Their Ruthless Sadist (Office Intrigue, 5) Read online

  “Cowboy? You gonna pussy out?”

  “No, Zeke.” Emerald-green eyes remained locked on my face.

  “I didn’t give you permission to look at me,” I barked and both men’s eyes instantly shot elsewhere.

  “Use your safe word or fuck him,” I growled.

  The cowboy swallowed hard, but he shifted his hips, driving into the pretty boy once more. The pretty boy moaned, his head dropping between his outstretched arms. I could see his cock, thick and long, hard and eager between his legs.

  Fuck if that didn’t turn me on in a way I didn’t expect. A vision of them fucking each other senseless in my living room shot through my brain. I could certainly get used to that.

  Truth be told, I’d never considered what it would be like to have more than one fuck toy at a time. Perhaps that was what I needed. Maybe two of them could handle one of me. The odds were certainly in my favor.

  “Harder,” I commanded. “Fuck him like you need him, cowboy.”

  I noticed the shiver that racked the cowboy’s deliciously naked form as he did as I instructed. His muscles flexed, his abs rolling as he leaned over and drilled his boyfriend from behind.

  “Oh, fuck,” the pretty boy moaned, his hips driving back against his lover.

  I didn’t move from where I stood. I had no intention of helping them along. Just having me standing here was more than they deserved.

  “You better ask permission before you come. Both of you.”

  Those words alone drew long, desperate moans from both of them. I fucking liked that response.

  The pretty boy continued to grunt and groan while the cowboy’s hips picked up speed. Having me here was intensifying their need, pushing them closer to release. They continued for several minutes and I was rather impressed. They had decent stamina, something that was required to keep up with me. I could work with that.

  Hmm. Perhaps there was something to taking them in pairs. And it was clear these two were already acquainted with one another.

  “Oh, fuck,” the pretty boy yelled. “Oh, fuck … Zeke … Fuck. May I come, Zeke?”

  Just hearing the plea in his tone made my cock swell.

  “No, you may not.”

  The pretty boy groaned, his disappointment evident. He was so close. I wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hold out, but I was curious to find out.

  The cowboy’s fingers dug into the pretty boy’s muscular hips as he drove forward, retreated, slammed forward again and again. I noticed he was bareback, which meant these two were close. Obviously there was a certain level of trust between them. I liked that, too.

  The cowboy was enjoying having his dick buried in the pretty boy’s ass if his grunts were any indication.

  “Stop!” I bellowed.

  The cowboy instantly stopped jerking the pretty boy to him as he filled him one last time.

  “Turn and face me. Both of you,” I commanded.

  After pulling out of the pretty boy’s ass, the cowboy turned. He stood tall, his legs shaking, those dark green eyes wild.

  “Jack off for me. And you do have permission to come. But you’ve only got fifteen seconds to do it.”

  They didn’t need fifteen seconds. Their hands had barely wrapped around their own shafts when they exploded. I was tempted to make them lick their jizz up off the floor. Had we been at my house, I would have. After all, humiliation was my specialty.

  I didn’t have to remind them they weren’t allowed to look at me. Their eyes remained obediently down on the floor.

  “What do you say?” I asked.

  They both spoke at once. “Thank you, Zeke.”

  It was my turn to swallow hard as I stared at them. I’d gotten to know these two a little in recent weeks. I knew for a fact they could fuck each other ten times a day and they’d never find what they were looking for.

  The sex alone would never be enough.

  I could only hope they could handle what I had in store for them, because for the first time in my life, I was pretty damn sure I’d found exactly what I needed.

  Now we would have to see how long it would last.

  ONE

  ZEKE

  One week later

  Friday, October 12

  I GRINNED AS I LOWERED the dumbbell, my eyes fixed on the shift of my bicep before I raised the weight again. The sudden disappearance of music caused my ears to ring in the silence, but I didn’t allow it to derail my attention.

  “How can you listen to that angry-man music?” a sweet, chipper voice called from across the room. “It’s far too early for so much … noise, Zeke.”

  “Noise, my ass.” I chuckled. “The band is Underoath, the song is ‘Rapture.’ And there’s nothing angry about it,” I assured my kid sister when she skipped across the room, a huge grin on her wide mouth.

  “Whatever you gotta tell yourself, big brother.” Jamie nodded toward the weight in my hand. “Pretty soon you’ll have to graduate to lifting appliances.”

  “Well, I won’t be doing it while listening to Lifehouse, that’s for damn sure.”

  Jamie giggled. “I happen to prefer Imagine Dragons, thank you very much.”

  Keeping my focus, I finished my set and placed the dumbbell back on the rack. “Why are you bothering me on a Friday morning?”

  My sister rolled her big brown eyes, something she’d gotten eerily good at over the years. “Because I show up every Friday morning, goober. You owe me breakfast.”

  A deep, rumbling laugh came out of me. “Owe you? Why would I owe you anything?”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the little girl. Granted, at six foot even, my twenty-four-year-old sister wasn’t all that little anymore. However, as far as I was concerned, Jamie would always be that sweet kid with the pigtails and worshipful eyes, who insisted on following me around even when I threatened bodily harm. Not that I ever would’ve harmed a hair on that kid’s head, but she hadn’t known that.

  “Where’s Tank?” she asked, her gaze scanning the basement that I’d set up as my personal play space. To most people, it appeared to be a home gym, but I was privy to the other toys that discreetly filled the space.

  “Probably upstairs,” I told her.

  “He doesn’t like the angry-man music either?”

  I reached for her, but Jamie danced out of the way, giggling like a little kid.

  “Uh-uh. Don’t you touch me, you big, sweaty beast.” She put another foot between us. “So, where’re you taking me for breakfast?”

  “Your choice,” I told her after grabbing a towel and wiping my face. “Let me shower and we’ll head out. You mind feeding Tank?”

  “Nope, I don’t mind,” she said cheerfully before bolting up the stairs.

  I found myself smiling as I followed the far-too-chipper-for-six-in-the-morning girl up to the main floor.

  *

  Fifty minutes later, I was strolling into the small diner with Jamie on my arm. She waved at the familiar faces as we headed to the booth in the far back. The girl had never met a stranger in her life. Everyone in this little hole-in-the-wall likely knew her life story—something I wasn’t exactly happy about. There was something to be said for discretion. However, Jamie was the sort who talked to anyone who would chat with her. A gene I didn’t share with her, that was for sure.

  My kid sister had somehow wrangled me into treating her to breakfast every Friday. While I offered to take her to any damn restaurant in the city, the girl insisted on this diner. Said they had the best waffles in the world. I’d have to take her word for it. I preferred meat.

  After we were seated, the waitress came over to confirm our order, wanting to ensure we hadn’t changed it after nearly four years of coming here week in and week out ordering the exact same thing every time. Ever since my breakup with the first and only guy I’d ever truly committed myself to, Jamie had made a point to keep me company even on the days I insisted it wasn’t necessary.

  “Thanks, Bev,” Jamie called out when the waitress shuffle
d to the next table. My kid sister turned to me. “She likes flirting with you.”

  I grunted. A lot of women flirted with me. “Who? The waitress?”

  Jamie rolled her eyes. “Her name’s Beverly and she’s been waiting on us for three years, Zeke.”

  “Names are irrelevant,” I told her.

  “I know, I know.” She sighed. “Less personal that way. Plus, she’s not your type.”

  My baby sister knew I wasn’t into women. Never had been, never would be. I didn’t make excuses for it. I lived my life how I wanted to live it. I spent time with those I wanted to spend time with. And no one could or would sway me otherwise.

  “How’s school?” I asked, following the same pattern we’d fallen into for as long as I could remember. I would ask how school was, she would say good, and then we could get on to the real reason she was here. Jamie always had a reason.

  “Good,” she said, smiling up at the waitress when she placed a cup of coffee in front of me and apple juice in front of Jamie.

  Rather than shoot me a wide grin and ask some off-the-wall question she’d been pondering for the past week, such as What do you think of self-actualization? Or How does the mind-body connection affect our emotions?—my kid sister was a psychology major—Jamie turned far too much attention on her apple juice.

  “Spit it out, kid.”

  Those big brown eyes lifted to mine and I knew that whatever was about to come out of her mouth was not going to be good. I wouldn’t get lucky enough to debate nature versus nurture with her. I knew her better than she knew herself and that gleam in her eye was the equivalent of a semaphore flag.

  Considering our parents died when I was sixteen—Jamie was six—I’d spent more than half my life raising her. Not solely, of course. When our folks went out to celebrate their seventeenth wedding anniversary and never came home thanks to a drunk driver causing a three-car pileup involving his truck, our parents’ car, and a semi, Jamie and I had gone to live with our maternal grandfather.

  I’d grown up close to Oma and Opa, spending plenty of time there when I was little. Oma had passed away when I was fourteen from complications after a heart attack, leaving the rest of us reeling. Although still mourning the love of his life, Opa had done right by us, taking us in and doing everything a seventy-six-year-old man was capable of doing for a couple of distraught young kids. To thank him for sacrificing so much for us, I had taken care of the man until he died a year and a half ago. I still missed him. Hell, I missed all of them.

  But I still had Jamie. We were the only family each of us had and we’d forged a bond over the years.

  “I have a favor to ask,” Jamie prompted, her eyes still glued to her glass.

  I picked up the coffee mug, aware once again that it was the equivalent of a child’s teacup in my giant hand. “What favor?”

  I leveled my stare on her, waiting for her to reveal whatever devious scheme she had in the works. Admittedly, Jamie was a good kid. During her teenage years, rather than chase boys, she had focused on her classes, keeping her grades up. Every night, she would regale me and Opa with stories of all the shit she’d learned. She’d graduated high school top in her class, then gone on to college with academic scholarships. And now she was working toward her master’s degree in psychology of all things. Of course, that wouldn’t be enough for Jamie. She had every intention of going on to get her doctoral degree as well.

  Jamie stared at her apple juice, wiping the condensation from her glass. “I was thinking maybe I could…”

  The girl knew I would do damn near anything for her. The fact she was having a hard time spitting it out bothered me. It was usually the precursor to something I was not going to like.

  “What is it, kid?” I used the rough, no-nonsense tone I used with irritating submissives.

  She heaved out a breath as she sat up straight. Her words came out in a mad rush. “I was thinking maybe I could go to the club with you. You know, just to check it out. See what it’s all about. Maybe—”

  Well, hell. That was easier than I’d expected. “No.”

  She huffed, her breath causing her bangs to flop on her forehead. “Come on, Zeke. You didn’t even think about it.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I took a sip of my coffee and pretended to consider it. “Still no.”

  Absolutely no way in hell was I letting that kid in a kink club.

  She flopped back and fiddled with her spoon while trying to kill me with a glare. “Why not?”

  I lowered my voice and leaned forward. “Because I’m a misogynistic, hypocritical asshole who thinks you have absolutely no business in a BDSM club.”

  Jamie rolled her eyes “Pfft. Nice try. I know you better than that.”

  I shrugged. “Not gonna happen, kid.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she mirrored my position, sitting up straight and cocking her angled chin up. “You know I don’t actually have to ask your permission, right?”

  I didn’t respond, swallowing half of my lukewarm coffee.

  “I’m twenty-four years old, Zeke. I can go to any club I want.”

  I took a sip and glanced out the window, pretending to be ignoring her.

  “There’s another club right down—”

  I slammed my coffee cup on the table and leaned forward again. “Don’t you dare go to that club, Jamie.”

  “Why not?” She had an extra amount of whine in her tone that time. “If you won’t let me in Dichotomy, I have to go somewhere. Razor Wire’s as good a place as any.”

  A strange sensation filled my chest. Disbelief mixed with anger. How could she be so damn naive?

  “It may not be as nice, Zeke, but—”

  “They had two women file rape charges against the owner, Jamie,” I stated firmly, trying to keep my anger in check. “Don’t you go anywhere near that fucking shit hole.”

  The waitress appeared and I sat up slowly, never taking my eyes off my sister. I could see her brain working, knew she was trying to come up with an argument.

  I waited until our food was in front of us and the waitress had refilled my coffee cup before I leaned close to my baby sister again.

  “You have no idea what goes on in those clubs.”

  She huffed a laugh but there was no humor in it. “Trust me, I know. That’s why I want to go.” She narrowed her eyes. “So I can find out.”

  “No you don’t.” This was a stupid conversation. I couldn’t believe I’d allowed her to drag me into it.

  She frowned. “So, why’s it okay for you but not me, huh?” It was obvious she was pissed. “Have you ever thought that maybe I have the same cravings you do?”

  I shook my head, thoroughly dislodging every one of those words before they could take root. My kid sister wasn’t allowed to have sexual cravings. Not now. Not ever. And certainly not like mine.

  “It’s not like I’m a virgin, Zeke.”

  I slammed my hand down on the table, causing the silverware to bounce and drawing attention from several people sitting around us. One man cast a concerned glance my way. I didn’t necessarily blame him. While Jamie might’ve gotten some of the height genes from our father’s side of the family, I still towered over her, dwarfing her with my bulk.

  “We’re not talking about this, Jamie. The answer’s no. And don’t you dare go to that … that brothel down the road.”

  My sister watched me and I knew without a doubt she was considering doing something stupid.

  “I mean it, Jamie.”

  “Fine,” she said, grabbing her fork. “Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

  After thinking about my kid sister in a kink club, I wasn’t sure I could ever eat again.

  *

  Brax

  (The cowboy)

  MOVING SUCKED. LIKE, SERIOUSLY FUCKING sucked.

  It was made all the worse when you were moving damn near across the country. Granted, this wasn’t the first time I’d been uprooted only to move several states away from the place I’
d called home. My parents had left North Carolina when I was twelve. I never understood why they opted for the blistering heat of Texas but that was where we ended up and I hadn’t had a say in the matter back then.

  This move was different. For one, I got to make the decision. Well, not only me, but Case hadn’t put up a fight when we received the offer to relocate our lives from Texas to Illinois.

  Did you know that the driving distance from Dallas to Chicago was roughly nine hundred sixty miles? Well, it was. And of those miles, I’d just driven all of them.

  Yes.

  All.

  Of.

  Them.

  Because Case was a diva, and somewhere during our years of friendship and routine sexual encounters, the diva had come to the conclusion that I was his chauffeur. And his chef, and his maid. And his… Well, you get the idea. Having spent the past twenty-six months with Case, in the most passionate relationship of my entire life, I’d gotten used to doing things for him. And yes, he returned the favor because that was how we made it work.

  Not that I minded driving. I’d seen Case’s skills behind the wheel, or lack thereof. Unless you were a NASCAR fan or one of those people who drove the Autobahn on a daily basis, I didn’t recommend it. Since my desire to actually make it to the Windy City was rather great, I hadn’t argued too much.

  “How much longer?” Case grumbled from the passenger seat as he wiped his eyes and peered up through the window, his thick neck straining to hold his head up.

  And why couldn’t he sleep for the last ten miles of the trip?

  “Depends,” I told him as I set my now cold coffee in the cup holder.

  He frowned, his dark eyebrows darting down toward his nose. “On?”

  All right. I had to admit the man was ridiculously appealing to the human eye. All those sleek muscles and the enormous dragon tattoo that somehow defined the beautiful planes and angles were definitely my cup of tea. I’d spent my fair share of time trying to memorize every inch of his six-foot-three-inch frame with my tongue.

  And perhaps the reason I tolerated his inner diva was because I happened to be in love with the guy.