Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(3)

Clients will, too.

Frank sobered a bit. “If it’s a success, we’ll get a couple more in. Unless you can cope with the demand.”

Stefan nodded. “Great. I can start right away.”

“No plans for a Friday evening?”

“Not unless you’re free.”

Good thing Frank wasn’t taking a drink just then. Holding Stefan’s gaze, he couldn’t tell if the man was being a smart-arse or . . . not. He coughed into his fist. “Well, I’m probably the only man in this club who’ll tell you no.”

Stefan’s eyebrow rose, and his expression had “Is that a challenge?” written all over it.

Frank smirked. “I don’t do my employees.”

Stefan leaned forwards, mirroring Frank’s smirk. “I can always start tomorrow.”

You son of a bitch. Frank laughed to get his breath moving. “I’ll have someone show you around the club.” He glanced at the bar. “In fact, since Raoul isn’t busy . . .” He beckoned Raoul over to the table, and when the bartender wandered over, looking a little too proud of himself—oh, you f*cker, you brought this one to me on purpose—Frank nodded towards Stefan. “How about showing our newest employee around the Garden?”

Raoul and Stefan exchanged grins. Then Raoul nodded at Frank. “You got it, boss.”

Frank just smiled and let the two men leave to tour the building. He’d kill Raoul later. Slowly. Painfully.

Chuckling to himself, he shook his head and reached for his coffee again. At least he had someone to fill the vacancy Nick had left. If Stefan didn’t have much experience as an actual Dom, he could learn. He certainly had the attitude for it. If nothing else, he’d be perfect for those corporate bastards who wandered in here needing some roughing up and a cock up the arse.

Which reminded him, he hadn’t given Stefan’s package much of a look. And usually, he didn’t hire rentboys without someone vouching for the size and functionality of their equipment, but once in a while, he could tell he was facing off with someone whose dick was plenty big enough and definitely worked. He’d been in this business long enough. He’d made the assumption with Nick and with Tristan, and from everything their clients said on the forum, he was quite right about both of them.

What he wouldn’t have given to be the one to verify if he was right about Stefan. That thought made him shiver. Tempting. Very tempting.

But Frank had his reasons for keeping his dick out of the rentboys, and not just because he was their employer. He wasn’t bending his own rules.

Not even for this guy.





Within a week, Stefan was pulling clients regularly. He had some strong endorsements on the forum, too. People either called him the drill sarge or the Yank or both, and Frank read the raving from the clientele with a weird flutter in his stomach. Seemed all was fine with the equipment. C0ckl0ver said he was a fan.

Stefan put in the work, was reliable and clean and polite—until the scene started and he unleashed the Dom. Frank could imagine it, but tried not to. The man was easily fifteen years his junior. And the flirting the other night had likely only been in his mind.

Frank checked his emails; his paintballers were meeting this weekend. For the first time in several weeks, he actually felt like going. Even he needed to blow off some steam every now and then, and the companionship was nice, too. They’d laugh at him if they knew that running a sex club wasn’t at all about free arse and blowjobs.

Game this weekend, usual place/time. If you know anyone who wants to join in, bring them along! Geoff and Mike.

He let the message sit in his inbox awhile to think about it. It was Thursday, and still somewhat early, and when he came down from the office, a few of his best people were still in the bar instead of off to hotels and flats and manor bedrooms.

Including Stefan.

Frank checked in with Raoul, who gave him the “Everything’s under control, boss” thumbs-up. Once he was up-to-date, he headed for his usual booth in the back. On the way, he stopped at Stefan’s table. “How are you getting on?”

Stefan nodded and smiled wryly. “Getting it on.”

“That’s what I like hearing.” Frank felt the urge to pat the man on the shoulder but didn’t; he barely touched anybody else, so that would look odd. And he certainly wasn’t going to stare at the camo trousers clinging tightly in all the right places, so he forced himself to look at the man’s face. Uniforms did things to him, and even worse when the man knew how to wear it and brought the attitude that came with it. Stefan was naturally at ease—he’d definitely been armed forces of some description.

Frank was about to continue to his booth but paused. “You into playing privately, too? Outside of this place?”

“Absolutely.” No hesitation.

“I have an invite. A group of guys, no money changing hands. Secluded area. Starts as a paintball match, but it can and usually does turn into more for guys who’re interested. Everybody’s into rough play. Crowd’s mixed, from bankers to social workers, most guys in their thirties, a couple falling either way of that. Been going well the last few times I went there.”

“How rough?”

“It’s essentially capture kink.”

Stefan’s eyes were bright.

Frank went on. “Basically, you capture someone on the field, he’s yours. Capture a team’s flag? Your team gets the spoils.”