Bad Behavior Page 6

  Nothing had felt less like playing than what had happened inside Beach when Officer Fonoti had told Beach why his blackmail wouldn’t work. “And then when you two aren’t playing, everything is like the way you are now?”

  “Quinn still has ways of making demands.” Eli grinned and handed over some silverware. “But yeah. We’re not into doing it full-time. Some people do, though. They call it a discipline relationship. Is that what you’re thinking of trying?”

  “I—I’m not exactly sure what he wants.”

  “Better ask. Right away. You really should negotiate up front. Make sure if you have any hard limits—things you would never ever do—he knows about them. Safewords, safety, all that stuff. If he doesn’t listen, then you need to get the hell out.”

  Beach had asked. Sort of. Considering some people weren’t at their best in the wee hours of the morning, he’d given things another shot on the phone at the entirely respectable hour of nine. He hadn’t been surprised when his call went immediately to voicemail. He’d had his message planned.

  “Please accept my apologies for—well, for everything that got us off on the wrong foot. I clearly overstepped. And you called my bluff. I would never have followed through. I respect—” No need to complicate things with a lie. Authority wasn’t high on Beach’s list. “I just wouldn’t. So I was thinking we could start things off better. Perhaps even with an apologetic blow job. My treat, of course.”

  Armed with Eli’s information, Beach supposed his message should have been I want to be your sub. We should negotiate what you expect. I don’t know what my hard limits are because I don’t know what you’d ask. A blow job is definitely not on the limits list. Spanking might be.

  “It’s all theoretical at present. I’m not sure I have his attention.”

  “Don’t worry about that. If there’s one thing I can help you with, it’s getting a guy’s attention.” Eli reached for a glass bowl, then looked at Beach. “Do you think I can trust you with something breakable now?”

  NO BADGE, no gun, no Jez. Tai felt naked walking into Gina’s Fourth of July barbecue. From the way the two dozen people in the yard stared, he might as well have been. He was about to check to see if his cargo shorts were still on when a guided missile hit him in the thigh.

  “Hi, Daddy Tai. That rhymes.”

  The sweet giggle made the whole damned mess worth it. Ignoring the stares, he scooped Sammie up into a hug. “It does. You’re pretty smart. How come you’re so smart if school is over?”

  Sammie’s sigh was exactly like her mom’s, and so was the patient lecture in her voice. “It doesn’t go away once you learn it. That’s the whole point of school.”

  “Good to know.” He drank in the sight of her face. How could her round little cheeks already be starting to sharpen? He hoped Gina didn’t have her on some crazy diet.

  “Where’s Jezebel?” Sammie’s heels drummed his bottom ribs.

  “She wanted to stay home. She doesn’t like fireworks.” Getting Jez to remain completely calm no matter what Sammie did to her had been Tai’s top priority. Now Sammie could probably cut off an ear and Jez would simply lick her face, but the combination of random bangs and strangers wasn’t something Tai was willing to test.

  “Okay.” Her feet kicked harder, and she squirmed.

  Daddy Tai was only as interesting as his dog. He put her down, and she squeezed out a hug before running off where some kids were chasing each other around a tree.

  He didn’t turn as Gina came up to stand beside him. “She’s still happy to see you.”

  Tai shoved his hands in his pockets. Being around Gina made him feel like a giant with a Barbie doll. “What’s going on with her hair?”

  “She wants to grow locs.” Gina’s tone didn’t give Tai much of a hint on whether it was a good or bad development.

  Tai glanced at Gina’s relaxed-to-her-shoulders hair. He’d worn his own long since leaving high school, and it ran curly or straight depending on the weather. He kept it scraped back in a tight knot for work.

  Gina’s chin poked out. “It’s her hair.”

  “No defense moves necessary. I’m glad she gets to do what she wants with it.”

  Gina relaxed. “Beats fighting her with a comb to get it into braids. She’s so damned tender-headed.”

  “I bet.”

  “What would you know?” But there was laughter in her voice. “I’ve seen her hair after a week with you. You’d cut your heart out rather than fight with her on anything.”

  True. He’d been in awe of Sammie from the instant he held her. Couldn’t believe the tiny little squirming ball had grown into a baby, then a toddler, now a child. That she’d been his.

  Except she wasn’t. Even if she looked exactly like baby pictures of his mom.

  The man whose DNA profile proved he was 99.9 percent more likely to have given Sammie half her DNA than Tai strode over and offered a cold bottle of beer and an all-but-subliminal nod.

  Tai took the beer.

  “Glad you made it.” Josh’s words weren’t close to a decent lie. “Got some ribs on.”

  “Thanks. Smells great.” Which was the truth, damn it. Tai’s mouth had been watering two steps from the car.

  There was a rise in noise from the picnic table, and Gina slipped away. Tai knocked back some beer in the long silence. He and Josh had been friends once. Teammates. UM Terps. And Tai didn’t hate Josh so much for coming back. He hated him for leaving in the first place. Leaving Gina so broken and miserable that something that had seemed like a good idea after too much rum at a party had led them here.

  “You don’t have to keep sending checks, man.” Josh started the same conversation they’d been having for the past two years.

  Tai might not be obligated for child support, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want Sammie to have the best. “Save it for college, then.”

  “Or her wedding.”

  Their simultaneous shudders of horror provoked an actual nod of understanding. “Tai, I’m taking care of them,” Josh said in exactly the tone of voice guaranteed to make Tai want to prove he still had enough defensive tackle in him to drop Josh straight to hell before he could take another step back to his precious grill.

  Where the fuck had he been when Gina had morning sickness—all day—for two months, when she needed someone to hold on to while her body pushed out the baby, when Sammie cried with colic and teething? Tai had pointed that all out to Gina when Josh came back, in the only screaming fight they’d ever had. I know all that. But he’s here now. It’s my life, Tai. My decision.

  And the worst of it was, Josh was taking care of them. Tai couldn’t argue with a solid brick detached three-bedroom in the suburbs and a yard big enough for a swing set and cousins to chase around, and grandparents and aunts and uncles at the picnic table.

  “Hey.”

  Tai blinked and Gina was there, planted in front of him as if she knew how slippery his grip on his temper was.

  “Hey.” He shifted his beer to his other hand but didn’t drink any.

  “Want me to introduce you around?”

  Tai was sure the whole fucked-up story had already made the rounds of Josh’s family. “I’m good.”

  “Uh-huh.” Gina nodded. “Anything new in your life?”

  Anyone, she meant. Gina knew, of course. Knew before the party of rum and bad decisions, knew before Tai had worked up enough nerve to confess it. But back then he’d had his head, heart, and soul set on an NFL career, and gay guys didn’t get drafted, didn’t get signed. Maybe a kicker someday, but not a defensive end. Two-time All-American or not.

  With that question hanging between them, his phone took on a little extra weight, as if from the voicemail he hadn’t listened to but hadn’t deleted either. “Same old, same old.”

  “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s good.” Tai grabbed the escape handed to him and ran with it. “She and Phillip are doing the barbecue thing in Woodlawn. I think I’ll stop up there and say
hi.”

  “Don’t forget to say goodbye to Sammie.”

  TAI NEVER made it out to Woodlawn to see Mom and Phillip the Pharmacist. A trip to Harris Teeter outfitted him with ribs and beer. The ribs weren’t half as good as the smell from Josh’s grill, but the Flying Dog Pale Ale—and the lack of certain company—made up for it. He spent the evening mindlessly clicking through the nothing on cable until a quick triple knock bounced off the apartment door.

  Jez raised her head, tipped it for a couple seconds, then stood up with a stretch. That usually meant someone she knew.

  Tai patted her head, set down his beer, and discovered with surprise it had four empty companions lined up across the coffee table. He wasn’t lit, he noticed when he stood up, but he was feeling it.

  Jez stuck to her training and sat in the living room doorway as Tai went to the door and opened it.

  A completely naked David Beauchamp knelt in the hall.

  Chapter Five

  STARK FUCKING naked. In front of Tai’s apartment. Where the nice family in 2B might find him on their way home from the fireworks. Maybe Beauchamp would be better off in the hands of Behavior Health instead of Correctional Services.

  A yank, a drag, a shove, and a slam got Beauchamp behind the closed door and inside the apartment.

  Tai leaned on the door for an instant, drawing in a deep breath of air-conditioning to cool his head before he turned around.

  Beauchamp crouched against the wall near the kitchen door where Tai had flung him, petting Jez’s head as she nuzzled his jaw and neck.

  “Jez.” His tone was too sharp, and she shrank into as tiny a space as she could get on the floor, head lowered. Tai took another deep breath. “Good girl.” He patted her head, felt her shaking. “Good girl. Come on. Bed.”

  She sprang up to head for her crate. Tai shot a glare at the man in his kitchen doorway. “You. St—” Stay would only confuse Jez more. “Don’t move.”

  Jez chomped on a fuzzy chew toy from her basket and carried it with her as she hopped in to curl up on her blanket, staring up at Tai out of watchful eyes that still had too much white in them.

  Holding his hand near the door to the crate, he murmured, “I’m sorry, girl. You’re not in trouble.”

  She sniffed and offered a quick lick to his wrist.

  “Good girl. Bed.” He thought of shutting the crate door, but she’d stay until he called her. He shut his bedroom door, though.

  Beauchamp was still in the space next to the kitchen, but he’d shifted back to that kneeling pose, probably copied from something he’d seen online. It wasn’t bad form, if you were grading that sort of thing. Knees apart, ass down onto his heels, palms up and open on his thighs, head down.

  The only thing wrong with it was who. And where. And how fucking much Tai wanted to step forward, put a hand on Beauchamp’s neck, and drag his face to meet Tai’s crotch. Grind it there until he felt the hesitation, the resistance, and then the hot flood of satisfaction when David yielded, let Tai control when he got to move, got to breathe.

  Instead he folded his arms across his chest and took another deep breath before he spoke. “Look at me.”

  David raised his head until he was staring up out of those pretty blue eyes. No wonder he’d been able to get away with so much all his life. He had a face like a model, features symmetrical and smooth, except for the bump of a healed break in the middle of his nose and a smattering of freckles under his eyes. The blink and half smile probably worked on almost everyone—and his millions in the bank certainly wouldn’t hurt his chances. He looked bigger out of his clothes, maybe a little soft at the waist, but a defined chest tapered to narrow hips, and his back was sculpted beauty.

  Tai froze, realizing he’d started walking around the kneeling man as if this really was a scene and he really was a sub presenting himself. But he wasn’t. He was a probie. Someone else’s, yes, but still in the system and as off-limits as it got.

  Tai pressed his back against the door behind David. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”

  A thread of nervous laughter wound through David’s answer. “I was rather hoping it was self-explanatory.”

  “It isn’t. Explain.” Tai stepped in front of him, determined to make this as difficult as possible.

  “I—I wanted to—what you said in the car.” David licked his lips. His voice was shaking. Not shame, nerves. Tai had to hand it to the guy, the bright blue gaze never wavered from Tai’s face. “Have you tell me what to do.”

  The hitch in his breath. Oh fuck. “Sir,” David finished.

  “And that means you show up here and pull this shit?”

  “I’m open to suggestion, Sir.” That came a little more easily to him.

  Tai stepped around him, opened the apartment door, and found a neatly folded stack of clothes. He grabbed the pile and the cane, shut the door with enough force to make David jump, then threw the clothes down next to him. Standing in front of David, Tai said, “Did it ever occur to you that you’ve built something out of nothing in your head? That I don’t want you?”

  “No.”

  Tai raised his brows.

  David nodded. “You’re hard.”

  Tai snorted. “You’re naked. And not exactly hideous to look at.”

  “Thank you.” This time the pause was a tease. “Sir.”

  “Face down.” It snapped out of him. Tai put both hands behind his head as if that would help him regain his control. If David were his, even for a quick scene, Tai would have made him damned sorry for that kind of brattiness.

  David had complied. His forehead rested on the industrial carpet, ass tipped up in the air.

  Tai sucked in a breath through his teeth. Damn, that looked pretty. “Put your hands underneath, reach through between your legs, and grab your ankles. Don’t even think about touching anything else.”

  He strode into his room and gripped the top of the dresser. He couldn’t do this. Except he already had. As soon as he’d failed to hand Beauchamp his clothes and tell him to get the fuck out, Tai had known he was totally screwed. Didn’t mean it wasn’t wrong. Morally, professionally, insanely wrong. Wrong in every way but the one that pounded with his pulse, the one that urged him to see if Beauchamp really wanted this or if it was some freaky head game.

  It wasn’t only alcohol clouding Tai’s judgment. Being with David, hell, fighting with David made Tai feel more alive, more energized than he had in a year.

  David wasn’t a patient guy. He’d probably give up after a few minutes. Tai would go out there and catch David sitting up or jacking himself, or find him and his clothes gone. Then Tai would know.

  HE’D BEEN gone forever. Beach’s forehead was itching and sweating from being pushed into the carpet, which smelled like chemicals and cleaner and dog, the dog being the only part of it not making him want to sneeze. His knees and forehead were so dug into the carpet that he’d be wearing the mark of them for days. Look what curiosity got you into this time, Beach.

  It would have been easy to dismiss like that. Claim it was nothing more than his try-anything-once sense of joie de vivre, but he knew it was more. Because otherwise Beach would have been dressed and out the door. This wasn’t simple curiosity. It was craving.

  When he’d first been ordered into this position, after an initial shock at how immediately he’d complied, he’d been all too conscious of his butt stuck way up in the air, balls dangling, vulnerable. He’d been certain he was about to find out if getting his ass beat at thirty-four was as bad as it had been at thirteen. Except nothing touched him but the cool air. And even air felt like something ordered to torment him, to remind him of how naked and alone he was.

  Would the man ever come back?

  When the steps vibrated across the floor, Beach’s muscles tensed. The feet moved past him, around him. It was all Beach could do to not cover the jewels. His grip on his ankles tightened, careful to avoid touching the monitor. He could take it. Show he was serious about something—for
once in his life. His ears strained, everything in him more alive than he could have imagined a moment ago. He pressed his forehead more firmly down. His skin was aware of every shift in air currents, and the hunger for a touch set up a throbbing ache in his balls.

  “First of all, David, you will be completely honest with me. Do you understand?”

  Beach licked his lips. “Yes.” Then he remembered. “Sir.”

  “Good.”

  The single word of praise washed through him like a shot of bourbon and made him all the more determined to earn another.

  “Does anything hurt?” The question came from behind him, but that smoky voice seemed to wrap around him like a grip.

  Beach considered. His neck and shoulders were uncomfortable, his knees protesting a little. The only thing that hurt was his shin, and that was constant anyway.

  “No, Sir.”

  The hand in his hair might have hurt as his head was yanked up if Fonoti hadn’t cupped Beach’s chin to take the weight. “What did you just promise me?”

  Beach stared into dark eyes that might as well have looked straight through to the back of his skull. “Not to lie. But only my leg hurts, and that always hurts.”

  A thumb moved across Beach’s lips. “No. You promised to be completely honest. That’s not the same as not lying.” The thumb slipped between Beach’s lips, and he licked, sucked, hungry for the salty taste of the skin and to prove he could do more given the opportunity. Fonoti released Beach’s head. “Put your hands on the floor to brace yourself and sit up, slowly.”

  He thought he was moving slowly, but still the rush of blood from his head left him dizzy. A hard grip on his shoulders kept him steady.

  “Sit comfortably.”

  When Beach had shifted to one hip and stretched his bad leg out in front of him, the other man said, “Tell me about your leg.”

  “I smashed it pretty good. Fell down onto some old brick stairs. In the surgery to repair it, I got a bone infection, then had to get a rod put in. Pretty nasty stuff. Cast just came off on Monday.” Sir was one thing when he was facedown staring at the carpet, but in casual conversation it stuck in his mouth. “Um. I’m rather embarrassed to say I don’t know your name. Your, uh, Christian name.”