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

But Stefan was still there an hour later, picking up a drink (water?) at the bar when their eyes met. Frank got a little flustered. He’d just jerked off to the man’s image. But Stefan didn’t know that, right? It wasn’t like Frank had been taking something he should have been paying for, either.

He composed himself and approached the bar. “Got the confirmation about the paintball game. It’s a go.”

“Where do they meet?”

“Do you drive?”

“In London? Hell no.”

Frank smiled. “Come by my place and I’ll take you along. It’s in the countryside. No buses, and we’ve lost a cab driver or two in the area.”

Stefan whistled. “What did you do to them?”

“Ah. That would be telling.” Frank patted him on the arm. “See you Saturday at noon. Raoul has my address.”





Saturday came. Frank spent the early morning in the gym, then recharged with a full English—and a side of pills—at one of the greasy spoons near his house. He spent half an hour or so checking and packing his gear for the game, then got dressed.

Geoff part-owned the paintball field, and the usual crowd was into it enough that they all owned their kit. Five of them were entering competitions, even, and winning, though they claimed all the trophies in the world didn’t make up for the things they could win on this battlefield. Frank had never got quite that involved; he only reffed, stepping in to play every now and then when the prize didn’t include carnal knowledge.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fool around out there. He’d have sold his soul for a night with any one of the guys on either team. But sex wasn’t as simple as it used to be. Other people could do the whole casual thing. Not him.

When the doorbell rang, he walked down the stairs, wearing his camos and armoured vest.

Stefan stood outside in jeans and a normal jacket with a large green bag over his shoulder. “Hey. Think I can change? Didn’t want to freak out the bus driver.”

“Sure.” Frank waved him inside.

Stefan looked around. “Nice house.”

“Outside London, you can buy something larger than a shoebox and have it done up properly.” Frank closed the door.

Especially when your partner makes three or four times what you do.

He’d been lucky in that way at least. Financially, he was comfortable, thanks to Andrew’s more-than-generous benefits package that had kicked in when he’d been diagnosed. Then, upon his death, the mortgage-related life insurance had paid out too, leaving Frank with a too-large, debt-free house and the capital to open Market Garden.

Stefan dropped his bag and opened it, then pulled off his jacket, displaying that broad chest in the tight tee again. The thin silver chain around his neck looked like the real deal, too, and Frank’s gaze followed its outline under Stefan’s shirt to the distinctive shape of a pair of dog tags pressed against his chest.

Stefan pulled a camo jacket from his pack and put it on, looking very much like the real thing, though there were no insignia or patches on the uniform. This was play gear.

Frank forced himself to stop staring, then gestured for Stefan to follow him upstairs. The steps creaked under both their feet, and he tried not to think about how long it had been since anyone had been to the upper floor.

He nodded down the hall. “Bedroom’s all the way at the end. You can change in there.”

“Great. Thanks.” Stefan started towards the bedroom, and Frank cringed. It was weird enough having someone in this house—worse that he’d featured in a jerk-off fantasy. Frank shook himself out of his thoughts and went back downstairs. Moments later, Stefan joined him, this time fully decked out in camouflage.

“You bring some lube and condoms? You’ll probably need them.”

Stefan straightened and gave him a quirked grin. “Got it.” He patted the jacket’s front pocket. “Plastic zips to restrain, too.”

Oh shit.

“Pay attention to the safewords.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“Good. All right, car’s in the garage. I’m just getting my bag.”

They dropped their equipment into the boot of Frank’s car and headed out to the field.

“So you have your own gear?” Stefan asked, gesturing over his shoulder.

Frank nodded. “That rental shit’s a waste of money.”

“It’s usually crap, too.” Stefan laughed quietly. “At least in the States. Every time I played there, I think I spent more time fixing their shit than I did playing.” He eyed Frank. “Do they at least provide decent paint here?”

“Best you can buy.”

“Good. My marker doesn’t get along with cheap paint.”

“Balls break in the barrel?”

“That’s why I call it the Ball Breaker.”

Frank groaned at the pun. “Cute.”

Stefan sat a little lower in the seat, settling in for the ride. “So this is really a kinky paintball club or something?”

“Basically.”

“How the hell did something like that even get started?”

Frank chuckled. “Bunch of guys who liked sex and paintball decided to combine the two.”

“Okay, but how do you get sex and paintball into the same conversation?” Stefan glanced at him. “I mean, I like football too, but—”