Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(39)

The lounge door opened, and Frank glanced up, since he tried to keep an eye on who came and went. This time, it wasn’t a john.

Bloody hell, but Brandon was hot when he had the Stefan mask on. His camouflage pants ironically made him stand out in the sea of suits and black leather, but Frank probably wouldn’t have been able to miss him anyway. Not with that sculpted body and the palpable “go ahead, come f*ck with me” attitude. Some guys with that cocky persona came across as phony, especially once Frank knew what was underneath, but Brandon looked just as real whether he was playing Stefan or himself. The cockiness wasn’t a front. Sure, he played it up, but it was as genuine as the sweet kid underneath. And he wasn’t obnoxious about it like some of the other punks Frank had seen come and go.

Brandon caught his eye and winked, which seemed to reignite all those cooling aches in Frank’s body, as if his nerve endings were hardwired into Brandon’s presence, and flared to life whenever he walked by.

Or when he came closer.

Which he was doing right now.

Oh God.

Frank straightened a bit in his seat when Stefan walked up to him, pushing his groin so close it was right there in Frank’s peripheral vision. Bulge on display, tight abs above it, the way the leather belt hugged the trim waist mouthwatering. It said, Turn your head and suck me off.

All thoughts of doing any kind of work fled. Likely through the ears, with most of his brain matter.

“Seeing anything you like?” Stefan asked him over the loud music. Britney Spears? Raoul really deserved a whipping. Though “I’m a Slave 4 U” made Stefan’s hips move that tiny bit that suggested absolutely everything.

Frank glanced up, let his gaze trail along the ridges of abs and curves of pecs past those powerful shoulders and relaxed, sculpted arms to the strong neck and the line of his jaw. Taking his fill of the rentboy, right here in the middle of the club, first thing in the evening. His lips twitched, and he pointedly didn’t look in Stefan’s face, just studied his body, tempted beyond reason to throw caution to the wind, pull his tight shirt up, and kiss and bite those amazing abs, right here, right now. He swallowed, thought of blowing him, knew Stefan was doing that thing where he flicked a switch and exuded sex and dominance and power and youth and health. He was so perfect it made Frank’s mind spin.

“Seeing a great deal. How much?”

Stefan drew a sharp breath. His abs tightened further. “How long are we talking?”

“I’m thinking a very quick, rough f*ck against a wall somewhere.”

“Giving or taking?”

Frank gritted his teeth. Fuck. He wanted Stefan, wanted him so bad it tasted like blood somewhere in the back of his throat. “I thought you top.”

That enticing bulge moved closer. “I’d take it from you, big guy.”

No. Hell. No.

Frank’s breath caught in his throat. Of course Brandon was doing this to tease him, arouse him, but what it also did was give him control. And that was a dizzying thought. Forbidden. Utterly beyond the pale. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was get risky with Brandon. And the kind of sex that he craved right now, in this exact moment, wasn’t safe.

You’ll never get me to hurt you.

“You’ll give it.” Had that come out as a croak?

“Two hundred.” Stefan didn’t lose a beat.

Frank took four fifties out of his wallet and placed them on the table.

Stefan scooped them up, folded them twice, then pushed the money into his back pocket. “Lead the way.”

Office. It was the closest place where he could be guaranteed some privacy.

As he slid out of the booth—gingerly, thanks to his tighter trousers—he caught Raoul’s eye. The quirk of the bartender’s eyebrow said he’d witnessed the entire thing, and Frank had no doubt he’d hear about it later. If Raoul knew what was good for him, though, he wouldn’t come knocking on Frank’s office door in the next few minutes.

Brandon kept a more or less platonic distance on the way out of the lounge. No hand on the back, arm, or waist to announce to everyone else “This one’s mine, back the f*ck off.” Probably in part out of discretion, but, and maybe this was just Frank fantasising, he wondered if Brandon deliberately didn’t make a public show of possession because he didn’t need to. An extension of his attitude. Of Stefan’s arrogance.

I don’t have to tell anyone you’re mine.

In the hallway, Brandon still kept his hands to himself as Frank pulled out his keys and approached the office door. His skin tingled with the absence of Brandon’s, every inch of his body hyperaware of the lack of contact. A lack of contact that would be resolved as soon as he got this damned door open, which was not nearly as easy as it usually was.

Brandon closed his hand around Frank’s, quieting the jingling of his keys. “Want me to open it?”

Frank swallowed. “Go for it.”

Brandon gently freed the keys from Frank’s hand and unlocked the door. They slipped into the office, and Frank rolled some tension out of his shoulders as Brandon shut the door.

“So.” Brandon tossed the keys onto Frank’s desk, and then faced him. Smirking, he folded his arms across that tight black tee. “You’ve got me for as long as it takes for me to earn two hundred quid.” That eyebrow rose, as did one corner of his mouth. “Question is, are you paying for Brandon or Stefan?”