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“It’s not what you think.”
“I want to go bareback,” he whispered.
“You’ve lost your mind,” I said, taking a step back.
He grabbed hold of my belt buckle, fingers sliding down into my pants. “Fine, but you will be ready for me, and there will be others there to help hold you down.”
“Like I said, midnight won’t work. It’s too late. We should go now.”
He pushed my shirt further open and bent forward and sucked my nipple into his mouth. I jolted away before I even thought about it, years of training deserting me in an instant, drowned under the overwhelming wave of ownership. I was supposed to let him manhandle me if he wanted, but … I belonged to Aaron, and no one else was supposed to touch me.
“What the hell is going on?”
We both pivoted, and the man—my man—charged across the patio toward us, moving easily through the thin crowd, a Thursday night not quite as busy as it would be on a Friday or Saturday at the same time.
He reached us and immediately stepped in front of me to drive two fingers into the chest of the man we were there to talk into working with us. “Who the fuck are you, and what the hell are you doing putting your hands on what’s mine?” Aaron shouted.
Criminal or not, scary or not, Clay Wells was intimidated by the man in front of him—that much was exceedingly obvious.
“I asked you a question,” Aaron demanded, and his voice was hoarse with anger.
“Clay Wells,” he answered, his eyes flicking to mine.
“Don’t look at him,” he snarled. “Look at me!”
Clay was back to giving Aaron his full attention.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but I’ve never heard of you, and since I didn’t give you permission to touch my property, you need to get the hell away from him!”
Clay was freaked out—it was all over his face—but he recovered enough to speak. “It’s just a misunderstanding, Mr. Sutter. I was just talking to Mr. Ross and explaining that I’d like to invite both you and him to my resort in Sedona this weekend.”
Aaron glowered, and it appeared very real from where I was standing. “I saw what I saw. Your hands were all over him.”
“Again, a misunderstanding. Please accept my sincere apologies. He didn’t say he was with you.”
Aaron rounded on me. “You didn’t say you were mine?”
I opened my mouth, and he slapped me across the face.
“Shit,” I groaned for effect, because he’d pulled the punch, of course. I felt a light sting, but he could have split my lip if he’d wanted to. I had to give it to Aaron; he was a natural.
“Come here,” he growled, grabbing hold of my shirt and tugging me after him. “You too, Mr. Wells.”
Aaron led me to a small bungalow on the other end of the deck, shoved me inside, waited for Clay Wells, and then zipped the tarp closed after he was in.
“On your knees.” He snapped out the order.
I did as I had been told.
“Do you have things you own as well, Clay? May I call you Clay?”
“Yes, please, and I do,” he whispered, visibly amazed at what was transpiring right in front of him. He didn’t know who to look at—me on the floor or Aaron flopping down into a heavy wooden chair with a pillow on the seat.
“And do you have to discipline them when they do stupid things that could get their asses sold to others who would not treat them as well as you do?”
He nodded in a daze as Aaron slowly opened his belt and slacks, shoved his briefs down under his balls, and wrapped his long-fingered hand around his cock.
“Crawl over here and blow me,” he ordered.
