Page 4 of Courting Danger

“I can do that,” Roan replied.

Danger appraised him thoroughly, from the too-tight t-shirt to the rhythmic way he finished entering the information into the spreadsheet and immediately fed the index card through the shredder positioned beside him.

When he’d offered Roan use of the table in the far corner of the room, the younger man had insisted that he’d be just fine on the cushion he’d placed beside Danger’s chair, a fact that had instantly irked him. Was it where he’d have put his boy when they were working together so he could touch him as often as he’d like and order him under the desk for a bit of therapeutic cock warming while he worked?

Hell yeah it was.

But Roan wasn’t his boy. Roan offered himself to every Dom and Daddy in the club, whether they already had submissivesor not. It was like he wanted to be passed around. Used. Which wasn’t something Danger had any desire to witness.

In the end, it was Roan’s body; he could offer it to whoever he wanted to. Hell, it wasn’t as if Danger had never shared before. Once, he’d been the one sprawled out across the Rollin’ Jokers emblem on the Chapel table, a feast adorning his body as he’d lain there like a slab of wood through a long, somewhat boring meeting.

Pope had praised him for how well he’d maintained his position, never twitching, never reacting to the caresses, pinches, or other attention he received from the club members as they retrieved their food, a few choosing to use their teeth to pluck it from his skin and their tongues to clean up the crumbs. Yet the only touch he’d craved had been Pope’s.

The last thing Danger wanted was to tie Roan to him that way, not if it meant leaving him with the same emptiness, the same longing, and the same regrets as Danger carried with him more than a decade after the fact.

Because it sucked, goddamnit. It fucking sucked.

And he hated every day he had to live with what he’d done.