Through With Love Read online

  “Ditto,” Tim said, but from his knowing smile, Kent suspected the man was more in than Paul realized.

  “Needless to say, I expect a Vegas policy, huh? What happens here, stays here. Right?”

  Both men nodded. “Right.”

  “Excellent.” Kent rubbed his hands together. “Time to get wet.”

  * * * *

  Tim decided to play his cards close to the vest and keep things cool, more for Paul’s peace of mind than anything. From the hungry way Paul watched Kent and the three men together during the day, Tim could tell there was a deep, hidden well of need inside the man.

  Except trying to explore that well right now would not go well.

  Paul was determined to make this day successful in terms of working, so the last thing he needed was Tim stressing him out by throwing himself all-in with Kent and the triplets.

  Nothing overt, at first, other than Kent smacking them on their asses, or kisses that lasted longer than merely friendly. They were all fishing and not catching much when one of the guys decided to jump in for a swim…and once in the water, lobbed his wet bathing suit up onto the swim platform.

  That soon prompted the other two men to jump in—sans suits—and the three were soon frolicking in the water with each other as Kent watched.

  “Hope you boys don’t mind,” Kent told Tim and Paul. “I need to get my fun somewhere, and these three are the latest. I’m a man who likes to play as hard as he works.”

  Tim watched Paul, who he could tell wanted to be out there with the guys. “Doesn’t bother me,” Paul said.

  “Me, either,” Tim added.

  Kent seemed to study them for a moment, then shrugged. “I appreciate your attention to business details, gentlemen, but I would not think any less of you if you wished to join in. No pressure, either way.”

  Kent stripped off his trunks and before he jumped in, Tim got a glimpse of the thickest cock he’d ever laid eyes on.

  Holy…fuck!

  He wasn’t sure if Paul had seen it from the angle he was standing. If he had, his face bore not the slightest trace of surprise.

  If Kent’s a grower and not a shower, those three guys are in for a ride today.

  And Tim felt the slightest twinge of envy over the three men getting to enjoy that same cock while he was standing there and trying to play a nice guy.

  Except…

  While it brought back many great memories of his college days, it also triggered a well of pain and heartbreak he still struggled to get over in some ways.

  Sometimes it was better not to touch that stove, no matter how much fun it had been in the process.

  What I need is a guy who’s freaky but who won’t run around on me.

  Until he found that perfect combination, he’d need to play it safe.

  Especially around his boss.

  * * * *

  On the one hand, Paul felt great as they left the marina in Venice late that evening. They’d had hours of fantastic discussions with Kent about the software.

  On the other hand…

  He wished he didn’t have to leave. That he could stay and participate in the fun evening that obviously awaited Kent’s other three “guests.”

  Except having driven Tim down, he couldn’t very well do that.

  Especially since Tim—helloooo—worked for him.

  Not exactly the kind of thing I want getting back to anyone else in the office.

  And not the kind of information he wanted someone able to hold over his head at work, either.

  Paul cleared his throat. “Sorry about today.”

  Tim looked his way. “What? Why?”

  “I seriously didn’t know Kent was…um…” He coughed. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, everyone was an adult, and they were having fun. Like I said, doesn’t bother me. And no worries, I’m not saying anything to anyone at work beyond we met with him to discuss particulars and went out on his boat with him. Not any of their business, anyway.”

  Relief filled Paul. “Thanks.”

  “Speaking man-to-man and not employee-to-boss, I had a blast today. Haven’t had much time for recreation lately, and this was a great day. I’d accept another invite out on his boat in a heartbeat.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m glad. So did I. Had a good time, I mean.”

  “Any time Kent offers an invite, feel free to include me.”

  Ask.

  Him.

  Except…

  He couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would not only be unprofessional, but it could lead the way down bad paths that would not only ruin his business, but ruin him personally.

  Best to lust from afar.

  “Thanks,” he finally told Tim. “I appreciate that.”

  “No worries.” Tim pulled out his phone. “You mind talking shop during the ride? Go over some of the points he brought up?”

  More relief filled Paul, this time tinged with melancholy longing. “Great idea.”

  Chapter Three

  Between the day on the boat, and spending the next several work days with hours of face-to-face time with Tim, Paul had hit his limit when it came to coping with real-world stress. He desperately needed a mental vacation, a hard reset.

  A very hard reset.

  And he still didn’t know if Tim was gay or not. It would have been uncomfortable asking him that question outright. Tim had been a good sport, gay or not, about Kent’s little aquatic adventures.

  It’d sure as hell made Paul hornier than hell, and mixing sex and his employee was not good form no matter how much money they were making because of Kent.

  On the Wednesday after the boat trip, Paul planned to go to the club in Ybor right after work.

  He needed…something.

  Although what he really needed was a good, hard beating, followed by a good hard fucking…neither of which would happen tonight.

  He could settle for the next best thing.

  The private club catered strictly to gay and bisexual men. It sat north of Seventh Avenue in an old three-story building in Ybor City. You had to join to attend—and since it was private membership, anyone could be refused membership or admittance. Privacy was key.

  They had a small gear shop on the first floor that had a door opening out to the street. There, they sold leather items, as well as other…goodies and accessories for kink-minded people.

  Inside the ground floor they also had a full bar and dance club, but patrons could carry their drinks out through a closed foyer where a security staffer sat stationed, and go upstairs to the second floor, where rules were…looser. Since it had its own address and was technically considered a separate “business,” it was a lovely loophole that allowed them to permit more…activities.

  There lay a cigar lounge, another dance area, a boot-blacking room, and a social lounge, among other spaces, in addition to a changing area. You could buy non-alcoholic beverages and snacks on the second and third floors.

  The third floor had a mandatory nudity policy outside the locker and shower room you had to pass through to enter the depths of the debauchery. Once you passed through the locker and shower room, there were all kinds of dirty fun to be had, from a wide variety of play equipment and benches and sex swings, to a large sauna.

  Paul didn’t go up to the third floor. Not to participate, although he had quickly showered off a couple of times before donning street clothes. He could find what scratched his itch—temporarily—on the second floor, where certain levels of activities were allowed that couldn’t be partaken of on the first floor, where the alcohol was actually sold and served.

  And he wasn’t the only one. There were nearly always at least a few men running around the first and second floors dressed as pups in various types of outfits. Some wearing less than others. On the first floor you had to have at least briefs or shorts on. On the second floor, you could get away with a jock or chaps that left your ass completely exposed. And it was very common to see Tops
leading guys—pups or bottoms or piggies—upstairs to the third floor to seek a more intimate level of play.

  Paul had been propositioned to go up to the third floor plenty of times. Every single night he attended the club, in fact.

  But he wasn’t quite ready to take things that far yet, even though he craved the submission.

  Work had taken over his life the past several years, leaving his personal life out in the weeds. It was easier to come to the club periodically, where he could find a few activities to help satisfy him somewhat, than try to wade through the dating world and exert time and emotional energy he didn’t have to spare right now.

  Since Paul had Tim firmly wedged in his mind and couldn’t get him out of there, he needed a reset. The next best thing would be losing himself here for a couple of hours.

  He paid his entry fee and immediately headed for the second floor. In the dressing room there, he picked a locker and quickly changed into his pup gear. Latex shorts and a jock over the top of them, but a hole in the back for his butt-plug tail, and a hole in the front his cock and balls fit through, covered by the jock. Knee pads, black wrestling boots, a chest harness, and a latex pup hood with ears built into it. The leather collar with a light blue stripe.

  He finished his outfit off with a leather armband with a light blue stripe tightly snapped around his right bicep, which matched the stripe on his collar. Didn’t exactly have a pocket in this outfit for a hanky, but people seemed to get the idea. He’d never had a misunderstanding about what he was looking for, so apparently it worked, or the context was clear enough by his actions for those who didn’t know the hanky code.

  Once he was dressed he snapped his combination lock on the locker, meaning he didn’t have to carry a key with him. Then he pulled on padded leather mitts that both helped protect his knuckles as well as gave him the extra mental shove into a pup mindset. With his pulse pounding as it always did before he headed out, he took a deep breath, walked out of the changing room, and immediately dropped down onto his hands and knees.

  Paul recognized a few of the men here tonight, some he’d “played” with before, including one well-built black Top sprawled in a chair in the main lounge area, a man who always teased Paul about trying to get him upstairs for more. Shirtless, he wore a black leather harness on his chest and tight leather pants with a codpiece that easily snapped off.

  Maybe under other circumstances he’d let the guy plow him—with a thick twelve inches he was certainly hung well enough to satisfy him—but Paul needed the mental vacation this particular activity afforded him.

  He opted to start there and crossed the room toward the man, his eyes focused on him, ignoring the playful ass pats and catcalls from others that met his arrival in the lounge area. He rarely spoke once on all fours, sometimes nodding or shaking his head, or giving a bark if the Top asked for it. What little he did speak, it was usually only to ask one thing of Tops he hadn’t serviced before—“Neg?”

  It behooved people to be honest. Liars were summarily banned, their real name passed around to other members in case people needed to get medical checks. That was one of the club’s iron-clad rules and it was prominently posted in several places.

  Guys who were pos could always find others who were, or find members who were willing to take precautions to mitigate risks, including the club hosting several events a month catering to guys who were pos. But the club prided itself on safety, and had cultivated a culture of honesty over the years.

  The Top—Paul didn’t know his name—recognized him immediately and sat up, smiling. “There’s a sight for sore eyes.” He patted his thigh and spread his legs wide.

  Paul moved in close between his knees, nuzzling the leather stretched tight over his muscled right thigh.

  “You ever play with this pup, Charles?”

  He was talking to another Top sitting at the table with him, an older white guy, a shirtless bear who was about fifteen pounds shy of being a chub. “Nah, never seen him before.”

  “Oh, you’re gonna love his mouth.”

  Paul had been nuzzling the inside of his thigh, the scent of leather intoxicating. He already felt the spin of subspace calling to him.

  The man cupped his large hand around the back of Paul’s head and pulled him into his crotch. “I know what you want, pup. Go for it. I’ve got a load in there.”

  He unsnapped his codpiece enough Paul could get in there and swallow his cock to the root. From that point on, it wasn’t a blowjob but a face fucking, and Paul was in heaven despite the brutal, nearly choking thrusts. He knew he was leaking inside his own jock, except it’d be later, after going home, when he finally gave himself relief.

  The second Top stroked Paul’s flank, played with the butt plug tail a little, making Paul moan around the cock he was currently servicing. Paul knew it likely meant he wouldn’t have to look far for his second load of the night. He usually tried to go through at least ten guys, more if his knees and aching jaw muscles could take it.

  He wouldn’t stand up on two feet again until he’d felt he’d had enough.

  The two Tops continued talking, discussing Paul’s technique and trying to talk him up to the third floor to plow him together, when the first Top came, spilling deep down Paul’s throat.

  Paul immediately felt himself pulled off the first Top’s cock and toward the second Top.

  “I’m neg, no worries,” the guy said before Paul could even ask. The man had already unbuttoned his fly and was ready for Paul.

  He had a decent nine inches or so, and while he didn’t fuck Paul’s mouth as hard and deep as the first guy, the man’s nonstop stream of dirty talk and the tight grip around the back of Paul’s head kept him down hard in subspace.

  Tim’s brown eyes kept coming to mind, haunting Paul’s thoughts and fantasies.

  Ten minutes later, Paul had swallowed his second load of the night and headed off in search of another Top. The third guy he approached, a man he’d taken on several times, was standing at a high-top and sipping a drink while talking to another guy. He wore jeans and a black, button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows.

  But tonight when Paul sat on his haunches in front of him and nuzzled his leg, the guy petted his head, even holding Paul’s face pressed against his denim-clad thigh, yet made no move to end his conversation or pay more attention to Paul, much less let Paul blow him.

  Paul sat there for a good five minutes, including nuzzling his face against the guy’s crotch, when the man laughed. “Sorry, pup. Maybe next time. We’re expecting a friend in a little while. He wants to go upstairs and be DP’d, so I’m saving that for him. Unless you’d care to join us? We’d be happy to have you.”

  Paul gave a little shake of his head, but leaned in and nuzzled the top of the guy’s black leather boots in a sign of respect he knew the man appreciated.

  No hard feelings.

  Paul turned and quickly scanned the room before his vision locked onto another man he’d serviced before. He was sitting at a table with two other guys, and when he spotted Paul approaching, the smile on his face told Paul he’d just found blowjobs three through five. The guy had already turned his chair a little as Paul approached, spreading his legs as he patted his thigh.

  “This is that pup I told you guys about. Wait’ll you feel his mouth…”

  Thirty minutes later, Paul blinked away tears after the deep, nearly choking throat-fuck the third guy from that group had given him, but he felt better than ever. Guy number three had clamped his hands tightly around Paul’s head and forced him to take him to the root, holding Paul’s mouth deep on his cock and obviously not a Top who wanted to hear any complaints.

  Paul had enjoyed every fucking second of surrendering control to the guy and being used hard by him.

  And when the guy leaned in and asked Paul to go upstairs, his intense brown gaze almost made Paul reconsider his policy and say yes.

  Still, he gave a little head shake and play-bowed him, wagging his ass and butt
plug tail before he turned and headed off again. He wanted to cruise the cigar lounge next. Sometimes he could find some action in the boot-black area, but unless it was someone waiting for their turn, the guys in the chairs rarely called him over, and Paul never burst in and interrupted a scene without being invited.

  The cigar lounge was always a little cooler than the other areas, the self-contained ventilation system doing a fantastic job filtering the air. He wasn’t a smoker, but some of the best blowjobs he’d given had been in that room, the guys enjoying stretching out in their comfy chairs while he serviced their cocks and they puffed on a good cigar. One night, he’d ended up surrounded by ten guys before he realized it, pulled from cock to cock and thoroughly losing track of time until his knees finally protested that he’d been crouched there too damn long.

  When he nudged the door open with his head and entered the space, he let the door swing shut behind him and paused so his eyes could adjust to the dimmer lighting before he headed deeper into the room. He thought about crossing to the far corner, where he spied an older Top, who could usually last the better part of half an hour, talking to another guy.

  That’s when his heart nearly stopped when he locked eyes with another man.

  A very familiar—and now hungry-looking—set of smoky brown eyes that were focused on him.

  * * * *

  Tim had joined the private club a couple of weeks ago, but this was the first opportunity he’d had to attend since that night. He’d brought a change of clothes and headed there right after work, since their office wasn’t that far away.

  Except…when he pulled into the Ybor City public parking garage, he stopped and backed up a few spaces at the sight of the familiar Honda CRV with the light blue pawprint sticker on the back window, right side.

  Hmm.

  He thought about texting Paul to see where he was, then realized maybe his boss didn’t want to be disturbed. The city parking garage serviced the Ybor City area around Seventh Avenue. It didn’t mean someone was going the same place he was.