Chapter 4
Hell of an Introduction
“David, you’ve lost your mind,” Elet hissed, his back turned and lips moving near his companion’s ear, but not bothering to lower his volume much. “We’re looking to help this child, not scar him further. It’s a bad match. We should call it off.”
“First, he’s not a child,” David argued. “Second, helping is what I’m doing. For how many decades have we been friends, El? Have I ever given you reason to doubt me yet? Oliver can do this. He’s changed since you’ve last seen him.”
Oliver hesitated just outside the doorway to the room tucked away on the far left of the ground floor of Manse. The party that Saturday night was in full swing, but this section was mysteriously cleared of guests. Oliver had been directed to the room by one of David’s staff, but he intended to feel out the situation first before revealing his presence and giving up all control of the situation to one of the rare people with the ability to intimidate him.
“Are we speaking of the same Oliver?” Elet asked in monotone. “He’s never been loyal to a submissive other than Jackson, and even that is questionable. His contract is with a happily married man, with stipulations that he can dip his wick in any hole that appeals to him. All he’s looking for is the night’s biggest thrill. What on earth makes you think he’s the right companion for this poor boy?”
“Please, El. He’s twenty-four years old,” David sighed. “Neither of them are boys. They act their age.”
Oliver could see them standing off to one side, dressed to impress in tailored silk shirts and pants, voices barely hushed as they conversed. David was fair-skinned, though sun-tanned, his dark brown hair immaculately styled, the top two buttons on his shirt undone to reveal a glimpse of his golden chest. Elet’s inky complexion, shaved head, and towering height set him apart, though the strength and power in him had always both intrigued Oliver and got his guard up. They were both glancing toward something Oliver couldn’t see. He wondered who they were talking about, and where this person was. Oliver didn’t appreciate Elet’s dismissiveness towards him, especially given the fact that they hadn’t had a conversation or been in the same room in years. Once, years ago, they’d bonded a little after discussing some similarities in their upbringing and history, but the connection quickly faded once their personalities began to clash. Since then, it was David, alone, Oliver confided in. Maybe Elet’s complaints applied to the naïve person Oliver had been during training, but it didn’t anymore. Plus, knowing what he liked didn’t make Oliver any less trustworthy, it made him smart. But David’s insistence on Oliver’s suitability for whatever mysterious task he had in mind also put him on edge, wary of going along with someone else’s schemes, their motives unknown.
“No matter his age, Oliver will do more harm than good,” Elet insisted.
“You sound pretty sure of that,” Oliver commented, finally rounding the doorframe with a smile, his posture relaxed as he strolled into the room.
Elet looked him up and down with a hint of a sneer. “I stand by my convictions.”
“Don’t we all?” Oliver countered.
“Oliver, thank you for coming,” David said, extending a hand and crossing the distance between them as Oliver tried to get a read of the room. Something strange was going on. David held a small white board and marker in his left hand. There were two additional people in the room, previously hidden from view.
They were seated on a couch. One of them Oliver knew well. It was Shea, David’s devoted partner. The person next to Shea was utterly unknown to Oliver. He had black, tousled hair, dark eyes, many tattoos peeking out from his collar and the ends of his sleeves, and a slouched posture as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze trained on the gadget in Shea’s hands.
Right away, part of him knew why David had called. The mystery guest was absolutely Oliver’s type. The curling pout of his full lips seemed designed by God for cock-sucking. The dark air of angst and rebellion surrounding him begged for taming, binding, and a good, hard, scream-until-the-windows-rattle fucking. Though dressed in a formless maroon hoodie and frayed, worn jeans with motorcycle boots, Oliver could tell he had a nice body, though the particular size of his bulge and shape of his ass was temporarily hidden from view. Oliver made a mental note to get a better look the first chance he got.
Best of all, the cozy way the dark-haired stranger sat with Shea and the air of deference exuding from him marked him loud and clear as a submissive.
He did seem young, though Oliver was young too.
His imagination ran away with itself, guessing at the taste of his prey’s tongue, imagining how he’d look in bondage, dreaming of the way he’d quiver and hump a cock as it rode his tight, rosy, wet pucker, stretching it wide open.
Distracted with fantasies, Oliver shook hands with David, who gave him a sly hint of a grin. “I thought you’d like him,” David said softly, following Oliver’s gaze.
Something was still off, and he couldn’t figure it out. Why were they all there? Why so official? Oliver had rarely been allowed to get this close to Shea without guards breathing down his neck. The guards were still there, by the various entrances to the room, but they hung back. The two who lingered near the doorway he’d come through kept watching him without watching him. If David wanted to set him up for some entertainment, he needn’t have involved Elet and Shea as well, or even been present himself. The memory of David’s insistence that Oliver was needed rang in his mind, the magic word keeping him interested despite any and all alarms.
Shea typed furiously into the phone, with the mystery guest reading as he did, the screen held out so he could. Now and then, he’d nod or shake his head, as if in response to the typed words. Neither of them said a word.
Strange.
David and Elet exchanged a wordless glance, communicating something. A decision was made of which Oliver, Shea, and the mystery sub were not privy.
Elet stepped forward, quickly crossing to the sub beside Shea. His bent finger beckoned, drawing the boy to his feet. Oliver grinned to see how much rebellious fire blazed in those dark eyes at the summoning, the boy’s tense posture screaming out a desire to fight back.
Clasping a hand to the back of the boy’s neck, Elet moved him towards Oliver. Hands folding together behind his back, the boy bowed his head, though seemed to peek up at Oliver through thick eyelashes, his chest swelling with heavy breaths.
Elet’s low voice shivered the air as he said, “The real question is, Master Oliver… do you want him? He’s not Jackson. He won’t make things easy for you.”
“Really?” Oliver replied. He brushed the back of his finger along the boy’s clenched jaw, seeing how he gritted his teeth and froze up at the contact. Taking hold of the boy’s jaw, brushing the pad of his thumb over his plump bottom lip, Oliver tipped the sub’s head up for a better look. Eyes obediently down, the boy growled softly but allowed it, his body frozen and wound tight.
“He’s been trained?” Oliver asked.
“Of course.”
The sub was even more stunning up close, making Oliver want to strip away the clothes and explore everything hidden beneath.
“Though he hasn’t submitted to anyone for quite a while.”
“I can tell.”
Oliver dragged a knuckle down the front of the boy’s chest, feeling the firmness of the muscle there, tracing each quickened breath as the sub seemed to resent the touching and treatment. To test the theory, Oliver let his hand lower even more, and began to carefully, lightly map the bulge in the jeans.
Instinctively, the boy snapped into movement. His arm came around too fast to see. He grabbed hold of Oliver’s wrist with an iron grip and yanked it away. His dark eyes flashed up, a sneer on his face. It was almost too good to be true.
Licking his bottom lip, Oliver waited a moment, the others circling around them in his peripheral vision. Elet had backed off a couple of steps but hadn’t gone far. David was there too, in grabbing range.
Oliver moved, pivoting, pulling the sub’s arm up behind his back, getting hold of his other arm as well, pinning them both together and wrenching them high enough to hurt, straining his shoulders. The sub grunted with strain, still fighting to get loose, but not budging an inch. Keeping hold with his left hand, Oliver circled his right hand around the sub’s slim body, taking a handful of his flesh at the junction of his legs through the slouching jeans. He rolled the sac in his palm, stroked along the length of thick cock, feeling it twitch in his grasp.
“Mmm. Promising,” Oliver grinned.
He focused his rubbing around the head of the sub’s swelling erection, feeling the way it made his fight grow, small grunts and growls barely audible from him. Like a caged animal, he squirmed to be fingered and made vulnerable in a room full of intimidating men who watched the whole thing happening. Oliver caught David’s eye as the boy shivered in his arms…
Then broke free and threw a sharp elbow back into Oliver’s stomach.
Elet’s laughter rang loudly through the room as Oliver’s breath woofed out of him. He recovered quickly. The sub had spun, cocking an arm back to throw a closed-fisted punch. Oliver slammed into him, throwing himself forward and catching the sub by the fist and the throat, slamming him back into the nearest wall.
An unmistakable flicker of lust heated the sub’s dark eyes, his lips softening but no sound coming out. Oliver tightened his grip on the sub’s throat and let go of his fist. Eyes narrowing, the sub reached to hold Oliver’s arm, prying at it. His lips softened, working soundlessly as his breathing was restricted.
Wasting no more time, Oliver yanked open the sub’s fly and plunged his hand inside, pushing into the boxers and taking hold of his dick. It was hard, wet. Oliver swiped a finger over the tip, holding the sub’s gaze to show he was had. Then let go of his cock, freeing the hand to pull the sub’s jeans and underwear down to show the others. Eyes closing completely, the tattooed young man let his head fall back against the wall as Oliver traced the exposed erection with his fingers.
He loosened his grip on the sub’s throat and asked, “What’s your name, slave?”
There was no reply. Eyes still closed, the boy shifted his grip on Oliver’s arm, thrusting a little into the next stroke of his shaft.
David cleared his throat behind them, but Oliver was too engaged to look.
“I asked you a question,” Oliver warned. The sub didn’t even blink. So, Oliver shouted, “Hey!”
“Oliver,” Elet began, still two steps away.
“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to him,” Oliver snapped.
The sub’s eyes cracked open. A smile spread over his lips like sin incarnate, and Oliver felt his lust slam hard into him, telling him to conquer, fuck, and tame.
The sub puckered his lips, blowing Oliver a kiss that distracted him enough that he didn’t see it coming when Oliver’s leg was swept out from under him and the sub used the leverage of the arm at his throat to spin Oliver around and slam him down against the floor.
Smiling even wider as Oliver groaned and fought for air, the sub climbed onto Oliver’s hips, pinned Oliver’s arms above his head, and winked.
He fucking winked.
Elet walked around them in a circle until he was standing behind Oliver’s head.
“Oliver, this is Rune,” Elet explained. Oliver tipped his head back to look at him, standing there, and frowned as he saw Elet’s hands signing along with his words. “He seems pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Oliver glanced between Elet, David, Shea, the nearest armed guard and the gorgeous creature sitting on his hips, absolutely undaunted by the fact that his erection was still exposed to them all.
“What the fuck is going on?” Oliver demanded, his voice a little strained with exasperation.
Rune let go and shaped words in the air as Elet did. Oliver had no clue what it meant.
“If I may translate,” Elet said, barely unable to contain his laughter, “Rune says, I’m deaf, you moron.”
“Oh,” Oliver said with blaring sarcasm, “well that’s just fucking fantastic.”
Rune bit his lip, seeming quite pleased with himself. He undulated atop Oliver, thrusting against him, rolling his hips and leaning down close to get more contact. His lips barely brushed against Oliver’s, sending a jolt of need right to Oliver’s straining cock. Then he pecked a kiss to the tip of Oliver’s nose, staring him dead in the eyes without an ounce of fear or intimidation.
David spoke up, “Of course, if that’s a deal-breaker for you…”
Oblivious, Rune shifted to lay even more fully atop Oliver, and thrust directly against his aching, completely erect cock, prompting a counter-thrust from Oliver, who reached to cup Rune’s bare ass and hold him there, wanting more than anything to feel Rune’s butt cheeks in the firm grip of his hands.
Rune was too quick, of course, and rolled off before Oliver could do it, then sprung to his feet and tucked himself back inside his pants, fastening them up again.
Oliver sank back down to the floor, sprawled there.
“You know… fuck all of you. The whole bunch. Especially you,” he said, flipping them all off, then pointing at Rune.
“So you’re not interested then?” David clarified.
Adjusting himself without any discretion, Oliver groaned. Then flung his arms wide in defeat, closing his eyes. They all moved to stand around him, looking down with self-satisfied smirks that he didn’t like at all.
“You know, David, you can be a real asshole sometimes,” Oliver said. At that, David moved closer to Rune—who looked pretty damn pleased with himself—wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. Jealousy was a monster clawing at Oliver’s chest, throwing daggers at David, who just smiled down at Oliver. “Just get the fucking papers, okay?”
Elet cleared his throat. “Olly, like this…” he shaped the signs slowly as he spoke. “Get… the fucking… papers… okay?”
“Oh, okay. You?” He pointed at Elet and stuck up his middle finger. “Fuck you most of all.”
“Do you need to see it again?” Elet asked.
Oliver growled, swallowed the curse, then matched Elet’s signs exactly. Rune looked surprised, glancing at David, Elet and Shea in turn with a brutal mix of hope, fear, and humility.
Groaning one last time, Oliver closed his eyes and lamented, “God, I’m so screwed.”