MidnightInk-epub Read online

  “Mais, that’s good, cher. I’m happy Rhonda was there for you.”

  And he was, though the happiness was bittersweet. He could have been the one who did all that for Bart. Instead of pointing an accusing finger at him for majoring in business when it bored him to tears, he could have listened, could have looked deeper at why Bart was doing it in the first place. Instead of pushing so hard for a commitment, and for him to come out about his being bi, he could have been giving Bart reason to trust him and make him want to commit.

  Eli shook his head. When he thought about how he’d threatened to fly out and confront BJ Rigger himself… Shit, it was no wonder the boy ran off the way he did.

  Now all he wanted was to take Bart in his arms and kiss him, tell him how much he’d missed him and apologize for being such an asshole. But he had no right to do all that at the moment. Bart was Rhonda’s, and neither of them was his.

  Yet.

  It wasn’t lost on Eli that at the same time he was harassing Bart for knuckling under to his father’s wishes, he’d been studying architectural engineering to pacify his memère. What he’d really wanted was to be an artist, but Memère had wanted better for him than life in the Lower Ninth, and she’d made sense when she said he probably couldn’t make a decent living drawing and painting. Engineering had seemed like an acceptable compromise, allowing him to use his artistic abilities in a more employable way.

  But after Bart left, Eli had lost any enthusiasm he might have had for school. Taking a break over Memère’s protests, he’d returned to New Orleans to try to get her back home. The devastation all around, more than nine months after Katrina, had shaken him out of his youthful self-absorption, and he’d volunteered with cleanup and worked for construction crews for more than two years, trying to bring order to the chaos. When he and some friends got tattoos commemorating the storm and its aftermath, he’d fallen headlong in love with ink. That was when he knew he was done with engineering. He’d apprenticed with Henry Lee at Midnight Ink, and stayed on even after the man retired, gradually growing his client base and expanding his body modification skills to include piercing.

  When one of the other Midnight Ink artists introduced him to the Bastille, a local BDSM club, Eli had finally gained some perspective on the dominant aspects of both his personality and his sexuality. As he explored the true nature of dominance and submission, and learned the importance of control and trust in any relationship, he finally realized—years too late—where he’d gone wrong with Bart.

  Had Bart gained any clarity on the submissive side of himself? The way he and Rhonda interacted sure made him wonder if they weren’t at least peripherally involved in the lifestyle.

  “Ah, here we are,” he said when they reached Kiley’s. “Thank God! I’m hungry enough to eat a horse and chase the rider.” He opened the door and followed Bart into his favorite greasy spoon, inhaling the familiar mélange of chicory coffee, gumbo, braised chicken, maple syrup and a faint tinge of cigarette smoke that couldn’t be washed away no matter how many years the place was smoke-free.

  Once they got settled into a comfortable red vinyl booth, Paulette arrived to take their orders.

  “What’ll you be havin’ this evenin’, Eli?”

  He grinned at the buxom little brunette. “I don’t know, Paulette. What you got that’s hot and tasty but not too spicy?”

  “Well I’m free after midnight,” she told him with a provocative smile. “But if you’re in a hurry, the special’s chicken pot pie.”

  “I got company tonight, chère, so I’ll have to stick with the pot pie.”

  “Sugar, you know there’s enough o’ me to go around, but maybe next time.” Then she turned her wiles on Bart. “And how about you, handsome?”

  He gave her a blank look and then glanced at his menu, which he hadn’t opened yet.

  “He’ll have the pot pie, too,” Eli told her. “The boy’s a little off his feed tonight.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said as she picked up their menus. “Kiley’s pot pie’ll fix you right up.”

  “Thanks, chère.” After she walked off, Eli said, “You really must be feeling puny.”

  Bart shook his head. “I’m okay now. Why?”

  “You didn’t crack a smile. The hardcore flirt I remember would’ve made even Paulette blush.”

  He shrugged. “Guess I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  Well, that made two of them. Eli waited until Paulette had set a basket of yeasty rolls and steaming plates of chicken pot pie in front of them to say, “So tell me how you met Rhonda.”

  A grin finally tugged at Bart’s mouth. “My dad overreacted and called 9-1-1 when I nearly passed out at the office. She was one of the responding paramedics.”

  “Now there’s a story for the grandkids. I suppose it was love at first sight?”

  “Well, lust, anyway.” The grin widened as Bart split a roll and buttered both sides. “It wasn’t officially love until she made out with another girl on the dance floor just to get a rise out of me.”

  Hot blood surged through Eli at the image. Just to get a rise out of him? Ha! Not likely. “That sure woulda got a rise out o’ me, cher. So what happened? Why’d you pass out?”

  Bart downed a big bite of the roll before saying, “I’d gone to O’Shea’s gym over my lunch hour that day—for the first time ever—and sparred with one of the regular guys. Took a right hook to the jaw and went down like a sack of wet cement. Turned out I had a mild concussion. When Rhonda found out I’d stepped into the ring without a bit of training, she gave me hell for it and said next time I should ask for her brother Benito—he taught her everything she knows.”

  Eli paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “She’s a boxer?”

  Bart nodded. “A good one, too. She’s strong, quick and light on her feet. Her brothers call her l’ombra—the shadow—because sparring with her is like shadow boxing. No one ever touches her. I always thought they were just taking it easy on her because she’s a girl, but I’ve never been able to land a punch—and believe me, I’ve tried,” he added. “If I didn’t, she’d put my lights out just to make me look bad.”

  Eli grinned as he ate. Rhonda Giannetti grew more interesting with each and every thing he learned about her, and he already knew Bart was a rare feast for his dominant appetites. If he didn’t get both of them into his bed at least once, he’d expire from sheer disappointment.

  “You know what they call me?” Bart asked after couple of bites.

  “Your nickname’s Tank, isn’t it?”

  He shook his head. “Not at the gym. Her brothers call me Rigger Mortis because I move like a corpse.”

  Eli just about spewed chicken and carrots all over the table. Snatching up his paper napkin, he held it to his mouth until he could swallow without choking. Then he leaned back and roared with laughter while Bart continued to eat.

  When he finally settled down, the way Bart’s amused blue eyes kept glancing at him from under those dark blond lashes sucked away his breath and sent a white-hot spike of lust through him.

  Picking up his fork again, he said, “Cher, they obviously never seen you move in bed.”

  ***

  Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room.

  Or enough room in his slacks.

  Bart blinked. Shit! His dick was already on a hair trigger because of the aborted lovemaking session with Rhonda earlier, and now Eli’s eyes were holding him captive in a way that set every nerve in his body on fire.

  Swallowing with difficulty, he set his fork on his plate and then drew in one quiet breath after another, trying to dampen the flash fire of arousal consuming him the way it always did around Eli. But it responded to the increased oxygen like a real flash fire would, burning faster and hotter as Eli continued to watch him while he finished his own stew. There was nothing hurried or uncertain about his movements—he was a predator on the prowl, and Bart was his prey, and they both knew how the hunt would end.

  With
Bart taking every inch of Eli’s cock, one way or the other.

  No longer able to meet his eyes, Bart swallowed again, looking around the old-fashioned diner without really seeing it as he tightened all over with anxiety and excitement.

  And longing. Jesus, he’d missed this. All of it—the nerves, the anticipation and the thrill of being the object of Elijah Bell’s pursuit. And like it or not, he had Rhonda’s permission to follow it through to its natural conclusion. At the moment it felt like he’d never wanted anything more.

  When Eli had had enough, he set his plate aside and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “All right, cher, now tell me why you and your ladybird came to see me.”

  His dark look made Bart’s mouth go dry, but before he could answer, their waitress swooped in to take away their dishes. “You gentlemen save any room for coffee and homemade pie? Kiley makes all the crusts herself, and the pies are to die for.”

  “It’s true, Kiley’s pecan pie can’t be beat,” Eli told him, his brows raised in enquiry.

  Bart shook his head. “I think I’ve eaten enough. But Rhonda loves pecan pie.”

  “There you go then, Paulette, we’ll take one slice o’ pecan straight up, to go,” Eli told her.

  “You got it, Eli.”

  After she’d walked off, Bart took a deep breath and plunged in. “We’re here because Rhonda thinks you and I have unfinished business.”

  “She’s right, cher,” Eli said immediately. “I owe you a big-ass apology.”

  “What?” Bart shook his head. “I’m the one who left without a word.”

  “You had no choice, Bart. I was an immature asshole, and I put you in an impossible position by trying to make you choose between your daddy and me when you weren’t ready for it. I’m sorry for that, mon jolie garçon. You were hurtin’ bad, but I couldn’t see beyond my own foolish pride.”

  Mon jolie garçon. Bart nearly choked on the raw emotion that welled in his throat. Eli had cooed those words in his ear so many times, always when he was controlling him somehow—ordering him around, lying on top of him, holding him down, teasing him…fucking him. He’d driven Bart insane with need, made him sob and beg for release, and then made him sob and shout when he finally let Bart come. Afterward he’d held him and whispered those same words again while he stroked Bart’s hair or his skin. “J’adore, mon jolie garçon.”

  I adore you, my pretty boy.

  It had seemed so wrong in the beginning. Josh had told him Eli was gay when he asked if it was okay for him to move in, but that hadn’t bothered Bart. Eli would be bunking with Josh, not him. He’d never felt even the slightest flicker of interest in another guy, and he was pretty sure he’d spent enough time in locker rooms and communal showers to know by now if there were a gay bone in his body. But something about the way Eli looked at him that very first time had flustered him and made him fidget with confusion. When Eli gave him a knowing grin, Bart had gone hard instantly, which to this day officially ranked as the most unnerving thing that had ever happened to him.

  He’d tried hard to pretend there was nothing unusual going on between them, but throwing wood every time the guy so much as looked at him made it almost impossible. Sitting on the couch together in nothing but shorts while they tested his friend Tim’s Quantum Alien game had been torture—until about the third time, when Eli decided he’d had enough of politely ignoring Bart’s wood the way Bart tried to ignore his. He put the controller down, grabbed his sketchpad and let his gaze slide over Bart’s body for long, breathless moments while he whisked the charcoal pencil across the paper.

  When Eli finally tipped the sketchpad toward him, the beautiful rendering of his slouching body stunned Bart. The obvious erection Eli had captured in faithful detail under his shorts sent flames of embarrassment and need over his skin.

  “You want me to take care of that, cher, lose the shorts,” Eli said with an implacable look.

  Bart hesitated, praying to be delivered from temptation. When both of them were still sitting there five seconds later, he figured his request had been denied for a reason and lifted his hips, shoving his shorts down with stiff arms.

  “Bon garçon,” Eli had said softly. Then he’d given Bart the kind of rip-screams-from-your-gut blowjob he’d never even dreamed existed until then.

  Good boy. The memory of those words severed some tether holding him back and he shuddered, feeling completely unmoored. He needed those words, and he needed them from Eli. He always had. It scared the living shit out of him.

  “Where’d you get off to, cher?” Eli rumbled.

  Focusing on his voice, on the piercing hazel eyes that he’d hidden from too long, Bart fished Rhonda’s ring out of his pocket and set it on the table between them.

  Chapter Five

  “Merde!” Eli just about had a heart attack. “Tell me that’s not Rhonda’s.”

  “It’s Rhonda’s,” Bart confirmed with a shell-shocked expression.

  When Paulette approached the table, plastic sack in hand, Eli gave a little shake of his head and a Not now! look. Consummate server that she was, she instantly veered off toward the front door and set the sack on the counter by the cash register.

  Bart snatched up the ring and clenched it tightly in his fist.

  “Why?” Eli demanded, pulling out his wallet as his heart thumped in an off-kilter rhythm. “Because o’ me?”

  Bart shook his head. “Because of me. She says it’s temporary, just for tonight. But we’ll see how she feels after…” He swallowed and looked away.

  “After what?”

  When Bart didn’t answer, Eli threw a few bills on the table, scooted out of the booth and stood up, shouldering his bag. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He picked up the sack on his way by and tucked it carefully into his bag, then shoved open the door, leading Bart out into the cold night air.

  “After what, cher?” he repeated when the door closed. “Why’d Rhonda give your ring back?” He had a feeling he knew, but he needed to hear it.

  “So that I’m not cheating if I sleep with you tonight,” Bart admitted in a low tone.

  Relief took the starch out of Eli’s bones. Praise the Lord!

  “I knew there was a reason I loved that woman,” he muttered as he seized Bart’s lapel and dragged him around the side of the restaurant into the shadowed alley. Once they were out of public view, he dropped his bag and attacked, propelling Bart into the brick wall with the force of his kiss. He held him by the neck with both hands, catching his gasps and moans as he ate at that sweet, sweet mouth, humming his gratification when Bart clutched at his ribs. God, how he’d missed him!

  He slid his lips over Bart’s bristled jaw and kissed his ear, breathing, “Tu es venu, mon amour. I can’t believe you’ve finally come back to me.”

  Bart shuddered. “Oh fuck.”

  Eli lingered there, exploring that exquisite shell with delicate licks while he inhaled the man who’d haunted his dreams for so long. When he finally sucked at the lobe, Bart slammed his palms against the wall and sucked in a sharp breath, screwing his eyes shut. “Eli!”

  Peeling those strong, trembling hands away from the brick and holding them tight, Eli rested his forehead against Bart’s. “Shh-shh, it’s all right, jolie garçon, I got you.”

  “I need this, Eli. God damn, I need this.” Bart took a gasping breath. “Why do I need it? I’m a firefighter and a paramedic, and I’m damn good at it. Hell, I’m fucking great at it. I’m six-four, and I can bench five hundred pounds and run into burning buildings and save people’s lives every goddamn day, but Rhonda’s got me wrapped around her little finger. And you…“ He gave a choked laugh. “Jesus, Eli, with you I feel small and defenseless, and sometimes it’s like I have no will of my own at all, and the real kicker is, I fucking love it. Why can’t I live without you? It’s just fucked up.”

  “Oh, mon amour,” Eli whispered, pressing gentle kisses to his parted lips as he continued to gasp for air. “There’s no need to take on th
is way. You’re just fine.”

  Bart shook his head. “I was so close to becoming the man I always wanted to be, the man I was supposed to be, you know? All I had to do was hold on to her until the ink dried on our marriage certificate and then I’d finally be able to let go and actually be that man. But I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t deny it any longer. To myself or Rhonda.”

  “What couldn’t you deny, cher?”

  Bart’s eyes finally opened, seeking out Eli in the darkness. “What you always knew, that I was living a lie. Again. Still.” He sighed. “However much I wanted it to be, it wasn’t just the job making me feel half alive—it was missing you, missing the way I was with you. Feeling alone, and like I could never let anyone know the real me. Even Rhonda, and God, I love her so much, and she makes my life so much better, but I just…can’t let go of you.”

  His eyes burning with unshed tears, Eli pulled him close and held him tight. “J’taime, mon garçon, j’taime, j’adore.”

  Bart swallowed loudly. “I love you, too, Eli. So much it just about kills me. But Rhonda’s like the missing piece of me. I couldn’t have come here without her, couldn’t have faced you without knowing she’s at the hotel waiting for me. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can live without her.”

  “It’s all right, cher. No one’s askin’ you to live without her, and you got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

  Pulling back, he said, “What am I gonna do, Eli? I can’t expect her to put up with me needing you in my life. I can’t ask either one of you to accept just a part of me.”

  “You say that like you’re the only one who’s torn between two lovers,” Eli said dryly.

  Bart’s eyes bugged. “Shit, you have a boyfriend?”

  “Mais, non, non!” Eli laughed and hugged him. “Bart, I’m talking about Rhonda.”

  ***

  Bart blinked at him, trying to catch up. “Wait…you’re interested in Rhonda?”