Chapter 1

Irubbed the warm oil between my hands, inhaling the scent of geraniums and lavender, with just a hint of marjoram, before massaging it into the ageing skin of my current client.

She groaned as I rubbed her neck and shoulders.

“You have the most wonderful hands, Duke,” Barbara said, her voice thick. “Your massages are just so relaxing. Cyril loves it when I come here.”

She giggled, and I rolled my eyes, almost knowing what she was thinking. Barbara had been my client for the past two years and refused to let anyone else touch her.

Cyril was her long-suffering husband who paid for her twice-monthly massage at the exclusive health spa where I now worked.

“I know he does, Barbara, so let’s make you as limber as we can. Don’t want you pulling a muscle.”

She tittered again, and I carried on working out the knots in her back, hearing her sigh, my hands gliding easily over her tanned body.

She was seventy-five if she was a day, and as much as she liked to look after herself, the many years she’d spent sunning herself in the South of France told a story on her skin. I knew for a fact she’d had a few surgeries to remove some odd-looking moles and a few blemishes. Fucking cancer. I’d warned her many times.

It didn’t stop her, though. Despite my numerous cautions about sun damage, she still spent six months of the year there.

She’d invited me to visit a few times, and I knew her intentions weren’t purely platonic. There’d been the odd occasion I’d had to remove her wandering hands, and she’d mentioned more than once how she and Cyril liked to play with others.

I would never be one of them.

Many moons ago, I’d been likened to a young Lenny Kravitz, but I’d shaved my head, removing my locs. I’d say my good looks had served me well, first on the streets of Liverpool, then as a masseur to the rich and famous. They wanted handsome. I had that in spades.

Some called me cocky. I called it confidence.

At sixteen, I’d left home to live with my aunt, and within weeks, at age seventeen, I was forced out onto the streets. Growing up happened quickly.

Those days were never far from my thoughts. They’d made me into the man I was today. Fearless and strong, I took shit from no one. I’d learnt to look after myself with the help of a prostitute I’d met after spending a few nights on the streets.

Very few of my clients knew what I’d gone through to get where I was now. No way I was telling them either.

None of their fucking business.

By now, I’d finished Barbara’s massage. Tempted as I was to slap her arse and tell her she was done, I refrained, handing her a fluffy white robe. I made a hasty retreat behind the screen, remembering the first time I’d worked on her.

She’d hopped off the table, exposing everything before I could make my escape. Her sagging body was more than I’d wanted to see on my first day.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the human body: the curves, soft skin, tits, and buttocks. I’d never pass up the chance to look at an erect dick either. I’d taken a few in hand while working as a masseur before I realised I’d swapped one sex trade for another.

People paid handsomely for a massage and a happy ending. Ultimately, I was still selling myself. The surroundings were just a little better.

I’d moved on, and until now, nobody had ever propositioned me while on the job, except for Barbara and her straying hands.

“You can come back now, Duke. I’m decent.”

I peered over the screen, my height giving me an advantage. I blew out a breath, noting that she was indeed all covered up.

“How was it for you, Barbara?” I asked, giving her my arm.

She placed a bony, frail hand on my forearm, and I led her out of the room to the lounge where her husband would be waiting.

“Perfect, as always. You have the touch; I’ll give you that. If I was fifty years younger…”

We slowly made our way down the hallway until we arrived at the lounge. I patted her hand as Cyril stood and came towards us. He was spritely for his age, and his still dark hair belied his eighty years. Some people aged well, and Cyril was one of those people.

“I’ve left your usual tip at the desk, Duke. Thank you for looking after my Barbara.” He gazed adoringly at his wife.

Some days, I made more in tips than I did from my monthly pay. I paid attention to my clients. I knew my worth and what most would willingly tip.

Call me mercenary, but a guy had to live, and the money they paid us here wasn’t great.

“It was my pleasure, Cyril. Make sure you look after her.” I winked as I placed her hand in his. They were an adorable couple, but I wasn’t going there.

My next appointment wasn’t for an hour yet. I had enough time to have some lunch in the members’ lounge.

Intrigued by what Cyril could have left, I made my way to the reception desk.

“Holly,” I said, lowering my voice. I leant my arm on the chest-high desk and ran my finger up the arm of the receptionist standing behind it. She was more my age and type. Blonde, petite, and had the prettiest blue eyes framed by dark eyelashes. “How’s my best girl today?”

“All the better for seeing you.” She bit her lip and thrust her tits at me, her low-cut shirt showing just a hint of cleavage, her erect nipples visible in the tight white shirt she wore. I remembered them vividly, the dark-brown areolas stark against her pale skin, and my cock twitched.

“Maybe when you’re done here, we could find a nice, secluded corner, and I could…” I looked around, making sure no one was listening. “Do that thing I know you like.”

“That would be amazing,” she whispered, “but I’m here until late tonight. I doubt I’ll have time to get away. Maybe another day? You know I love that thing you do with your tongue.”

Her pupils widened. Was she as turned on as I was?

“You always taste so sweet, Holly. I’m looking forward to it.”

“I know you didn’t come here just to flirt with me and offer your excellent services. What else did you need?”

“Cyril said he’d left me a tip? Wondered if I could take it.”

Since that night fifteen years ago, I’d saved every penny I could. I didn’t splurge on the latest phone or splash out on designer gear. I lived within my means, squirrelling away any extra. You never knew when you’d need it.

I’d left home with one hundred and twenty pounds, and it had lasted a while. If only my stay at my aunt’s had lasted as long. I’d been there a few weeks before circumstances forced me out of her home.

I refused to think about the events that had caused me to leave my childhood home in the first place. It was in the past, and I’d moved on, metaphorically speaking. Physically, I was in a much better place, but occasional flashbacks would haunt me of that night so many years ago. Emotionally, I didn’t think I’d ever recover.

And now all thoughts of ravaging Holly and her wonderful body left me to be replaced with a sense of regret that I’d not done more. I’d left my best friend when he needed me, never to return home. Simon had made sure of that.

“Here’s what he left you.” Holly held a thick envelope out to me, and I looked at her, momentarily lost for words.

What were we talking about? Oh, yes. Cyril’s tip.

“Thanks.” I took it from her and tucked it into my trouser pocket. “I’ll see you around.”

I blew her a kiss and made my way to the lounge where a few other guys were eating lunch.

“Here he is,” one of them shouted.

I waved and walked to the bar.

“The usual?” the barman, Adam, asked.

“Yep. Tuna salad with a sparkling water.”

Even though the pay wasn’t much, our allowance gave us one meal a day, and in a place like this, the food wasn’t cheap.

A client could expect to pay in excess of thirty quid for what I was having for lunch.

I leant my arm on the bar and looked over at the four guys I’d be joining for lunch. My sex worker days might have been over, but I’d slept with two of them, both separately and at the same time. Addiction was a strong word to use, but I enjoyed sex a lot. I’d been with my fair share of women. You couldn’t afford to be choosy when you were on the streets trying to make enough money for your next meal, but my preference would always be men.

I currently had my eye on one of the young personal trainers, Ethan. He was tall, fit and blond. I definitely had a thing for blonds.

Most of us worked out at the gym on site, and the first time I’d seen him, his sweat-covered body had me wanting to lick him from head to toe, to taste the salty droplets running down his fit as fuck body.

“You are such a player.” Adam handed me my drink with a smirk.

“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing full well what he meant.

“Holly, Greg, Craig.” He ticked the names off on his fingers. “And you’ve tried it on with me too, knowing I’m straight.”

“It was worth a shot.” I smirked and took a drink, continuing to watch Ethan. His tight shorts left nothing to the imagination, and for the second time today, my cock jerked, demanding attention.

Would I have time for a quickie before my next client? Would he be willing?

Thoughts of bending him over and ramming my dick up his arse ran through my head. He’d moan my name as we’d come together. A trickle of sweat dripped down my back, and I rolled the cold glass across my forehead, blowing out a breath.

“Jesus, man. You need to get laid if it’s getting to you that much.”

“It’s not for want of trying. Unless you’re offering.” I looked at him expectantly. I would if he would.

He snorted and shook his head. “Not in your wildest dreams, Duke.”

I raised an eyebrow, and he walked away to serve another customer. I continued to stand at the bar to watch the object of my lustful thoughts.

Ethan had resisted every one of my come-ons. His unavailability was irking me.

I wanted him.

“I think he has a girlfriend,” Adam said.

“It’s never stopped me before. My offer to you is still open. I’d definitely make it worth your while.”

“You’re a good-looking guy. I’m not gonna lie. Damn sure you could have most anyone you set your eyes on.”

“Except Ethan,” I said, frustrated.

“Except Ethan. Go sit with him, work on him with your charm. I’ll bring your lunch over when it’s ready.”

I adjusted myself. Hopefully, my semi wouldn’t be noticed.

Fortunately, only personal trainers had to wear shorts. The remaining staff wore charcoal grey trousers and the trademark mint-green polo shirts or tunics. Mine was just long enough to cover my embarrassment.

I sauntered over as casually as I could.

“Room for a little one?” I asked, placing myself next to Ethan and slung my arm around the back of his chair.

Greg laughed.

“A little one. That’s funny.” Greg and I had been together a couple of times, and he knew I wasn’t exactly small.

Ethan looked at him, puzzled.

“What do you mean?” he asked, cute wrinkles forming on his brow.

Ah, the naivety of youth.

“Nothing, nothing.” Greg smothered a smile, and I glared at him.

Maybe Ethan wasn’t such a wise choice. He had to be at least seven or eight years younger than my thirty-two years. I didn’t doubt he’d had a less eventful life, but his innocence was like a beacon to me.

Perhaps he could just scratch an itch, and I could get him out of my system.

I had no desire to settle down, happy to be the ‘player’ as Adam said.

Settling down and relationships involved feelings and emotions. Something I’d vowed to never get entangled in again.

Fifteen years ago, I’d not only watched my friend almost die, but the infatuation I’d had for his brother, Simon, had also withered. A flower unnurtured will surely die, much as my puppy love had.

Feelings. They weren’t fucking worth it in my opinion.

“I don’t understand,” Ethan said again. He wasn’t letting this one go.

“Duke isn’t exactly what you would call a ‘little’ one,” Craig said. Another of my conquests. He and Greg had been as unconcerned with emotions as I was, having shared a threesome several months ago.

We were over it though, but I suspected Greg and Craig had continued to see each other after the event.

If I had a jealous bone in my body, I might have cared, but I was happy for them. Almost everyone I’d met wanted something from somebody.

I wasn’t the person to give it to them. If you wanted longevity, look elsewhere.

“What he’s trying to say is that I have a big dick. Is that something you’d be interested in?” Fuck beating about the bush. It was time to be upfront and candid with the guy.

I might be an emotionless shit, but I was as honest as the day was long.

He spluttered and looked at me, his eyes as wide as fucking saucers.

“I, er. Erm…no? I’m not into any of that gay stuff.” He looked horrified. It wasn’t that bad.

“More’s the pity. I think I could have changed your mind.” I removed my arm from behind him as Adam brought my plate across and placed it in front of me.

Ethan moved his chair a couple of inches away from me. I was bisexual. I didn’t have the plague.

“Struck out, mate?” Adam asked.

“Eh. Plenty more fish in the sea,” I said and tucked into my lunch. Except, right now, I was feeling a little despondent. Usually I couldn’t care less, but his rejection had stung.

Was I losing my touch? I was still good-looking, I took care of myself and worked out in the gym most days.

Or was it his words, calling it ‘gay stuff’?

Yes, that was it. I’d encountered a lot of homophobia in my life, especially while working the streets of Liverpool. I’d thought the younger generation was more accepting, but I guess in his case, it wasn’t.

I couldn’t let it pass by. I placed my knife and fork down and wiped my mouth on my napkin before speaking.

“Are you homophobic, Ethan? Does the thought of a man shoving his dick up another man’s arse disgust you? Because if that’s the case, I’d suggest you leave this table. I think you’ll find you’re in the minority here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean? Calling it ‘gay stuff’.”

“Go easy, Duke,” Greg said. “I don’t think this is the right place.”

He was probably right, but for some reason, this sat wrong. Letting it go was like all the other times I’d suffered abuse at the hands of another.

Physical, verbal…it didn’t matter. Abuse was abuse.

But Greg was right. I stood, my chair scraping on the expensive wooden floor. My hunger had deserted me, nausea taking its place.

Today had been an odd day. Intrusive thoughts of my former life creeping in.

Adam was right; I needed to get laid, but failing that, a session in the gym would have to suffice.

“Enjoy your lunch, guys. I’m outta here.”

I strode out of the lounge towards the gym. The punching bag had my name written all over it.

As I crossed the reception area, a voice reached my ears. One I hadn’t heard in so long, I thought I must be mistaken.

“Hi, I’d like to check in, please?”

“Certainly, sir. Can I take your name?” Holly was sweetness and light, and if it was who I guessed it was, she’d be staring open-mouthed.

“It’s Simon. Simon Fletcher.”

What the fuck was he doing here? He was the last person I wanted or needed to see, and I retreated hastily, making my way to the staff room. He’d not find me there.

Would this day ever end?