Violated (10 page)

That was how he’d found himself offering his ass to compensate for not roughing up Ian to his satisfaction. Some kind of “bad cop” revenge fantasy. Whatever. Ian was hot, and Russ was horny, so he was happy to be the one getting fucked. The spanking did nothing for him, but he didn’t mind it. Ian was pretty rough when he penetrated, pounding into him a bit harder than Russ would have liked. But he got the job done, and they both reached an explosive climax at the same time, Russ barely managing to cup himself in time to avoid dousing his uniform shirt.

It felt good. Maybe not as good as an evening of sweet, sensual lovemaking with the right man—
not
Derek, he sternly reminded himself—might feel, but good. And maybe worth repeating.

“You can stay, if you want to,” he said when Ian finished washing up in the bathroom and made a beeline for his discarded clothing.

“Thanks,” Ian said, grinning as he slid his boxer briefs up over smooth, perfectly formed buttocks. “But I gotta get up early for work tomorrow, and this place is kind of off the beaten path.”

That was reasonable, but Russ still felt let down. The simple fact of the matter was, he was an affectionate man. He liked to cuddle. He liked having someone to snuggle up to in bed. The ass-pounding was great for release, but he’d hoped for more.

“Do you want to get together again?” he asked, trying not to sound pathetic. He could handle a night of commitment-free, raunchy sex, if that’s all this had been. He just wanted to know where things stood between them now.

Ian finished pulling on his socks and padded over to the bed. He leaned down to give Russ a lingering, teasing kiss before replying, “You bet, hot stuff. I had a great time.”

They exchanged phone numbers before he left. As Russ cleaned himself up and shucked his uniform—laundering would probably be in order, just in case—he consoled himself with the thought that, even if this wasn’t exactly a
relationship
, he seemed to have found a fuck buddy. And a damned sexy fuck buddy, at that. That was something.

But damn, he’d hoped for more.

D
EREK
CALLED
in sick Monday morning. Or rather, he e-mailed. He knew he’d probably get Victor, if he called in, and he didn’t want to hear his voice. The thought of going into the office and seeing the man made him queasy. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t just quit his job. It could be months before he found another one in this economy, and he’d have to tell Tim why he quit.

No fucking way
.

He’d have to deal with seeing Victor in the workplace. Somehow. Just… not today.

“What’s the matter?” Tim asked him. “Were you throwing up last night? Do you have the flu or something?”

“No. I just feel like crap. All that flying really dragged me out.”

Of course, that made Tim go all mother hen on him, insisting upon taking his temperature and making him go back to bed for a couple of hours. But that was okay. While he lay in bed, Tim took a shower and quietly retrieved some clothes from his closet and dresser. Derek watched his lover’s lean, naked body padding back and forth, and he felt his cock stiffen, but although he was tempted to call Tim over, he was afraid he might have the same reaction to Tim’s touch he’d had the night before. So he let Tim dress and tiptoe out.

He reached his hand over the side of the bed and found Gracie’s ruff. Once upon a time, before Derek met Tim, the dog had slept on the bed with him. She’d been banished to a dog bed on the floor by Derek’s side when they moved into the condo. He stroked her long fur now while she murmured contentedly in her sleep, wishing he could call her up on the bed. He could use a little cuddling right now. Just not from a man.

D
EREK
FAKED
an illness for the next couple of days, but he knew he couldn’t stay away from work forever. Virginia Haas from HR called on Thursday morning and said in her syrupy voice, “Hi, Derek. I don’t mean to disturb you if you’re not feeling well, but I needed to let you know if you take more than three days off in a row, you’ll have to provide a doctor’s note.”

Even though the thought of going in and seeing Victor filled him with dread, Derek forced himself to respond, “I think I’m feeling better this morning. I should be able to come in.”

“Are you sure? We’d rather you stayed home, if you’re still sick.” That was a lie, of course. Derek knew the VPs and managers of Top Circle would make their employees come in coughing up blood, if it weren’t for those pesky labor laws.

But he played along. “No, I think it was just a mild flu bug. I must’ve worn myself out traveling.”

“I hate the flu,” Virginia said, her voice full of false sympathy. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better now. We’ll see you when you come in.”

Derek had a cup of coffee, though he was unable to choke down anything for breakfast. Then he dressed and kissed Tim good-bye as if everything was perfectly normal, even though he felt nauseous during the drive in and thought he might actually vomit at the front desk.

Mrs. Snow, the grandmotherly receptionist, looked at him sympathetically and asked, “Are you feeling all right, dear?”

“Just a touch of flu,” he replied.

“Well, stay over there,” she said, teasing. “I don’t want to catch that.”

“Don’t worry. I should be past the contagious stage.”

She smiled at him, and he made his escape into the elevator. He had to veer off into the men’s room on the third floor and sit for a while in one of the stalls while another wave of nausea swept over him.
This is fucking ridiculous. I’m not afraid of him! I could take that overinflated gym rat in a fair fight.
It was a lie and he knew it. He might have believed it before, but not now.

He managed to keep himself from throwing up long enough to make his way from the men’s room to his desk. There, the nausea seemed to ease up a bit. He managed to get through most of his e-mail without difficulty, but his hand froze on the keyboard when he spotted one sitting in his inbox from Victor.

The first thing that popped into his mind was
Is it an apology?
“
Hey, bud! Sorry for raping you. You wanna hit up the mall food court for lunch?”
But he quickly realized it had nothing to do with that. The subject was simply “Report.” Despite a prickling sensation in his scalp and the feeling of ice melting in his bowels, Derek opened the e-mail.

It read, “I sent Jack a report on the situation down in Tampa on Monday, but he wants your feedback. Can you add some notes about how you view their support team in the attached document and fire it over to him? CC me. Thanks. Hope you’re feeling better.”

Derek read and reread the e-mail several times, feeling as though he’d been yanked out of the real world and dropped down on an alien planet where everything
looked
exactly as it did in his world, but he knew it wasn’t the same.
The sheer normality of the e-mail disturbed him. As if this were just any other day. As if nothing unusual had happened Friday night—it had just been an ordinary business trip, no different from any other—and now Derek and Victor were back in the office

Derek realized his entire body had been tensed for some kind of confrontation. What kind of confrontation, he didn’t know. A sneering, triumphant look as Victor passed him in the hall? A raunchy, demeaning remark out of the side of his mouth when nobody else was listening? Or maybe he’d try to be decent about it and make an awkward apology. But to just…
ignore
it….

Somehow that felt worse. As if it wasn’t even… important.

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he was expected to shrug it off. Wasn’t that what men were supposed to do? After all, he’d been beaten up before. Bloody noses, punches to the gut and face, a broken arm
—
he’d even gotten a concussion once, when Charlie Isaac tripped him in the school parking lot. Guys grew up being hit. You got up again and you laughed right in their faces to show them you weren’t afraid. That’s the way it worked. This had hurt like a son of a bitch, but was it really the worst thing he’d endured?

Stop being a baby!

Somehow he managed to fill out the report, even though he felt queasy talking about Victor, even in that neutral context. He fired the e-mail off, and to his dismay, there was an immediate personal e-mail from Victor. He opened it and saw the innocuous words, “Thanks, bud!”

Derek’s head swam as he remembered Victor pulling out of him, patting him on the back, and murmuring that in his ear. He was barely able to stagger into the men’s room and shove his face in a sink before the bile came up in a gush.

Thanks, bud
.

H
E
AVOIDED
Victor for the rest of the day, and thankfully Victor didn’t feel the need to come to his desk. Occasionally Derek would get a glimpse of him across the room as Victor left his office for something or Derek had to walk down the rows of cubicles to use the printers or go to the men’s room. But Victor seemed to be avoiding him, just as he was avoiding Victor. Apart from a few e-mails Victor sent him, there were no exchanges between them at all, including nothing over the phone. That made it easier to get through the day, but Derek knew it wouldn’t last. He was a supervisor directly under Victor’s management. Derek would have to deal with him eventually.

But not today, if he could help it.

He went to lunch at the Green Bean across the street, deliberately timing his lunch break so it wouldn’t coincide with Victor’s. That was fine. He chatted with the women at the counter, ate his Italian meatball soup and half a smoked gouda sandwich, and then went back to work. On the way, he stopped in the men’s room—not out of fear this time, but necessity.

On the way to one of the stalls, he glimpsed a guy from his department standing at the urinals, but of course he didn’t stop to chat. When he was in the stall, seated with his pants down, he heard the door open and someone else come in.

“Hey.” Victor’s low rumble sent a chill up Derek’s spine. But Victor wasn’t talking to him.

“Hey,” Pete replied. Then, because Victor had already broken the rule about talking to the guy at the next urinal, he asked, “How was the trip?”

“It sucked, man. Boring as shit.”

Pete laughed. “What? They didn’t have strip joints?”

“Nope. Just Sawyer walkin’ around the hotel room with his dork hanging out.”

At the mention of his name, Derek unconsciously folded his arms around his body, trying to block the sight of his naked crotch, even though nobody could see it through the stall door. His breathing grew faster and his heart was frantically trying to beat its way out of his chest, as if he were a frightened animal caught in a trap. He desperately tried to quiet his breath so they wouldn’t hear him.

Pete laughed again, and Derek heard a fly zipping closed. But he couldn’t tell if it was Pete’s or Victor’s.

“Sorry I missed the show.”

“Maybe next trip.”

Someone washed his hands and walked out. But Derek couldn’t be sure who. And when he heard the door close quietly, the terrifying thought he might be alone with Victor—caught with his pants around his ankles—overwhelmed him. He hadn’t even started to go yet. He could just pull his pants up, flush, and walk out. But they’d still be alone together.

He listened to the sound of someone pissing while his heart continued to pound in his chest. When he heard the low, tuneless hum that confirmed it was Victor, Derek’s breath caught in his throat. The humming stopped for a second, then started up again. Victor finished up, zipped his fly, and walked away from the urinal. But to Derek’s horror, he didn’t go to the sinks. Instead he approached the stall Derek was sitting in and stood just outside the door. He was close enough that Derek could smell stench of his cologne. Derek fought down the urge to retch.

“Hey, Sawyer,” Victor said.

Derek realized too late that his belt was hanging down low enough for his badge to be visible under the stall partition. Victor had known he was there all along.

Say something!
Derek tried to give him a “hey” back. Even a “fuck you,” which would have been appropriate considering Victor’s macho diss of him just a minute ago. Anything to prove he wasn’t cowering in terror behind the stall door like a five-year-old. But he couldn’t. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Victor finally gave up waiting for a response, snorting and walking away. Derek heard him wash his hands and leave.

“I
LOOKED
into your hot stud’s police report,” Officer Chavez said before popping a french fry into her mouth.

Russ gaped at her. “I didn’t tell you to do that!”

“No. And I knew you wouldn’t do it yourself, so I went ahead.”

“Well, that’s just terrific,” he muttered. He stole one of her fries and dipped it in the pool of ketchup on the side of her plate. She deserved to be inconvenienced for going rogue cop on him. “I’m barely dating him. I’m not
even
dating him. I don’t think I need to be spying on him.”

Chavez snorted. “You’re not. I am. And arrest records are a matter of public record, so I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem is, I don’t do searches on people I’m… sleeping with… in the arrest database. That’s creepy.”

“What if it turns out he’s a serial killer? Wouldn’t you want to know?”

“If he were arrested for being a serial killer, he wouldn’t be walking the streets.” At least, Russ hoped not. “Besides, he already told me about the arrest—the arrest of his
ex
, that is. Ian wasn’t the one arrested. If he had something to hide, he wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No,” Chavez said thoughtfully, nibbling on another fry. “There wasn’t anything in the most recent report he’d be embarrassed about. The boyfriend, on the other hand….”