Worth Keeping (22 page)

“I think you should unzip me and put your mouth on me,” Owen whispered. “In fact, I think we should go to bed and pull a sweet sixty-niner. What do you say?” His hand released Nick, coming out of his pants to slowly run his wet finger across Nick’s lips. He tasted himself, musk and sex. Despite the loss of no longer having Owen’s hand wrapped about his very needy dick, Nick nodded at the new suggestion. “I think I can manage that. Just don’t mind the bandages on my legs, they’re not very sexy—” He yelped as Owen bit him on the neck none too gently.

“I’m not interested on what’s
on
your legs, more what’s in between them,” Owen murmured sultrily as he stood up and extended his hand. Nick took it and Owen grinned as he led the way to the bedroom.

“Those toys I ordered should be here soon too. I’m looking forward to you playing with them with me.” He flicked a sly glance at Nick then Owen pushed him back onto the bed, tugging Nick’s sweatpants off his hips and setting the beast that was his extremely horny erection free.

Owen regarded Nick’s body greedily. “You are too bloody beautiful, you know that? Take off your tee shirt. I want you completely naked.” As Nick complied with his orders, Owen disrobed quickly. Fully naked himself, he crawled onto the bed beside Nick. As Owen assumed the position, shoving his arse in Nick’s face then engulfing his dick in a hot, wet mouth like the sucking maw of a lamprey eel about to devour him, Nick gave in and surrendered to his base desires.

Chapter 14

There were times when Brad Mayhew enjoyed the feeling of beating another man to a pulp and then there were times when he really
fucking loved it
. This was one of the latter times. The young man lay curled in a foetal position on the floor of the cheap hotel room, his long, dark hair matted with blood, and bruises and lacerations marked his long, lean body like tattoos of a different kind. His arms curled into his belly, the belly Brad had just kicked, and his low moans were doing amazing things to Brad’s cock.

It was already poking out of Brad’s drawstring trousers, a large, one-eyed monster, and Brad gazed at it fondly as he ran his finger over the tip, heaving a deep, shuddering sigh as he did so.

“You see how you make me feel, Dorian? What you do to me?” He gazed down in affection at the man on the floor. “You make me so damned hard.” He slid his pants down, letting them pool at his bare feet. He left his cutoff tee shirt on, liking the look of his muscled arms in the deep red shades of the garment. He walked over to Dorian, his cock glistening and his hands already sheathing his cock in the condom he’d taken out of his trouser pocket before disrobing.

Dorian moaned quietly, trying to crawl across the floor to a place of safety. His agonised attempt only served to inflame Brad further as he leaned down, gripping the man’s bruised and scratched hips, as the man’s fingers frantically scrabbled against the threadbare carpet.

Brad grinned. “I haven’t quite finished with you yet,” he murmured as he picked up the man by the hips and dragged him to the single bed to throw him facedown on his knees, his arse in the air. “You look like someone I used to know,” he said conversationally as he positioned himself behind Dorian, his cock teasing the man’s entrance. Dorian struggled but Brad held him down easily by the back of his neck, pressing his face sideways into the musty-smelling bedspread. “So you are going to have the honour tonight of a fucking you will remember for a long time.”

Dorian was sobbing now, his body shaking with the effort of trying to get free and the fear of what Brad was going to do. Brad brushed the man’s hole with his cock, the smell of latex permeating the air. “And I don’t believe in lube so you’d better be able to suck it up.” He chuckled loudly. “And maybe later I will let you suck it up. If you can still stand of course. I have a feeling you might not be
sitting down
for a while.”

His face flushed and his lips drew back in a snarl as he rammed violently into Dorian. His heart raced at hearing the man’s cry of pain as he violated the tender channel. Now in balls deep, he thought of Nick Mathers.

An hour later, Brad was showered and dressed into business wear, having availed himself of the meagre facilities at the cheap dive. He’d left Dorian beaten and semi-conscious on the bed, his arse swollen and bloody, and thrown a fifty-pound note at him for his trouble.

He’d picked the man up on a street corner notorious for rent boys eager to do anything for a little money and he had to admit, Dorian had done him proud. He’d never go to the police or report his assault. These little shits didn’t do things like that, preferring to stay off the radar.

It was bad business getting coppers involved in their kind of trade. Brad was safe. It wasn’t his first rent boy taming. He might even go back at some stage and pick up Dorian again. He was the spitting image of Nick and while he’d been pounding away at the man’s arse, he could almost believe it had been the real thing he’d been fucking.

His phone rang as he was crossing Carnaby Street. He dug it out of his pocket and answered. “Brad Mayhew.”

“Bradley, it’s Lindy. How are you?” The friendly voice echoed down the phone.

Brad stopped to look into the window of one of the male boutique stores. There was a Prada shirt he’d had his eye on in there and he’d already called and found out they had it in his size. It was always difficult to find good wear with the breadth of his shoulders.

“I’m fine, thanks. Out and about at the moment. What’s up?”

“The money for your new commission is going to be paid today. The transfer is in progress as we speak. You’ll be able to book that holiday to Mexico.”

Brad entered the shop and made his way over to the shirt he wanted. There was the familiar rush of contentment he got when being told that an inordinate amount of money was winging its way into his bank account. “Great news, thank you Lindy.”

He held the phone under his chin as he picked his shirt off the rack, holding it up with a critical eye.

“And I have another surprise for you. I’m sending a couple of pictures over to you. They are incredible, Brad. You’re going to love them. I know you have a thing for oils and landscapes and someone has sent me these pictures and they are too bloody amazing. I thought you might like to find a buyer for some of them.”

As Brad took the shirt into the changing room, his phone buzzed with a message. He closed the dressing room door, hung up the shirt and checked the message.

“Hold on, Lindy, let me take a quick look—” Brad caught his breath at the images that flashed onto his iPhone. Vivid, intense and familiar. He’d recognise Nick’s work anywhere. The man had been one incredibly talented artist but Brad had never let him know that. It had been far more preferable to tell the man he sucked, see the light disappear from his eyes in the knowledge that Brad possessed the power to diminish him. He would never have let Nick become successful because that could have meant losing him.

Brad sat down in the plush easy chair in the ornate dressing room and took a deep breath. “Lindy, these are definitely very good. I think Raoul Martinio might like them. Who’s the artist?” He held his breath as he waited for her reply.

“He’s anonymous at the moment, but I’m dealing with someone who’s the nephew of my best friend. His name is Owen Butler and he disappeared from the scene a while ago. I’m not sure where he is now, he wouldn’t say. He told me if I found someone who liked them, they could get in touch with him directly and talk about them. I immediately thought of you. As long as I’m the first in line to exhibit anything you choose not to take on, of course. Apparently he has quite a few canvases for sale and I’d certainly like a couple for my gallery.”

Brad gazed at the phone with unseeing eyes. “Lindy, we have a deal. Text me the man’s number and I’ll give him a call. I’m interested in seeing more.”

Lindy’s voice warmed. “Good, I thought you’d like them. I’ll text you Owen’s details. Make sure you keep me in the loop. Speak soon.” The phone went dead and Brad swept his thumb across his phone, wanting to see the pictures again. Just seeing Nick’s work made him feel closer to the man. He gazed at the vibrant colour adorning his phone, his mouth twisting into a smile that would have been more at home on a shark.

“Well, well, Nick, seems like you’ve been busy without me.” The old feelings of both lust and resentment at losing him flooded his body like welling toxic waste, the bitterness and loss seeping through his skin. “And you know what? I’m going to find out where you’ve been hiding and then you and I, we’re going to have a good heart-to-heart chat just like the one I had with Dorian.”

His phone buzzed again and a business card icon appeared on his main menu. He clicked it and grinned.
Owen Butler 07666 455344.

“Gotcha,” he muttered in triumph. “There’s no escaping me now, sweet Nick. I have
your
fucking number.”

Chapter 15

Owen sat in the car, tapping his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. He liked coming to the small village of Pebble Cove but sitting in the car for nearly half an hour while he waited for Nick to finish his session with Heather was getting boring. Owen had done his bit of shopping, said hello to the people he knew—surprisingly he seemed to know quite a lot; he hadn’t realised he was that popular with the locals—had a Costa coffee and entertained himself in the small casino at the Pier.

He’d also made a visit to the post office to pick up his package, a package he couldn’t wait to open when he got home. The original items he’d ordered had gotten lost somehow and Owen had had to re-order. He hadn’t been happy at having to wait another week. His groin and his arse tingled pleasurably when he thought of what it contained.

Then he’d got tired of wandering about and come back to wait in the car. He sat in the driver’s side. He didn’t get to drive Nick’s beast much and he enjoyed it. Nick would just have to put up with it.

He reached over, picking up the Mars bar that sat on the passenger seat. He’d been saving it for Nick but now in his boredom he needed chocolate solace. As he unwrapped it and took the first bite, he saw Heather coming out of her small office complex, Nick behind her. Owen heaved a sigh of relief.

He was pleased that Nick had started weekly therapy sessions with Heather two weeks ago. While Nick still had the occasional nightmare, he’d certainly been easier to live with. Owen blessed Don every day for making Nick go back to therapy while this whole child sex ring crime was in the news. Whatever the two of them talked about, it
was
helping Nick. He was still an awkward and moody bugger but Owen was resigned to the fact that that was simply Nick and if he wanted the man in his life, he’d have to put up with it. The cuts on Nick’s legs had healed but the man still had thighs that looked like a hot waffle iron had been pressed against them. The scars were a sobering reminder of Nick’s past transgressions every time Owen saw him naked. He grinned. That was fairly often lately. But now their sex life, which to date had been mostly frotting, blow jobs and finger play, was about to have an extra element added to it, a fact Owen was really looking forward to.

He waved at Heather, who waved back with a beaming smile. Nick sauntered over to the car. Owen had to say the man was looking really good. His dark chinos set off his long, muscular legs; the tight, chest-hugging shirt he wore really showed off his upper body; and his hair was shiny and thick, tied back in a ponytail that Owen just loved to yank when they were in bed.

Nick seemed to have no problems having his hair pulled fiercely when he was giving Owen the best blow job of his life. Nick slid lithely into the car and grinned. He reached over, rubbing something off Owen’s mouth with his thumb, then put it in his own mouth and sucked it slowly, all the time keeping eye contact with Owen. Owen’s cock lurched.

“You had chocolate all over you,” Nick remarked as he shut the door. “And I thought that was my bloody Mars bar?” He frowned. “Since when did you get to be the driver?”

Owen shrugged. “You snooze, you lose. How did it go?”

“It was okay. I’d forgotten how good it was to talk to Heather about stuff.”

Owen felt a prickle of ire. “You do know you can talk to me about stuff too, don’t you?”

Nick sighed. “I know. But there are some things I don’t feel comfortable sharing with you yet, Owen. We’ve had this conversation.”

Owen ignored the long-suffering look on his lover’s face and waved to the back. “My package arrived.”

Nick’s face was a picture. He looked very uncomfortable. “What, the sex toy stuff?”

“Yup. So maybe tonight we get to play with them.”

“Oh.” There was a wealth of emotion in that “Oh.”

Owen wondered whether he’d been too hasty declaring tonight was the night. He started the car and pulled out of the parking space on the side of the road. “So, I spoke to Sid Fleming earlier. God, that man honks. He has no fucking idea what water and soap is all about. Apparently he and Barrett are still doing very well in their import-export business and wanted to know whether we were interested in doing any distribution for them.”

Nick looked at him in disbelief as they drove down the winding road out of the village back to the cottage. “Distribution? What the hell do they ‘distribute’ anyway?” He winced as Owen grated the gears.

Owen chuckled. “They wanted someone to peddle their range of gay male grooming products. Special soaps, lubes, dildos and condoms and, I quote, ‘penile enhancements guaranteed to make a bone of your boner.’” He laughed out loud at Nick’s expression. “I told them no, of course. That we were really honoured to be designated as the town’s leading gay couple—Sid’s words, not mine—but we really weren’t interested.”

“Jesus. I don’t believe the gall of those guys.” Nick frowned. “We’re the ‘leading gay couple’ in town? Hell, how lame is that? We have our own couple label now?”

“Yeah. I quite like it.” Owen deftly manoeuvred the car around a slow-moving bus as Nick’s hands gripped the seat in sheer terror.

“Fuck, Owen, we’re on a bloody hill with a blind spot. Are you trying to kill us?”