Risk Aware Read online

  I couldn’t bring myself to add “just in case.” That seemed like a concession. Jace got the implication, though.

  We barely made it into my room before Robin was all over me, shoving me toward the bed.

  “Careful,” I gasped between kisses, stumbling as I tried to kick off my shoes. The hated word had escaped me unintentionally, and I cursed myself for it, but for a moment it had seemed like he might toss me onto the damn thing.

  “Stop. Worrying,” he growled again, emerging from the folds of the shirt he’d been peeling over his head. “We’re just fucking for now. If you say stop or slow down, I’ll do it.”

  Fuck. I hated that thought. I didn’t want to be able to stop him. I wanted to do shit that would require a safeword.

  “I’ll try.” I took the last few steps to the bed on my own, shucking my jeans and crawling onto it before I tossed my shirt aside.

  He stared at me. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because his lips came down to meet mine again. His weight felt good on me, trapping me, pinning me down. We were both tacky with sunblock residue, gritty with sand. A shower should have been in order, but his tongue was in my mouth and the stretchy cotton covering his erection was rubbing against mine. Who the fuck cared about anything else?

  This kiss wasn’t frantic like all the ones before. It was slow, searching, as though he was feeling his way along cautiously. That wasn’t okay. I pressed up against him harder, ground my mouth against his more firmly, and Yes, there! That was it. Perfect. His cock rocked against mine. His mouth twisted. The pull of his lips and thrusts of his tongue became demanding, and fuck, that was exactly what I needed. I tried to draw him closer, but he caught my wrists and wouldn’t let me grab him.

  I wanted to struggle against that grip. I wanted to make him force me down and take what he wanted, but I couldn’t escalate it to that point. Not after we’d agreed that we’d just be fucking.

  I lay pliant beneath him as he tongue-fucked my mouth. He jammed his hips between my thighs, humping against me until I was right there on the fucking edge. Then he backed off, leaning over to jerk open the drawer of the bedside table. My lube was in there from the other night, but not the condoms.

  “On the dresser,” I panted, so dazed and kiss-drunk I didn’t think I could move. “In my shaving kit.”

  He practically launched himself off me to get to it, spilling razors and pill bottles to find the small package of condoms I carried in the largely vain hope of getting laid. He paused, staring at the mound of prescription bottles, then looked at me with a frown.

  “These are some heavy-hitting painkillers. I didn’t even know you could get Demerol outside a hospital.”

  Fuck.

  “Joint bleeds can hurt pretty bad.” I reached for him, rubbing my other hand over the bulge in my underwear before pushing them down my hips and shimmying out of them. “Come on.”

  He set the pill bottles aside and grabbed the condoms.

  “Just to make sure: have you taken any today?” he asked as he strode back to the bed, losing his briefs along the way.

  I shook my head and scooted back on the mattress. Then my leg was hanging over his arm and one of his slick hands was fisting my dick while the other worked lube into my ass. I was torn between the impulse to tell him to hurry because I didn’t fucking care if it hurt—I wanted it to hurt—and the nagging voice of reality sawing at the back of my brain, reminding me what a bitch it would be if I tore.

  I realized he probably had figured that out too. Hence the caution. Which, in some absurd, contradictory way that didn’t even make sense in my head, was both a relief and an irritant. A relief, because it meant he really was being attentive to my safety. And an irritant because that nagging little voice insisted he was going to treat me differently, like I was made of spun glass. Fuck that sh—

  His fingertips hooked up and found my prostate. Well, okay then. There were at least some advantages to taking our time. I groaned and closed my eyes. He added another finger, fucking me harder with them. Edging that boundary without crossing it.

  Oh God, yes.

  “You want it?” His hand curled around the head of my cock, rolling the foreskin forward, then back down. I whimpered, my hips coming up off the bed, using my knee draped over his arm for leverage. It tightened me around his fingers.

  “Fuck. Yeah.” My higher brain functions had shorted out. I’d gone Neanderthal, monosyllabic, nothing but a tense ball of wanting humping the air in front of him as he wrung another drizzle of pre-cum from my dick.

  He drew his fingers out of me, and his cock replaced them, wedging against my hole without pushing inside, applying only enough pressure to threaten penetration without actually doing it.

  “Beg me for it.”

  “Wha—” My eyes opened, and I stared up at him, confused and panting. His hand pumped my dick without relenting.

  He wanted me to talk?

  Lube and all, his other hand fisted in my hair, jerking my head back, craning my neck hard while he glared down at me. “You’re the one who likes words. So beg me for it, bitch.”

  Suddenly I was on my knees in those woods again, gobbling his cock while he rained filthy, vile words on me, offering verbal violence to substitute for the physical roughness I craved.

  “Please!” I arched my spine, dislodging the head of his cock with my squirming. He pushed me back down and repositioned himself, putting more of his body over mine to keep me in place. Even in such dire need, I still couldn’t manage more than fragmented, gasping syllables. “God. Fuck! Pluh—please! Fuck! Please!”

  If he was expecting an eloquent monologue, he was going to have to deal with disappointment. Apparently what I managed was good enough, because in the next breath he was shoving into me, hard and fast. Harder and faster than any partner who knew about my hemophilia had ever penetrated me. He’d taken his hand off my dick to brace it on the pillow next to my head, which was probably a good thing. I was way too close to popping already, and I hadn’t even had a chance to enjoy this yet.

  He ground his mouth against mine, drinking in my half-pained groans while I adapted. Then he reared back and began to stroke. Steadily at first, building up a rhythm, drawing soft moans from me with consummate skill. And then more forcefully as the outer layer of his restraint began to crumble. That’s when it went from good to fan-fucking-tastic. Not brutal, but not gentle either. He didn’t try to hold back. Even better, he didn’t seem to think he had to hold back, because he had taken the time to make sure he knew what he was doing. And Christ, he felt amazing in my ass. Each jolt of his hips jerked a sharp moan from my throat. Each press of his cock past my prostate made my balls draw up and my dick go even more rigid against my stomach, spreading a steady pool of fluid. Throwing his head back, Robin gasped and grunted, cursing between his teeth as he shuddered and drove deep one last time, twitching inside me and out.

  I whimpered at the loss of stimulation, reaching for my cock, intending to give myself that last bit of sensation to make it over the top, but Robin caught my hand.

  “Wait.”

  Kissing me, he carefully lowered my legs and pulled out, then made his way down my body. He lapped up the puddle of pre-cum on my abdomen before moving lower to suck me all the way down his throat.

  “Oh fuck.” I arched, thrusting until his hands pushed my hips back into the mattress. He didn’t make me wait long, though, driving me headlong toward orgasm with beautifully skilled lips and tongue. I drilled the heels of my hands against my eyes until I saw sparkles, straining with the need to come, barking sharp cries until everything flashed white behind my eyelids, like a magnesium flare. It almost hurt, the force with which the orgasm ripped through me, starting in my nuts and racing up my dick and spine simultaneously. I pumped down his throat in one agonizingly good burst after another.

  Afterward we sprawled in a messy tangle on the bed, slick with sweat that made the sheets damp and cooled rapidly in the air-conditioned room. I needed a shower in the
worst fucking way, but my muscles didn’t seem to want to work. I was sure my brain had melted and might even be dribbling out my ears.

  “You said you’re here for a few more days?” His blunt fingers traced idle patterns on my chest.

  “Jace booked us for the whole week.”

  “Good.” He shot me a toothy grin. “I would really like to do this again before you go.”

  “Well, I don’t have any plans. Just lots of hanging around. Maybe checking out the galleries with Jace.”

  “Excellent.” His pleased expression was enough to make me consider how soon I’d be ready for another round tonight. “That reminds me. Make sure I have Jace’s contact information before he leaves. I’d like to see his work.”

  “I’ll do that.” Now we were getting to that awkward stage where we tried to figure out if this was an overnighter or if it was time for the other guy to leave. I hadn’t had enough one-night stands to have that part worked out yet. That first night when I almost brought him back from the club, it wouldn’t have been an issue, but this had evolved into something more than a simple hookup.

  I was enjoying his company for its own sake.

  I scratched my chest as I tried to figure out what to say next, grimacing at the tacky feel of my own skin. “I really need a shower.”

  “Want me to clear out so you can do that?” He propped himself up on an elbow. “I have an early meeting with my realtor tomorrow, and I didn’t bring anything for overnight, so I’ll need to go back to my boat at some point.” He dragged his nails lightly up my thigh. “Which is not to say I wouldn’t be more than happy to hang out for at least a while longer.”

  Inspiration struck and I smiled. “You know, we share a Jacuzzi with the cottage next door. I could see if it’s unoccupied.”

  His grin mirrored mine, and my dick made it known that it would definitely be interested in another round in the not-so-distant future.

  “I’m in.”

  Geoff

  Jace and I had just gotten back from driving up to Grand Haven the following afternoon, and I was hanging out by the pool when my phone chimed with an incoming text message from Robin.

  Paperwork sucks.

  I felt the corners of my mouth tug up into a smile.

  What are you working on?

  A pause. I lay half-dozing in the sun, my phone under one hand on the chaise beside me.

  Some stuff from my accountant. Boring stuff. Entertain me.

  Jace peered at me from over the tops of his sunglasses as I chuckled, but soon ignored my texting. I chose to disregard his knowing smirk.

  What should I say to entertain you?

  Tell me what you want me to do to you when I fuck you again tonight.

  Oh Jesus. And here I was still sex-drunk and blissed-out from the night before.

  ARE you going to fuck me again tonight?

  Damn straight.

  Unf. I drew a towel discreetly across my lap before my swim trunks had a chance to start tenting.

  Wouldn’t it be better if you told me what you plan to do to me?

  Nope. You’re still calling the shots. We’re just fucking, not playing, right?

  I grimaced, and the danger of springing wood by the poolside dropped dramatically. I wished my physical reality could be as wild and unfettered as my imagination.

  But then, last night had been fine. He’d given me a hell of a ride—or three—and I was no worse for wear. Maybe I could see what he had to offer if we went beyond just fucking.

  I stared at my phone for a long while, trying to figure out how to respond. It must have taken longer than I thought, because another text came in.

  Something wrong?

  I sighed. No. It’s just hard to say where the boundaries are. What I want doesn’t bear much resemblance to what I can actually do.

  Why’s that?

  Another pause as I pondered. I want more than fucking. You know that already. But . . .

  I expected him to come back asking for a better explanation, but he didn’t.

  What would you want to do if you didn’t have to worry about anything?

  Everything.

  Everything?

  Well, almost. No minors, animals, or bodily wastes. But beyond that, yeah.

  Now I was getting hard, shifting on my chaise as I imagined how extreme everything could get and how badly I wanted all that it encompassed.

  Give me an example.

  I swallowed hard, thinking of that video I’d watched at the glory hole in Chicago, the twink being kidnapped and beaten and brutally gangbanged.

  I had to get away from the pool. Draping my towel in front of me, I gathered my things and hurried back to the cottage. I was glad to be doing this via text. It kept me from stammering nervously.

  I . . . think a lot about being forced.

  I tried not to read too much hesitation into the pause that followed.

  Forced. In the sense of just being pushed around a bit, taken forcefully? Or did you mean rape fantasies?

  Oh thank God. Yeah. That second one. Well, both, really.

  What about being tied up?

  Yeah.

  Exhibitionism? Made to perform in public?

  Gulp. Yeah.

  Role-playing? Being ordered around? Beaten?

  Oh Jesus. I was throbbing hard as I stretched out on my bed. Yeah. But I’m not sure just how far we could go with the bondage or beating.

  I know. I promise you, I won’t forget that. So, mostly you want it to feel dangerous and for it to hurt?

  God, yeah. I moaned, stroking myself inside my swim trunks. Then I pulled my hand out just long enough to send a quick follow-up. A lot. I have a high tolerance for pain.

  Ooh, a challenge. I could practically see his smirk. What about drawing blood?

  I jolted and had to pinch my dick at the base to keep from coming. The mental image of myself like the bottom I’d seen in my favorite amateur video—shallow gashes slanting across my back, beads of the infuriating, faulty blood welling up and dripping down my skin, painting me in streaks of crimson . . .

  Yes. I grabbed my laptop and called up the URL and sent it to him. Like the end of this.

  The delay before he responded was long enough to make me wonder if he was somewhere he couldn’t watch the video. Hopefully I hadn’t sent him porn while he was sitting in a mortgage broker’s office or something. With nothing better to do than wait for his response, I watched it myself, finding it every bit as stimulating as before. I had gotten to the part with the dressage whip when another text arrived.

  Get your hand off your dick. Don’t you dare come.

  Oh, Christ. I jerked my hand out of my shorts as if I’d been burned. I watched the rest of the video with my heart racing and my breath coming in shallow pants.

  What about fear play? Mind games?

  I frowned, not entirely sure what he meant. I think that would be okay.

  So, making sure we’re on the same page, this won’t be just fucking anymore. We’re going to be playing.

  My mouth dry, I nodded stupidly before realizing he couldn’t see it.

  Right.

  Another pause, the blinking ellipsis in my text app making it clear he was typing. And then: Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to be there in two hours to pick you up for dinner. I want you clean, inside and out, lubed, and stretched. You’ll wear the outfit you wore to the club the other night. You’ll have a safeword chosen by the time I get there. Understood?

  Everything in me clenched tightly. God. He was offering me all I ever wanted, if I could relax and trust him not to harm me. With a safeword, I could stop him if he seemed to be in danger of doing something that could injure me, right? And if I infused before he arrived, my factor levels would be fine for the evening.

  Ok. Where are we going to eat, anyway, that a mesh shirt would be appropriate?

  Did I give you permission to question me?

  My heart thudded in my chest so hard I was sure it registered on the R
ichter scale. For all my professed disinterest in being submissive, those words grabbed my balls and squeezed until I worried I might come without even being touched.

  No. Sorry.

  If you have a thong or a jock to wear underneath, fine, otherwise, no underwear.

  Oh shit. Jeans that tight, commando? I didn’t have time to go shopping. As it was, I would have to rush to get through the preparations he required, especially since I would also have to do my prophy. I acknowledged the command and signed off to get to work.

  By the time he picked me up, I was ready. Once I opened the door, I promptly forgot all about Jace chilling on the sofa behind me, where he was no doubt hoping to get a glimpse of whatever show Robin had planned. Robin was wearing a suit that hadn’t come off any rack. I had to be too conservative with the money I’d gotten from my parents’ life insurance to ever consider buying high-end menswear, much less bespoke, but I’d admired enough to recognize it.

  He even carried a briefcase, and he had glasses on. Brainy-yet-sexy light-rimmed specs that set off his blue eyes perfectly. Oh, fuck me.

  And here I was in skintight jeans and a see-through shirt.

  “What the fuck?” I demanded, going a bit googly-eyed. The situation might have been every sort of ridiculous, but damn if he didn’t look amazing.

  He smiled, folding his arms across the buttoned-down and immaculately tailored breast of his jacket. “Is there a problem?”

  There was something coldly avid in his eyes that reminded me of his restriction on questioning him, so I bit my tongue. Then he leaned close, and his lips brushed my ear. “I thought you liked being treated like a whore.”

  My pulse staggered and tripped, jogging to catch up once it recovered. Or maybe it was just trying to keep up with the immediate demand for more blood south of the border.

  “Up for a game of rentboy and demanding client?” he murmured, still tight in my personal space. When I turned my head to look at him, we practically kissed.

  I had to clear my throat a few times before I could answer. Somewhere on the periphery of my awareness, I heard Jace stifle a laugh at how long it took me to come up with a response.