on the couch. I spread my legs, giving my dick a slow stroke as I pulled it out of my underwear, and Tate shivered. His eyes were focused on my cock, so I pointed it toward him, pressing down on the crown with my thumb.

“I just wanted to fuck,” he said, fingers gripping the outsides of his thighs.

“That sounds very selfish of you.”

Tate licked his lips, stretching his fingers. It was amazing to watch him fight against his own insecurities. He stood naked in front of me, like livestock being appraised at an auction. I wondered if he felt like a piece of meat, wondered if he would find that humiliating.

If it would be enough to make him cry…

“I want to get fucked,” he said, the barest rephrasing enough to make precum leak from the tip of my dick. “I want another man to come inside of me. ”

I glanced around the room, pretending to be offended at his generalization. I wasn’t offended in the slightest—the back and forth was turning me on more than he’d ever know. The way Tate wanted to curl in on himself with every question had me feeling like I’d just scaled a mountain. Vulnerability bloomed in those uncomfortable truths, and insecurities were my favorite place to dig.

“Another man, Tate? I’m right here.”

“I want you to come inside of me,” he said, voice scratchy and cock jerking. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” I asked, knowing full well what he meant.

“Calling me Tate.”

“Isn’t it your name?” I tilted my head to the side, perplexed by his growing levels of discomfort at the situation.

“It is, but nobody ever uses it.”

“I’m not nobody,” I assured him. “So, you want to get fucked. You want to make me come?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to cry for me, Tate?” I asked him next, giving the base of my shaft a constricting squeeze.

“If that’s what will make you come, yes.”

“Do you want me to make you cry with words or with my hands?”

Tate closed his eyes, chest puffing out a little as his shoulders pulled back. It wasn’t a proud move, but more of a submissive concession, the first twitch of muscles before a man fell to his knees.

“It’s up to you,” he whispered.

“No, Tate. It’s not.”

He nodded. He moved like he was going to cover himself again, but couldn’t decide where to start. Like he wasn’t sure what needed to be hidden more—his cock or his face.

“Both,” he conceded.

“Is it kindness or humiliation then?” I asked.

Tate shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“A little of both?” I proposed, giving a slow pull up the length of my erection. “We can see what feels best?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I warned, knowing it was fully possible he wasn’t ever going to thank me at all. “Get on your hands and knees, Tate. Crawl to me and then put my cock into your mouth.”

When Tate went to his knees, a flush raced down his spine. It was more of that beautiful pink that matched his cock. He hesitated once his hands hit the ground, and with his face turned downward, he started to crawl toward me.

“Arch your back, Tate. The point of this is to seduce me.”

He flicked a quick look at me. “I thought the point of this was to humiliate me.”

I chuckled, tracing my tongue across the corner of my lower lip. “Like I said.”

He was breathing so loud it was the only sound in the room, and when he settled the arch into his spine and resumed his path toward me, I thought he looked like a work of art. He hated the way it felt to crawl to another man, but his cock was still hard and heavy between his legs, swaying back and forth as he closed the space between us.

I shifted toward the edge of the couch and pointed my cock right at his face. When he reached me, Tate came to a stop and looked up, and I smacked my dick across his cheek. He sucked in a breath, eyes immediately welling with tears, and I traced my tip across his chapped lips, willing myself to not come on the spot.

“Open,” I growled.

Tate’s chin quivered as he spread his lips, and I shoved right past his teeth with one lift of my hips from the couch. I forced my way right into the back of his throat, and those tears immediately spilled and began to run down his cheeks. It wasn’t quite the same effect as making someone burst into actual tears, but my body barely registered the difference.

I grabbed Tate’s head, holding my cock in the back of his throat. He gasped and sputtered around me, hot puffs of air filling his cheeks while he tried to breathe around me. Spit shot out of his mouth and he fought against the hold I had on him, struggled against the way I impaled his mouth. He looked frantic, and that kind of fear was like flipping a switch for me.

“What a loose fucking mouth, Tate.” With my erection still pressed against his tongue, I stood up from the couch and dragged him back toward the bed. I took us both down to the floor, his head landing against the carpet, but still cradled by my hand. I wanted to hurt him; I didn’t want to concuss him. Once I was sure it would be a soft landing, I grabbed the sides of his head and leveraged myself over his face, fucking straight into the back of his throat with my cock.

His tears flowed freely, sliding straight into his ears. I could feel the warm wetness of them over my fingers and the hot press of his tongue swirling around my cock while I fucked his face. He looked like a debauched cherub on the ground like that, all naked and flushed, covered in sweat and spit. He moaned around me, screwing his eyes closed when I dipped deeper into his throat than I’d managed to reach before .

I glanced quickly over my shoulder, pleased to find that his cock wasn’t just hard, it was hard . Tate’s thick shaft was nearly purple, the skin pulled tight like it was ready to explode. I wondered how close he was, and I reached back and grabbed him. His cock was burning hot against my hand, like I’d grabbed a fire poker. His eyes flew open and he whimpered, the sound sending a desperate vibration through my whole body.

I gave a stroke down his length, and his back bowed off the floor. He tried to thrash his head, but my knees kept him in place, my own dick spearing him. I pulled on his cock, twisting my wrist around the thickest part of his shaft, getting harder by the second in response to every sound he made. I’d never been with a man as responsive as Tate, and when he opened his eyes, I found him drunk on lust and fear in a way that spoke to the very heart of who I was.

“I can’t come like this,” I lied, tearing myself away from his mouth and standing. The condoms and lube were on the couch, and I pointed toward the place I’d previously been sitting. “Crawl over to the couch and put your ass in the air so I can fuck it.”

Tate cried, a soft little mewl that made it sound like he was barely restraining himself from bursting into absolute tears. I stroked my cock, rubbing his spit into the skin as I watched him roll onto his hands and knees and crawl to the couch. He had his ass in the air, just like I’d told him to do the first time. He was a quick learner, it seemed, but not quick enough if he was still trying to hold back the only thing I wanted more than his release.

“Are you scared?” I asked, fitting myself between his spread legs and rolling the condom down my length .

“Yes,” he whispered.

I poured lube over the first two fingers of my right hand, grabbing the back of his head with the other and yanking so he had to face the back of the couch instead of trying to bury his face in it.

“Is there a color you wanted to share with me?” I asked, smearing lube over his pucker and pushing one finger into him all the way down to the last knuckle.

Tate cried out, a shocked and gasping noise that sent another spurt of precum to the slit of my own dick. His ass was so hot and so tight, muscles gripping and fighting as I started to prep him for my cock.

“Don’t stop,” he panted, shaking his head furiously. “Please don’t stop.”

I pushed the second finger into him and his back went rigid. I dug my elbow down into his spine, forcing him back into an arch.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I teased a third finger against his rim, popping the tip inside along with the other two. A shiver tore through Tate’s entire body and he moaned, the longest and sexiest purr I’d ever heard in my life.

“I’m going to fucking ruin this tight little hole of yours, Tate,” I warned, drawing all of my fingers out and letting go of his hair. I poured a ton of lube down my cock and slathered more down the crack of his ass. It was messy and it was going to be slippery, but I had always found the best sex was the dirtiest. It also made aftercare and clean-up a necessity, which was like foreplay for me, but after the fact .

“Please,” he whispered, nodding his head before shoving his face against the seat of the couch. “Please fuck me.”

“Put your arms behind your back,” I said, and he did, aligning his forearms over the small of his back.

I curled my fingers around his wrist, pinning him down to the couch and using my hips to push my cock inside of him. Tate was beyond tight, and that didn’t just apply to his ass. Even his mouth had been tense and warm around my cock. I said I couldn’t come in his mouth, but that had been part of the game, part of me trying to find a way to get the tears I was so very desperate for.

Turns out that using my body was enough, though, because once I shoved my dick all the way into Tate, his entire body shook with the force of the first sound that burst out of him. I shivered, growling as I pulled away and then fucked back into him with a sharp snap of my hips.

Tate absolutely fucking wailed, his muscles gripping around my cock as I fucked him with a relentless and unsustainable pace. I wasn’t worried about going for a long time. He was already in tears and I was going to come sooner rather than later. Releasing his wrists, I slid my arm around the front of his chest and rocked back onto my heels. It dropped him down onto my cock at a new angle that had him whimpering and trembling in my lap like a fucking dream.

“Go on, Tate,” I coaxed, bumping him with my hips. “Ride me.”

It took a little bit of fumbling, but Tate found a rhythm with short lifts off my lap. My crown dragged across the soft bundle of nerves just inside of him with every jolt of movement, and Tate dropped his head against my shoulder with a groan. I dragged my hand up, covering his mouth with it and angling his face to the side so I could see him better.

Tate’s face was tracked with tears, like a goddamn rainstorm had burst out of his eyes. I stuck out my tongue and flattened it, licking alongside his cheekbone and over the crook of his nose to catch as many of the salty tears as I could. With my other hand, I grabbed Tate’s cock, not entirely surprised to find it soiled with cum already.

“You came?” I asked, nipping his ear.

Tate nodded, sucking in a gasp of a breath that vacuumed against the palm of my hand. He still rode me as best he could, fresh tears slicking over my knuckles and trying to race into his mouth. His hole convulsed, and I chuckled in his ear. The reaction to a lack of air was one of my favorites, and I teased his nostrils with my thumb and the side of my finger. I didn’t go so far as to actually block his air, but the promise of it was enough. Tate’s body spasmed, another trickle of cum leaking out of his cock, his asshole doing everything in its power to suck me inside of him.

With his orgasm already out of the way, I was ready for my own.

Even though our liaison had been brief, Tate was one of the best—and most willing—lovers I’d ever had. I hated we were at The Black Door and not my home, because the way I would have fucking cleaned him up afterward would have been the absolute pleasure of my life. I didn’t want to think about what I was missing out on, though, not with his tears and his body and his desperate little sounds filling the space like an aphrodisiac designed especially for me.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Tate,” I warned.

He made a confused sound, and I shoved him face first into the couch. It was easy to grab his hips, to dig my fingers in, to draw my hips back and slam into him, bottoming out. The couch muffled Tate’s cries, and it didn’t take more than a minute for my own release to wash over me like a tsunami wave. I shot my load into the condom, spurt after spurt of cum filling the tip as my body wrung pleasure from every nerve ending I had. My back ached from how hard the orgasm had torn through me. My fingers cramped for how hard I held Tate’s body against mine.

“Just like that,” I said, panting and out of breath.

I pried my fingers off his hips, stroking them instead down his sweaty and trembling back until my own breathing returned to normal. I was still hard, still inside of him, and with a reluctant grunt, I withdrew. With our bodies no longer connected, Tate’s knees finally gave out. He collapsed against the couch at the same time I fell onto my ass with a loud exhale.

Swallowing hard, I swiped the back of my hand across my face, flicking the sweat out of my eyes and onto the floor. Tate reached blindly for me, one hand patting around until he found my thigh, and then he relaxed further into the leather of the couch, his knees splayed out beside my thigh.

“I wish you would have let me take you home,” I finally told him, pulling him up off the floor so I could give him a post-sex inspection.

Tate looked to be in as good condition as when I’d gotten him, if not better. The flush did wonders for his skin, and his hair looked even better after it had my fingers in it. His eyes were puffy and swollen, tears still damp against his cheeks.

“Home felt personal,” he said, voice hoarse and cracking from all the screaming and crying he’d done. Tate cleared his throat and shrugged.

“Sex is personal.”

With far older knees than his, I climbed up from my seat on the floor and went to get a wash cloth from the bathroom so I could start the process of cleaning him up. I tucked my dick back into my pants and flipped on the light in the bathroom, grateful it wasn’t bright white. The water ran hot quickly, and I wet a rag, grabbed a dry towel, then headed back into the room. Tate was still on the floor, but he’d shifted onto his ass, legs splayed out in front of him.

I dropped the towel on the couch, then went back down to the ground beside him.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, raising a hand to stop me.

I batted him away. “I want to.”

“But you don’t?—”

“Are you going to safeword?” I interrupted, brow arched in challenge. My dark blond hair had fallen loose from its styling, and I tried to settle it back with a rough jerk of my head.

“No,” Tate whispered, shaking his head. “I’m not going to safeword.”

“Good.” I wrapped the warm cloth around his cock and gently cleaned the drying cum from his shaft and from his balls. He got hard again under my touch, but I did my best to ignore it. I also tried to ignore my own resurfaced erection, because if I was going to fuck Tate again, it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be here.

He closed his eyes and sniffled, letting me clean him up as best as the tools would allow. Another tear slid out from the corner of his eye and I knew he’d said no kissing, but I leaned forward and kissed his closed eyelid anyway.

“There,” I said, tossing the towel and rag into a pile on the floor. “That’s a start.”

I stood up and held out my hand for him. Tate blinked up at me, chest still heaving as he slid his hand into mine. I helped him to his feet, then gently brushed his curls away from his face. The puffiness in his eyes had already started to go down, but his lashes were dark and clumped together from all the tears. Heat pooled low in my belly, and I cleared my throat, taking a step away from him.

“Why don’t you get dressed and we can have another drink, then I’ll make sure you get home all right?”

“Okay,” he said softly, nodding.

His clothes were scattered across the room and I collected them into one place for him.

“I’m going to clean up and take a piss, then we’ll grab a drink?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Thank you.”

I headed into the bathroom where I tore off the condom and flung it into the trash. I rinsed my cock off in the sink, then I took a piss and washed my hands. There wasn’t much to be done about my hair, but I wasn’t the first person to get fucked in this club and I surely wouldn’t be the last. When I’d gotten myself in as much order as I could manage, which wasn’t much at all considering the front of my pants were smeared with Tate’s sweat and cum, I turned off the bathroom light and stepped back into the room, cursing under my breath when I realized what had happened.

Tate was gone.