Vigilante 01 - Who Knows the Storm (7 page)

“I’m a sure thing,” Cade deadpanned with a wink.

Mr. Mullens laughed, deep and rich. “So let’s go find ourselves a drink.”

He put a warm hand at the dip in Cade’s spine; Cade couldn’t help but hiss a little. That asshole from earlier bruised him, and….

Mr. Mullens moved his hand away—up instead of down.

“So, I haven’t seen you around here before,” Cade said as they reached the bar. “Is this your first time?”

“Oh no—but it’s been a while. I don’t get down here much,” Mr. Mullens said smoothly.

“I can’t imagine forgetting you, no matter how long you were gone.” Cade continued walking, feeling the subtle directing the man was doing against his back. Far end of the bar, in the corner, where it was darker than most spots and uninhabited at the moment.

“Flattering.” Mr. Mullens leaned in as he chuckled, breathing against Cade’s ear, warm and intimate. “I’ve seen you around.”

“Oh?”

“Your face a couple of stories high, every time I walk down the main drag. You seem to be doing well for yourself.”

“I do all right.” Cade did a once-over of his own, letting Mr. Mullens be very much aware of his interest. He licked his lips, making sure the other man was watching as he did.

They reached the corner of the bar; Mr. Mullens pushed Cade closest to the wall, limiting his avenues of escape.

Mr. Mullens seated himself on one of the high-backed leather stools, gesturing for Cade to take the other—but Cade knew how to play this game perfectly. He leaned against Mr. Mullens’s arm, resting his other hand on the bar top.

Close enough to touch. Close enough for Mr. Mullens to enjoy Cade’s body heat and scent.

He fluttered his eyelashes, and his companion signaled the bartender.

“So what’s your pleasure, Mr. Mullens?” Cade purred as the man pulled out a diamond money clip practically choking with hundred-dollar bills.

“Scotch, blackjack.” He did another full assessment of Cade’s body. “Pretty boys.”

Cade blinked. “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he said automatically, even as his brain stumbled over the man’s choice of words. “Maybe I can keep you company for a while.”

Mr. Mullens’s mouth curved into a smirk. “Why do I think you’re going to cost more than a bad streak at the table?”

“Because you’re a very smart man.” Cade leaned over as the bartender waited for their order. He pressed his hip against Mr. Mullens’s leg, lingering as he said, “Two scotches.”

The bartender knew to bring the most expensive thing they had. And Cade knew if he turned his hips just so, Mr. Mullens would get a clear accounting of just what he was hiding under this suit.

A hand brushed down Cade’s back—Mr. Mullens clearly wasn’t going to take his time with this transaction. He avoided the bruised area, then curved around to press his big, warm palm against the swell of Cade’s ass.

The bartender returned with two square tumblers of amber liquid. He didn’t linger, didn’t ask for payment. Just disappeared quietly back to the other side of the bar.

Cade handed one to Mr. Mullens—who didn’t remove his hand from Cade’s ass—and took the other for himself.

They clinked glasses.

Cade took a quick sip—he liked to stay sober on the floor—and shifted his hips just enough to give Mr. Mullens another reminder about the length of his cock.

The man didn’t even twitch. He did dip his fingers a bit, sliding down to press between Cade’s legs from behind.

“Spread your legs a bit,” Mr. Mullens murmured suddenly, taking Cade entirely by surprise. He thought they were playing subtle.

Sex acts on the floor were prohibited, but no one said anything about getting felt up, so Cade opened his stance, leaning forward to press against Mr. Mullens’s leg.

Escalation, thy name is a full night’s pay.

But instead of cupping Cade’s dick, Mr. Mullens slid his hand down the interior of each thigh, one then the other.

Not sexual but… a frisking.

Cade twisted in an attempt to move, but the man was having none of that. He tightened his grip on Cade’s thigh, keeping him still.

“Mmmm, stay right there,” Mr. Mullens said quietly, leaning forward to whisper in Cade’s ear. Warm breath tickled Cade’s ear as the man began to move his hand again.

“You’re going to get me in trouble with my manager,” Cade whispered, rubbing small circles against Mullens’s tight thigh. “Maybe we can take this somewhere else?”

“Shh” was the only response he got—but Mr. Mullens’s fingers were making the case for something else. One finger stroked between Cade’s legs, working the length of his perineum with increasing pressure.

Cade’s breath whooshed out—he rocked gently against the thigh still tight against his dick. He usually had to work a little bit… harder… for this sort of attention; most of the men he slept with wanted to be wooed and seduced and made to feel like they were the only person in the world. They wanted Cade all to themselves, to make their fantasies come true—and then, if he was lucky, he might get to come.

Mr. Patrick Mullens seemed to have another agenda entirely.

The little circle of their bodies kept moving, electricity and movement begetting more electricity and movement until Cade was seriously uncomfortable—aroused and rocking his dick against the zipper of his fly.

Mr. Mullens moved his fingers back to Cade’s ass, pressing his palm hard against the center. Then nothing until a smack in the same spot that nearly pitched Cade onto the floor.

Cade’s wits were rapidly leaving him, but he was a professional if nothing else, and a guy with good hands who wanted to play Daddy Dominate would have to pay for the privilege.

“You don’t like rules, do you?” Cade whispered, only partially manufacturing the hitch in his voice as Mr. Mullens teased the back seam of his pants with a finger. He fixed his gaze on the other man’s face, taking in those fabulous blue eyes and rock-solid jaw. “Wouldn’t you rather do this somewhere more private?”

For a second Cade wondered if he was pushing the sales pitch too far—Mr. Mullens’s face went unreadable, from smug amusement to blankness in a second. But the switch flipped a second later as that lush mouth curved into a grin.

“How much for two hours?” he asked, flicking his tongue against the corner of his mouth. “And how much more to tie you up?”

Cade didn’t bother to wait until his hard-on went down—they were all adults here, and frankly, letting all the patrons see him in all his flushed and horny glory, leading Mr. Mullens by the hand across the floor, was some damn good advertisement.

“Two hours, with props,” he said to Damian as their paths crossed near the elevator bank.

Damian smiled serenely—the only time Cade ever saw the man look anything but pissed the hell off was when he was charging a customer. He took Mr. Mullens’s card and waved it against the sensor sewn into his pocket; a second later, Damian got confirmation in his earpiece.

“Mr. Mullens, I hope you have a wonderful time.” Damian stepped aside to let them pass.

“Oh, I’m sure I will,” Mr. Mullens purred, as Cade led him to the shiny brushed metal doors.

“Twenty-ninth floor,” Cade told the elevator. Mr. Mullens lounged against the purple velvet wall, arms crossed over his chest. Cade mirrored him from the other side.

Cade felt a little more in control now. This was where he turned two hours into four and a one-time treat into a regular customer. Slowly, he untangled his arms, then reached up with his right hand to unknot his tie. The other hand—that was the one Mr. Mullens’s gaze immediately locked into. With that hand, Cade began to toy with his belt buckle, sliding his legs shoulder width apart as he did.

“You wanted to fuck me right there at the bar, didn’t you?” Cade said softly, thoroughly enjoying the moment.

Mr. Mullens seemed lost momentarily, but he came back to attention as soon as Cade spoke.

“That would have cost me extra, I’m guessing” was the retort, something that Cade couldn’t quite identify lurking beneath the surface.

Cade paused, then eased his tie open.

“You were breaking the rules,” Cade said, trying to get Mr. Mullens’s attention back on the matter at hand. “Might have gotten reprimanded.”

Mr. Mullens tipped his head to one side. “What are we talking about? Demerits? Scrubbing the toilet?” He heaved off the wall and started walking toward Cade. “A spanking?”

There was definitely something there—mocking, maybe? Cade just threw him a smile, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets as the elevator dinged.

“This is our floor,” Cade said, ducking around Mr. Mullens’s broad shoulders as the doors opened.

Chapter Six

S
OMEWHERE
ALONG
the way, Nox lost the thread of what he was doing.

All he wanted to do was find the kid, get him to reveal the source of the letter to Sam, and be gone. He was good at this—extracting information and disappearing before anyone got too attached. Before he made an impression.

This dumb model, though—sexy and charming, seducing Nox like the pro he was, all big eyes and a quiet voice, asking to be taken somewhere with his softly spoken words and his perfectly sculpted body, asking for money in exchange for his services.

That ass he could bounce a quarter off of.

Nox adjusted himself as he walked behind Cade, who was swinging his hips like he wanted Nox to drop dead behind him.

No—like he wanted Mr. Mullens to come to the suite and fuck him.

Not going that far
, he thought to himself, even as his dick throbbed and his mouth went dry with want.

Stupid. Stupid professional seduction bullshit. That kid in the dark alley that was all spit and fire, taking swings at Nox’s head and refusing to back down, now dolled up and playing a role, just like he was. His head swam with the fade between what was real and what was not, for both of them.

Cade turned around at the double doors at the end of the hall. He leaned against them, waiting for Nox to catch up.

This kid.

The suit hugged every inch of his long, lean body like it had been sewn onto him. He blended “boy next door” and “sexy”—freckles and pale eyes, high cheekbones and a full mouth. The husky voice completed the package.

Oh right. And the package.

Nox tried to remember why he was there. Concern about who sent Sam a letter. Right.
Focus
.

Nox morphed back into Mr. Mullens.

“I forgot to ask, handcuffs or rope?” Cade asked, a smirk on his lips.

Nox closed the distance between them—and Cade reached out to grab his lapels. He pushed his hips out as Nox banged into him, and they crashed back against the door.

Not kissing him
, Nox thought, frantically trying to keep his traitorous body in check.

“No kissing?” Cade murmured, turning his head to one side as if Nox had spoken out loud. “That’s okay with me.” He ducked his head to Nox’s shoulder, their slight height difference making their legs slot together perfectly. He inhaled deeply….

Then stiffened up against Nox’s body, suddenly tense.

“Let’s get inside,” Nox whispered, rocking his hips forward. “I have a flight to catch in a few hours.”

Cade relaxed, nodding as he reached behind him, fumbling for the door handle.

“Got it.” He slid his hand over Cade’s, turned the handle. When the door opened, Nox pushed Cade inside.

The Monarch Suite was lush and dramatic, shades of white layered with silver. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed an expanse of the city filtered by sheer white curtains. A white leather sofa curved in the center of a thick silver rug, a huge bed, low and modern, draped in patterned velvet fabric in the room beyond. Glass tables and a long bar finished off the space, clearly designed for sensual comfort.

Cade pulled out of Nox’s hands, still a bit distant. His gaze kept darting over Nox’s shoulder. “Something from the bar?” he asked, stripping off his tie and then dropping it on the floor. His jacket followed, revealing a trim waist and killer shoulders as he turned around.

“No.”

Nox’s hands trembled for a second as he reached for his bow tie, watching Cade shed clothing as he walked to the corner.

Vest.

Belt.

Shoes.

Shirt.

Every move revealed another piece of the puzzle, another stunning curve of muscle or smattering of freckles across his skin.

Nox untied his tie, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

Cade poured himself something clear from a cut crystal decanter.

“Music. Seven,” he said, and a soft jazzy number began to play.

The perfect staged seduction.

Cade said, “Lights. Four,” and they reduced to a dim haze, the room now illuminated by the brightness from outside.

The kid was trying to distract him.

“Handcuffs,” Nox said, sauntering across the floor. “To answer your question.”

With a wave of his glass, Cade indicated the bedroom beyond.

Nox walked into the room, breathing deeply to center himself. He shrugged out of the tux jacket and left it draped over a white accent chair near the end of the bed.

A sound behind him and Nox turned slowly. In the doorway, Cade leaned, elbow against the frame, hips cocked to one side, dressed only in an unbuttoned pair of pants and those leather gloves.

Nox pretended the way he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip was Patrick Mullens, and playing a role.

“Get on the bed,” he said, dropping an octave as actual need began to overpower his reason for being here.

The kid said nothing. He walked slowly to the side of the bed closest to Nox, then sat down. Before he could lie back, Nox held up his hand.

“Facedown.”

Something flickered behind Cade’s eyes. A challenge. Some fear. Their gazes locked for long minutes—too long, as Nox began to sweat, catching beads of perspiration on his tongue.

Still no words. Cade turned, then crawled and settled in the middle of the bed, arms over his head and crossed at the wrists, legs spread. This was not his first rodeo, clearly.

Nox pressed the heel of his hand against his dick as desire rolled through him.