“Rourke would never forgive himself if something happened to you. You weren’t wrong when you said you were his favorite. The man has his questionable qualities, like his strict rules that he loves us to follow, but he cares about us. If he found out you were in danger—”
“I’m not in danger, though. Montague’s not dangerous, he just likes to bruise and watch me wiggle in pain.”
“He’s a sadist, which isn’t bad if both parties are consenting,” Angel said. “You might be a professional, Forrest, but that doesn’t make you automatically consenting.”
“I know.” Forrest’s eyes flashed open and he stared at the pale white door. He hated talking about this and the need to escape clawed at his chest, urging him to say his goodnights and head out. He enjoyed the loving touches, though, and it was hard to find friends in this place. Angel understood him, one of the few people he could trust.
“He doesn’t do much more than that. He wants to come inside me, but he hasn’t paid for the privilege, or showed us a clean bill of health, so he’s not allowed to. He gets annoyed by it, but he doesn’t push too hard.”
“The thing about men like him is that they start small. Just bruises, watching you squirm in pain, and then they work their way up to more violent measures. They want more than you can give them, and if you don’t give them permission, they’ll take it anyway.”
Forrest hated how Angel spoke from experience. Angel was a big softie and Forrest couldn’t imagine anyone hurting him. Yet, clearly some bastard had, and the very idea of anyone touching Angel in a mean way made Forrest want to rampage.
Someone knocked on the door and it opened a fraction. Honey took off, darting off the bed and into the corner of the room just as Rourke stuck his head inside. The moment his eyes settled on Forrest, the lines of his handsome face hardened. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Forrest shifted his head on Angel’s thigh, but didn’t move. “You found me.”
“You know the rules about whores being in each other’s rooms.”
Forrest might have laughed if he didn’t feel so outraged by the wordrules. He decided that he absolutely hated the word, it didn’t deserve to be in the dictionary. Breathing through hot waves of anger, he smiled. “Yes, you like to remind us about them all the time and yet, here I am, in another whore’s room.” Angel removed his stroking fingers, but Forrest grabbed his hand before he could pull it away, laying it on his face again. “You don’t need to stop.”
Rourke opened the door fully and stood there with his arms crossed. “Forrest, you should be in your own room.”
Forrest’s jaw tensed. “And I’m not, what are you going to do about it?”
Angel continued to run his fingers over Forrest’s hair. Forrest didn’t have to look at him to know his friend was watching with interest. Angel had always been intuitive, the kind of person who analyzed things as they unfolded—probably a Virgo.
Forrest had never challenged Rourke before, though, and the rigidness in Rourke’s stance wavered, like he wasn’t quite sure how to take this new version of Forrest.
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you,” Rourke said.
“Because I’m your possession, right?” Forrest had never had an issue with being called someone’s property before, so he didn’t know why Rourke’s words rankled him so much. The sex seemed to change something in Forrest’s mind. He’d decided that he deserved more than being treated like shit.
“Because I’m your boss.” Rourke took steps across the room until he stood beside the bed, his height intimidating as he stared down on Forrest. “Unless you want to lose your room to Ryder, I suggest you move now.”
Forrest’s nostrils flared. Rourke knew exactly how to piss him off, and one mention of Ryder getting his room did it. He shoved himself to his feet and glared. “That’s fucking low. He’s a slut.”
“Ryder doesn’t argue with me when I give him orders.” Rourke gestured to the door. “Move.”
Forrest didn’t glance back at Angel as he stormed to the door. He tried to slam it behind himself, but Rourke got it first, grabbing it so he could slip out of the room as well.
“Asshole,” Forrest muttered, striding down the hallway. He didn’t get far. Rourke captured his arm, tugging him to a stop. Forrest reared around on him like a wild animal. “What?”
“What has happened with you?” Rourke growled, voice low and dangerous in a way that made Forrest tremble with excitement. “This is why I don’t have sex with whores. You get a sense of entitlement.”
“I’m aprofessionaland that’s bullshit,” Forrest argued back. He didn’t bother to lower his voice, though. “I’m annoyed with you because you always treat us like we’re objects. Possessions, you said.”
“That’s what you are.” Rourke shook his head and grabbed Forrest’s arm again. He pulled him in the direction of Forrest’s room, and shoved him through the door, closing it behind them. He rolled his shoulders and turned to Forrest. “Whores are possessions, Forrest. You belong to the Killough Company. You never cared until tonight. Is it because we fucked that you think you deserve something extra?”
“I didn’t say that. You know what? I’m not arguing with you. You can leave.” Forrest shook his head and stalked toward the bathroom. Rourke followed him and stood in the doorway as Forrest shed his shirt and threw it on the tiled floor. “Do you mind? I’d like to be alone.”
Rourke’s lips twitched, and he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed again. “Is this what a Forrest tantrum looks like? I’ve been warned about them, but I’ve never seen one, so I thought they were a myth.”
Forrest managed to get his pants unbuttoned before he spun on Rourke. “Excuse me? I don’t have tantrums.”
“That’s not what Terrance and Conall say.”
“Go fuck yourself, Rourke.” Forrest shoved down his pants. Rourke grabbed his arm as he moved into the shower and spun him around, causing Forrest to crash against the wall.
