Bad Behavior (Bad in Baltimore) (35 page)

“Good.” Tai ran his hands along David’s chest and flanks.

David opened his squeezed-tight eyes. “Damn. I really want to learn how to do that.” His gesture took in his cock and Tai’s mouth.

Tai’s lips quirked. “I wouldn’t mind that myself. We’ll work on it. I enjoy your practice efforts.”

“I’m getting pretty badass with bananas.”

Tai laughed. “Roll over, boy.”

“Yes, Sir.” David flopped eagerly.

Tai kissed and traced his tongue along the cane strokes showing dark through the light fuzz on David’s cheeks. Dark blood red, purple in spots. Tai’s marks. A perfect barred gate, but what made them better was who wore them. How much David had fought and suffered before he could surrender. It was as sweet as if he had his name tattooed there. Tai wrapped himself around David, holding him everywhere, chest expanding as if he could fit David whole inside him.
Mine. To keep.

“If you had any other plans for the future, you need to change them,” Tai said as he rolled them onto their sides.

“Plans like what?” David rested his head on Tai’s shoulder.

“Anything.”

“Change them to what?” David turned back, brow wrinkled.

“To me.”

David smiled. “Yeah. That works for me.”

Tai fucked his boy, slow and steady until he came, rubbing and pressing on the bruises to teach him how to slide between the pain and pleasure, letting him know with body and words that Tai would always give him both, feed the hunger he’d found in his boy.

He clamped down with his muscles to hold back his own orgasm as David’s ass pulsed on Tai’s dick and the thick shots coated their fingers where they were wrapped around David’s cock.

He jerked free and pushed David facedown, stripped off the condom and worked himself against the ridges on David’s ass, stroking back and forth until he painted him with spunk.

An hour later, David flopped and sighed for the fifth time, and Tai pinned him under a thigh and arm. “Settle down.”

“They still burn.”

A spark of doubt had Tai studying David’s face.

“I don’t think I want to do that again.”

As hot as the marks were, Tai had thought he’d wear a hole in Nic’s floor from pacing by the time David got there. “Me either.”

“But if I need it, would you?”

Tai tightened his arm around David’s waist. “Always.”

Beach felt so relaxed he managed to completely forget about the sentencing until his alarm went off Tuesday morning.

Tai followed him into the bathroom.

“Thanks for coming with me today. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“Well, if we can keep it under the lid around my boss and coworkers, that might help. I can take DiBlasi in a fair fight, but if he knew why I traded you off to him, he might get inventively dangerous.”

“What is his report going to say?”

“That’s another reason he’s pissed.” Tai tugged the plastic bag over Beach’s hand and taped it down. “The boss said in the interest of public and interdepartmental relations, he had to stick to only matters pertaining to your pretrial release.”

“Oh.” Holding his hand outside the door, Beach ducked under the spray. “You know, it’s not too late for me to move to someplace else. I don’t think they’d hound me to the ends of the earth over a misdemeanor charge.”

Tai grabbed David’s arm and pulled him dripping out onto the mat.

“What—”

Tai bent Beach forward over the sink, an arm around his waist pinning him against hard marble and an equally hard hip, while a harder-than-either hand slammed into his ass. Between wet skin and the cane marks, it hurt like hell. Beach yelped, shock keeping him speechless for the first five swats.

“I was joking.”

“Do I seem amused, boy?”

“No, Sir.” Beach relaxed in Tai’s hold.

Tai rubbed the skin his palm had been scalding. “Still nervous?”

Beach didn’t even want to lie. “Yes, Sir.”

“Concentrate on this, then.” Tai stung his ass with a slap. “Count backward from fifteen.”

“Fift—”

“Okay. Make it twenty.”

Beach let out a long breath. Tai squeezed his ass.

“Yes, Sir.”

By fifteen, Beach was having trouble not moving his feet. He didn’t know why his body thought shifting his weight from side to side could make his ass hurt less, but he kept trying it.

Jesus, Tai’s hand was so big it hit every one of the bruises at the same time.

“Thirteen,” he managed through gritted teeth. If he’d kept his mouth shut, he’d be halfway done.

“Twelve.” His right hand came up off the counter.

“Do you need me to hold that for you?”

“No, Sir.” He put it back down and rocked forward under the next spank.

At eight, he made up his mind to never get smart-mouthed in the shower again. He’d survived through the caning, and his eyes were watering from Tai’s hand on wet skin.

But then Beach’s body moved toward the sensation, back arching to push his ass out to meet Tai’s palm. Beach knew his mind wouldn’t be far behind.

“Five.” His head went quiet, nothing to do but count and process the sensation of the thud and sting on his ass.

“Four.” Pain slammed in, swelled and broke away like a wave, washing clear anything that didn’t matter.

The last three left him swaying, and Tai held him there for a minute after the last spank had landed.

When Sir let him up, David went to his knees. “Thank you, Sir.”

Sir stroked a hand through David’s hair. “I love you, boy.”

For all that the criminal trespass charge had ended up changing Beach’s life completely, the resolution happened in front of a bored-looking judge in less than ten minutes. After Beach pled guilty to a misdemeanor charge, the judge said, “Close supervision seems to serve Mr. Beauchamp well. Three months suspended jail sentence, five hundred hours of community service, and a year’s probation, with continued monitoring of sobriety.”

With a quick tap of the gavel, they were done. Al shook his hand and winked. “If you think that was bad, wait until you see my bill, Beach.”

Gavin had come, despite Beach telling him not to bother. “Five hundred hours would come in really handy sanding and painting and cleaning. I think I’ll contact the probation office.”

Beach thought of the miles of walls in the three-story building of Gavin’s shelter. “I hate you.”

“I’d treat you to a bottle of Krug Grande Cuvée but…” Gavin shrugged.

“You are really spending way too much time with Sergeant Boyfriend.”

Gavin arched his brows. “And here comes your Sheriff de Sade now.” Gavin hugged Beach and walked away.

Tai maintained a respectable distance, but Beach felt him like they were touching, skin humming, everything sparking to life.

“David.” His voice was softer than Beach had ever heard it.

Beach faced him.

“A whole year in one place. Feeling antsy?”

His skin did tingle, and his ass was throbbing, but both of those sensations only let him know how much could happen when he was standing still.

“No.” Beach smiled as the happiness bubbled up from his landlocked feet to his head. “I’m pretty much ant free.”

“Pretty damned free considering your ass isn’t in jail,” Tai said.

“Yes. I had one hell of a probation officer. Got me time off for good behavior.”

“Boy, your ass is in no shape to cash the check your mouth is writing.”

“Those overdraft fees can be steep.” Beach nodded.

“I need to buy you a muzzle.”

“Hm. What about a collar?”

“Don’t push, brat.”

Author’s Note

Thank you for reading this story. There will be more stories with the characters from the
Bad in Baltimore
books. I can’t seem to say goodbye. I hope you enjoy visiting them as much as I do.

I’m not sure who will be next. Marco needs to grow up a little before he’ll be ready for anything permanent. Nic isn’t ready to settle down, but he’s very interesting. Gavin’s brother-in-law, Lee, has started poking at me. I also have some shorter stories planned. I know Eli’s dying to have a big party. I’d love to hear your opinions on which couple should be first to get married.

About the Author

K.A. Mitchell discovered the magic of writing at an early age when she learned that a carefully crayoned note of apology sent to the kitchen in a toy truck would earn her a reprieve from banishment to her room. Her career as a spin-control artist was cut short when her family moved to a two-story house, and her trucks would not roll safely down the stairs. Around the same time, she decided that Chip and Ken made a much cuter couple than Ken and Barbie and was perplexed when invitations to play Barbie dropped off. She never stopped making stuff up, though, and was surprised to find out that people would pay her to do it. Although the men in her stories usually carry more emotional baggage than even LAX can lose in a year, she guarantees they always find their sexy way to a happy ending.

To learn more about K.A. Mitchell, please visit
www.kamitchell.com
. Send an email to K.A. Mitchell at
[email protected]
.

Look for these titles by K.A. Mitchell

Now Available:

Custom Ride

Hot Ticket

Diving in Deep

Regularly Scheduled Life

Collision Course

Chasing Smoke

An Improper Holiday

No Souvenirs

Life, Over Easy

Not Knowing Jack

But My Boyfriend Is

Bad in Baltimore

Bad Company

Bad Boyfriend

Bad Attitude

Bad Influence

To remake their future, they’ll have to use pieces of their broken past.

Bad Influence

© 2014 K.A. Mitchell

Bad in Baltimore, Book 4

The young man the world knew as Jordan Barnett is dead, killed as much by the rejection of his first love at his moment of greatest need, as by his ultra-conservative parents’ effort to deprogram the gay away.

In his place is Silver, a streetwise survivor who’s spent the last three years learning to become untouchable…unless you’re willing to pay for the privilege. He shies away from anything that might hold him down long enough for betrayal to find him again.

Zebediah Harris spent time overseas, trying to outrun the guilt of turning his back on the young man he loved. Now, almost the moment he sets foot back in Baltimore, he discovers Silver on a street corner in a bad part of town. His effort to make amends lands them both in jail.

Trapped together in a cell, Silver sits on his mountain of secrets and plans a seductive form of revenge, but finds that using a heart as a stepping stone is no way to move past the one man he can’t forgive, let alone forget.

Warning:
Contains a surly hero. May cause angst. A prolonged delay in sexual situations may cause frustration. Author recommends a steady dose of familiar friends and characters to alleviate those symptoms. No actual teenagers were used during the construction of the backstory.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Bad Influence:

Silver crossed the reception room and pushed open the door that took him out onto a wraparound balcony overlooking the harbor. He wasn’t alone there—other people had snuck out to enjoy a cigarette in the heavy air. As he moved along the railing and rounded a corner, he half-expected to trip over Jamie and Gavin interlocking some body parts, but eventually he found a spot to be alone. Mostly because the view was blocked by some other building. It was almost a perfect hideaway, except for the glass wall behind him. Thunder rumbled, first only a vibration, then loud enough to get people’s attention.

Good. The rain should drive everyone else inside, though Silver hoped people stuck around long enough to drink and buy more of Eli’s pictures.

The storm blew up fast. From partly cloudy to early sunset in minutes. The wind lifted his hair, sweeping cocktail napkins off the balcony to spin away into the street four stories down. It was a great place to watch people from, see them hurry into buildings or cars, though the trash was more interesting. The wind kept picking up plastic bags and sending them up like kites.

He didn’t have to worry about where he’d sleep or if the roof on Tyson Street had a new leak. And for a few minutes, he didn’t have to worry about whether he was living up or down to people’s expectations. When lightning backlit a cloud to the south, he glanced down at the metal railing and decided not to worry about that either.

He leaned forward against it as the first hard drops of rain fell, letting them sting against his sore right cheek.

“Hey.” Zeb’s voice.

With almost anyone else, Silver would have turned and put his back against the railing, feeling safer facing a person head-on. But if Zeb was going to hurt him some more, Silver would just as soon not let Zeb see his face.

“Hey,” Silver offered in answer.

Zeb put his hands on the railing to Silver’s right. Lightning flashed, and Zeb’s fingers tapped off the seconds till the thunder. He raised his hands for a second then settled them again. Maybe his righteousness exempted him from lightning strikes.

The hands flexed and gripped the railing. That scar hadn’t been there before, the ragged one extending from the webbing next to his pinky, over the next knuckle and then over the back of his hand. And his left index finger was missing a little piece. On his right hand, two of the fingers had swollen knuckles, and the tips leaned, like they’d been broken and taped together.

Silver remembered the skin smooth and straight, the tips and nails teasing the inside of his thighs, palm sliding across his belly, a grip on his hips to hold him flat as he tried to buck up into a hot, wet mouth. The way those hands had trembled, half pushing him away on the first thrust inside Zeb’s body.

Maybe it wasn’t his eyes but Zeb’s hands that showed what he was feeling. Right now they were hesitant, stalling, opening and closing on the top rail, tapping lightly.

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” Zeb said at last. “It’s been a long day. A lot of emotions raked over.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I’m not perfect.”

Silver leaned sideways to face him. “Surprised you can admit it.”

“You know that better than anyone.” Zeb’s hand made it halfway to Silver’s face and fell away, but his eyes stayed focused on Silver’s. “I thank God I got this chance to see you again. To apologize. And I thank you for hearing me out. I guess anything else is a little too much to expect.”

Zeb glanced away.

The rain sliced sideways, and Silver wiped it away from his cheek and ear and eye. “What does that mean?”

“If you want, I’m gone. I’ll find a job somewhere else. Let you get on with your life in peace. You won’t ever have to see me again.”

“Did I say I wanted that?”

“Not in words. Specifically.”

“You expected a nice-to-see-you-again blow job?”

“Of course not.” Zeb’s eyes were dark, but there was very little light coming from behind the glass at this end of the balcony. Only the flicker of a fake candle on a table barely as wide as one of the mini quiches the waiters had handed out. Maybe the dim light was what made the lines around his mouth so stern. “Though was there some other message I was supposed to be receiving based on the way you acted when being tutored?”

The heat in Silver’s cheeks should have turned the rain to steam. He shifted back to face the street. “Must be losing my touch.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Silver didn’t need to look to see Zeb’s wry smile.

“Jordan.”

No smile in Zeb’s voice now. It was the voice that had sent him away. Silver watched the tiny river in the gutter and waited him out.

“Do you want me out of your life?” Zeb said flatly.

Silver spun to face him. “No. I don’t want that.”

“What do you want?”

He had to decide now? What if it was the same thing he’d wanted at sixteen? Zeb. Zeb and a house and a dog. To be able to touch Zeb in public and not have to worry. To know when he had a nightmare, he could roll over into Zeb’s warm body. What if Silver spilled his guts with everything he wanted and Zeb laughed? Or worse, shook his head patiently and explained that he might have loved Jordan then, but he could never love who Jordan was now?

He couldn’t say any of it out loud.

“I don’t know.”

Zeb nodded, then leaned in for a kiss, but Silver could tell it was headed for his cheek. He tipped his head so their mouths connected instead.

At first Zeb froze, and then kissed him, steady pressure, gentle movement. The electricity tingling under Silver’s skin should have been enough to call a lightning bolt right to them.

Zeb’s hand cupped Silver’s cheek carefully, and their heads tilted in unison. Like the memory of how they did this couldn’t be erased in years and distance and scars. Silver pulled Zeb’s lip between his own, tasted rain, and then Zeb. Felt the hint of his tongue as the kiss got hotter, wetter. Zeb’s thumb moved, pressing and then jolting away from his bruise.

His lip. It could start bleeding again. Silver stayed in that kiss for another second, a few more moments to imprint that memory, and then backed away.

Zeb let out a long breath. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “When you figure it out, you know where I am.”

Then he was gone.