Capture & Surrender Page 8

  “Mm-hmm. So you say.” Mike pointed across the ready area to Stefan, who was laughing with some of the other guys. “That one, however, slinks. And he does it whenever he’s finished with a conquest. I know this because he did so after he fucked me rather soundly.” Mike paused, fanning himself. “Bloody hell . . .”

  Frank chuckled. “Need a moment to collect yourself?”

  Mike shook his head and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “No. It’s okay. I’m all good.” He sobered a bit. “One thing, though. Promise me you’ll listen, okay?”

  Frank nodded and shrugged, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets.

  “Take care of yourself. I mean, he’s a player, right? He’s a rentboy. I was kind of hoping you’d . . .”

  “Settle down with a nice guy?”

  “That’s it.” Mike leaned in. “The sex is great, but don’t get hurt, okay, big guy? You’re pretty amazing, and Geoff and I both think you deserve . . . something good. Especially now that you’re open to it again, because, bloody hell, we were worried.” Mike was always the guy more in touch with his emotions. He’d do fantastically well as a gay extra in a female romcom.

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” Frank patted Mike’s shoulder, hugged him for a moment. “Thanks. ’Ppreciate it.”

  Those two always had him all emotional, but maybe that was okay. They’d pulled him from the worst place he’d ever been in his life, had been there throughout and always been supportive. Somebody else warning him to not get hurt? He’d laugh. Them warning him? He’d consider it. Sometimes, somebody on the outside had the better view of what was going on.

  “No cuddling before you’ve captured him, arsehole.” Geoff came from the gear area and slapped them both on the shoulders.

  “Careful. You’re the guy who bet my arse.”

  “What? You’re saying I lost the money?” Geoff grinned at him. “He did, didn’t he? Fucking Yank. We should give him a call sign. Like Icebreaker.”

  Frank lifted an eyebrow. “Icebreaker? Yeah. There you go.”

  “Or Ref Fucker.” Mike eyed Stefan from across the ready area.

  Frank laughed. “I’ll let you guys take that up with him.”

  Geoff threw Frank a look. “You’re not going to bring it up over breakfast?”

  “I’ll keep it in mind if the conversation lulls.”

  Geoff’s eyes widened. “Dude, I was kidding about breakfast. You’re not really . . .”

  Frank put a hand on Geoff’s shoulder. “Relax, okay? I can take care of myself.”

  Geoff’s expression turned sceptical, and Mike’s echoed it.

  Frank sighed, pulling back his hand. “I’ll be fine. Anyway, aren’t we going to start another game?”

  The guys glanced at each other, mouths tightening, but neither pressed the subject. They’d corner him some other night over beer, olives, and cat sass, and they’d grill him, read him the riot act if he was being stupid and clap his shoulders if he wasn’t. But for now, they had a game to ref, so Geoff rounded everyone up, and it was back to the field.

  Stefan didn’t have any more conquests that day. He whooped the other team’s arse, game after game, but it was all sniping and paintballs instead of sneak attacks and barrel taps. Every time he walked off the field without his arm around some limping player’s—or ref’s—waist, the guys all glanced at each other with wide eyes and puzzled shrugs. Wasn’t like the kid was tired. No way. He was playing too well for that. He even sprinted across the field to help a teammate who was pinned down by enemy fire.

  During the fourth or fifth game, a firefight ended with the most triumphant shout Frank had heard out here in a long time, followed by cheers from other guys. Frank peered around a bunker, and quickly figured out what had sparked the shouting:

  Stefan stepped out from behind a bunker, marker held over his head, with a bright yellow splat of paint on his side. Gloves smacked behind other bunkers as the guys high-fived, and Stefan playfully shook a fist at one of them as he took the Walk of Shame off the field.

  Frank chuckled, and he would never have admitted to another soul that he was relieved to see the paint on Stefan’s camo blouse. So he’d been shot. “Killed.” Not captured. Because that absolutely wouldn’t have turned Frank on or anything. Or made him even a little bit jealous. Definitely not jealous. Not at all. Then again, he couldn’t help wondering if the kill in lieu of capture had been because Stefan had captured Frank earlier. But as far as he knew, no one here but Mike and Geoff knew about his status, so he was probably being paranoid.

  When the game concluded, the guys were still high-fiving, congratulating Chris—of course it had been Chris—on being the first to finally take out that son of a bitch Yank. In the ready area, Stefan had peeled off his blouse and the T-shirt, revealing a welt underneath his ribcage.

  “I want a picture of that!” Chris pointed a gloved finger at Stefan. “That shit’s going on my Facebook page.”

  Stefan glared at him but smirked. “Yeah, well, how about you go calibrate your fucking marking while someone gets a picture of this.”

  Chris held up his marker and shrugged. “Perfectly calibrated before I went out.”

  “Check again.” Stefan’s smirk faded.

  Geoff gestured at Chris. “Couldn’t hurt to check it one more time. Come on.”

  Chris rolled his eyes, but gave Stefan’s welt one more look before he grinned and followed Geoff.

  “That shit is going to be one hell of a bruise tomorrow.” Mike bent forwards to inspect it more closely.

  “It’ll be fine.” Stefan pressed a cold soda can against it, sucking in a hiss of breath. “His marker was running a bit hot, and he got me at close range.”

  “Close range?” Mike straightened. “You let someone get close enough to you to shoot you like that?”

  “Surprised he didn’t barrel tap you,” someone muttered.

  Stefan glared at the one who’d made that comment, then shrugged and shifted his gaze towards the can he’d pressed against his side. “He knows as well as everyone out there. Get within ten feet of me, you’re a dead man.” He glanced up at Mike, and this time he grinned. “Or I’m capturing you.”

  Mike wasn’t even subtle about shivering. “Yes. Yes, you would.”

  Stefan looked at Scott. “I almost captured you, by the way.”

  “What?” Scott nearly dropped his drink. “Seriously?”

  Stefan nodded. “Another six feet, and your ass was mine.”

  Frank couldn’t be sure, but he thought Scott whimpered. Stefan glanced at him, winked, and focused on icing his welt.

  “You were right.” Geoff came walking towards them from the ready area. “His gun was out of cal. All fixed now.”

  Chris scowled behind Geoff but said nothing.

  Great. Exactly what this group needed. Drama on a goddamned paintball field. Frank shook his head and helped with setting up the grill—sausages and all—and managed to not constantly peer at Stefan, because, yeah, that was subtle.

  The Chris thing had clearly not worked out, though Frank still wasn’t quite sure why Stefan seemed to prefer him over that piece. Chris was younger, absolutely prettier, and ripped. And from what people said, he was pretty good in the sack too. It wasn’t Chris’s driving that had spoiled that, but Frank struggled to imagine what Stefan was hoping to get that looked better to him than what Chris had to offer. He examined the thought without self-pity, either.

  One of the guys put the sausages on once the coal was nice and hot. Hungry guys were starting to linger in the general vicinity.

  “So when do I get something good to capture?” Stefan asked near him.

  Frank turned his head. “Plenty out there.”

  “You said you play every now and then.” Stefan licked over the edge of his teeth. “Fucking a ref is hot, though possibly against the rules.” He kept his voice down.

  Frank drew a deep breath. “I could possibly do one.”

  Stefan’s eyes trailed up and down his bo
dy, like a hunter selecting the buck he was going to shoot. “You should. One more? I’m wounded.” He indicated the area where the paint had been rubbed to a blotchy shadow. “Not nearly as dangerous anymore.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Frank all but laughed at him. “Why? What’s it to you?”

  Stefan stepped closer, almost right into his face again, then brought his lips close to Frank’s ears. “Foreplay.”

  Oh fucking hell.

  Stefan huffed near his ear. “You gonna take me home, Frank? I don’t have a car.” His half-sing-song tone implied he was a little boy lost and would surely come to trouble if he didn’t get a ride. Ride on what, though . . . that was the question.

  It hit Frank like a sucker punch in the gut. Seduction. How fucking long had it been since anybody had bothered seducing him? He barely remembered. Not like this, anyway. Not so . . . brash and playful and like the other man would have him and didn’t mind using guile or force. It was all a head game, but damn if other parts of him weren’t listening up.

  “Plenty of time to think about it.” Stefan stayed close and tempting. “Oh, and by the way? That place where Chris got me? Hurts like a motherfucker.” He leaned in even closer, whispering so softly there was no way anyone in the camp heard him except Frank: “And I like pain.”

  Then he turned and walked away, leaving Frank slack-jawed and quickly hardening inside his camo trousers. A seductive top who was into pain and wanted him? This had to be some sort of cosmic practical joke. Or maybe all the other guys had given Stefan the rundown of Frank’s weaknesses, and now they were all wagering money on how long it took for Frank to melt at the cocky American’s feet.

  “What was that all about?” Geoff stepped up next to Frank. “You look like the kid slapped you.”

  Frank swallowed. “Slapped me in a good way or a bad one?”

  Geoff’s eyebrows jumped. “You tell me.”

  Fuck. I don’t even know. Frank shook his head. “We should feed these guys before they start eating woodland creatures.”

  Geoff didn’t move. “Frank . . .”

  Frank put up a hand. “Relax. It’s all under control.”

  “Uh-huh.” Still he didn’t move. “Just wondering whose control?”

  Good question.

  “Ask me again on Monday.”

  Geoff sighed. “Just be careful with him.”

  “I know,” Frank said. “We’ve had this conversation.”

  “We have. But neither Mike nor I are totally convinced we got through.”

  “Yeah?” Frank folded his arms across his camouflage jacket. “And why’s that?”

  Geoff lifted his chin, locking eyes with Frank. “Because when the kid was talking to you, I have no idea what he was saying to you, but I’ve seen that look on your face before.”

  “Have you?”

  Geoff nodded. “Yeah. Usually right about the time you’re in that state of mind where you’ll let me or Mike do whatever we want to you.”

  Frank’s stomach flipped. He broke eye contact with Geoff, and his gaze landed on the guys gathered round and gazing longingly at the grill. “We should feed these guys.”

  Geoff sighed, but then rolled his eyes and picked up a stack of plates. “All right, guys. Come eat!” He glanced at Frank, and like Geoff and Mike knew Frank’s “looks,” Frank knew theirs. And that one said “We are going to finish talking about this.”

  Can’t wait.

  By the time everyone had finished eating, the sun was going down, and most of the guys were too stuffed to play, on the field or off it. Before Frank knew it, they were breaking down the tents and grill.

  Stefan dropped his bag into the boot of Frank’s car, the heavy thud seeming like a declaration that this was now Stefan’s territory. Or at least it would be until they arrived at Frank’s place. Possibly even a little longer. And when he looked at Frank? The arrogant and mouthwatering expression in his eyes backed up that declaration.

  Your car is mine for the night.

  And so are you.

  He’d made the rounds to say goodbye to the others, checked around for abandoned or forgotten kit, then slapped Geoff on the shoulder. “I’m off. Are you guys up for dinner at the end of the month?”

  “Who’s cooking?”

  “Not me, thank God. Emily is trying her new taster menu. Said she needs guinea pigs with, quote, ‘not too refined palates until I’ve perfected it.’” He was teasing. They’d done it a couple times already, so Emily knew exactly what kind of crew she would be feeding.

  Geoff lifted an eyebrow. “Mike can taste the difference between a habanero pepper and a Scotch bonnet, so he’s out.”

  “Tell him to cheat.” Frank walked backwards and was about to turn when Geoff tsked at him.

  “You’re taking that guy home?”

  “Guy’s got no car.” Frank turned and headed to his car, glad for any excuse to evade more well-meant warnings. If they were going to lay into him for making a mistake, at least let him fucking make it first.

  He passed Mike, who looked at him quizzically. “I’m out. Talk to Geoff, you guys are invited next week for food.”

  “Uh. Sure.”

  Frank managed to disentangle himself from any further conversations and escaped into his car. Well, den of the lion, really, as Stefan was already sitting there, just sliding his phone into his pocket.

  “Anything urgent?”

  “No.”

  Likely clients begging for some workout on a Saturday. Saturday was always a busy day at the Garden, and he almost felt bad hogging Stefan on the weekends, but that was when most of his friends had time. Maybe it was good for Stefan to not work one day of the week. How much did he need for rent anyway? Frank didn’t know the numbers offhand, but Stefan faced brisk demand.

  The silence was the other side of uneasy, but it helped Frank get the car out of the forest and on the road. He was about to switch on the radio when Stefan caught his hand in mid-air.

  “You’re worried.”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  “Don’t be.” Stefan let go of his hand. “I know safety.”

  Frank put his hand back on the steering wheel and blew out a breath. “You didn’t fuck any of the others today.”

  “I got what I wanted.”

  Oh, son of a bitch. Frank’s stomach tightened. His balls, too. “Okay. So. Pain.”

  “Yeah, pain.”

  Frank cast a glance to the side. “You going to make me spell it out?”

  “It’s just a word right now.” Stefan grinned at him. “Limits. What are your turn-ons. I was going to hit some of your buttons tonight.”

  “You’ve already hit a good many of them.”

  “Have I? Do tell.”

  “So you can gloat?”

  “Maybe.”

  Frank laughed. “More fun to let you figure them out. See if you can find them again.” Bloody hell, what am I thinking? He let out a breath and held the wheel tighter. “Listen, today was . . . it was hot. It was fun. But are you sure about—”

  “Frank.” Stefan’s hand slid over Frank’s thigh. “Don’t kill it.”

  Frank’s mind screamed at him to listen to the kid, but that quiet little voice in the background said that things needed to be discussed before they went any further. He moistened his lips. “I’d . . . I’d rather kill it now than have it blow up in our faces.”

  Stefan’s hand lightened on Frank’s leg, as if he were debating pulling it back. Frank put his hand over top of it, and Stefan’s hand relaxed.

  “I’m not sure what else I can do to convince you I’m okay with your situation.” Stefan’s fingers bent slightly, pressing into Frank’s leg. “I told you. I’ve been there. I know how to keep us both safe, and I’m sure you do too.”

  “It’s more complicated than that, and you know it. Keeping you from . . . from getting infected is only the beginning.”

  “I know. I probably understand that a lot more than you think I do.”

  Frank glanced at him, eyebro
ws up.

  Stefan exhaled. “I was with my last boyfriend through the worst of it. The last of it.”

  Frank winced. “I’m sorry you had to go through it.”

  “Likewise, but we’ve both been there. So you know damn well I get it.”

  Frank couldn’t argue with that. There were things that couldn’t be explained or grasped, they had to be experienced, and the fact that Stefan had experienced them took all the wind out of Frank’s arguments that he couldn’t possibly know. He obviously did.

  Pulling in a deep breath, he gently nudged Stefan’s fingers apart and laced his in between. Stefan responded by curling his fingers over, clasping Frank’s hand from beneath. Frank navigated a curve in the road with his other hand, then when he was safely on a straightaway, glanced at Stefan again.

  “You said you got what you wanted at the field. What exactly was it you wanted?”

  “You.” Stefan shrugged.

  Frank barely managed to hold still. “Okay, but more specifically. So I know what you’re after here.”

  “Are you asking if I want sex or something more?”

  Not sure he wanted the answer, Frank kept his eyes on the road and nodded.

  “Today, I wanted you out on the field. Tonight, I want sex.” God, but this kid was so blunt and direct. “Tomorrow? Ask me over breakfast.”

  Okay. Let’s focus on today. Tonight. Frank could feel the heat rise, and he was increasingly glad that he was into an area he knew like the back of his hand. Before long, he pulled off the road into his short driveway. The garage door opened when he approached, and he parked the car inside, the gate sliding shut behind them. He got out and gathered up his bag, keenly aware of every one of Stefan’s movements as he followed him.

  The man’s proximity was a buzz he couldn’t ignore, and he remembered that sense of shock and arousal when he’d been plucked off the field. Of all the available guys, Stefan was after him.

  He opened the door, let Stefan slide in first—glancing at him with something like irony—and closed the door behind them.

  “If you want a shower, it’s upstairs.”

  Stefan turned. “You going to join me?”

  He was moving fast, keeping Frank off balance. “I . . . ever fallen on your arse in the shower?”