“If he’s a real Dom…or Daddy or Master or Sir, whatever he is, he’ll let you because it’s your rule and will keep you safe.”
I nodded. He was right; of course he was.
My leg bounced up and down as Ian grabbed clothes from the dresser we shared. We were comfortable around each other, so he changed right there.
We were quiet as we took the bus toward Silver Lake. From our stop, we walked. My heart was thudding against my chest, making it hurt. My hands fisted as my need to stay warred with my desire to run. I didn’t understand it, how I could know I needed something to the marrow of my bones yet be too afraid to do what I needed to get it.
By the time we walked up to the house, everything looked fuzzy and I couldn’t breathe. Ian wrapped his arms around me, and I let him.
“God, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I do this?”
“Because you don’t know him. Maybe because this is yours, so real and personal that it’s like cutting your heart open, and you can’t do that with just anyone. There’s no shame in it, Fin.”
“Other people do it with strangers. They do it all the time.”
He shrugged. “They’re not you.”
For a moment, I hated myself. Wished I could be someone else. Not someone who didn’t want these things, because I would never wish that, but someone who could give himself easily. But Ian was right. That wasn’t me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He twined his fingers with mine. “Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER TWO
Aidan
“Why do I put up with you? You’re worthless! You can’t do anything right, and you’re raising Aidan to be weak just like you!”
My eyes jerked open at the familiar sound of my father’s voice in my head—the things he’d said to my mother over and over my whole life, things he ended up saying to me.
Despite being on call earlier this week, I couldn’t sleep. Between my scheduled patients, rounds in the ICU, and the trauma surgery after someone fell from a building, my brain had been buzzing. Some weeks were easier to come down from than others. Sleep was easier to find some days than others as well. This wasn’t one of the good ones.
Giving up, I rolled out of bed, went to the sliding glass balcony door, and stepped out. The sun was just beginning to rise, peeking over the greenery that was so foreign in some areas of Los Angeles but more abundant in Laurel Canyon.
Bare-chested, in pajama bottoms, I sat on one of the chairs and watched the oranges and yellows rise until there was nothing but the sun there. It was hard sometimes, stepping away from the pain and death and traumas and returning to my life. To think that sometimes you could see the sun wake up and not know it was your last time. But I knew all too well about that, didn’t I? I’d seen it too many times to count.
With a sigh, I rose and went back inside. I went downstairs and drank the one cup of coffee I allowed myself per morning. Afterward, I slipped into socks and running shoes and went to my home gym. My muscles ached and sweat stung my eyes as I pushed through a long workout.
Then I showered, dressed…wished I were in bed. There really was no point—I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep—and thankfully, I had the next few days off. I was only on call as a trauma surgeon six days a month, but those days were both brutal and needed. Strangely, they centered me, made me feel more human and gave me a connection to others, however brief, that I so rarely felt otherwise.
Even though I didn’t need to, I went in to the hospital and did some paperwork. Before I knew it, the day had passed, and I sat back in my chair and groaned, knowing I still had to meet with David that night.
But I knew I would go because I had given my word, and when I said I would do something, I always did. I hated lies and people who spun them.
I guess there was also the fact that he was my friend.
I went home and changed into black slacks and a button-up shirt, then made the drive to a restaurant he wanted to try in downtown LA.
“Good evening, sir,” the valet said when I pulled up in front of the building and got out.
I had to admit, the honorific sent a shiver down my spine. It had been too long since I’d played with anyone, and I was in desperate need of the kind of relief it brought me. It was likely why I was so edgy and had trouble sleeping.
“Good evening,” I replied as he took the keys.
When I stepped into the restaurant, I saw David’s dark hair at a round table in the corner. The lighting was dim, candles at each table. It was a bit pretentious for me, but I’d indulge him.
“Can I help you, sir?” the hostess asked.
“I see my party, thank you.”
She smiled as I made my way toward David, who rose to hug me. “You look tired.”
“You know that’s a way of telling someone they look like shit, right?”
David smiled, and we sat. “Would you rather I blow smoke up your ass?” he asked, and no, I wouldn’t.
“Long week at work. That’s all. How are you?”
“Fine. Hungry. You’re late. That’s not like you.”
I frowned. “Five minutes.”
“Still not like you.”
He was right, but I shook him off. David and I met in med school, and we’d played together a few times over the years. He was primarily a Dom, but he very rarely switched for the right man. Apparently, that had been me, though we hadn’t had a scene in a few years. David was easy in that I knew he would never want more from me, because I couldn’t give him what he truly desired, which was submission.
“Good evening. Can I get you…” The waiter’s voice trailed off, and I looked up at him. He was young, eighteen or so, and had these expressive blue eyes that were wide and intense as they held on to mine. He looked slightly pale, his brow peppered with sweat, but even though he was looking at me as if he’d seen a ghost, I didn’t think that was what made him stare at me the way he did. “A, um…drink. Would you like a drink?”
He had this sort of button nose. His hair was blond, his jaw cut like a model, though he still had a baby face. He was…gorgeous. Very young, but gorgeous. “A glass of pinot noir, please,” I replied but didn’t turn away. I watched him, waited for his eyes to leave mine first, but they didn’t. He just stood there as though he didn’t know what to do, his plump lips parted slightly, and if we were in a different situation, I would wonder what it would be like to push my cock between them. To fuck his throat until tears ran from his eyes, then hold him and soothe him the only way I knew how.
“The same for me, please,” David said, which seemed to snap—my eyes darted to his name tag—Finley—from his trance.
“Yes…yes, I’ll be right back.” And he scurried away.
“Jesus, what in the hell was that? Have you fucked him?” David asked, and I rolled my eyes.
“No. I would remember him.”
“He’s beautiful.”
“Young,” I added.
“But legal. He has to be eighteen if he’s serving alcohol.”
“Christ, David. Also, he looked like he might be ill.”
“He looked at you like he wanted to jump your bones. And I hope he isn’t sick. He shouldn’t be here if he is.”