Safe in His Arms (14 page)

this time, painting his balls with fire.

―Fuck,‖ Hank cried, writhing against the bed. Russell‘s warm mouth replaced the

burn of a moment before, licking in sensual circles over his balls and gliding along the

oiled shaft. Hank sighed with pleasure, though his skin still smarted.

When he was very near to climaxing, the warm, wet mouth was replaced by a

searing scatter of melted wax, covering his shaft and balls, and landing like tiny flames

along his thighs.

Russell alternated between wax and kisses until Hank moved toward sensory

overload, no longer sure what was pleasure, what was pain. All he knew was that he

needed them both. He was panting, straining against the ropes, his heart thumping

loud in his ears, his cries rasping in his throat.

The stroke of strong fingers, the warm grip of tongue, lips and throat, eased the

outward burn, soothing the pain, and building a passion inside him that left him

shaking in his bonds. The wet warmth of Russell‘s mouth was withdrawn, though he

continued to stroke Hank‘s throbbing shaft.

―Come for me,‖ Russell commanded.

The climax shot through Hank‘s body like a bottle rocket exploding. ―Russ, oh god,

oh fuck, oh please, yes, yes, I, you, us, please, oh my fucking god…‖ Hank knew he was

babbling, but he was beyond control, either of his words or his body. Russell continued

to stroke him until every drop was pulled from him. Hank finally fell back exhausted,

without even the strength to move his head.

The air felt cool suddenly against his face as Russell removed the blindfold. Hank

slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the light. Russell sat beside him and stroked

his check. ―You did good, Hank. I‘m so proud of you.‖

―Russell,‖ Hank whispered, desperately trying to find the words to convey the

tangled jumble of sensations and emotions he was feeling. ―Wow,‖ was all that came

out, followed by a sigh.

Russell pushed the damp, matted hair from Hank‘s forehead and bent forward to

kiss him. ―This isn‘t just about what you can take, you know. Or even about getting off

in a new kind of way. It‘s about us. It‘s about you and me, and what we share when you

submit to me. It‘s a gift, Hank. A gift I give you and you give me back a hundred fold

when you really open up and trust me. Thank you, babe.‖ He leaned down, lightly

kissing Hank on the lips. ―Thank you for that.‖

Hank smiled, his heart actually aching with happiness. The strangest thought

occurred to him. If he died right at that moment, it would be enough.

Russell opened his cell phone to yet another text from Hank. He‘d been texting all

afternoon, very excited about the dinner he was making for the two of them.

See you at seven. Don’t be late!

Make sure you’re hungry. Only the best for my Ginger Bear.

You’ll never guess what’s for dessert!

It was hard for Russell to imagine Hank had never cooked for anyone, but thinking

back on his lifestyle, he guessed it made sense. He felt honored that Hank was doing

this for him, and touched as well.

When he arrived at Hank‘s place, Hank greeted him at the door in swim trunks and

an unbuttoned white shirt that revealed his tan smooth chests. He looked good enough

to eat and Russell‘s mouth actually watered.

―Hey sexy.‖ Hank pulled the door open and stepped back. ―I have everything

ready, I think. Just a few more things to do. Why don‘t you take a quick swim while

you‘re waiting?‖

―Can I help you do something? What‘re we having?‖

―No and no comment,‖ Hank replied, as he led Russell back toward the pool. ―It‘s a

surprise. This evening your job is to relax and let me serve you.‖

Russell eyed Hank‘s sculpted body and licked his lips. ―I can think of lots of ways

you can serve me.‖ Hank laughed but shook his head, clearly a man on a mission.

Though it was seven in the evening, the summer sun was still lingering, the air

quite warm. Russell had come straight from a long day that started at the construction

site, included a visit to a client who liked to wrestle in the nude and ended with several

hours in the microbrewery over steaming kettles. A cool swim might be just the thing.

When Hank came out a few minutes later, he was carrying two champagne flutes.

He sank into one of the lounge chairs, holding out the second glass for Russell. Russell

finished his lap and hoisted himself out of the pool. He accepted the glass and sat

beside Hank.

―To us,‖ Hank said, raising his glass with a flourish. He drained his in one gulp and

turned to Russell. ―How about a shower together before dinner?‖

Russell nodded. ―Sounds great. Do you need to check the food first?‖

―Nah.‖ Hank shook his head. ―It‘s all under control.‖

Hank soaped Russell from head to toe, lingering rather too long at his groin area

until Russell pulled him up, laughing. ―Hey, you‘ve got dinner on the stove, don‘t

forget.‖

―This is more important than food,‖ Hank replied with a grin, but he allowed

Russell to shut off the water and step out to dry.

After the shower, Hank ushered Russell into the dining room. The table was set

with thick linen napkins and fine china. Hank pointed to a chair. ―You just sit down. I‘ll

bring everything in.‖

―What‘s that smell?‖ Russell asked, his nostrils suddenly assailed by the odor of

something burning.

―Huh?‖ Hank jerked his head toward the kitchen. ―I don‘t smell anything.‖

Just then an alarm went off, a persistent, irritating beep, and smoke wafted its way

into the room. ―What the hell?‖ Hank looked panicked.

Russell stood. ―It‘s your smoke alarm. What‘ve you got cooking in there?‖

―Shit!‖ Hank hurried toward the kitchen, Russell following. The smoke was coming

from the oven. While Hank raced toward it, Russell moved to the back door, which he

opened to let in the fresh air.

It looked like a small grease fire had erupted in the oven. Hank jerked open the

door and then looked wildly around the room until he spied a pot holder. He pulled

out a tray of meat, what looked like filet mignon wrapped in bacon, though it was

charred and clearly overcooked. Beneath it on the second rack was a tray of bread with

a pool of melted butter in the center of each slice, the edges burned and blackened.

Russell waved a dish towel in front of the alarm until it stopped its beeping, while

Hank rushed around the kitchen, cursing and scowling. ―Fuck! Everything‘s ruined. I

thought I had timed it perfect. Damn, damn, damn…‖

The room looked like a tornado had hit it, with utensils and bowls scattered over

the counters. The remains of a head of lettuce and some sliced tomato and cucumber,

along with an open pack of bacon and a much mauled stick of butter were in evidence.

Russell tried and very nearly succeeded not to laugh, though a chuckle did escape

now and then. Hank was pissed, but he too began to chuckle and Russell was glad he

could see the humor of the situation.

He helped Hank bring the food into the dining room, he carrying the salad bowl

and dressing, Hank carrying the steak and burned bread. Hank sighed as he looked at

the charred meat.

―Hey,‖ Russell said gently. ―I‘m sure it‘s still edible.‖ To prove it, he cut into the

meat and took a bite. Though well done filet mignon was something of a crime in

Russell‘s book, the meat wasn‘t too bad.

Hank looked dubious. ―Maybe we should just chuck it and order pizza.‖

―Nah, it‘s fine.‖ Russell took a bite of the burnt bread, which tasted like charred

cardboard, and gamely chewed and swallowed it. ―And besides, I like it even better

because you made it for me.‖

―Really?‖ Hank looked hopeful. ―It‘s okay, really?‖ He brightened a little. ―Here,

have some salad. At least I didn‘t screw that up.‖

After the meal, Hank said, ―I have this gourmet peach ice cream for dessert. I‘ve

had it before, it‘s really good.‖

―I‘m sure it is,‖ Russell said, smiling. ―But I have a different dessert in mind first.‖

Hank looked puzzled a moment. Russell flashed him a grin. ―Get naked and I‘ll

show you.‖

~*~

―Just call him. What‘s the worst that could happen?‖ Hank was talking to himself,

alone by the pool, a large bloody Mary, the second of the morning, beside him. He‘d

been battling back and forth for days, even going so far as to call his parents‘ house, but

when the maid had answered, he‘d hung up.

Now he dialed his father‘s private number at Seeley Construction, holding his

breath as he clenched the phone in nervous anticipation. A woman‘s low, cultured voice

answered.

―Henry Seeley‘s office. May I help you?‖

―It‘s Hank Seeley. Mr. Seeley‘s son.‖

There was a slight intake of breath on the line, and then the voice said smoothly,

―Hold please. I‘ll see if he‘s available.‖ Hank spent nearly fifteen minutes on hold and

was just about to hang up in disgust when the line connected.

―Seeley here,‖ his father barked into the phone.

―Dad,‖ Hank said, his stomach twisting, the rest of the words he‘d had planned

dying in his throat.

―Hank,‖ his father responded, spitting the word like an epithet.

―I, uh, how are you?‖

―Since when do you give a damn?‖ His father‘s scathing retort stunned Hank. Yeah,

they didn‘t get along, but did he really have to be such a prick?

―I‘ve, uh, been remiss. I apologize.‖

His father grunted. ―I figured you‘d come crawling back eventually, now that your

piggybank‘s been emptied. Even without this mess, I should have cut you off years

ago.‖

―Dad, that‘s really uncalled for—‖

His father cut him off. ―What do you want, boy? I‘m a busy man and I‘m up to my

ass in financial shit right now.‖

―Uh, that‘s the thing. My accounts are frozen. I need some access—‖

―Get a job. I should have made you do that years ago, but your damn mother

always had excuses for the troubled only son. Free ride‘s over, boy. You can keep the

house. Everything else is tied up in this IRS mess. You‘re what, thirty-three, thirty-

five?‖

―Thirty,‖ Hank whispered.

―Whatever. Get a life.‖

~*~

―What‘s the matter with you tonight, Hank? You keep fidgeting and grinning like a

kid who‘s dying to tell someone else‘s secret. What‘s up?‖

They were having dinner at Russell‘s place, as Hank had finally been forced to

admit he couldn‘t afford to eat out every night anymore. It was going on two months

since his accounts were frozen. He‘d sold most of the things of value in his home. If

something didn‘t give soon, Hank didn‘t know what he was going to do.

But now he just laughed, winking at Russell. ―You‘re right. I have a secret.‖ He

looked at his watch. ―Shouldn‘t be long now.‖

As if on cue, the downstairs buzzer sounded, indicating someone was at the door.

Russell looked at Hank, confused. ―Did you invite someone over?‖

―In a manner of speaking. You‘ll see. Let them in.‖

―Well, you sure got me curious.‖ Russell walked over to the intercom panel and

pressed the button. ―Who is it?‖ he asked.

―Carter‘s Appliances. Delivery for Russell Evans.‖

―What?‖ Russell turned to Hank. ―I didn‘t order any appliances. What‘s going on?‖

―Just let ‗em in,‖ Hank said, a slight impatience creeping into his tone. ―And the

mystery will reveal itself.‖

Russell shrugged and pushed the buzzer. It took several minutes for the men to get

up the stairs with the box. Hank went over to open the door, and stood bouncing

nervously on the balls of his feet, his hands in his pockets, unable to keep the grin off

his face.

Two men entered carrying the huge box between them. It was gift wrapped in

shiny paper with a small teddy bear perched on the top, astride a huge red bow.

―Where do you want it?‖ one of the men asked.

Hank pointed to the living room area. ―Right in there‘s fine.‖ He pulled out two

five dollar bills and handed them to the men, who seemed less than impressed with the

tip. Hank was embarrassed but it was really all he could spare at this point. At least

until he sold another painting. Or his damn accounts were unfrozen.

When the men had left, he turned to Russell, expecting to see him smiling with

delight. Instead, Russell was frowning. He looked almost angry. ―What the hell did you

buy, Hank? And more to the point, where did you get the money to do it?‖

―Don‘t worry about it.‖ Hank waved his hand magnanimously. ―It‘s a gift. From

me to you.‖ In point of fact, Hank had used the last bit of credit he had. All his cards

were completely maxed out now, and he had no idea how he‘d pay them off, but it had

been worth it. Russell would love this gift, he just knew he would. Hank was willing to

bet no one had ever bought him something so expensive before.

―Come on, open it,‖ he urged.

Russell approached the box cautiously, as if it might suddenly come alive and strike