Risk Aware Read online

  I shuddered, lost in a fantasy. My hand curled around the head of my cock and fuck, I was this close from the dirty talk alone.

  I wrapped my other hand around him and jacked him hard and fast, leaning close enough that the thick crown of his cock brushed my cheek with each stroke. Two more soft groans and he swelled. I closed my eyes in anticipation. Hot, thick splashes of cum streaked across my face, hanging from my lashes, even splattering my hair. I jerked him until the pulsing stopped and he resumed breathing, then leaned forward and wiped the last drops clinging to the tip of his dick on my clean cheek.

  After pulling his cock out of my grasp and back through the hole, the stranger reached through and tapped my lips in thanks.

  “If you wanna come over here, help me get it up again, I’ll ream that slutty ass open until you explode.”

  God, that sounded like a good offer. I was so hard. Aching, quivering with the need to be handled. Pre-cum had drizzled down the side of my cock, drying sticky and cool, and I knew I’d have to jerk off soon but—

  I withdrew from the hole. He didn’t say another word. When I turned back to the video, that poor, mistreated bottom was wearing the cum of a half-dozen brutes, licking it from his lips like cake frosting. My tongue darted out in a sympathetic gesture.

  I moved to the sofa and began stroking myself once more, too caught up in need to heed the ominous tingle that had begun in my elbow. Covered in a stranger’s congealing cum, I jerked hard and fast, panting. The orgasm stayed at bay, though, and I had to work for it, groaning and thrusting into my fist, squeezing and twisting. Finally, I blew with a gasp and sank into the sofa, panting and dazed. I fished out some tissues to wipe the back of my hand, then cleaned up the spooge painting my face.

  Once I was presentable in my graduate-student-of-library-sciences way, I left the booth and made my way home. As the high of orgasm faded, the sharp ache and sickening bubbling sensation in my left elbow grew.

  Fuck. I hadn’t managed to give myself an elbow bleed by jerking off in quite a while; it had become a considerably less frequent event in the years since adolescence. But then, I’d spent the day before moving heavy boxes as well. Stupid. I should have seen it coming.

  Grimacing, I put my foot down on the accelerator and hurried back to Jace’s apartment and the clotting factor I kept in the refrigerator.

  Robin

  After nearly fifteen years of living in New York City, I didn’t think I was ever going to get used to the quiet. Saugatuck, Michigan, was downright comatose in comparison to other popular gay vacation destinations like Fire Island or Provincetown. Which, I supposed, was why I was in Saugatuck rather than Fire Island or P-Town. Also, the lack of proximity to NYC could only be a good thing. I often reminded myself of that as I lay in the narrow berth of my vintage Chris-Craft Commander, the weight of the silence nearly crushing me. I’d come to this spartan marina on Kalamazoo Lake to get away from everything familiar and start over again. New surroundings, new business, new perspective. A whole new life.

  Of course, it didn’t help that it was early summer. The shores of Lake Michigan were a little too chilly to see a lot of action yet. I imagined July and August would be busier. But “not a lot of action” didn’t equal “no action,” which was why I found myself stepping from the balmy June night into the sweltering nightclub at the Dunes Resort. It was also the weekend of the Dunes’ annual Buns & Baskets Benefit, a fundraiser to aid with expenses for various Mr. Michigan Leather events. I might have been new to the Michigan gay and leather communities, but I felt obliged to attend and support the MML. I was also rather enjoying the prospect of being in such proximity to Chicago for the International Mr. Leather competition in May.

  Relocating to the Midwest did have some advantages.

  The scent of leather and man-sweat greeted me, raising an instant prickle of perspiration on my arms where they were bared by my leather vest. The full brunt of the music crashed against me like a tidal wave, and for the first time in nearly a year, I found myself wanting to move with it, wanting to dive into the sea of gyrating male bodies and ride the rise and fall of the rhythm with them. I had missed this, however much I had tried to convince myself I hadn’t. I’d thought I’d left the scene for good, but one glance at a couple of rounded and welted butt cheeks revealed by assless chaps and I knew it was never going to happen. I loved it all too much.

  At one end of the crowded room, I could see the current Mr. Michigan Leather holding court, and the throng was rife with everything from lithe, collared subs in leather jocks to harness-bound bears. It was rather more kink than the resort had had on display at the New Year’s Eve party I’d attended. That had been mostly casually dressed (or club-wear dressed) vacationers and locals.

  Tonight I could see the vacationers who hadn’t known about the special occasion—standing out in the crowd, dots of color in a monochromatic sea of black leather and silver rivets. One such pair walked in the door as I leaned against the bar. The shorter, dark-haired one in the red silk shirt I dismissed immediately. He was adorable, but the furrow between his brows and the strained edge of his smile said he was vanilla and caught completely unprepared for what he was seeing. The other one, though . . .

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure what caught my eye about him. He wasn’t gorgeous. Fairly ordinary, in fact. String-bean thin, maybe a little taller than I was. Pale and unmuscled. Dishwater-blond hair. Blue-gray eyes in a face with high cheekbones, a long, protuberant nose, and lips that managed to be both thin and lush looking. Above average, I guess I’d have rated him. But skinny had always been my type.

  What really got my attention, though, was when he turned around to say something to his friend. I nearly swallowed my tongue. Visible through his black mesh shirt was some of the most amazing tattoo work I’d ever seen. It was, like, the Botticelli or Monet of body art. A mural that covered his back from neck to waist and shoulder to shoulder, full of vibrant colors. The thought of the time and dedication it must have taken for him to get that ink, the discomfort he must have endured, made me wonder just how much of a masochistic bent he had.

  I watched him more closely, enough that I could see none of his friend’s disinterest in the kink scene applied to him. He kept to himself, quiet, talking only to his friend. He didn’t flirt, didn’t make any inviting eye contact. But once in a while I saw him stare, from under his lashes, at one of the dominants when the guy wasn’t paying attention. The looks he gave them were hungry, full of yearning.

  Why was he here with a totally vanilla companion? Why wasn’t he half-naked and kneeling with someone’s leash around his neck?

  The other doms didn’t seem to be picking up the signals he was giving off. It was like his vibes were being carried on a frequency only I could receive. The others saw a vanilla tourist and didn’t approach. Some of the vacationers did, and he danced with them, but his attention wasn’t on them. Eventually his boredom communicated itself and his would-be partners drifted away, until he was left leaning on the bar, his eyes still full of longing.

  I was intrigued enough to decide I needed a new beer. Which meant that when his friend joined him, I was still by the bar and got to listen in.

  “I can’t believe this.” There was a note of derision in the friend’s voice that said his disbelief was not of the favorable kind.

  “I want it known, for the record, that I’m not laughing with you, I’m laughing at you,” he teased. I smiled around the mouth of my beer bottle at the rejoinder. “I, personally, have no complaints with the scenery.”

  “It’s the start of summer, dude. I thought this place would be crawling with twinks fresh out of college.”

  “Seriously? Have you seen this town? Not exactly somewhere college kids are going to come to party. Also, last I checked, most kids fresh out of college are trying to find jobs, not vacationing at resorts catering to middle-aged bears. Or have you forgotten already what that’s like?” He took a long draw from his bottle and shook his head. “You could have chec
ked the website. I’m sure they have a calendar of some sort.”

  “Thanks. Your sympathy unmans me. What about you? Picked out anyone interesting yet?”

  “Eh, you know me better than that. ‘Water, water, everywhere . . .’”

  I paused with my beer halfway to my lips. He wasn’t on the prowl? He wasn’t even trying?

  “So, lemme get this straight,” his friend huffed. “Here we are, in the middle of what has to be a waking wet dream for you with all these leathermen around, and you’re saying you can’t score?”

  “Wouldn’t be a good idea.” The mutter was so reluctant I had to strain to hear it.

  “Seriously? Dude—”

  Whatever his response was, I missed it because he and his friend took their drinks and disappeared into the crowd.

  Fuck. Now I wanted to know what this guy’s deal was, and why he didn’t think he could get any action.

  But I hadn’t come here to find someone to play with. I’d sworn I was leaving it behind with Kyle and New York.

  I wanted that guy on the business end of a whip in the worst possible way, though. I wanted to see him bound and screaming and afterward, muzzy and content, coming down from the high I could give him, that hungry look a thing of the past.

  I must have watched him at least another hour, slowly nursing my beers so that I wouldn’t be inebriated if and when I made my move. There was activity on the stage. A drag queen was MCing the night’s festivities and gave a speech about the benefit and the MML competition before introducing Mr. Michigan Leather himself. The crowd roared for him. I couldn’t have cared less, except that the guy with the ink was watching him like a starving man might stare at a banquet table. I wanted to be the one he stared at that way.

  When Mr. Michigan Leather was done speaking, the music resumed. The object of my fascination danced again, starting with his friend. Someone else approached, but he was as uninterested in that one as he had been in all the others. Which wasn’t to say he was rude; he smiled politely, occasionally leaned in to speak next to a partner’s ear in order to be heard over the music, did all the things you’re supposed to do at a club when you’re looking for someone to take back to your room for the night. But it wasn’t clicking; I could just tell.

  When his next partner was just about ready to move on, I finished the last of my beer and made my way through the crowd to come up behind him. I put an arm around him and spread my palm across his chest, pulling him back against my body. The guy dancing with him gave me a surprised glance, then turned away and searched for other companionship.

  “You look bored,” I said, speaking low beside his ear. I began to sway, grinding a little against his ass without making it seem crude. I didn’t let him stop dancing. He stiffened. Then his body damn near melted into mine, and I knew I’d been dead-on about what he needed.

  “Are you here to help me with that?” he asked, peering over his shoulder. He couldn’t quite make eye contact or get a good look at me from that angle, but he didn’t seem to be trying to. As though what I looked like didn’t matter nearly as much as what I was saying. He just wanted to be heard better. I got a good whiff of his hair when his head moved. He smelled woodsy and sweet.

  He fell into rhythm with me, his ass brushing my hips. My hand glided down to his midriff. “Absolutely,” I said, making less effort to be subtle in the way I was rubbing against his ass. “I’m Robin.”

  “Geoff.” He sounded breathless, and I liked that sound a lot. I let my hand wander, bunching up his mesh shirt. Up to his ribs, then back down, until my fingers were touching bare skin.

  “Nice to meet you, Geoff. Gorgeous tats.”

  He stilled, and I could see the way his lips curved. He must have heard that compliment a lot, but for some reason, it thrilled him. Then he rocked against me again. One of his arms came up and snaked over his shoulder, reaching to curl his fingers around the back of my neck and hold me closer. He cleared his throat twice before he spoke. “Thank you.”

  “I haven’t been able to stop staring since you came in.” I let my lips brush his earlobe. “I keep wondering what they’d look like without the shirt distorting them. Think I might be able to find out?”

  Geoff chuckled. “You’re direct.”

  I grinned, accepting the charge. “You were bored to tears by the dudes taking their time, so I thought I would cut through the bullshit. I want you to take me to your room when we’re done dancing and show your tats to me.”

  “Why wait?” In one movement, he stepped away from me and began pulling his shirt up over his head. Eager to get my hands on his flesh, I aided in the endeavor, my fingers brushing his lean ribs. He wasn’t muscular. He didn’t have the lithe beauty of a twink or the unabashed bulk of a bear. He was just this side of scrawny—toned in the upper arms, but his abs were unsculpted. He was the kind of guy who usually tried to hide his skinniness, but whether Geoff was that proud of his ink or didn’t care how his body measured up to others, he went for it.

  The tattoos were even more breathtaking without the haze of the mesh shirt covering them.

  “Nice.” I hummed, my fingers itching to explore the skin he’d bared. I let myself trace the lines, puzzled by the strange texture of them. Was it only the fact that they were a solid, continuous work that made them feel different from others? I heard him moan softly, and the sound went straight to my dick. “But does this mean you won’t be taking me back to your room? Because honestly, I’d still like a crack at that.”

  Geoff flicked a flirtatious glance over his shoulder. “Not making any promises, but what would you do if I did?”

  I smiled. He might be the most eager-to-submit bottom I’d ever laid eyes on, but he had sass. I liked that. “I suppose that depends on how delicate you are.”

  I don’t know what the fuck I said wrong, but the effect was instantaneous. He stiffened and began to withdraw, snarling at me over his shoulder. “I’m not delicate.”

  The only thing that stopped him from leveling that irritation directly at me was my hand on his torso, holding him in place. Trying to recover quickly and get our groove back, I pulled him against me and refused to let him turn, grinding harder against his ass.

  “Oh, good. Guess I don’t have to worry about being gentle, then, do I?” He didn’t yield as effortlessly as he had when I first approached him. Jesus, what the hell button had I pushed there? “See, I think the reason you looked bored was because those guys were all being too polite.” I moved my hand up, letting my thumb rub against his nipple, offering friction. He gasped, his spine arching. “Something tells me you don’t like nice all that much.”

  “Close.” His mutter still sounded grudging, even if his body was sending the right signals. “It’s more that I don’t like safe all that much. At least, not in the way someone approaches me.”

  Hmm. Any number of ways to interpret that. The qualifier made it clear he wasn’t talking about condom usage, which was definitely a good thing.

  “Ah.” I chuckled, nuzzling the back of his neck. “You want danger, baby?”

  “Yeah.” He spoke the word with a sigh, like a prayer, and went pliant against me. I brushed my lips against his neck a moment longer, toying with his nipple while I did so, before moving back to his ear and adding an edge of teeth. Just like that, he tensed and pulled away again. “No biting.”

  My rhythm faltered. No biting? Seriously? He tells me he doesn’t want me to play it safe in one breath and then in the next rules out something as innocuous as teeth? “. . . Okay.”

  “Tell me more,” he urged, swaying against me, coaxing me to begin dancing again. Now there was something sheepish, almost self-conscious in the way he tried to pick up the thread of our flirtation. Like it was on the tip of his tongue to apologize, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

  After a pause, I let my hands wander again, thumbing his nipples, my lips ghosting down his neck. “First, I suppose I’d have to start by taking my time admiring the tats. Just touch. And taste. Spread yo
u out in front of me, pin you down, and follow them with my tongue, from your shoulders to your ass.”

  The music changed, and our rhythm altered with it. There was a heavier pulse to this song, and we could feel it in our hips, which drove together more firmly, more suggestively. The fly of my tight, well-worn jeans was feeling far more snug, because the word picture I’d painted was making me hot. I suspected I wasn’t the only one.

  “Why pin me down? Are you afraid I’ll run away?” There was a slight breathy slur to his voice, and I recognized it. It was the sound of a guy transitioning from independent thought to the surrender of subspace. He wasn’t there yet, of course. Wouldn’t be there until I could push him harder, restrict him with my body or bondage, offer him a taste of pain, and get those endorphins flowing. But psychologically and hormonally he was primed. So very ready to lay it all down for me.

  I smiled. Whatever that thing with the biting was, the rest of his responses were still screaming to the top in me. “No, I just think it would be fun. Or are you going to tell me you wouldn’t love to be helpless underneath me while I did whatever I wanted to you?”

  Was that a whimper I heard? I was sure it was, but there was also a challenge in his words, like he was fighting his own inclination toward surrender. Why?

  “You’re assuming an awful lot just from watching a few dances.”

  “Then correct me if I’m wrong,” I said easily, because I wasn’t, damn it. I knew it with absolute certainty. He wanted to yield to me.

  “I didn’t say you were wrong. Just presumptuous.”

  I laughed against the sweaty skin of his neck. “Guilty as charged. I’ve never been subtle. But you’re not exactly telling me to fuck off, so I think there must be something about me you like.”

  “I haven’t told you to fuck off so far.” There was a smile in his tone, softening the correction to make it a tease, and his body remained relaxed. “Keep talking.”

  Oh yeah, I had him. I knew I had him. “You know, I’m really more of an action guy.” I kissed his neck again, opening my lips to suck on that fluttering pulse point.