“Yeah.” Slade downed half his beer and held Carson’s gaze across the crowded room. “Why? You up for lettin’ me ride you right now?”
Phillip’s soft gasp made Slade’s cock twitch.
“I’m not opposed to it.”
Still holding Carson’s stare, Slade said, “You know we’ll have an audience.”
Phillip leaned in. “Your friend?”
“Yeah. He likes to watch.” Slade turned to look at Phillip. “That’s the only way this works.”
“I’m game if you are.”
That was the first of many nights Slade spent seducing men into bed with the promise of an audience. Like he said, at first, it had been hot, but it wasn’t the merry-go-round of nameless, faceless men that did it for him. It was what Carson did to him after the fact. Slade didn’t question whether Carson was turned on by Slade fucking other guys because he proved it once those men left. Carson dominated him with brutal ecstasy, fucking him within an inch of his life every single time. Those had been the most intense encounters of his life, the ones Slade still remembered while he was rubbing one out in the shower.
But, as tended to happen when you did something you weren’t completely okay with, Slade started to feel dirty and used. It was as though Carson couldn’t get off without watching Slade with someone else first, and Slade needed more than that. He needed someone who would put him first, not use him for their gain. Unfortunately, he’d gotten in too deep, and his feelings for Carson had grown into something more. He’d fallen for the guy. Hard.
When he questioned Carson about where things were going and if they could ever have anything that didn’t involve a third intruding in the bedroom, Carson had taken offense to the statement. Told him he wasn’t looking for anything more.
Slade had called it quits after that, which had been about as painful as realizing his marriage to Jennifer was over.
It wasn’t that he got attached to every person he was with. He’d had one-and-done encounters before. Not many because, no, he wasn’t keen on hopping from one bed to the next. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he had enjoyed married life a hell of a lot more than he’d enjoyed promiscuity. He liked the idea of coming home to the same person every day, enjoying their company, growing closer to them over time.
That had been his intention with Jennifer, but she’d had other plans for him. She had wanted more than he could ever give her. Slade wasn’t even sure she knew what she was looking for, but it certainly hadn’t been him.
“You comin’?” Carson shouted from his front porch.
Slade figured he would never know what truly drove Jennifer, but this was his opportunity to hear Carson’s side of the story. Perhaps once he had it, he could find some closure.
He took a deep breath and forced his feet to move. He walked across the street, then up the narrow walkway to Carson’s front porch. By the time he reached it, Carson was inside, leaving him to open the door himself.
Probably another game. Another way for Carson to refute blame.You came in on your own. No one forced you.That was definitely something Carson would say.
“Get you somethin’ to drink?” Carson offered, looking at both of them when Slade walked in.
Slade shook his head.
“I’ve got beer,” Carson offered.
That was a first. He knew Carson detested beer. His drink of choice was vodka, and he pretty much mixed it with anything, but his preference was for fruity cocktails.
“I’ll take one,” Atticus told him as he walked into the living room and took a seat on the couch.
“Yeah. I’ll take one, too,” Slade said, joining Atticus, ensuring he left enough space between them so Atticus didn’t think he was up to something.
“Does it look the same?” Atticus asked.
“What?”
“The house.”
Slade looked around. “Yeah. He’s rearranged since I was last here, but mostly the same.”
“How long’s it been?”
It looked like Atticus was going to get right to the heart of the matter.
“A year and a half.”
