Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(42)

Fuck. Stefan thrust even harder, so hard Frank’s eyes watered. He was still a little sensitive from taking Brandon this morning, and being f*cked like this was overwhelming. And amazing. Perfect. Far too much, and he couldn’t get enough.

He tried to rock back and complement Stefan’s motions, but he couldn’t move. Not because of the zip ties, or the position, or anything like that. He just couldn’t move. His body was capable of nothing right then except complete passivity and surrender to Stefan, and he didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on in his life.

Stefan f*cked him beyond the point of soreness, and all Frank could do was float in that space and give everything he had and take everything Stefan gave him, arousal racing through his body where it pooled and collected and ramped up to unbearable tension. He couldn’t even think to speak, might not have been able to say anything if he’d had his body under control. Stefan hilted all the way in him, breathing harshly, touching Frank’s sides. They were both sweaty; Stefan’s large hands almost gentling him, still controlling, like making sure he was still there with him.

Just as Frank was slowly thinking a little more clearly, Stefan began to thrust again, and that . . . that was too much. Frank groaned, might have said something—or shouted—he sure felt like begging, when Stefan placed a strong, sweaty hand over his mouth to stifle his sounds.

Frank’s body tightened, and his orgasm blew him away, coiled tension releasing in one glorious rush that didn’t seem to stop. He barely noticed Stefan’s erratic thrusts, just let the orgasm explode and rush through him. Nothing else mattered.

Stefan released his mouth, then ran his fingers over Frank’s shoulder, down his spine, before he pulled out. The last thing that had kept Frank anchored. Now he floated on the post-orgasm haze and fell onto his side, trousers still down, hands still tied, still blind. Nothing mattered.

Somebody—Stefan—wiped at him with a cloth. T-shirt? Towel? The touches to his groin were gentle and almost too intense, and he was glad when Stefan tucked him back in.

Fucking hell, you came without a touch.

Stefan’s fingers were on his wrists, now. Frank pulled his hands closer to his chest, not sure whether he wanted to give them up yet.

“Too tight to stay on.” Stefan’s breath brushed his ear.

Frank nodded and let him take his wrists. A tug, then a snap, and his hands were free again. He moved his fingers. His wrists hurt, but that, too, was far away.

“That . . . that didn’t feel like a two-hundred-quid f*ck.”

“I put in some extra for a favourite customer.”

“Oh.” Frank tried to move, but really didn’t want to, and Stefan touched him on the shoulder, another soothing contact. The touch stayed with him, trailing over his shoulder and neck, relaxing him and keeping him awake at the same time. Eventually, he became aware of the hard floor and that time was passing. He reached for the blindfold, but Stefan touched his temple. “Taking it off now.” And he did.

Frank blinked, a camo-clad knee coming into focus next to his face as Stefan sat on the floor, smiling down on him, his chest bare, his shirt balled in his hand.

“How you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“Hold off on the dying part.” Stefan grinned. “Want to get up?”

Frank nodded. “I think.”

“Okay.” Stefan stood first, then offered him a hand.

Frank took it, managed to get his legs under him, and stood. “You’re quite something, you know that, right?”

Stefan nodded. “I’m even better with the right guy.”

Frank closed his belt, surprised that his body obeyed him, but maybe decades of practice were good for things like getting dressed when his brain had suffered a major hard drive crash and was trying to reboot.

His gaze fell on the clock on the wall. Much later than he’d wanted, but after this experience, he was glad he could still identify which century he was in. “I . . .”

Stefan lifted his eyebrows, prompting.

“I have a dinner appointment.” Frank swallowed. “I’ll have to head home.”

“All right.” Stefan gathered up the cut plastic strip. “Careful with the driving.”

“Oh, yes. I wasn’t going to crash into anything or anybody. I’ll be careful. Just . . . if you’d like to come along, you’re invited.”

“I guess I earned a bit of money today already. Should be able to afford it.”

“And it’s free dinner.”

Stefan grinned at him. “Let me put on a T-shirt that’s not full of cum.”

“I wouldn’t mind, but it might be a bit much for Emily.” Frank rolled his shoulders.

“Emily?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Take a change of clothes. You can shower at my place.”

Stefan gave him that ironic eyebrow, likely at being ordered, but did as told. Frank went to the bar again to cool off with a drink. He slid onto a bar stool and then decided he preferred to stand.

Raoul finished serving what looked like a super-dry martini to a City suit and then came down along the bar, hips swaying like he was listening to his own music and not the Madonna song that was playing.

“Anything I can serve you that you haven’t just had?” Raoul suggestively pursed his lips.