Bound by Honor (Men of Honor) Read online

“I asked a question,” Damon said patiently, but Tanner knew that patience would be short-lived.

  The thought of Damon’s body covering his, holding him down, riding him, was too much to bear. This contact, even, was too much, considering he’d been home from his last tour for less than two days.

  He was nowhere close to being ready.

  But he’d waited too long to say no and Damon was done asking questions. He pushed Tanner off and commanded, “Strip, boy.”

  The words were harsh and somehow seductive at the same time. Tanner had no problem being naked in front of anyone…but doing this in front of a bar…Jesus fucking Christ.

  He unbuttoned his shirt and yanked his jeans down. He rarely wore underwear when he wasn’t working, and tonight had been no exception.

  He heard the yells of approval, because yeah, he was hung like a motherfucker. He even saw the appreciation in Damon’s eyes before they hardened again.

  “Eyes down. Don’t you dare look at me, boy.”

  Tanner did as he asked, cast his eyes down to Damon’s black-leather-booted feet and felt his body flush.

  “Walk to me. Eyes down.”

  Tanner followed the sound of his voice, let Damon’s hands guide him farther and then down on his knees near the spanking bench. Damon knelt behind him, straddled Tanner’s calves so that they were ass to cock again. For a few moments, Damon’s breath lingered on his cheek as the man’s hand roamed his chest. Pinched a nipple. Moved down to hold his cock, a thumb swirling the precome over the broad hood, and Tanner hissed and nearly shot his load right then and there.

  Involuntarily, he pressed his ass back into Damon—the man was rock hard and Tanner heard a soft groan escape Damon when he ground his ass harder. He liked that he had some effect on the man who was threatening to undo him and so he did it again, until Damon rocked against him, the leather of his pants strangely erotic against Tanner’s bare ass. The slow grind built faster, Damon tugged his cock harder and the crowd seemed to love every minute of the show.

  It was all a show and still a moan drummed up in the back of his throat and escaped before he could stop it.

  From Damon, there was only a soft chuckle that wasn’t as friendly as it should’ve been. A strong hand on his back pushed him forward, breaking their contact and guiding Tanner into place before four locks bore down—one on each wrist and ankle, holding him effectively in place.

  “It doesn’t matter if you struggle, boy,” Damon told him. “This is bolted into the floor.”

  Tanner heard his own breathing harshen.

  His legs were spread, and the apparatus he was chained to rotated in order to give his audience an angle of every single part of him. His ass was in the air, his dick jutting upward as his chest rested on the bench, and he began to sweat, a thin sheen that covered his body.

  He pressed his forehead to the leather and tried to breathe. Felt Damon finger the cold lube against his asshole and he drew in a sharp breath, because there had been no warning. He willed himself to relax, waited for a finger to slide in, to open him.

  But that didn’t happen. No, Damon used a dildo—it wasn’t large but it was knobbed—and worked it inside of him slowly as Tanner tried not to cry out. It hurt the way he’d known it would—he’d heard it was part of the draw for the bottom—the pinch of pain before the pleasure hit. But Tanner didn’t like being this out of control, this vulnerable, and he wouldn’t handle it well.

  “You’re tight, baby. You don’t bottom much, do you?” Damon asked, but the question was rhetorical and Tanner noted that he went a little more slowly, used more lube. Tanner forced himself not to struggle against it—the sensation of being filled strangely erotic, but it fucking hurt.

  Damon hadn’t given him any kind of way to stop him, and although Tanner supposed he could make Damon cease all this somehow, he’d come this far. He would just fucking breathe and try to forget what was happening.

  The hoots and hollers of the crowd made him keep his eyes closed.

  For Jesse—that’s why you’re doing this.

  But Jesse had been a good friend—a good teammate. Why he’d want to put Tanner through this was beyond him at the moment.

  “He’s good at what he does, Tanner. So damned good. It hurts—and it’s comforting at the same time. I can’t explain it,” Jesse told him.

  So far, Tanner only got the hurt part. His ass burned, stretched uncomfortably, because he’d never had anything bigger than a finger in his ass…never thought he’d be bottoming to anyone, especially not like this.

  And then the vibrations began, deep inside his ass, and he did groan, unable to help it. His hips moved and he rutted like an animal as the crowd cheered.

  He opened his eyes, saw Damon’s booted feet in front of his face. The man was sitting, holding the remote loosely between his own legs. “It’s set to go off like this every twenty minutes. Let’s see how much of a man you really are.”

  Fuck.

  Tanner did not want to like this—didn’t want to feel the sensations building inside, tightening his balls, making him groan, but a part of him was losing control and fast.

  It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Tanner figured they would talk—he would tell Damon about Jesse’s last night. Jesse’s last words. And then maybe, if they could get past that, Damon would do what Jesse had wanted.

  He struggled to hold on, to not come, but it was impossible. The angle of the vibrating dildo was too perfect, slammed his prostate over and over with no relief. His cock was rock fucking hard and if he closed his eyes, he might even be able to pretend he was alone with Damon, that the tall, handsome man was the one taking him for a ride.

  But a combination of willfulness, pride and stubbornness refused to let him escape into his fantasy even as he shot a hot throb of liquid all over the floor as the dildo continued to milk him dry.

  The boy was beautiful. Rugged. Sensual. He hadn’t minded getting naked—for good reason, since his body and his cock were the most perfect Damon had seen in a long time. He almost switched off the transparency lighting so he could have this one all to himself, because it had been so long.

  But he wouldn’t do that, no matter how badly Jesse might’ve wanted it.

  You’re a bastard for doing this to me. Those had been Jesse’s first words to him during their first session, back when Damon was still actively Domming and Jesse had been in desperate need to be taken in hand, no matter how hard he fought it.

  He shook the mental picture of Jesse out of his head—Jesse, splayed out and ready for him, begging him to stop until it was oh and yes and fuck me now—and he forced himself to concentrate on the boy in front of him instead of the one in his memory.

  Tanner. Say his name, dammit. Remember, this is not about pleasure.

  He spoke those words harshly to himself even as he remembered how good it felt to have Tanner grinding back against him, willing to take a submissive position even as he was convinced it was against his nature. And it would be so easy for him to kneel behind this boy, replace the dildo with his own cock, bury himself to the hilt. Would hear Tanner’s moans, egging him on…and it would all feel too good. And he didn’t want to feel good anymore—wanted to sell this place and all its memories, take his money and travel. This way, he could fuck nameless, faceless people, drift until it felt right, the way it once had a long time ago.

  But for right now, he would fulfill Jesse’s request and none of them would be happy.

  Except this was not what Jesse would’ve wanted—not by a damned long shot. This wasn’t what any sub should expect from his first time with a Dom, especially not a man fresh from some hellhole of a jungle with battle still fresh in his eyes.

  Close the shades. Let him loose.

  But he didn’t, simply sat on a chair, the remote just out of Tanner’s reach.

  Tanner’s back was broad, muscled… Damon should’ve been running his hands over the sweat-soaked skin, coaxing the orgasms out of him. Instead, he clasped his hands together and
watched the boy struggle against his own will.

  At first, Tanner kept his head down, but after he’d had his first orgasm—and what a sight that was to watch him writhe, helpless to stop his own primal urges from taking over—Damon ordered, “Head up, boy. Let everyone see that beautiful face of yours.”

  Tanner met Damon’s eyes defiantly and then looked out into the crowd, knowing he was not supposed to look his Master in the eye without permission.

  You are not his Master.

  The boy—Tanner—was going to come again, whether he wanted to or not and Damon sat there and watched him struggle against the bonds. The transparency of the room and the harsh intimacy imposed on him had finally dawned as he looked out on the crowd, and his cheeks flushed as the howls directed at him grew louder.

  “Damon’s finally got a new boy.”

  “Damon’s fucking him without fucking him.”

  “Look how much he loves it.”

  Tanner didn’t love it—not completely. There was too much humiliation in this situation—too much confusion. And even so, the boy would not go down easily. He came three times. The fourth was a dry shudder of an orgasm, since he’d been milked beyond his capacity, and looked to be almost painful.

  “Again,” Damon said, prayed that Tanner would finally resist with words, would tell him no, to stop…to end this.

  “I can’t.” Tanner ground out the words. Over an hour had passed, and although Damon had insisted the boy drink water, had held the bottle to Tanner’s lips as he drank greedily, the climaxes were taking their toll.

  And although I can’t wasn’t a safe word, it was enough. Because he hadn’t given Tanner a chance to pick one. That was against everything he’d ever learned, everything he’d ever practiced, and it was the only way to ensure this man never came back to him.

  He attempted not to hyperventilate, pushed the button for the privacy curtains and switched off the vibrator. Then he let Tanner out of the bonds. The man pushed off his knees then nearly dropped but grabbed himself quickly. When Damon attempted to help him, Tanner threw his hand off and picked up his clothes.

  With the posture of a king, he opened the door and walked through the club bare-assed naked as Damon watched from the room’s glass windows. And he did not look back.

  Tanner had gotten to his car when a touch to his shoulder made him whirl around, arm up, ready for a fight. Didn’t matter that he was buck fucking naked, his adrenaline and anger pumped to an almost unreasonable level, and any excuse to punch someone—or something—would’ve sufficed.

  It was the man from the door—LC—and he was still not smiling. “You dropped this.”

  LC held out Tanner’s wallet, which must’ve fallen out of his jeans when he was walking, wanting to get the hell out of the club but refusing to run. Tanner took it and nodded as he started dressing, shoved it into his back pocket and then zipped his jeans up. He didn’t bother with the shirt, threw it into the car and prepared to follow it, to get the hell out of this parking lot and never come back.

  “Damon’s a prick,” LC told him, his voice a drawl deep with anger. “That’s not how it’s done.”

  Tanner didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Just nodded and got into the car and drove away from the club because he didn’t know how it was done—but he was pretty sure that wasn’t it.

  You kept your promise. And fuck you, Jesse.

  He pounded the steering wheel, not wanting to speak ill of the dead, and still the bile rose up inside of him at what had happened tonight.

  You liked it. Most of it.

  Jesus, he didn’t know what end was up anymore. Just knew that his ass was sore, and he was half flying and half ready to cry like a fucking baby. And he wanted to be in the privacy of his own home.

  It took him twenty minutes at top speed. He pulled into the garage, dropping his jeans as he walked toward the bathroom. He stopped only to grab the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, not bothering with a glass. Once in the bathroom, he started the shower, let the water steam the enclosed space before climbing in and shutting the glass door behind him. And that’s when he let it go, the sobs ripping from deep in his throat.

  At one point, he sank to the tile floor, kept the bottle out of the steady stream of water and took several deep gulps.

  As the liquid burned his gut and soothed his soul, he wondered if it was ever going to stop hurting—if the nightmares would lessen. If maybe he wasn’t cut out for this job the way he thought he was.

  But he loved being a Ranger, had even been told he would be eligible for Delta Force training very soon.

  But watching Jesse die…being unable to do more for his teammate than listen—and promise—well, that knowledge was slowly killing him. And even though he knew there was nothing he could’ve done differently, it still didn’t bring the guy back.

  You ruined Damon’s life by letting Jesse die. And that was the painful reality. How could that guy have reacted any differently than the way he had?

  Damon left the room as if it were a crime scene—in truth, it was—and went to his office, trying to shake the look on Tanner’s face when he’d left from his brain.

  Who was he kidding? It was burned on there—and he was practically shaking. A side trip to the bathroom and he lunged into a stall and threw up.

  After a few minutes, he lowered his forehead to the cool tile, remembered doing this on the night he’d found out Jesse had been killed as well, not caring where the hell he was. None of these memories were good, and his stomach roiled again at the thought of what he’d just done.

  Finally, he dragged himself up and out. He needed to shut down the computer in the office and head the hell upstairs to his loft and lock himself in and sleep all of this off.

  But LC was waiting for him, arms crossed, looking more pissed than Damon had ever seen him.

  “You’re a bastard,” LC told him without preamble.

  “Fuck you,” Damon shot back as he rooted around in the closet for mouthwash. He drank straight from the bottle and spit into the wastebasket to get the initial taste out—and then he grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste and began to brush since it was apparent getting up to his loft would take longer than he thought. “Get the hell out of my office,” he mumbled around the brush.

  “It’s my office too, asshole,” LC said. “If Jesse sent that boy to you—that’s how Jesse came to you, dammit. Or don’t you remember the broken, lonely boy you tried to humiliate and push away? Just because Jesse refused to go doesn’t mean you’ll get lucky with this one.”

  He wanted to grab LC by the throat, shake him, but he refrained because LC was a hell of a fighter. “There is no one like Jesse—there never will be.”

  “So you’re going to be a monk forever? Wear a hair shirt and do everything Jesse made you promise you wouldn’t do, right? Because that’s truly honoring his memory.”

  He hated when LC was right. Right now, he hated everyone and everything, including Jesse. He spit into the garbage can again and rinsed his mouth out with bottled water. Then he sank into his chair and ran his hands through his hair as LC watched him in sympathy.

  He hated that too. “LC,” he began tiredly.

  “He’s connected to the man you loved. How the hell could you have treated him like that? How the hell can you treat anyone who comes to you to learn about being a sub like that?”

  He shook his head wearily, mainly because he didn’t know himself. His nerves were taut, emotions frayed, and he would go over the edge and do something—or say something stupid to LC if the man didn’t go away now.

  LC knew too—Damon had known him for a long time. Long enough that subtlety wasn’t something either man bothered with, and so LC slammed a piece of paper on the desk in front of him with the slap of a palm. Damon didn’t look at it until the LC left his office

  He remained brooding there at his desk for the next hour. Pulled out and stared at the picture of Jesse he kept in his desk drawer. Tried to figure out what the hell Jesse had been
thinking.

  And while he couldn’t ever really know that, thanks to LC, he had the most important thing—Tanner’s address.

  He headed to his truck and drove around aimlessly for a while, radio blasting, wondering why the hell he would do this when he’d successfully gotten the boy out of his life.

  Because you owe Jesse. Or Jesse owed you. Whichever way it was, Damon knew he’d get no rest until he made Tanner an offer…and an apology. And so he pulled in front of the address he’d programmed into the GPS, the soothing female voice telling him he’d arrived at his destination.

  It was the right place—a townhouse near the base, nicely groomed. No car in the driveway but Damon hoped it was in the garage, wanted the boy—Tanner—to be home.

  He stared at the house, his nerves still jangled. They’d been that way after his first meeting with Jesse as well.

  Jesse. It had been so complicated. And at first that had Damon jumping right in and helping. Fixing.

  Losing himself in the process until he didn’t know who he was or what he wanted anymore.

  Had he ever?

  Jesse. Big brown eyes. Biting wit. And a need for submission as big as the state of Texas, where he’d been born.

  Jesse had come to the club to survey the scene, check things out and, most of all, to find Damon, who, at his peak, was one of the best and most coveted Doms around.

  He’d initially refused to play with the beautiful boy with the aching need in his eyes, knew how much work it could be to train a new sub.

  “I’ll do whatever you say,” Jesse had told him earnestly, but the boy had the devil in his eyes.

  Damon remembered frowning, saying, “They all tell me that.”

  But he hadn’t refused.

  It was supposed to be one night. One time with Jesse strapped to the spanking bench, writhing under the weight of Damon’s hand, the steady slaps bringing him into subspace far more quickly than Damon could ever have anticipated.

  Under the weight of the memories, Damon felt sluggish, like he could easily drown. The man in the house could be his lifeline…or could sink him even further.