Quinn unfolded himself from the chair and grabbed his briefcase before straightening his tie. He hated wearing suits, and only did it when he needed to for work. He knew that suits were a good look for his tall, lean frame, but he felt like he was wearing a straitjacket.
As he approached the door, it opened and a woman with a face reminiscent of Haley Berry held out a hand. “Mr. McLaughlin?” They shook hands and the woman gestured into the room.
As soon as he entered the office, he saw why his boss, Mac, assigned him to this job. The man was young and obviously frightened. He was standing with his arms wrapped protectively around his middle. Quinn knew he was a good choice because, although he was tall, he had lean muscles, unlike Boston or Reaper’s more bulky strength. He didn’t want the man frightened by his bodyguard and not listening. Some people needed their bodyguards to be huge. Some needed them to be more subtle. What made him a good bodyguard was his ability to keep his charge calm while defending against a variety of threats. He was also extremely observant and very, very smart. He often got called in when clients wanted a bodyguard, but needed a private investigator as well. Quinn did both.
The man, Benjamin Brian Franklin, didn’t turn right away. He seemed to take a moment. Quinn took his time studying the man. His dark hair was just a little too long for convention and curled slightly at the ends. His body, encased in well-worn jeans and a button down shirt, looked lean and rangy. Quinn couldn’t see his face. After a few moments, he turned around to face his visitor.
Quinn felt like someone hit him in the stomach. The man was lovely. He had deep blue eyes which stood out against his dark hair and smooth, creamy skin. He must have recently shaved because there was slight razor burn on his jaw line. The imperfection of that red scrape just emphasized the beauty of the rest of him. Then Quinn noticed the shadows in his eyes.
It was enough to jolt him out of his stupor.
Because the man still had his arms wrapped around himself, Quinn didn’t hold out his hand. “Mr. Franklin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Call me Brian, please,” he said smoothly.
“Not Benjamin?” Quinn asked, a slight tease to his voice.
Brian laughed, and his eyes twinkled. “Would you want to be called that if you were named Benjamin Franklin?”
“We all have crosses to bear,” Quinn joked. Although he normally kept the first meeting with a client dry and professional, he had the urge to make this one smile. It had been worth it to see the shadows leave his eyes, even momentarily.
Sadly, the shadows returned as Brian gestured to a seat in the small seating area on the side of the roomy office. That was another major difference between Brian and other clients, Quinn noticed. Brian didn’t sit down behind his desk, leaving the peon in the chair in front of it. Instead, he took the chair across from the couch where Quinn sat.
There was a manila folder on the glass table, along with a carafe of coffee and some cups. Brian picked up the carafe and gestured to a cup, “Coffee, Mr. McLaughlin?”
Quinn nodded, “Call me Quinn, please.” He was surprised that he was being served by his host. Again, this meeting was shaping up very differently than what he was used to.
They settled down with their coffees and the young woman spoke for the first time since entering the room. “I’m Jasmine Ya, Brian’s attorney and friend. I asked you to come in because Brian has been receiving some disturbing letters, and I wanted your professional opinion.”
She handed him the folder.
Quinn looked through the five notes, each only one line. They weren’t overly threatening, but they made his instincts ping.
Quinn addressed his next question to Brian. “I’m sure you’ve received nutcase letters before this. Why are you concerned about these? Is it because they are all from the same person? Are there any more?”
Brian gave a harsh laugh. “I get more letters, both threatening and encouraging, than I can count. I keep them all, of course, just in case. It’s not what these say that’s the problem. It’s where they were each found.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow, asking the question without saying a word.
Brian took the file back and opened it. He took one letter out and laid it on the table. “This one was dropped through the letter slot of the office. This one,” he took another and laid it next to the first, “was in my home mailbox. This one was on my desk when I came in in the morning. This one was on Jasmine’s desk, and the one I found this morning was on my pillow when I got back from my run.”
Quinn felt his blood run cold. “He was in your house.”
Brian nodded once, looking grim.
Quinn looked down at the letters laid out on the table and jolted. “Taken separately, they aren’t threatening, but when you read them one after another, they are. Look at this:
It’s all your fault.
You destroy lives.
Keep your secrets.
I know the truth.
I’ll be watching you.
Wanting to give Brian enough time to fall asleep, or at least to pretend to, Quinn took a shower, shaved, brushed his teeth, and went to the bathroom. He wrapped a towel around his waist, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t brought clothes into the bathroom, and came out. He expected to find Brian huddled under the covers. What he saw made him almost swallow his tongue.
Brian was on the bed, naked, stroking his hard cock, a flush on his neck. Quinn’s cock went straight so fast he nearly heard a boing sound.
“What took you so long?” Brian asked.
“I, um, wanted to give you some time,” Quinn said, breathless.
“I didn’t want time. I want you to make love to me. I want you to show me what I’ve been missing.” Brian’s voice quavered. From excitement or nerves, Quinn didn’t know, but he did know that he couldn’t ignore this invitation.
Quinn dropped his towel, making his cock bob and Brian groan. Blood running hot at the sound, Quinn crawled onto the bed and pushed Brian’s hand away. He replaced it with his mouth, making Brian groan louder and jerk. Seemingly unable to help himself, Brian grabbed Quinn’s hair and pumped his hips.
“Stop,” Brian said urgently. “You need to stop.”
Quinn immediately let him go. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”
“No,” Brian said. “I’m close, and I don’t want to come yet.”
“Where’s the lube?” Quinn asked, at the same time reaching for the side table. Brian brought it out from under the pillow and Quinn grinned.
Quinn slicked his fingers up and reached behind himself.
Brian gasped. “I thought you were going to fuck me?”
“I will make love to you, but first, I’m going to show you how good it feels to have your cock buried in a hot ass.”
Brian started panting. He then said softly, “Can I watch you?”
Those quiet words caused a maelstrom of feelings in Quinn’s heart. He didn’t take the time to sort them out, just turned so that Brian could see. When he felt Brian’s hands spread his ass checks, Quinn almost shot. He had to use his other hand to pinch under his balls. Because of his physiology, gripping the base of his stalk wouldn’t stop his orgasm. When he felt Brian’s tentative touch, he pinched harder.
* * * *
Brian couldn’t believe how gorgeous Quinn’s hole was. Brian didn’t even know that an asshole could be gorgeous. Brian used his hands to separate Quinn’s cheeks, not wanting to miss a moment of this. After a moment, he felt the need to rub his thumb lightly on the stretched hole.
When that wasn’t enough, Brian scooted up and put one hand on Quinn’s back, bending him over. Quinn put his free hand on the bed, and then Brian pushed his head down to the mattress. The position left Quinn’s hands free and his ass up and open.
“Open yourself for me,” Brian said, his voice hoarse as if he’d been straining. He didn’t recognize himself, not his voice, not his actions, not his feelings. All he knew was that he had to have every part of this man who had given him back his life, who had given him back his soul.
“What do you mean?” Quinn asked, his voice muffled a little by the pillow.
“Give me your hands, baby,” Brian said. When Quinn reached back, Brian put Quinn’s hands on his own ass cheeks and tugged. Quinn’s hole was once again displayed for him, a playground for his hunger and desire.
Brian leaned forward and buried his face right in the cleft. He used the flat of his tongue over Quinn’s hole. He didn’t like the flavor of the lube, but he loved the flavor of Quinn underneath it. Quinn shouted out at the feeling of Brian’s tongue. Brian licked and poked, bit and sucked, he even chewed like a dog with a new toy. He was gratified by the sounds Quinn made.
When Quinn’s tan hole was wet and red with his playing, Brian started in with his fingers. At first, he used just the wetness provided by his spit, the lube long since gone. He pinched and flicked his fingernail over the opening, making Quinn shiver and gasp. Then he stuck his finger in to the first knuckle, popping the anal ring. Finally, he slicked up his fingers and pushed two in deep.
Quinn tensed for a moment then let out one long heartfelt groan. “Please, Brian. I need you to fuck me. Now.”
“I’m not done playing,” Brian said. Brain pushed another finger inside and curled them, looking for Quinn’s prostate. He found it and Quinn jerked. Brian reached under to jerk Quinn’s cock.
“No,” Quinn said, squirming. “I want to come with you inside me.”
Respecting Quinn’s wishes, he used his that hand to lightly scratch Quinn’s balls and taint, making Quinn quiver.
Brian added a forth finger, pushing his fingers into Quinn’s body. He had no idea what possessed him. He had never done anything like this. He knew what he was doing, having spent many hours in the past with gay men. He heard their stories, but he didn’t realize that he had retained any of it. Brian used Quinn’s reactions as a guide. At one point, his fingers pushed in up to his knuckles, Brian thought about what it would look like if he tucked his thumb in and pushed.