I knew from the moment I’d laid eyes on Case Rhinehart that he was exactly what I didn’t need right now.
And the chef.
Fuck me running. Braxton McBride wasn’t as muscular as the pretty boy, but he was the perfect size for me. And those emerald-green eyes didn’t hold an ounce of fear. I could manhandle him without ever causing damage.
Yeah. The cowboy was a double dose of what I didn’t need.
Yet I found my interest piqued despite my better judgement.
I continued to eye the pretty boy, ensuring he didn’t lift his eyes.
“What’s the plan once we’re in Chicago?” Ransom asked from beside me.
Ransom and I went way back. Friends for nearly a decade. And while I wasn’t in the bodyguard business, he was. Hence the reason I’d contacted him to help out on this job. Not that he needed the money. No, Ransom Bishop came from old money, but unless you asked, you would never know.
“Trent wants these boys to meet with Justin.”
“Why?”
“Hell if I know.” I smirked. “Maybe he’s looking to add some decoration to the office.”
Ransom’s gaze strayed to the pretty boy. “Well, that’d do it.”
I peered over at my friend once again, gauging his interest in the two. If Ransom wanted these two for himself, I’d certainly hand them over on a silver platter. I didn’t need the fucking headache.
Unfortunately, Ransom’s appreciation was only skin deep. He wasn’t interested in the pretty boy or the cowboy.
“String ’em up naked,” Ransom said. “Maybe in the lobby so everyone can watch.”
Yep, the man was as sadistic as I was.
But he was right. These two would make nice office decor. I could admit I wouldn’t mind seeing the pretty boy tied up and at my mercy. Perhaps trussed up beneath my desk while I worked. I could use the other for a footstool.
Speaking of the other…
The cowboy appeared in the doorway, his green eyes instantly landing on his friend.
“Sit,” I commanded, pointing toward the spot beside the pretty boy. “Better yet, both of you kneel.”
Without a word, the pretty boy inched off the edge of the seat and right onto the floor. His actions didn’t surprise me one bit. He was eager to please. I’d seen it in his eyes when ours met earlier. The cowboy followed suit, moving close.
“I’ve seen you both before,” I said.
Neither of them spoke.
They were good boys.
Exactly how I liked them.
“How old are you, pretty boy?”
The pretty boy’s mouth moved, but the rest of him remained still. “Twenty-eight, Sir.”
“And you, cowboy?”
A small smile curved the cowboy’s lips. “Twenty-seven, Sir.”
“You two like to play?” I asked.
Neither spoke, but I hadn’t addressed one or the other, so it made sense.
“Pretty boy,” I called out. “Answer me.”
The pretty boy nodded his head. “Yes, Sir.”
“Are you collared, pretty boy?” They weren’t wearing collars, but being this was a business trip, it was possible they’d simply left them at home.
“No, Sir.”
“What about you, cowboy?”
“No, Sir.”
“Zeke,” I clarified. “I don’t like Sir. When you speak to me, refer to me as Zeke.”
“No, Zeke,” the cowboy corrected. “I’m not collared.”
“If I insist you strip right here, what would be your answer, cowboy?”
“I would oblige, Zeke,” he said, his voice raspy.
I peered over at Ransom. He offered a shrug as he grabbed a magazine and moved to one of the chairs farther away from me.
He was giving me free rein and who was I to pass up the opportunity?
“Stand,” I insisted. “From here on out, I’m speaking to both of you.”
Both men stood slowly, their eyes remaining glued to the floor.
I took a moment to look them over from head to toe. I definitely liked what I saw. I liked my submissives strong but compliant. And I could tell by the bulges behind their zippers that they were enjoying the fuck out of this.
I decided to call the cowboy’s bluff.
“Strip,” I demanded. “Right now.”
Both men began disrobing, neither looking up from the floor. It seemed they didn’t care that there were others on this jet or that anyone could walk in at any time.
I liked that about them.
In the future, I’d like to see them strip each other.
Admittedly, I was hard on my submissives. My goal was to break them down so I could build them back up. Only, I’d learned the hard way that they couldn’t handle what I dished out. I wasn’t the ass-kissing Dom who made sure they were mentally healthy. I could be mean and I wanted submissives who craved it.
Once they were naked, I openly ogled them, taking my own sweet time, reveling in their vulnerability. Their cocks were hard, bobbing proudly as they stood there.
“If you’re looking for praise, you won’t get it from me,” I stated, wanting to ensure we were all on the same page. “I won’t coddle you. If you want that shit, find a pretty Dominatrix or go home to your mommas.”
