I Spy a Dark Obsession

“I… I let him blow me earlier,” he blurted. “Right here in the limo, on the way to get you.” Jesus, what had made him confess that?

She pulled back, eyes round. Then her mouth curved into a knowing smile. “So that’s why you two were acting weird. You loved it, and that scared the hell out of you. Am I right?”

He sighed. “Yeah. My best friend — a guy — sucked me off, and I fucking loved it. What am I supposed to do about it? I didn’t react well, and I said some cruel shit to him. He probably won’t forgive me after tonight.”

“He will. The man loves you. Anyone can see that.”

“He deserves better.”

“Then be the one to give him better. It’s easy.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he said honestly. “How do I explain? I’m not homophobic. I believe everyone has the right to love whomever they choose and I don’t have a problem with alternative lifestyles.”

“Then what’s the problem? What frightens you so much about being with Bastian?”

“I don’t know!”

“Michael… I think you do.”

“What, you’re a psychiatrist now?” He scowled.

“Simple deduction,” she said calmly. “You’re the most self-assured man I know, with the exception of your feelings for Bastian. I believe you haven’t let yourself recognize what’s holding you back. Would you like to come in?”

The limo slowed to a stop and he looked out to see that they’d arrived at her condo. “I would. Thanks.”

After helping her out, he gave the driver instructions to take the car home. He’d get a ride home later from one of the agents watching Katrina’s place. He fielded a brief pang of guilt for having his men stay out late to accommodate his evening, but reminded himself they were earning damned good hazard pay to do so.

As he walked Katrina to her door, his mind turned to her assertion regarding Bastian. What was holding him back? It wasn’t as though he had a terrible family history to blame. His parents were very open-minded, wonderful folks. No bad sexual experiences in his past, with a man or a woman, that he could point to as the culprit.

Quite simply, he was a straight man who was attracted to his best friend. Might even love him. And yes, goddammit, love him like that. Even in his head, he couldn’t put a finer point on the term.

So the issue was Michael’s and no one else’s. It was his internal struggle with the black-and-white man he’d always prided himself on being, and the man he was becoming. One he didn’t know at all, who was beginning to recognize that shades of gray could filter into a man’s life — and that maybe it was okay.

He had no clue how to handle the barrage of emotions. Not the least among them was the guilt that haunted him because he hadn’t loved Maggie the way she deserved. Not with the undying passion everyone believed. She was a good woman and a good friend, but the marriage had been a mistake. Her loss hurt so much because she’d deserved a husband who spent more time thinking about her than about repairing his strained friendship with Bastian.

In the end, he’d wronged them both.

“Are you coming in?”

Blinking, he realized he’d been standing on her threshold and she was holding the door open, waiting with a bemused expression. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

“Thinking about Bastian?”

He stepped in, and she closed and locked the door behind them. “And me.”

“And did you come to a conclusion?” Stepping close, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I think it comes down to an old dog and new tricks. Or something along those lines.”

“You’re not old, but I can help with the new tricks,” she whispered into his mouth.

He groaned, his musings put on hold. She was going to kill him. “Why don’t you show me?”

“My pleasure.”

Oh no. It’s all mine.

But he wasn’t about to argue.

* * *

Bastian woke and gazed into the darkness, disoriented. As his eyes adjusted, he remembered. Turning his head on his pillow, he could just see Blaze spooned around Emma in the moonlight on the other side of the huge bed. For a long moment, he stared at them, his throat suddenly burning.

Why couldn’t he have that for himself? Not just the mind-blowing sex — great as it was, sex could be had anywhere — but the intimacy. Love. Because even in sleep, love radiated from the couple, in the way they snuggled tight, unwilling to ever let go. He didn’t begrudge them their happiness in the least, and knew he would never be more than a fond playmate for them. Which was okay, because he felt the same where they were concerned. But he wanted, needed his own lovers to—

God, he needed to leave. Right fucking now.

Slipping from the bed, he gathered his clothes as quietly as possible, glad he’d thought to bring them up from the basement playroom when they roused him to come upstairs. Not wanting to wake them, he padded into the living room to dress. In less than a minute, he was ready, and had pulled out his cell phone to call the agent outside when a deep voice startled him.

“Leaving so soon?”

He spun to face Blaze. The man stood in the darkness, a huge form, black hair spilling over his shoulders. “Yeah. I need to get going.”

“You’re welcome to stay, you know.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it, but…”

Moving forward, his friend gave him a brief hug. “I understand, believe me. Just know we’re here for you. Give us a call anytime.” His smile slashed the darkness. “For any reason.”

Despite the ache inside, he couldn’t help but smile. “I will.”

Blaze saw him out and waited with him on the porch while Bastian made his call and stayed until the agent’s car pulled up. Once he was safely ensconced in the vehicle, his friend waved and headed back inside.

“Wild night, huh?” Agent Chapman commented. The older man sounded tired, but his voice held no real rancor.

“You could say that.” He paused. “Thanks for taking me back to the estate.”

“No problem.” The man yawned. “Gotta say, I’ll be glad to hit my own pillow, though.”

Bastian agreed. Only the bed at Michael’s estate wasn’t really his, was it? As much as he wished differently, his best friend’s place wasn’t his home.

When he let himself in a short time later, turned off the alarm, and stood in the darkened foyer by himself, the reality hit him hard. Michael wasn’t here, was probably off with Katrina. The two of them having a great time.

Once again, I’m on the outside. Always have been where he’s concerned. Always will be.

This wasn’t his home, and he didn’t belong here. He couldn’t stay one second longer than necessary. It just hurt too fucking bad.

Jogging upstairs, he grabbed a duffel from the closet and shoved as many of his clothes in it as possible. Next, he gathered all his suits, leaving them on the hangers. He’d need those for work. The toiletries in the bathroom and anything else he’d left behind, Michael could toss out.

Slinging the bag over one shoulder, he picked up the stack of suits and took one last look around. The burning started again, the lump in his throat the size of a grapefruit. He couldn’t breathe.

He fled down the stairs, pausing only long enough to set the alarm and lock the house again. When he went in to work on Monday, he’d return Michael’s spare house key. Outside, he unlocked his rental car, threw in his stuff, and jumped into the driver’s seat. As he sped out of the gate, he told himself he wasn’t running. He was being realistic, taking himself out of a painful, futile situation.