Was it his damn club training? Had he learned how to flip a switch and turn off his desire? Maybe he should take that class. It had been a week, and between the lack of sleep and his severe case of blue balls, Brady wasn’t sure he was going to survive. The man was making him crazy.
He’s giving you what you asked for.
Well, he didn’t have to make it look so fucking easy.
It didn’t help that the other man in his life had gone around the bend in the other direction. Three dates in and Cal was on his way to graduating from obsessed to insane.
He called Brady throughout the day just to say hello, and called every night to see if he’d changed his mind about coming over to his house to spend the night. Ken hadn’t mentioned sex again but Cal couldn’t seem to stop. He begged for Brady’s measurements or a picture of him naked, followed him to the bathroom every time they were out just to catch a glimpse. Once, in the middle of a boring conversation about poll numbers that Brady was only half paying attention to, he realized too late that Cal had been doing more than talking on the other end of the line. And then he’d sent a picture of the outcome.
Brady grimaced. You’d think someone neck deep in politics would have learned the value of discretion. Unfortunately for him, Cal had missed that class because he was too busy jacking off. Brady swore if the man sent him one more picture of his penis, one more Vine of him sucking on popsicles, or one more link to a video of someone in a kink club being rogered and dragged around in a collar, he was going to tell Ken he quit and use the rest of his savings on a hypnotherapist. He didn’t necessarily believe that he could be hypnotized, but he’d seen things he didn’t want to remember and was willing to give it a try.
Unfortunately he couldn’t quit because Ken’s plan was working. Brady’s hints about Burke’s weekend love fest, his lies about wanting to experiment with kink—it all worked. When Cal mentioned he had important friends who threw regular parties—exclusive parties—in a private club, Ken was sure they’d hit the jackpot.
Brady let Cal believe he would be “grateful” to go. It made him ill, but he didn’t want to take the chance he’d change his mind. After this party, his part would be over. He wouldn’t have to put any of them through this torture anymore. Brady didn’t deserve it. And Cal, no matter how he behaved, didn’t deserve to be teased. He just hoped the man they were looking for was there.
He couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less than go to another elite BDSM gangbang, this time on Clingy Cal’s arm. But in two days that was exactly what he was going to do, because no matter how tense and unsettled things felt between them, this was important to Ken.
Brady got the feeling Ken knew the guy they were trying to find. That they were close and that the cross he’d been wearing around his neck was somehow connected. Had one of his lovers gotten caught up with this crowd of Burke doppelgängers Ken had described?
He wished Ken would tell him. His living space might be like an open book but Tanaka was still a mystery. Who did he care about? What did he do when he wasn’t playing hero or tying someone up in knots?
Brady got to the second floor, opened the stairwell door and stopped when he realized Ken was already in the gym. And he wasn’t alone.
“It’s the wrist flick I can’t get the hang of,” the man sighed, looking down at the leather whip dangling from his fingers. “I can pick a lock in under a minute but I can’t manage this damn flick.”
Brady narrowed his eyes on the visitor in his late thirties. He was wearing a wrinkled shirt and jeans that were faded from use, not design. His forearms were covered in old-school tattoos and his dark blond hair was a little too long and thoughtlessly mussed, as if he’d brushed it with his fingers. His beard however, was a little too neatly trimmed to match the transient vibe he’d been going for.
The man stilled and turned his head to meet Brady’s gaze head on. His eyes were a soul-piercing green and highly intelligent. He was handsome beneath the mess, Brady knew. Gorgeous really, but you wouldn’t see it unless you gave him a second look. It was his version of camouflage.
“Hey, Trick.”
“Brady. I didn’t know you were staying with Tanaka.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Yeah. I did.”
Tristan “Trick” Dunham was an old friend from Stephen Finn’s misspent youth. He’d done some time, but he’d used it wisely, getting a degree and doing his best to stay out of trouble. He was a private detective now, and loving every minute of it. Not too long ago, when Jennifer Finn was sowing her oats at that double-damned BDSM club everyone Brady knew was a member of, Stephen had hired Trick to tail her. Just to keep her safe.