Chapter Three
Haris held out his arms as his valet brushed his tux jacket with strong sweeping motions, first against the nap of the material and then in the opposite direction. He hadn’t thought the jacket needed attention but as usual, Wilson knew better.
“You’re tsking under your breath,” Haris said.
Wilson harrumphed. “After collecting your tuxedo from the dry cleaner, I carefully hung the lint-free garment in the closet. The specks I’m endeavouring to remove have come from your carpet and I find this extremely puzzling since I didn’t drop it.”
“My fault then.” It was.
“I would never presume to say so, sir.”
Haris hid his smile. “Did the stain come off?” He’d dipped his sleeve into something sticky last time he’d worn it.
“Absolutely. Mr. Patel’s shop might be a long gruelling journey by Tube from here, but the man’s ability to remove unidentified substances from your expensive garments and not put creases where none were intended has assured his place at the head of the rest, no matter how inconveniently situated his premises happen to be.”
Haris took the hint. “Thank you for fetching it for me.”
“It’s my pleasure, sir. As is every little thing I do for you. A complete joy.”
Haris rolled his eyes.
“Oh look. A dog hair.” Wilson gave a dramatic sigh. “I miss Sam.”
“You could have kept him. You could have kept any of them.” There’d been plenty.
“There are so many other poor animals out there. All alone, not enough to eat, unloved, uncared for, desperate for a kind touch, for a warm home.”
“I’m sure there are.”
Wilson seemed to be running a one-man pet rescue service.
“When they land on our doorstep, what am I to do?” Wilson asked. “Who could be hard-hearted enough to turn away a starving dog? I feel it’s my duty to find them warm, caring homes. Just as you did for me, sir.”
Haris harrumped.
Wilson gave another dramatic sigh. Haris knew he wanted a pet to keep but wouldn’t admit it. His valet’s shoulders remained in a permanent droop, his face a study in depression as if a personal black cloud hung over him. Wilson would have given him the news that his car had been accidentally crushed by a meteorite in the same tone as telling him he’d won the Euro lottery.
He finished brushing the tux and Haris let his arms drop. “Will I do?”
“Most assuredly, sir. Indeed, you will shine like a beacon to the extent that no one will be listening to the music, they will entranced by—”
“Enough.”
“My lips are zipped. More than zipped. Sealed as effectively as two items secured by super glue could be.”
Haris doubted it.
By the time they were in the car and on their way to Greenwich, the super glue had worn off and Wilson was babbling again. Haris tuned him out. He didn’t particularly want to attend this evening’s concert. He’d rather have written a cheque for the music school and stayed at home working, but in an uncharacteristically weak moment, remembering his brother, Adil, and the racket he’d made on his twelfth birthday with his new drum kit, he’d said yes when Wilson had placed the invitation in front of him. Haris hoped they played something quiet and soothing and not an unmelodious modern composition which was bound to give him a headache. Shit. I’m turning into another Wilson.
“Excuse me for interrupting your valuable thinking time, sir, but I believe we are being followed again. The same car has been behind us for the last two miles.”
Haris looked over his shoulder without concern. “The white Fiat?”
“Yes, sir. Something is obscuring the license plate. Do I have your permission to lose our pursuer?”
“Try not to attract the attention of any traffic cameras or cops.”
“As usual, you offer such sage advice.”
“You could try pulling up to see if he stops too?”
“A confrontation? An excellent idea. I’m certain I can talk the man out of any aggression so you don’t need to fear, sir. Should the worst happen, my will is in the bedside table.”
Haris smiled. He suspected the pursuit was a figment of Wilson’s overactive imagination. He’d claimed they were being followed a few times over the last week.
“He turned off, sir.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
“I was looking forward to demonstrating my considerable prowess with the fire extinguisher I keep in the glove box should my arthritic knees impair my jujitsu skills.”
Haris laughed.
Wilson dropped him off outside the college. Haris grabbed his coat from the backseat and told him to go home. That brought on the argument he expected, but he was the boss and he won. Just.
Bypassing the reception line inside the entrance, he headed for the bathroom. If he had to sit through a few hours of torture, he might as well do it with an empty bladder. He didn’t bother asking for directions, assuming there’d be a Gents’ somewhere near.
After he’d wandered down two deserted corridors, he was about to turn back when he saw the sign he’d been looking for. As he pushed open the door, Haris heard someone retching and almost reversed out again, but the need to take a leak pushed him toward the cubicle farthest from the one occupied.
“That was me throwing up,” said a man and flushed.
Haris opened his mouth and then closed it. Too much information and he didn’t think a response was required.
“Well, you asked,” the guy snapped and Haris realized he was talking on the phone and not to him.
“But you said nine. I’m busy until… No, this is important. I can’t just… But… I… Okay, okay, I know.” The belligerence had gone from his voice. “As soon as I can get… No, I won’t… No, don’t ask Jeremy. I’ve told you I’ll come. I won’t let you down. Now fuck off because I need to throw up again.”
Since he didn’t hear any sounds of retching, only a quiet voice muttering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Haris assumed that was a lie. He waited until the door banged as the man left, and then Haris unzipped.
On the way back to the entrance hall, he spotted Kevin Flowers, the corpulent head of the music school, standing just ahead of him. He was talking in a loud, arctic tone to a tall, dark-haired guy whose back was to Haris. Oh God, what a fuckable backside. Narrow hips, tight arse, long legs.
“I’ve already rearranged this once,” Flowers snapped. “Good grief, you leave it until now? You couldn’t have told me before?”
“It’s an emergency,” the younger man said. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”
Haris recognized the voice from the bathroom. He wore a tight black T-shirt, black trousers and black boots, and a tribal tattoo snaked around his forearm. An astonishing surge of lust sent Haris weak at the knees. The overwhelming desire to trail his tongue around the black lines of the tattoo and down to the crease of that tight arse drove all the moisture from his mouth and inevitably sent blood rushing south. He felt like he’d been hit by a bus.
“What sort of emergency?” Flowers demanded.
“A bad emergency,” Temptation mumbled. “Matter of life and death.”
Haris’s gaze swept from head to toe and jerked back to the tight backside. Stop looking at it. He snapped his head up.
“I’m not happy, Tyler. Yet again, your attitude disappoints me. I expected a more appropriate level of commitment from a third year student. It was against my better judgment that I gave you this opportunity. There were others who deserved it more.”
The younger man clenched his hands behind his back until his knuckles whitened, then flicked his wrist over and over with his thumb. “Sorry.” The word was forced out.
Haris smiled. Not sorry at all then.
“And what respect do you show when you turn up dressed like this?” Flowers hissed. “I gave strict instructions male students were to wear a tuxedo.”
“I ripped the jacket and then I found I’d dropped something on the trousers.”
“You could have hired a tux.”
“If I’d had time.”
“You don’t even have a shirt and tailored trousers?”
“Not that are clean.”
“And couldn’t you have at least shaved?”
“I did. This morning.”
Flowers glared. “Well, I’m not putting you on first.”
“Please.”
“You’re not going on first. I have everything balanced.” Flowers exhaled noisily. “You can follow Sally and go fourth. You better apologize to everyone you’re disrupting.”
The student stalked off, leaving Haris disappointed not to have seen his face.
“Haris.” Flowers extended his hand as he approached. “So pleased you could come.”
Haris shook his hand. He’d sat at the same table as Flowers at a charity event, made some complimentary comments about his commitment to bring music to the whole community, and ended up being sent an invite for this evening.
“Problem?” Haris glanced in the direction of the retreating backside.
“He always has been. Now, let me introduce you to a few people and find you a glass of decent champagne.”
He wondered who ended up with the stuff that wasn’t decent.
The orchestra was tuning up by the time Haris entered the auditorium. He chose a seat at the rear in case his ears insisted he needed to make a quick getaway, and draped his coat over the back of the unpadded chair. He resigned himself to an uncomfortable couple of hours, though he was curious to see whether the student’s front was as enticing as his back. The four months since he’d had sex with anyone likely explained the pleasurable shiver in his gut.
Haris’s life revolved around getting up, going to work, coming home late or even later depending on whether he had any commitments. He worked hard, earned a lot of money, bought expensive clothes, wore a ridiculously expensive watch and owned two obscenely expensive cars. He’d achieved the success he’d aimed for and proved a point to a father who wasn’t listening. So why didn’t it feel enough? He almost wished they had been followed tonight. Then he thought about what had come before the life he had now and knew how lucky he was to be here at all.
When the noise of the orchestra died down, he looked up to see Flowers standing on the conductor’s podium.
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman. For those who don’t know me, I’m Dr Kevin Flowers, head of the music school. Thank you for coming to our concert.”
Ten minutes later, he was still talking and Haris sighed. If Flowers didn’t shut up soon, he’d revise down the sum of money he intended to donate.
“Before we begin tonight’s program, I need to inform you about a change in the order of play. Tyler Bellamy will be performing before Sally Greene. Thank you.”
Tyler Bellamy. Haris rolled the name around in his head.
The music wasn’t as bad as he expected. He generally didn’t like listening to stuff he’d never heard before but there was enough variety to stop him falling asleep, though a long violin solo made him yawn. The students were all fresh-faced and keen, and Haris found it hard to believe he’d ever been like that. He envied them their talent. He couldn’t play anything but the stock market.
He didn’t even know if Tyler was gay, but now his interest had been triggered, he accepted he was waiting for him to walk on stage. The conversation in the bathroom, the pleading with Flowers, the clenched fists, the flicking of his wrist, the tattoo, the taut backside, the fact that he clearly pissed Flowers off, it all turned him on. Then Tyler strode onto the stage, and Haris’s world froze. Oh God.
Tyler gave a short bow to the audience before he sat at the piano. He looked like a vampire prince out of a Manga magazine with his angular pale face, dark stubble, untidy straight black hair, bruised eyes and black clothes. Haris thought he’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. He swallowed to bring moisture into his mouth. Didn’t work.
The auditorium was silent. Tyler stared at the keys for a long moment before he raised his head, gave a cock-lifting grin and began to play.
Oh fuck. Haris dragged the program over his lap. He thought he’d long outgrown inappropriate boners but it seemed not. Every cell in his dick and balls pleaded for Tyler to be gay. He played with a mesmerizing intensity and at a speed that verged on the barely possible. Haris couldn’t tear his gaze away. Actually, he suspected that even if Tyler had been playing Chopsticks, he’d have been just as fascinated.
He took in the way he arched his neck, the ripple of muscles flexing in his arms, the shifting tattoo, the raven-black hair flopping over his eyes, the gap between his upper and lower lip and that secretive smile on his lips. Where did he need to go tonight? What emergency was there?
Not hard to imagine himself brushing his thumb across those sensuous lips, threading his fingers through that dark silky hair, pressing his more muscular body against Tyler’s long slender one.
I want to fuck him.
The intensity of his desire shocked him.
Haris could have watched for hours, but all too soon Tyler brought the second piece to a thunderous crescendo, stood, bowed and stalked off the stage while the audience still applauded. Haris pushed to his feet and yanked on his coat to hide the bulge at his groin.
A few moments later, he stood fidgeting next to the college gates on the side closest to the underground, and knew he was an idiot in more ways than one. He’d assumed Tyler would use public transport to get to his emergency, but he had no idea where he would emerge from the college, or if he’d use the Tube or the bus or even a cab. He might leave by the exit on the other side of the campus.
That he was on the point of stalking a guy he fancied had to rank among one of the most stupid and childish things he’d done in years. But when he saw Tyler hurrying in his direction, his heart jumped, and he stepped into the shadows and let him pass. Though the sensible half of his brain yelled at him to go home, the less sensible half insisted he followed.
Tyler tugged the collar of his jacket up over his neck and then tucked his hands in his pockets as he hurried to the Tube. He’d played too fast. Flowers wouldn’t be happy. Neither would Boris. At least he hadn’t completely cocked up like Anna. She’d missed out a whole section and dissolved in tears when she got off stage. He’d felt bad being pleased that her mistake had given him an extra few minutes to get to Wapping.
He ran the rest of the way to the underground station, dashed down the stairs to the westbound platform, but then had to wait for the train. Prescott had wanted to send a car, but Tyler preferred the illusion of him not knowing about the college or where he lived. Christ, the wanker probably knew his brand of toilet paper.
Earlier that evening, it had crossed Tyler’s mind to leave a note in his room detailing where he was going tonight in case he didn’t come back, before the depressing thought struck him that there was no one to care if he didn’t. Prescott would weasel his way out of trouble and by now Jeremy had likely deleted his number after he’d failed to respond to any of his text messages.
The train pulled in and Tyler climbed on board. He winced when he thought of Jeremy. When Prescott had proposed using him instead tonight, Tyler had protested, but he was fooling himself if he said it was solely because he was trying to protect him. He didn’t want to lose a thousand pounds. The sooner he had the money he needed, the sooner he could put all this behind him.
Tyler ran out of the Tube station and reached the warehouse just before nine. The place looked like a dump, though there were a lot of smart cars parked on the street. He suspected he wasn’t going to enjoy tonight but for that amount of money, he’d put up with a lot. If he really didn’t like the way the evening was going, he could always walk out. He pressed the buzzer.
Mex opened the door and gave Tyler his usual scowl.
“I’m not late,” Tyler said. “No way am I grabbing your crotch again. Yuk.” He wiped his hand on his thighs.
“Dickhead.” He moved aside to let Tyler in. “Up the stairs. Second floor.”
Tyler unfastened his jacket as he walked up worn stone steps. When he pushed open an old wooden door on the second floor his eyes widened in surprise. He’d expected a bare room and maybe a group of leather-clad muscled guys waiting to humiliate him in front of video cameras, and instead he faced a stylish gallery with a high arched ceiling. The walls had been sandblasted to bare brick and the wooden floor restored to rustic glory.
A raised dais about ten feet square stood in the middle of the room and above it hung a black St. Andrew’s cross which set the tone of the event even before Tyler took in the rest. Booths lining the sides of the gallery displayed risqué paintings and pieces of erotic sculpture. There were stalls selling sex books, DVDs, and lots of bondage gear: leather, whips, restraints and sex toys.
Not really my scene. Which was more than a little worrying. He had no problem with the lifestyle. As long as it was consensual, each to his own. He’d never tried full-blown BDSM, though he’d dabbled on the edge at some of Prescott’s parties. He didn’t mind being spanked and he quite liked nipple clamps, but there was no way he’d ever feel comfortable as a submissive, asking to be punished, and the idea of deliberately causing pain, even at a recipient’s request, didn’t sit easy on his stomach. The occasional use of a flogger or handcuffs was one thing, but the deeper world of true BDSM was something beyond Tyler’s knowledge and experience, and he preferred to keep it that way.
He spotted Prescott heading toward him, followed by Lu, a tall, muscular Asian who’d fucked him a few times at the Saturday night parties and always had a smile on his face, even when he was angry, which was unnerving. For once, Tyler struggled to stand his ground when his instincts yelled at him to leave. His gaze flickered back to the suspended cross, to the attachment points and a heavy weight settled in his gut. Oh shit. Don’t let them see I’m scared. He rubbed at his wrist with his nail, feeling for the non-existent band, and stopped when he realized what he was doing.
“You should have told me the dress code,” Tyler said.
Prescott wore a tux. The heavily-tattooed Lu was bare-chested, wearing only tight leather chaps, his cock and balls encased in a contoured black pouch.
Prescott smiled. “How did the concert go?”
Tyler didn’t answer. Fuck you.
“You think I didn’t know where you were?” Prescott asked.
His only weapon was defiance.
“What exactly am I going to be doing?” Don’t tell me it has anything to do with that fucking cross.
“You won’t need to do anything.” Prescott raised his eyebrows.
Tyler took a deep breath. “I’m not into this.”
“You’re being paid to be into it for tonight. Pretend. You’re good at that.” He slung his arm over Tyler’s shoulder and it was all he could do not to squirm free. “Don’t worry, Tyler. I don’t want you damaged, not your gorgeous face anyway. You’re my lucky charm, my perfect fly, my irresistible lure. The guy everyone wants to fuck.”
Lucky me. “What? Even Mex?”
Prescott laughed. “Especially Mex. It’s the fact that he wants you and I know he wants you and I’ve said no that keeps you safe from him. He has…unusual tastes that I doubt you’d find appealing. Now, strip and get onto that platform. You can store your gear underneath behind the curtain. There’s another pair of black wings under there. Put them on.”
“I don’t like being hurt.” He didn’t want to say it but felt he had to.
Prescott smiled with his perfect white teeth. “So much the better.”
Oh fuck.
“But you do like the money. I have the cash in my wallet.”
He could have walked out. There was nothing Prescott could do to stop him—probably—but it would most likely have been the end of the money, and Tyler had grown used to the satisfaction of putting the cash into his bank account and watching his debt go down. This couldn’t be too bad, not with all these people around. Although having an audience made it worse in some ways if he was going to yelp, it also made whatever was going to happen safer. Didn’t it? All he had to do was say no or stop and that would be it. The BDSM world was full of boundaries.
Tyler stripped unselfconsciously and put his things behind the curtain as he’d been told. His mobile was in his pocket but not his wallet which he’d left in his room. The phone was a cheap-ass thing anyway. He doubted anyone would steal it. Tyler pulled on the wings and tugged the straps over his shoulders. As long as Lu didn’t want to do anything painful, he didn’t mind being hung on the cross. Except Lu was going to do something to him.
“Get on stage,” Lu said.
Tyler climbed up and Lu followed. He fidgeted as Lu unfastened ropes and used a couple of pulleys to lower the cross to the platform where he locked it in place.
“Stand there. Arms out. Legs out,” Lu snapped.
“Don’t you want to know my safe word?”
“What you like?”
“Police?”
Lu grinned. “Too much like please.”
“Yeah, well I won’t be saying that. Help, then. If I say help you let me go. And try not to hurt me.”
Lu’s laugh wasn’t reassuring. “Spread legs.”
Engage autopilot. Tyler did as he was told and let Lu fasten him to the frame with nylon rope and every minute it took, Tyler told himself he was an idiot. It wasn’t much reassurance that Lu knew what he was doing. Tyler had watched him tie up a man at one of Prescott’s parties with complex twists of rope that made the bondage actually look like a work of art.
“Grasp leather, best way,” Lu said.
Tyler wrapped his fingers around leather straps that hung at his wrists, pressed his arse against the centre of the cross and crushed a few feathers. He didn’t much like being restrained. It made him feel too vulnerable. He’d never been tied in front of so many people before. I don’t want to do this. His heart had already been pounding as he walked in, and now it started to race out of control. Christ, I’m an idiot to do this with someone I don’t trust. Say something. Now.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Tyler said and added, “Help.”
“All these people pay to see you. Prescott pay you good money for them to stare at your dick but you need get hard-on.”
Like Tyler could make his dick jump to order under these conditions. “My cock’s not listening. Let me down.”
“Then I tell it listen.”
“I don’t want to be whipped,” Tyler said through gritted teeth.
“I not whip. Promise.”
Tyler flinched as Lu pulled his tackle through a tight rubber ring. Lu tipped oil into his palm and rubbed his hands together and as he massaged Tyler’s cock, he chatted to a man who’d stopped to watch. Lu might as well have been milking a cow for all the interest he showed in what he was doing. He pulled Tyler’s dick through his fingers and wrapped his palms around his balls over and over. Tyler thought he was too tense to feel excited but blood inevitably flowed to his groin.
Lu laughed and rubbed his thumb over the crest of his stupid dick. “See, it listen to me.”
Bastard. He considered asking again for Lu to release him, but thinking about the money kept him silent. A thousand pounds? For that amount of cash, he’d hang here for a while like a fallen angel for people to gawp at. He’d just imagine himself a million miles away. Actually, it didn’t have to be that far. Jeremy’s bed would be fine.
Maybe he should give it a try, being with someone, seeing them more than once, trying to start a relationship. Tyler sighed. But not with Jeremy, not with someone who did the same fucked up stuff as him. No, he needed a decent bloke, someone who wasn’t into kinky stuff. Except decent blokes wouldn’t be attracted to him. And if they were, once they found out what he was like, they’d run a mile.
“He’s hot,” muttered the man Lu was talking to. “Fantastic face, contoured body. I don’t like too much muscle in a sub. Is he…available?”
“No,” Lu said. “He already taken.”
A crowd began to gather and Tyler closed himself off. One thing his musical training was useful for was enabling him to ignore anyone watching. When he played, his concentration was absolute. All he had to do was reach inside himself and zone out. It didn’t matter who watched whether he was playing the piano or hanging around naked. All that mattered was the thousand pounds he’d get for putting up with this shit. Concentrate on that.
Tyler gasped when a jolt of pain shot through his chest and catapulted him back to reality. He looked down to see a metal clamp attached to his nipple. The tips were covered with rubber but it was still painful.
“Hurt?” Lu cocked one eyebrow.
“Yes, it fucking does. Some warning would have been good.”
The bastard grinned and pushed down a small circle of rubber over the tips, pinching them tighter together, increasing the pressure beyond guilty pleasure into severe discomfort.
“Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” Tyler gasped.
A clamp pinched his other nipple and as he squirmed, groaned and loudly protested, Lu attached more of them down the sides of his body. He’d seen pictures online of guys having this done, but it hurt more than he’d thought it would, pain radiating through him as if he’d been cut with a knife. Shit.
“You call me sir. Say thank you,” Lu said.
“Fuck off, wanker,” Tyler muttered through gritted teeth.
“Do as I say.”
No.
Lu fastened a clamp to his balls and Tyler only just repressed a wail of pain. “Ouch. Stop it. Fucking stop it. Help. That’s my word. Help. And I’m saying it now. I didn’t agree to this.”
“You shut mouth.”
His vehement protests drew more people and he spotted Jeremy with Prescott. Oh damn. Lu pressed a clip onto his cock and Tyler cried out, “Fuck it. Help.”
He knew Lu heard him, but the fucker just smiled and before Tyler realized what he was going to do, a silicon ball was forced into his mouth. As Lu tied it in place, Tyler thrashed his head from side to side. Panic surged in his chest as his breathing was restricted. No, no, no, no, no.
“You okay. I know what I do,” Lu whispered in his ear. “I look after you. Keep safe. They like when you struggle. Keep doing it.”
He tried to tell Lu to take out the gag, that he’d cope with the rest but not the fucking gag, but all that happened was his mouth filled with saliva, swallowing became impossible and he thought he’d choke or drown. Swallow. Try. Do it. Lu fastened more clamps to Tyler’s hips and the inside of his thighs, and he trembled in pain, anger and frustration—but fear had the strongest grip, its black tentacles sliding over his entire body.
Prescott stood smiling, drinking champagne, his arm around Jeremy, whose wide-eyed gaze was fixed on Tyler. Tyler struggled to get free, tried to yell at Prescott to keep his fucking money, fought to make Lu see he wanted out. As fear of suffocation began to overwhelm everything else, he stopped struggling. Drawing enough air into his lungs through his nose proved difficult enough.
Tyler closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in one of Rachmaninoff’s pieces, imagining his fingers flying over the keys while all too aware of Lu fastening more and more clamps to his body and then bloody well flicking them. Bastard. Every time Tyler thought he could stand this without his head exploding, a clip tightened on some ultra-sensitive spot and sent lightning wicking through his body. When Lu tightened the attachment, Tyler thrashed involuntarily, the rope chaffing his wrists and ankles.
When Lu attached more clips to his balls and along the length of his cock, Tyler groaned behind the gag. He opened his eyes and stared at the people watching, trying to find someone to help him, someone who understood he was going to fucking die up here. Jeremy! Panic grew to overwhelming proportions in his chest, a band tightening around his heart, restricting his lungs, blocking his throat. Music wasn’t enough to keep him safe. There was no place to hide. His heart pounded more loudly inside his head and the room swam, shapes contorting, colours fading.
Tyler thought his heart stopped as the frame he hung from began to move. He tightened his hold on the straps, assuming he was going to fall, but the cross lifted and tilted him forward until he hung at a forty-five degree angle above the platform, secured only by rope at his wrists and ankles, the wings drooping so they hung at his sides. The pain from the clamps intensified. He fought to keep breathing through his nose. There wasn’t one part of him that didn’t hurt. The overwhelming feeling of being trapped and defenceless was so powerful, he was frightened he’d throw up and choke to death. His life was literally in Lu’s hands.
I am such a fucking idiot.