With or Without Him

Chapter One

Inside the elevator, Tyler pressed the button for the top floor and sucked harder at the mint in his mouth. He moved to the corner and stared into the camera as instructed, and when the doors closed and the elevator began to move, he let his gaze drop and leaned against the glossy back wall. When he caught himself snapping an imaginary band on his wrist, he quickly pushed his hands into his pockets. His heart pounded with anticipation but he kept his face blank. He’d learned early on in life the advantage in hiding the way he felt. It kept him safer and was often less painful.

The doors slid open onto the penthouse apartment’s private vestibule and Tyler stepped out. On his left was a large bronze sculpture of naked men tangled like a ball of snakes. On a plinth to his right sat a piece of kinetic art, a delicately balanced structure of curling metal designed to turn on a breath. The urge to huff, puff and blow it over flared in his chest every time he saw it, but the minor detail of another camera tracking him provided enough of a deterrent. He hadn’t been instructed to look into this camera so he didn’t. He hated the fucking things. He lived in dread of
that
section of his past catching up with him, and now he’d added
this
into the mix, it seemed inevitable at some point down the line he’d have a lot of explaining to do.

After the elevator doors whispered closed, double doors opened ahead to reveal Mex, a sharply dressed East-European in his mid-thirties, not as tall as Tyler but with twice his muscle and even more attitude.

Mex scowled. “You’re late, you little shit. You should have been here thirty minutes ago.”

Tyler offered no apology. Some selfish wanker had thrown themselves under a train and the whole of the Circle line had shut down.

“Take your clothes off and join the others. And get a fucking move on.”

Tyler grabbed the guy’s crotch and squeezed hard. Mex sucked in a breath.

“Next time, ask me nicely.” Tyler let him go.

Mex lifted his fist. “You fucking—”

“Mex!”

Tyler shifted his gaze from Mex to Prescott. Where Mex was dark and stocky, and no amount of smart gear would make him more than the thug he was, Prescott had sophistication written all over him with his short silver hair, crisp white shirt and sharply creased gray pants. But danger came in many guises and Tyler knew which man posed the greatest threat.

“I began to think you weren’t coming,” Prescott said in his cultured, old-fashioned BBC voice. “I would have been very disappointed.”

And pissed off.
The warning was unmistakable.

“Sorry,” Tyler muttered. “Problem on the Tube.”

Mex let his hand drop but not his glare. Tyler swallowed the remains of the mint and headed to the room where he’d leave his clothes, along with his inhibitions, regrets, guilt and whatever other baggage he could manage to offload for a few hours.

The room was empty except for neat and not so neat piles of belongings. Tyler chose an empty space by the window and tossed his jacket onto the carpet. As he unfastened his shirt, he looked out into the night sky. The glittering towers of Canary Wharf surrounded the building he was in. He guessed many of the paying guests here tonight could see their offices through the windows. Bankers, lawyers, highflying executives but there’d be no window cleaners, baristas or plumbers.

Tyler toed off his shoes and bent to remove his socks.
He shucked off jeans and boxers together, let his shirt fall from his shoulders and kicked everything into an untidy heap. His cock was already semi-hard, hanging thick and long over his tightening balls.

I’m a slut.

Do I care?

Not enough to walk out.

Instead, he walked toward the music. Soft blues emanated from a split level room filled with expensive furniture; brown leather couches, plush rugs, more original pieces of art and seven naked guys, most of whom were drinking beer or wine. They were all young, in their early twenties, with toned bodies and sculptured abs. No saggy bellies or small dicks allowed. A couple of them had cocks that were big enough to make him gulp.
Had
made him gulp.

He recognized four of the guys. One waved him over, but Tyler made for the elevated section in front of floor-to-ceiling glass. He planted his butt on the wide window ledge and rested his back against the wall, one leg outstretched against the glass, the other knee bent.

He’d love to live in a place like this, but it was so far out of his reach it might as well have been a distant star. He was twenty-one years old and had already amassed twenty-five thousand pounds worth of debt. A few months ago it had been a lot more than that. The bad news was that at the end of this academic year, he’d owe around thirty-eight thousand, unless he took steps to make sure that didn’t happen. Which was why he was here. He glanced at the others, laughing and fooling around, and then stared out of the window. They were doing this for the same reason as him—money.

Tyler swallowed. He could have taken the easy way out and not gone to university, found a job flipping burgers or baggage handling at Heathrow, but he wanted more than that. And if this was what he had to do to achieve his goals, then so be it. It wasn’t like it was any real hardship, not compared to the film work where he’d had to spend hours
not
coming. Like most boys, he’d spent his teenage years wanking off night and morning, but unlike most he’d had his first full on sexual encounter when he was twelve—not the birthday present he’d expected. A shiver rippled down his spine.

“Want a drink?”

He looked up into the smiling face of one of the guys he didn’t know who held out a bottle of beer.

“No thanks.”

“You’re Tyler, right?”

Go away.

“I’m Jeremy.”

Go away.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“How old are you?” Tyler retorted.

Not Tyler’s problem but Jeremy didn’t look anywhere near old enough. Still, none of them looked their age. Prescott chose them for that reason. Tyler wasn’t comfortable knowing the men who paid only wanted barely legal asses, but he needed the money too much to walk away.

“I’m twenty-four,” Jeremy said.

Tyler raised his eyebrows.
Three years older than me? Really?
Jeremy’s gaze shifted to one side.
Lying.
But then weren’t they all in some way or another?

“What about you?” He perched on the window ledge and sipped the beer.

“Old enough,” Tyler muttered.

“What do you do?” Jeremy asked.

Tyler sighed. Didn’t he get that he didn’t want to talk? “I suck cocks, lick butts and get my cock sucked and my butt licked. I get fucked, sometimes I do the fucking but not often. I shower, put my clothes on and go home. You want more detail than that?”

Jeremy’s eyes widened. “I meant what do you do for a living?”

“I know what you meant. Go away.”

He frowned and his blond hair flopped in front of his eyes. “You do this for a living?”

“I’m a bloody student,” Tyler blurted. “Go the fuck away.”

“What of?”

He let out a groan of disbelief. “Music. Now will you fuck off?” He immediately regretted even saying that much.

“Cool. What do you play?”

“Jesus! Are you—”

Tyler spotted Prescott heading in their direction, something feathery in his arms, and he pressed his lips together.

Jeremy jumped to his feet, a smile on his face. “Hi Prescott.”

“You two look very…hot together.” Prescott shifted his gaze from one to the other. Except he wasn’t looking at their faces. Jeremy’s cock stretched toward his navel, the uncut head dark red with blood. Tyler’s was making the same journey.
Treacherous bastard.

“You two can do the floorshow. Tyler, I want you on your knees in front of Jeremy. Suck him off. Wear these. You can start now. The guests are on their way up. And Jeremy? Afterwards, you’re mine for the night.”

“Cool.” Jeremy flashed Prescott a brilliant smile.

Idiot.

Prescott held out a pair of black feathered wings to Tyler and white ones to Jeremy. Tyler rolled to his feet and took them. He slotted his hands through circles of silky elastic material and pulled the wings over his shoulders. They hung down his back as far as his knees. The feathers tickled his backside and his cock twitched.
Fuck.

“Goodness me, you two really do look hot,” Prescott said, the bulge in his pants proof he wasn’t lying. “I’d keep you both tonight, but that would make me very unpopular, particularly with Gerald.” He winked at Tyler.

Tyler managed not to shudder, but his skin broke out in goose bumps. He didn’t like Gerald. The guy had more than a few screws loose.

Prescott helped Jeremy pull his straps tight and then trailed his fingers down the center of a hairless chest between softly rounded pecs. Jeremy’s intake of breath was audible.

“Do try not to break his wings, Tyler,” Prescott said. “I’m looking forward to doing that later.”

By the time Tyler reached the circular white rug in the middle of the couches, he was fully hard. He didn’t want to like the wings, but he did. A bad angel? Prescott had that right. Tyler didn’t want to like the idea of sucking Jeremy off in a room full of strangers, but he sort of did. Jeremy wasn’t his type, too young and innocent and too fucking
happy,
but Tyler didn’t much care. In any case, did he have a type? Didn’t he fuck any willing guy with a pulse if they paid him enough? Wasn’t that the point?

“What do I have to do?” Jeremy whispered.

Tyler almost laughed. “Just stand there and enjoy it.”

He bent and brushed his lips over Jeremy’s shoulder, then lifted his arm and kissed his way down to his fingers. One lick of Jeremy’s palm and the guy whimpered.
Oh Christ, they’re going to eat you alive.
At that moment, if he’d been able to do anything to get Jeremy out of there, he’d have done it, but no amount of warning would persuade him to leave and if Prescott found out,
he’d
be the one shoved through the door.

Tyler was aware of clothed men coming into the room, the chink of glasses, the sound of chattering. They took seats on the couches, and those like him and Jeremy settled between the newcomers, or nestled at their feet, or sat on their dicks, but Tyler paid them no attention. He skimmed his fingers down the middle of Jeremy’s chest, his thumb brushing over his navel a couple of times until he reached the thick wreath of blond curls below. He was surprised Prescott hadn’t told him to shave. All the others had, including him, though when he thought about it, not shaving marked Jeremy as new meat and would encourage guys to come back next week when they discovered Prescott had reserved him tonight.

Jeremy kept his hands at his sides, his fingers clenched, breathing heavily.
Oh shit.
Tyler didn’t want to feel protective, he didn’t want to
feel
anything, but he did.

“Relax,” Tyler whispered. “This is fun, remember? Have you never done this before?”

“No,” Jeremy whispered back.

Tyler had meant had he never had a blowjob in front of strangers before, but he had a sneaky suspicion this might be the guy’s first blowjob—period.
Fuck.

“Tyler,” Prescott snapped.

Yeah, right, get on with it.

He twisted his fingers in Jeremy’s wiry pubic hair and tugged. Jeremy let out a little gasp at the pain.

“Oh God,” he moaned.

“He’s not going to help you now,” Tyler said. “You’re going to fall, just like me.”

He stared into Jeremy’s eyes, wrapped his hand around the base of the guy’s cock and stroked upward, gently squeezing the swollen crest before he slid his hand down. Pre-come trickled onto his fingers and Tyler lifted his hand to his mouth, pulled Jeremy’s head to his and they licked it up together, their tongues tangling. Jeremy groaned and slid his hands over Tyler’s hips.

As they kissed, Tyler fisted Jeremy’s cock, making sure the avid audience could see exactly what he was doing.

Within moments, Jeremy jerked away. “Oh shit, too much. Please.”

You have to last longer than that.

Tyler tightened his hold at the base and pressed down using enough weight to dampen Jeremy’s urge to come. Prescott didn’t like dicks that spurted the second they were touched. Maybe he should make Jeremy come fast and then Prescott would let him go.
Yeah, right.
Knowing the prick, he likely had some guest who loved those who prematurely ejaculated.