Diablo Blanco Club 2, Under Control (3 page)

Once locked inside room three, Vance looked around at the familiar surroundings.

Black leather padding covered all four walls of the room. Its tall windows were shrouded in ebony suede curtains. He knew the second closed door led from the sparsely decorated bedroom into a spacious bathroom.

Knowing there was at least another forty minutes left in Ben‟s shift, Vance planned on taking his time getting ready. Tossing the key onto the black lacquered table next to the door, Vance twisted the top from the scotch bottle and downed his first swig.

The smooth burn of the single malt warmed his throat and belly. His fingers itched to pull out the picture he carried in his wallet, but he still found it difficult to look at her smiling face. In the six months since he‟d failed Aimee, nothing had been able to break through the icy wall encasing his thoughts and emotions, but with Ben‟s help that would end tonight.

“A fucking waste,” Vance growled, avoiding looking into the cheval mirror situated next to the armoire. He knew what he looked like, and he had little desire to meet the gaze of the bastard he‟d become. After another gulp, he set the bottle beside the key on the table and crossed the room to remove what he needed from the armoire.

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Despite the Club‟s rules regarding punishment play, since the early days of his training, he‟d received special permission from Bryce for what he required. After introducing Ben to the Club and to Bryce, his permission had continued probably due to his choice of partner rather than his offer of security in exchange for the dispensation.

As long as it permitted him to regain the control he‟d lost and needed to allow him to feel like a man again, Vance couldn‟t give a shit.

Wrenching open the cabinet doors, he lifted black leather cuffs from a shelf, pulled open a drawer to collect the coiled whip, and then let his fingers hover over the ball gag before deciding Ben would never use it. Hell, it was going to be hard enough to convince him… Vance shook his head and shied away from going there. A second, smaller whip that was more in line with the multistrand floggers joined its larger cousin in his grip.

“Take it one step at a time, soldier,” he ordered himself, carefully closing the drawer and cabinet before moving to drop the tools on the bed.

The seat of the straight-backed chair was firm, with very little cushioning beneath the black leather, but Vance barely noticed it as he leaned forward and began to strip the laces from the hooks of his boots. He cursed as his left hand fumbled slightly. The dexterity in his fingers had been reduced by his injuries. The healing wounds along his left hip and thigh protested with sharp twinges, but he ignored them. Drawing on or pushing past his pain had gotten him through the hardest tests in his life. He was determined that this one wouldn‟t be any different. Standing the polished footgear beside the chair with the laces carefully tucked inside, he wondered how long it would take him to lose the habit of keeping everything neatly stored away. If he accepted the diagnosis of the surgeons and physical therapists, he didn‟t have a future in the Marines. Not as a soldier, at least.

Signing away the career he‟d based his life plans on would be difficult, but he expected it would be. Setting aside the rigorous discipline he‟d learned during his ten years in the Marines could begin with the simple relaxing of long-held habits. Leaving Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control

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laces untucked might be the first step toward abandoning ten years of hard work. If the life of his men and himself didn‟t depend on him staying in top physical condition, he could stop practicing his daily routines. A snort of wry humor escaped him as he realized that if he could stop finding reasons to keep waking up each morning, he wouldn‟t have to worry about losing control again. Keeping his body and mind in top physical and mental condition wouldn‟t be an option or a concern.

If he were a quitter.

“Marines don‟t quit,” he told the empty room.

He rose to strip off his black cotton shirt, wincing at the pull the motion caused in the recent scars peppering his side and back. The red stripe along his throat wasn‟t the only memento he‟d received on his last mission.

“Ben‟s gonna pitch a fit when he sees this.” He chuckled without amusement as he glanced down at the two recently healed gunshot wounds on his chest and the starburst pattern of marks left behind by shrapnel.

He squeezed his left fist and grimaced at how weak it felt. The resistance from the healing muscles and ligaments in his forearm had him gritting his teeth in frustration.

Suddenly, the image of tear-filled cobalt eyes flashed across his mind, freezing the breath in his lungs. He could almost feel the soft stroke of Aimee‟s fingertips along the scars he carried from previous missions. The pain and worry in her gaze had stirred a need inside him that he‟d never experienced with anyone but Ben.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he shook off the memory. He very carefully folded his shirt and placed it on the chair seat. The stretch of his muscles against the newly healed scars on his back had him glancing at the mirror over his shoulder. The scars couldn‟t be seen in the muted light of the room, but he knew where every line had been placed. Each stroke of the whip against his skin had seemed the ultimate in irony: the one punishment his captors had selected was the very method he found most stimulating—and the one least likely to make him break.

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A brief smile tugged at his lips but flattened out as that memory led to the ones he‟d fought long and hard to suppress. He could feel the rage stirring inside him. His need to conquer the frustration, anger, and pain he felt at his failure to control his body and emotions when Aimee most needed him to was what had brought him here to the Club, but it wasn‟t the only reason he‟d come. Vance also knew it was time to fulfill his promise to Aimee—time to face the man he loved. He loved Ben. Not as a brother in arms or a friend, but as an adult male both emotionally and physically drawn to the older man. More importantly, Ben was the only person he trusted to help him regain control of his need, to harness the beast that was his rage.

Through carefully applied punishment, Ben would be able to help him exorcise the memories that undermined his control. And Ben would also help him fulfill the promise he‟d made to Aimee. Vance shook away his thoughts and continued his preparations.

Next to go were his trousers. The soft twill slid over his skin like a caress until it caught on the hammer of the snub-nosed .38 strapped to his calf. Vance knew Ben would be pissed if he told him how many times in the last six months he‟d held the cold metal to his own temple. But each time he had set it aside at the thought of what his suicide would do to the man he loved.

He folded and stacked his pants on top of his shirt. Stripping his black socks from his feet, he rolled them into a ball and stuffed them down into the top of one boot and filled the other with the holster and gun before moving to collect the bottle of scotch from the table. The liquor burned again as he swallowed a hefty portion and returned to the high-perched king-size bed. As he passed the mirror, he paused and finally stared at his reflection.

He looked the same.

The same black hair peppered with silver. The same dark stubble along his jaw despite his having shaved first thing this morning. The same darkly tanned skin inherited from his father along with the high, flat cheekbones, sharp nose, and square Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control

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jaw of the Mescalero Apache tribe. After another quick swallow of scotch, he did the one thing he‟d avoided for the past forty-eight hours since he‟d last set the muzzle of his .38 against his temple and come closer to pulling the trigger than ever before. He looked into his own eyes.

His blue-green gaze was dead, lifeless, as he nodded. “Full circle, Aimee. Just like I promised you.”

His eyes flickered to his boot where the .38 was hidden. But the same three reasons not to put twenty cents worth of lead through his gray matter still remained: Ben deserved to be told how Vance felt; Aimee deserved to have a promise kept; and marines didn‟t quit.

He looked himself in the eyes once more. “And I‟m a fucking marine.”

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Chapter Two

The buzz came earlier than Ben expected. He‟d finished closing out his till and totaling his bottle count and had just begun to help empty the dishwasher when the light under the number three lit up. The bartender relieving him glanced at the panel of panic lights before looking at Ben.

“Vance,” Ben explained, letting the other man know that it wasn‟t an emergency signal.

The towel he‟d been drying glasses with went into the laundry bin beside the door as Ben headed through it and into the hallway that connected the bar to the kitchen and storerooms. Down the hall, he stopped to wash his hands in the employee restroom before heading up the back stairway to the playrooms. Then, using the duplicate key, he let himself into room three.

On the table beside the door, Ben spotted the scotch bottle; it was more than half full. He breathed a little easier. The more Vance drank, the longer the punishment lasted. It looked like Ben wouldn‟t have to spend too long wielding the whip this time.

After closing and locking the door behind him, Ben turned, took three steps into the room, and froze. His breath was sucked away when he spotted his friend naked, sprawled on his back across the black suede comforter. In the dim lights thrown by the Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control

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bedside lamps, the natural reddish brown tone of Vance‟s skin seemed pale. Just as his best friend‟s sudden appearance at the Club had surprised Ben earlier that night, the sight of him naked on the bed stole his breath and had his heart ready to burst out of his rib cage.

Every other time they‟d been in this room, Vance had been careful to remain covered, if not in his boxer briefs, then in a pair of jeans, fatigues, or slacks. He had never gone naked before. But this time his usual black cotton boxer briefs were missing, and evidence of his tendency to sunbathe nude was apparent in the lack of tan lines at his hips and thighs.

With one arm stretched over his eyes, he looked on the edge of sleep. The thick leather cuffs he wore, with their steel D-rings and buckles, appeared innocuous against his muscled wrists and forearms. The sight of his flaccid cock, startlingly large despite its soft state, resting in a nest of jet and silver curls stirred Ben‟s own member to life.

Imagining taking Vance‟s thick stalk down his throat or up his ass had Ben fighting for control of both his arousal and his breathing.

Vance was so damned beautiful that Ben ached at the sight of him. It took everything he had to keep from stripping off his clothes and climbing into bed with him. Maybe this time it would happen. Maybe this time, he‟d have the nerve to actually kiss Vance and show him how he felt. Ben doubted the other man realized just how intimidating Vance‟s sexuality was to him.

Twin bullet wounds and scars left by shrapnel showed pink against Vance‟s darker skin, distracting Ben from his sexual thoughts, but not deflating his interest.

Hoping to inject some humor into the tense atmosphere, Ben cleared his throat. “So, what‟s with the au naturel look?”

Vance‟s arm came up. His teal eyes watched Ben‟s face as though analyzing every nuance of his expression before moving down his body. Vance seemed to weigh Ben‟s brown shirt, khaki slacks, and brown loafers. Ben could swear he was doing a careful study of his body. Having stuck to the rigorous fitness routines he‟d learned while in 20

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the military, Ben knew the younger man would find nothing lacking in his physique.

Hoping to tease a smile out of him, Ben quipped, “Like what you see?”

Buried in his friend‟s gray eyes, Vance spied the heat generated by arousal rather than curiosity. They‟d been dancing around each other for the last few years, and they both knew it. Rolling off the bed, he stepped in close, invading the older man‟s space.

He looked up a few inches to meet Ben‟s gaze. “Yes. I‟ve liked it since the first time our CO dropped me into your unit.”

Moving back a step, Vance tamped down on the surprise generated by the heat stirring in his groin. He should have known that, despite all the times he‟d failed to induce arousal in his body over the last six months, being close to Ben would reignite the fire. He ignored the twitch of his thickening cock, trying to recapture the ability to stem the arousal Ben‟s presence had created. He smoothed his right hand over Ben‟s shoulder, noting the heat of his friend‟s flesh beneath the fine cotton fabric. The slam of Ben‟s heart against his palm had Vance lifting his gaze. “When I joined your unit, I heard the rumors.”

“Rumors?” Ben didn‟t stiffen in shock. His gaze remained cool, steady.

Vance felt the tensing of Ben‟s firm muscles as he drifted his fingers down Ben‟s chest. His thumb and forefinger paused to tweak Ben‟s rising nipple, before moving on to caress the muscles roping his ribs. Vance nodded. “Yeah. Some of the guys mentioned you were into men as well as women.”

“And?”

The urge to wrap his arms around Ben had Vance shaking. The length of his cock grew with the arousal that his proximity to Ben engendered. Damn it, stay down. Focus, Vance commanded his flesh, but it remained insubordinate, thickening and rising while he fought to harness it. “It got me hot. Remember when you helped me deal with Tina?”

Ben nodded. “That was seven years ago.”

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“Yes. That was the first time I showed you how I controlled my anger.”

“I have to admit, taking a flogger to your ass wasn‟t exactly what I had in mind when you dragged me in here.”

“If I hadn‟t been worried about being written up for fraternizing with a superior officer, I‟d have been all over you.” Shoving his need deep, Vance dropped his hand, unable to stop the grin Ben‟s groaning protest brought to his lips. “By the time you left the corps, I figured we were better off just keeping it friends. But it did make me curious about what you‟d do if I renegotiated play.” Sustaining eye contact, Vance watched the heat flare in Ben‟s gray eyes. “Did you expect me to turn my back on you?”