Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(55)

Doyle kissed him. “And expect to spend the trans-Atlantic flight squirming in your seat with an ass full of cane marks and a butt plug holding a load of my cum inside you.”

Mevi grinned. “Now that sounds like fun, Sir.”





Chapter Nineteen


When they pulled out the next morning, Mevi looked back and tried to fight the urge to cry as the complex disappeared behind them. It’d been his safe haven from the world. A protective cocoon in which he’d finally grown his wings.

Getting out in the world again felt scary.

Terrifying.

At least he had Doyle by his side to help calm him.

After dropping Doyle’s toybag and a few other things off at the storage unit, Mevi did cry as they lowered the door and Doyle locked it again.

Doyle pulled him into his arms. “It’s just a few months, boy,” he softly said, stroking Mevi’s hair. “We’ll come get them and be together again here.”

“I…I don’t want this to end.”

He cupped Mevi’s face in his hands. “We won’t end. We have to spend time apart, though. If nothing else, I have to go back to LA and get ready to move and work on finding a new job here, right?”

Mevi nodded. He’d already told Doyle he wanted to build a house in Florida, have it be their custom retreat.

With their own dungeon, a recording studio for him, and a soundproofed office for Doyle so he could do phone calls with clients if needed. They could live in Kel’s apartment, rent it from him, until they had a place of their own.

It was a dream Mevi tightly held onto to get through this upcoming tour.

As they drove, Mevi held hands with Doyle, both of them singing along to show tunes, including Hamilton. He could have worked during the drive, but he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to miss a second of alone time with his guy.

Every night they made love, Mevi desperate to have as much of this as they could, while they could. Mevi felt his tension ratcheting up the closer they drew to Chicago.

In all honesty? He didn’t want to be there.

What he wanted to do was hide somewhere with Doyle and never leave, some safe sanctuary where he could just…be.

Back to the safety of the apartment.

But none of those future dreams could come true unless he went on this tour, and got a new album out. Otherwise, he’d be filing bankruptcy and he couldn’t take care of his Sir if that happened.

In fact, they’d be making a concert album from this tour to help give the band a quick cash infusion. If Mevi wanted to have his happily ever after with his Sir, in their own house in Florida, he needed the money to do it.

That meant working.

Because he wanted to take care of his Sir, physically and financially. He knew it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Doyle had absolutely saved his life.

Doyle timed their arrival to the rehearsal space so that they showed up there the morning after having spent the night just outside of the city. Once they arrived, they’d have to be careful, to publicly pretend to be nothing more than counselor and client.

Before they got out of the car, Doyle pulled him in for a kiss. “Breathe. If you get overwhelmed, signal me and we’ll step outside or something. Okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Doyle apparently had a lot more confidence in him than he had in himself. When they walked in, everyone else was already there, including Clark.

And a guy he didn’t know.

“Who’s he?” Mevi asked.

“That’s Erik,” Clark said.

“Erique,” the man corrected, spelling it while Clark rolled his eyes.

Mevi already didn’t like him. Dressed in ripped skinny jeans, chunky heeled boots, too much eyeliner and eyeshadow that looked like a drunk Harley Quinn had applied it, and with his poofy, ozone-depleting sprayed hair, he looked like something out of an ’80s reject thrift store, while the rest of them wore plain, comfy jeans, sneakers, and T-shirts.

“Air—reek?” Mevi said, staring the guy down after getting a whiff of too much cheap body spray.

“Back off, Mevi,” Clark said.

Doyle laid a hand on Mevi’s shoulder, but Mevi didn’t move until the other guy did. Maybe early twenties and a good six inches shorter than him. Mevi knew he could probably pound the guy.

“He’s not staying,” Troy said. “Now that you’re back.”

“He’s not back yet,” Erique said.

“Yeah, I am.”

“You haven’t even been practicing!” Erique said.

“Most of the songs, I wrote before you were even born, Little Mister Wannabeme. I know them.”

“Enough!” Clark said. “He’s contracted for five shows. Period. Then he’s gone.”

“Who brought him in, anyway?” Mevi asked, looking at his bandmates.

From the way the others glared at Pasch, Mevi knew he was the offender.

“So what’s the deal, huh?” Mevi asked him.

“Hey, we didn’t know if you’d be right, okay? No offense. We were talking, and I threw his name in.”

“Of all the great studio guys we’ve used on albums over the years, and you bring in this nobody? Really?”

“He worked cheap,” Clark said. “And had the schedule opening.”