Burning Bright (2 page)

“Speaking of. What in Hades did you give me? Opiates covers a lot of ground.”

“I have no idea, to be honest. Is it really important? I can call Steve; he was a medic in the Corps. Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing, Doctor.”

“Well, whatever it is, I can’t feel anything.”

“That’s the point,” Neal said with a grin.

Sasha relaxed against the couch. If the bandaging was any sample of Steve’s skill, he didn’t need to worry about dosage levels. “Thanks. I mean it. I really appreciate you patching me up.”

Neal smiled, pleased. He stood up. “Try to get some rest. You’re safe here. I promise.”

Sasha wanted to argue, but the drugs or something else in his system surged to the fore and he floated away.

Chapter Two

Top Shelf

When Sasha woke again, the savory aroma of onions and garlic made his stomach growl. Then his bladder announced it was Time to Pay Attention to Business. He sighed, unwilling to emerge from the cocoon of the blanket.

“Yo, Sarge, he’s awake,” a voice called. A tall, gorgeous black man stepped into view, feet silent on the floor. His large eyes seemed kind in an expressive face. “Hey, Doc. I’m Steve.”

“Hi,” Sasha greeted. “Thanks for patching me up.” He hesitated, then asked it. “Where’s the can?”

“Back there.” Steve waved an imprecise hand over his shoulder. “You need a hand gettin’ up? You gotta be careful.”

“Um…” Why did Neal have to surround himself with the best-looking men in the city? Sasha struggled to sit up on his own, but the pain in his chest took his breath. “Dammit.”

Steve kneeled next to him. “Here.” He slipped a gentle arm under Sasha and eased him to a sitting position. Steve smelled good, like expensive cologne with an earthier undertone. The softness of his neck surprised Sasha, its warmth sinking into Sasha’s cheek.

Sasha flushed. He was
never
this attracted to strangers. He swung his legs over the edge of the couch and Steve helped him to his feet. As the blanket fell away, he stood there buck naked. The larger man’s gaze swept over him and only wistfulness made him think anything more than clinical interest prompted it.

Steve didn’t say anything, just stepped back. “The bathroom’s over there, on the far side of the dining room table.”

“My robe’s in the bedroom, Steve-O. Grab it for me?” Neal called from behind him. Sasha looked over his shoulder at his rescuer as he cooked in an open kitchen.

Steve went off to get the robe and Sasha wrapped the blanket around himself like a huge toga.

“It’s just us,” Neal noted, smirking. “You can go commando.”

“Don’t listen to him, Doc,” Steve countered as he walked back in. The thing in his hands in no way resembled a robe. “Here.”

The fabric unfurled to reveal a luxurious, deep garnet silk robe and sash. Steve dressed him like a man-sized doll and tied the sash with efficient and careful movements. Sasha hoped his deep inhalation of the cologne left behind on the robe went unnoticed. Gods, Neal smelled
good
.

A heavy knock at the door made him jump, and then Carlos and Paul strode in, their combat-style boots silent on the hardwood floor.

“Dinner rush is starting, Boss,” Carlos said by way of greeting. “Hey. You’re awake.”

“How are you feeling? You look like shit,” Paul noted.

Carlos smashed a fist sideways into Paul’s arm. “Shut up, man.”

Sasha blinked, unaccustomed to the easy manner in which these big and obviously gay men interacted. They seemed more like a military unit than bouncers at a gay club. Of course, maybe that’s how they did it in Chicago.

Now that Sasha’s brain cleared of the alcohol fog, he studied the two men. Paul, taller by an inch, sported the same muscular physique as the others but seemed older, more mature. Mild crow’s feet around his eyes put his age around late-thirties, and the cold blue of his gaze speared Sasha.

Carlos, on the other hand, seemed like a college kid, maybe twenty-three. His head came even with Sasha’s, which put him about the same height of five-ten. His warm golden skin glowed in the lighting, smooth and unblemished. He wore the same uniform as Steve, and Sasha noted that none had “Security” on it. Being mistaken for a busboy or waiter probably didn’t happen very often. Sasha couldn’t help but notice the swell at Carlos’s crotch. The Latino was exceptionally well hung. Sasha looked down to adjust his robe, praying the other man hadn’t caught him staring.

He’d come to Chicago to widen his horizons, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d walked into a weird sort of G.I. Joe parallel universe or something. He greeted the newcomers in a soft voice and closed the bathroom door.

He turned and stopped, leaning against the door, and stared.

On his left, rich chocolate-brown slate stone lined a walk-in shower with double showerheads. In front of him stood the vanity with two large sinks, and in the corner a wide and deep tub stood with a shelf for candles above it. The commode stood to the right in its own alcove.

He started forward and caught sight of himself in the mirror. He froze and opened his robe. Livid crimson bruises marched down his face and neck, with darker, purple bruises over the broken ribs. A long bandage wrapped his right arm, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he’d done to himself to warrant it. His stomach looked like a pizza, with purples and browns radiating out to yellow-ish green. It looked oddly pretty against the golds and greens of his Yggdrasil tattoo.

The mirror revealed the blood pooled in his left eye and a magnificent shiner that covered half his face. His cheek had split in two places and a large white bandage covered part of Sasha’s jaw and under to the chin and throat. He let his fingers trace his ribs but stopped when a sharp pain raced through him, warning him that exploring further was a bad idea. Anger filled him without warning, and he turned to stalk to the toilet to take a piss.

He had an interview on Tuesday, for the sake of the Gods. What was he supposed to do, show up looking like an extra from Fight Club? Nobody would hire an applicant who looked like the loser of a bar brawl. “Idiot,” he whispered at himself, furious and at the same time despairing.

A knock on the door made him jump. “In a minute.”

“You can take a shower, Doc, if you want, Neal says. There’s towels and stuff in there.” It sounded like Carlos’s voice.

“Thanks.” He eyed the shower with interest as he hung the robe on a hook on the back of the door.

He finished with the toilet and padded over to the bathing area. The water started up with a loud hiss and he grinned. Water pressure seemed strong enough to feel good on sore muscles or other parts of his body. He unwound the bandage from his arm and studied the jagged scrape along his skin. It looked like it could be from glass or something, but he didn’t need stitches. It stung like mad when he stepped into the water but he washed every inch of himself he could reach without causing himself to black out from the pain of his ribs.

By the time Sasha emerged, Carlos and Paul disappeared. Steve leaned by the door, talking to Neal with the air of someone killing time. His eyes met Sasha’s and they stared at each other a moment. The bigger man’s gaze swept over him and Sasha was very aware of how the robe gaped in the front, but he wasn’t about to clutch it closed. Let the other man look if he wanted too. It was probably just at the bruises.

Sasha moved farther into the room, toward the table.

Steve said nothing, just pushed off from the wall. “I’ll be back,” he told Neal.

“You sure you don’t want a bite of this?” Neal asked over his shoulder, shaking the skillet and drizzling wine over its contents.

Sasha walked over to the table and Steve said something about taking care of personal business. Neal laughed. Sasha turned as the big man slipped into the hall and close the door, silent as a ghost.

“Have a seat,” Neal invited.

“Thank you,” Sasha told him, nervous like a fourteen-year-old with his first crush. He couldn’t seem to keep still, fidgeting in his seat.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Iced tea. Iced tea is fine.” He cleared his throat.

Neal served the meal on heavy grey ceramic plates. He set one in front of Sasha and got the iced tea.

Sasha eyed the chicken and sighed. On the other hand, the plate overflowed with colorful vegetables—onion, baby corn, snap peas—all in a ginger wine sauce that smelled divine. He edged the chicken to one side and ate everything else.

“What do you do when you’re not picking fights in the alley, Doc?”

Sasha took a sip of the tea. His eyes widened. It tasted incredible, something with mango and sweetener. “I’m a veterinary trauma surgeon.”

“No shit.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I specialize in large animals and exotics.”

“Here in Chicago?”

“No, actually. Not yet, anyway. I’m here about a job at Northwestern.”

Neal’s eyes widened. “Impressive.”

He preened, he couldn’t help it. “Thank you.”

The big man looked at his plate. “The sauce too spicy?”

He hesitated. He really didn’t want to be ungrateful, but… “I don’t eat meat.”

“Oh. Jeez, I’m sorry.”

“How would you know? It’s okay. This is incredible.”

Neal smiled, his cinnamon-brown eyes crinkling. “Thank you.”

“You like to cook?”

He shrugged. “It’s what I did after I got out of the service. I used my GI Bill and went to cooking school. This place pays well, but I love to cook.”

Sasha smiled. “Well, you do it really well.”

Neal leaned forward and Sasha froze. “Flattery will get you everything.” He stood and went to the fridge.

Holy crap, the man was hot. He took a slurp of iced tea and watched Neal move. He walked with contained power and silence. Sasha tried to concentrate, but he had nothing else on his plate to eat. He rose and went over to the sink and then stared at the faucet, unsure where to put his hands.

Neal walked over. It was only in Sasha’s imagination that he put his hands on Sasha’s ass and started to fuck him against the counter.

He turned, discovering Neal right behind him. Concern shown in the other man’s eyes, mixed with interest. A calloused finger traced along one of the cuts on his cheek.

Sasha pulled his head away.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Sasha rushed to reassure him. “But I look like a circus freak.”

“Fishing for compliments?”

He glared before looking away. He’d forgotten how he looked while they ate, absorbed in the conversation. It came back to him now. A warm palm cupping the good side of his jaw lifted his head back up. An intense gaze met his.

“You want some sorbet? You still hungry?” Neal asked, his breath close enough to stir the hair on Sasha’s neck.

Sasha turned. “Not for dessert.” It just popped out. His face heated and he tried to look away, but Neal’s rich, dark cinnamon eyes held his and the firm pressure of the larger man’s hand stopped the motion before it began.

“You’re still injured,” he murmured, moving Sasha’s face up and to the side in order to see the bruising better.

Sasha panted and his damned cock woke. It didn’t seem to notice his soreness; instead it started an ache of its own. This close to the other man, there was no way he could hide it.

Neal bent closer and Sasha couldn’t look away from his mouth. He wanted those lips on him like he’d wanted nothing else in a long, long time. Neal caught his wrists in his hands, the heat from the calloused palms like a balm. Neal lifted Sasha’s wrists and pinned them against the cabinets behind him, then licked along the unbruised side of his throat. Sasha moaned, a higher-pitched sound than he was used to hearing from himself, but he couldn’t stop it. His cock, erect now, bumped Neal’s hip through the silk robe.

The big man chuckled. “So eager.”

“I…” Sasha trailed off when Neal’s gaze caught his again. Never could he imagine while watching Neal last night on stage that this would happen.

Neal cocked his head. “How sore are you?”

It took a try or two before he managed to make a sound. “The ribs hurt bad, but the rest is all right. My head doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Neal smirked again, the arrogance only a true top could muster. All of a sudden, Sasha wanted to be dominated by this man, completely and totally.

Neal let go of Sasha’s right wrist and ran his thumb along Sasha’s lower lip. Sasha pulled the digit into his mouth and sucked, hard, on the thick skin and knuckles. Neal made a low, growling noise of approval and Sasha closed his eyes to concentrate, imagining another part of Neal’s anatomy in his mouth. Neal’s other hand let go of him and slipped inside the robe. The calloused palm wrapped around his cock. Sasha left his hands where the other man placed them.

“So ready,” Neal murmured.

“Please,” Sasha whispered, undone.

Neal’s fingers traced lower and then stroked his shaved ball sac. “So smooth,” he noted with a purr in his voice. “Are you a good little bottom?”

Since Sasha couldn’t talk he nodded, lost in the sensations and the desire for Neal to grip his shaft again.

Instead, Neal’s hand cupped his cheek and held his head stationary. “Look at me.”

He did as he was told, panting with desire.

“What’s your safe word?”

Oh Gods. His heart started to pound, and his cock bobbed above the hand massaging his balls. Did he really mean it? “It’s Lemon,” he managed to pant.

“You attached? Got anyone calling you theirs?”

Sasha shook his head. “No. No, I’m single.”
Please. Please fuck me…

Neal stepped back, letting go of him. “You’re injured. On drugs too. We should probably wait.” He turned away.

“Please.” Sasha wanted to sob with need. “Please, Neal.”

“It’s Boss. Not Neal.”

He wanted to shout with joy. “Boss.”

“No fucking for now, you’ll have to wait for that.”

Sasha nodded. He didn’t care as long as the other man didn’t leave him like this.

Neal swung back and his mouth landed on Sasha’s, somehow managing to not hurt him as he did it. Sasha tasted chicken and wine sauce, the onions and garlic adding the right amount of savory to it. Neal’s big hand closed around Sasha’s cock again and moved like a piston, squeezing him with authority. He couldn’t breathe and Neal let him up for air, but didn’t slow his hand. Sasha let Neal move him against his body, his head against Neal’s chest so he didn’t fall or whack his head. He licked the nipple, intending to suckle, but Neal’s hand tightened and he shouted.