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Mason’s eyes began to burn, and he rubbed at them, wincing at how dry they were. Only then did he realize he’d been staring unblinkingly, lost in thought for so long, even the dust Rig’s car had kicked up had settled. Out in ninety-degree weather, the sun scorching his retinas wasn’t going to bring Max back, nor was it going to help that damn lost feeling in his gut.

But at least he wasn’t alone. He had Bobby and Rig to keep him company for— Mason slapped his forehead. “Shit, Bobby,” he groaned. Hurrying around the house, Mason tromped up the stairs and dashed in the house. “I am so….” He grabbed the screen door before it could slam behind him and snapped his mouth shut.

Bobby sat on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table and head laid back, a small snore coming from the sleeping man.
Poor thing
. He knew Bobby hadn’t been sleeping much; the dark circles under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders mirrored Mason’s. Bobby’s sleep deprivation was result of the worry Mason always saw on the man’s face when he looked at Mason. Mason’s own sleep was sporadic and interrupted with nightmares. Damn they were quite the pair.

Mason stepped out of his flip-flops, and, careful not to jostle Bobby, sat on the other end of the couch and tucked his feet up under him. Without the worry of being caught staring, he took in Bobby’s features, his longish curly hair with streaks of gray weaved sparingly with the dark brown, his beard the same mix of colors. Bobby wasn’t what he’d describe as particularly handsome, nor was his body lean and buff. But there was just something about Bobby that set Mason at ease. Bobby was like a big sweet teddy bear, which seemed in complete contrast to what Mason had always thought when thinking of a dominant male.

Not only was Bobby unusual in his demeanor, but Mason’s response to him was as well. Both men had been at his home every day since his drunken meltdown, and not once had Mason experienced symptoms of a pending panic attack. Part of the reason was because of Max, but Bobby and Rig were a big part of that too. For reasons he couldn’t quite grasp or understand, the virtual strangers didn’t frighten him. The one thing that helped him to get up each morning was knowing that as soon as he dialed their number, they’d be on their way over and shortly thereafter, the kitchen would be filled with the scents of brewing coffee, fresh bread, and some type of breakfast meat frying. There would also be a bustle of activity, music playing from the small radio—always an upbeat tune—Mason kept on the kitchen counter, the warmth of Bobby and Rig’s presence.

Max didn’t always come over early with the other men. From what Mason could decipher from Bobby, Max had a new
interest
back home whom he spoke with each morning in a private web chat. But from the expression on Max’s face when he’d get a call or text from a certain someone, the way his eyes would light up and his lips would curl into a brilliant smile, Mason would wager it was a whole lot more than just an interest. It made Mason feel all the more appreciative for what Max had done for him. It also caused a healthy dose of guilt for keeping Max from his home and job for the last week. The feeling was all the more intense because Max had refused to let Mason give him so much as a dime. He’d assured Max he could afford his fees, Gregory and Charles leaving him financially well taken care of, but Max wouldn’t hear of it. Yet, even though he felt guilty, he still wanted Max to stay longer, interest, money, or home be damned. He truly could be a selfish bastard at times.

A wayward curl caused Bobby’s cheek to twitch, and Mason silently moved closer and brushed it back from Bobby’s face, the small strand like silk. “Who the hell are you?” Mason whispered, still running the curl between his fingers. What the hell kind of force or spell had brought Bobby and his friends here? Surely it wasn’t God. Someone or something as good and powerful as was preached to him as a child would never be so cruel as to take Gregory and Charles from him, nor would a loving God force Mason to endure what Charles’s family had done to him. And if he was wrong, if there was such a benevolent being, were Bobby, Rig, and Max its way of apologizing?

What were the chances these men would show up in his life when they did? What were the chances that he’d respond to them the way he had? What were the chances that he’d feel calm and safe within the presence of these men, when his entire life he’d been so afraid of strangers? And even bigger questions were, why did he already miss Max, and why was he so afraid Bobby and Rig would leave him? Was he grasping on to something that wasn’t real? Hoping to replace the irreplaceable? Why the fuck was he not having a panic attack when his brain was throwing everything at him, rapidly firing question after question, without giving him a chance to come up with an answer? And yet, the simple touch of his fingers against Bobby’s hair, hearing the larger man’s even breathing, seeing his kind face, was enough to keep him calm?

“What are you doing to me?”

“Hmm.” Bobby’s eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on Mason, and he smiled warmly. “Hey.”

“Hey. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Bobby patted Mason’s knee. “No apologizes needed. Did Max and Rig get off okay?”

Mason nodded and was surprised how good and warm it felt that Bobby had kept his hand resting against Mason’s knee after the pat. He was shocked to realize that he wanted to curl up against Bobby’s side, lay his head on his chest, and be held. The memory of waking that first morning lying on Bobby, hearing his heartbeat, and feeling safe for the first time in weeks, he wanted to feel that again, but he couldn’t ask.

“You okay?”

Mason stared down at where Bobby’s hand rested, his thumb caressing Mason’s skin, and the request was on his tongue.
Please just hold me
. But he couldn’t say it. He wasn’t a child. He had to learn to comfort himself. Stand up on his own two feet and be a man. The very thought of the magnitude of the task before him exhausted Mason and caused his head to hurt. Sighing quietly, he nodded again. “I’m fine.”

“You look exhausted.”

Mason looked up and met Bobby’s gaze, giving him the best smile he could muster. “No really, I’m okay. How did you meet Rig and Max?” he asked, needing to take the focus off him.

Bobby stared back at him, his eyes searching, but Mason held still, doing his damnedest to keep his expressions neutral and not look away.

After a few more heartbeats, Bobby said, “How about you lay your head down”—he patted his lap—“since I’m sure it will bore you to sleep.”

Mason hesitated. He couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do than lie against Bobby, but he had to stick to his resolve to find comfort in himself.
You’re tired. You’re not seeking comfort, only rest
. As the voice in his head spoke, Mason found himself unconsciously stretching out and laying his head on Bobby’s lap. A second later, one of Bobby’s hands came to rest on Mason’s arm; the other he used to stroke Mason’s hair.
Just resting
.

“I met Rig at Folsom,” Bobby started.

“That’s the club you go to in New York?”

“It’s the club I started,” Bobby told him proudly. “Back twenty-five years ago, there were a lot of underground clubs, more like meet and greets in abandoned buildings, in the basements of people’s homes. I wanted a nice place, where like-minded people could get together in a comfortable and safe environment, so I opened Folsom. It didn’t look much better than some of those abandoned buildings, but eventually it became one of the hottest spots to visit for those in the lifestyle. I attribute a lot of my early success to Rig.”

“He was a customer?” Mason asked and settled deeper into the cushions.

“No, he was one of the very first bartenders I employed. He was….” Bobby went silent for a moment and then chuckled as if he’d just been reminded of something funny. “He was very popular with the clientele. To watch him working behind the bar in nothing but a pair of tight leather pants and studded leather X across his chest. Jesus, he was something.”

“He still is,” Mason pointed out.

“Yes he is. And trust me, no sub, or Dom for that matter, stood a chance when he turned on the charm.”

“Including you, huh?” Mason teased.

“Including me,” Bobby agreed readily. “Being the boss, I got first dibs and I haven’t let go of that man since. About two, maybe almost three years later, I made him a partner just to make sure he couldn’t let go of me, either.”

“I see the way he looks at you, responds to you. I’d say it’s a lot more than just a business venture that’s kept him around all these years.”

Bobby ruffled Mason hair and laughed. “Don’t let that badass Dom hear you talking all sweet and sugary about him. He gets cranky when I tease him about getting soft and sentimental in his old age.”

Bobby went back to petting Mason’s hair, and Mason found himself pushing into the soothing touch. “He looks like he’s in his prime if you ask me.”

“Hey, who’s asking the questions and who’s answering them here?” Bobby grumbled playfully.

“Sorry,” Mason said, not the least bit apologetic. “Please continue.”

“Right. So Max… Jesus, when did I meet Max?” Bobby tapped his fingers against Mason’s arm as he contemplated the question. “It had to be at least ten years now? I don’t remember exactly. He joined the club, looking to explore his kinks he’d discovered while still in college, and I took him in hand.”

“Wow! So you were Max’s mentor?” Mason said incredulously. “Max seems so confident, so sure, more dominant than you.”

“He is more dominating, more hard-core, than I am these days. But he had a couple of very, very good teachers,” Bobby said smugly. “Some of his shows at the club are legendary.”

“I can believe that,” Mason said. And he could. Max was so gorgeous, so confident without being overly arrogant, yet he could calm and soothe with just one look. Mason hadn’t seen it, but he’d bet that when Max was in full-Dom mode he was a glorious sight to behold. The thought of Bobby being like that seemed out of character for the man currently stroking his hair. “I don’t want to offend you,” he continued hesitantly. “But I just can’t wrap my head around you being all hard-core and training someone like Max.” Mason turned on to his back, eyes going wide as he looked up at Bobby. “Wait! That didn’t come out right. I mean…. Well….” He stuttered. “I like you just the way you are, it’s just…. You seem….”

“No offense taken. In this case, the student definitely surpassed the teacher,” Bobby assured him with a smile. “And I seem to be what?” he encouraged.

“Like a big snuggly teddy bear,” Mason said in a low voice and then shrunk away slightly.

Bobby’s laughter was boisterous, a full-belly laugh that shook Mason. “Oh God,” Bobby got out between snorts. “You sound just like Rig.”

“He calls you a teddy bear too?” Mason giggled and grabbed onto Bobby’s thigh to keep from being shook right off the couch.

“Yes. And like I told him,” Bobby chuckled and waggled a finger at Mason. “You are not to speak of this in public. You’ll ruin the badass reputation I have so carefully constructed all these years.”

Mason continued to stare at Bobby’s laughing eyes, trying to picture this sweet man as badass, and simply couldn’t do it. He shook his head, still snickering, and rolled onto his side to snuggle back into the couch. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Bobby’s hands immediately returned to where they’d been, the one on Mason’s head now massaging his scalp. “Thank you.”

“Mmm. You’re welcome,” he responded, stifling a moan in response to the soothing touch and closed his eyes. “Tell me more about your friends in New York,” Mason murmured sleepily.

“New York is a melting pot of diversity, and my friends match that description. Where shall I begin?” Bobby asked quietly while the strokes of his fingers were working their magic on Mason.

Mason tried to pay attention. He heard Bobby speaking, his voice low, lulling Mason to sleep. Tackett…. Club…. Shows…. Blake. But the rest of the words were indiscernible, and before long even the few he could make out were lost to the darkness as it enveloped Mason.

Chapter 12

T
HE
sun had set hours ago, giving way to a full moon and sky full of stars. With darkness came a cooler breeze from the gulf, yet the warm sand beneath Rig’s feet still retained some of the heat of the day. This was the part he loved most about visiting Florida. He loved walking along the deserted beach at night. The sounds and scents of the salty mist that came with the rolling tide, the unpolluted skies above, and the warm breezes were what Rig would consider a good night. A perfect night would be Bobby and another hot sweaty body rolling around in the sand rather than him standing alone with it shifting through his curling toes.

He’d always had a very high sex drive. When he was younger he could bang an ass two or three times a day, every day, and he always suspected he might be a sex addict but it had never been an issue. Never had to worry about it. If their boy was worn out or being punished, Rig had Bobby. Worst-case scenario, he had a more than ample hand. Which, come to think of it, the calluses stuttering along his shaft were kind of fun occasionally. However, he wouldn’t be experiencing anything quite so rough as a callused hand, not when he had Bobby’s hot, tight backside to plow into.