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Marc went still, his blue eyes locked on Royce’s hands before they came up to meet his. The corner of his mouth went up, then he stepped close, and pressed a slow, firm kiss to Royce’s lips. “We’re supposed to meet Angelo around midnight tonight at a bar downtown.”
“Why so late?”
“Angelo is…eccentric. Keeps weird hours. And he loves dancing more than anything, so he can often be found on a dance floor. I bet he knows the best clubs in every major city in every country.”
“As interesting as he sounds…” Royce rubbed his hand between his own to warm it. “I’d rather talk about after your parents were killed. You’ve been trying to start a conversation for a while today.”
Marc stiffened and pulled his hand away, although he offered a smile as he did. He sighed and slid his hands into his pockets. He wore jeans again today, but he’d paired them with a loose, off-white fisherman sweater and lace-up boots. The sweaters were kind of driving Royce a little nuts because he liked the feel of Marc’s hard body under the soft, expensive knits. Plus, this one slid half-off one shoulder every now and then, and every single time, he had to fight not to put his lips on Marc’s skin. He could become addicted to the feel of him under his mouth. And his hands.
And wrapping his cock.
Heat crept into him, and he took a step closer to Marc, only to realize they weren’t alone. Another couple passed them, hand-in-hand, lost in their own world. Marc watched them, and Royce watched Marc. Fuck, he was beautiful. He also needed to trust Royce with whatever he felt he should share. He figured he’d help him along. “Does this have anything to do with why you and my boss seem to have an issue?”
Marc grunted a laugh. “Oh, yeah. A lot to do with it. Rowe has seen me at my worst. Like I said, I didn’t handle my parents’ deaths well, and instead of getting therapy or turning to art, I went a completely different direction. A wrong one. I got mixed up in some bad stuff, Royce. Underground shit.”
Royce waited to respond because he was, frankly, too shocked. And not that Marc had been a part of those things, but because he couldn’t fathom a bad place that would attract someone like Rowe. His boss was a family man to the extreme. Maybe he was a bit reckless at times, but as far as he knew, up until Rowe was with his current boyfriend, he had been faithfully married. The loss of Rowe’s wife had been a dark time for everyone who cared about the man.
“I can see you trying to figure this out. You think badly of me?”
“Of course not. I’m just trying to picture Rowe somewhere like that and failing miserably.”
“Ever meet Rowe’s friend, Ashton Frost?”
“Most definitely.” The doctor everyone called Snow was not somebody easily missed or forgotten. Tall, imposing, arrogant, the silver-foxed surgeon took over a room as soon as he entered it. And like a lot of people who lived in Cincinnati for a certain amount of time, he’d heard the rumors of the man’s past sexual exploits. He’d liked things on the dark and violent side. Royce stared at Marc, unable to put two and two together here because it sure as hell didn’t equal four. Not where Marc was concerned.
Marc nodded. “I can tell you’re figuring it out, and you’d be right. I went looking for sex and pain back then.”
“With the doctor?”
“With a lot of guys and yeah, I was with him once.”
He couldn’t help it—his lips twitched. He knew it was a serious conversation, but Frost was fucking hot.
Marc shook his head, a small, shy smile chasing away his grave expression for a moment. “Yeah, he was good. Scary, but good.”
“I can imagine,” he murmured, realizing a twinge of jealousy had crept into his feelings. He frowned, not sure he liked that emotion.
“I like being dominated, Royce. To have someone else in control.”
“I picked up on that.” His gut was tighter than a drum because while he liked calling the shots in sex, liked it rough, maybe even with some pain—he wasn’t into the BDSM scene. He didn’t have a problem with it at all and had played in it a few times, but it didn’t have the draw for him. He loved games. Blindfolds, ties, toys…but this could be a problem if Marc needed a certain lifestyle.
He went cold when he understood that on some level, he was already thinking of Marc as his and his alone.
“I like being dominated,” Marc repeated. He glanced around and so did Royce.
They were alone.
“But I got mixed up in the worst of it.”
“You didn’t go to the safer places?”
Marc shoved a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead, and started walking again. Royce quickly caught up with him, wishing he could just take away the pain in Marc’s eyes, but he couldn’t stop him. Marc needed to get this off his chest, and Royce needed to hear this if he was going to better understand the man who was taking up a larger and larger part of his heart.
