With or Without Him.

Barbara Elsborg.

Chapter One.

Inside the elevator, Tyler pressed the b.u.t.ton 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 antic.i.p.ation 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 f.u.c.king 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 att.i.tude.

Mex scowled. "You're late, you little s.h.i.t. You should have been here thirty minutes ago."

Tyler offered no apology. Some selfish w.a.n.ker 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 f.u.c.king 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 f.u.c.king-"

"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 p.i.s.sed 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 s.p.a.ce 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 c.o.c.k was already semi-hard, hanging thick and long over his tightening b.a.l.l.s.

I'm a s.l.u.t.

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 d.i.c.ks allowed. A couple of them had c.o.c.ks 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 gla.s.s. He planted his b.u.t.t on the wide window ledge and rested his back against the wall, one leg outstretched against the gla.s.s, 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 ama.s.sed 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 w.a.n.king off night and morning, but unlike most he'd had his first full on s.e.xual 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 a.s.ses, 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 c.o.c.ks, lick b.u.t.ts and get my c.o.c.k sucked and my b.u.t.t licked. I get f.u.c.ked, sometimes I do the f.u.c.king 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 b.l.o.o.d.y student," Tyler blurted. "Go the f.u.c.k away."

"What of?"

He let out a groan of disbelief. "Music. Now will you f.u.c.k 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 c.o.c.k stretched toward his navel, the uncut head dark red with blood. Tyler's was making the same journey. Treacherous b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"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 c.o.c.k twitched. f.u.c.k.

"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 b.u.mps. 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 f.u.c.king happy, but Tyler didn't much care. In any case, did he have a type? Didn't he f.u.c.k 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 c.h.i.n.k of gla.s.ses, 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 d.i.c.ks, 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 s.h.i.t. 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 b.l.o.w.j.o.b in front of strangers before, but he had a sneaky suspicion this might be the guy's first b.l.o.w.j.o.b-period. f.u.c.k.

"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 G.o.d," 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 c.o.c.k 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 c.o.c.k, making sure the avid audience could see exactly what he was doing.

Within moments, Jeremy jerked away. "Oh s.h.i.t, 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 d.i.c.ks 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 p.r.i.c.k, he likely had some guest who loved those who prematurely e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

He dropped to his knees, careful to let the wings splay out behind him. As he maintained his firm hold on Jeremy's d.i.c.k, he sucked on his b.a.l.l.s one after the other, lapping at the soft skin wrinkling under his tongue, laving in long, slow strokes while Jeremy trembled and panted, his knees shaking against Tyler's shoulders, his fingers threaded in Tyler's hair.

"Oh f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k." Jeremy's breathing came in staccato gasps.

Tyler pulled on the sensitive ball sac until Jeremy wailed. He could have made him last longer, used some tricks on him, slowly milked his come until he pleaded for release but Prescott coughed twice and Tyler accepted the instruction. Get on with it.

Wrapping his lips around the silky crown, he rubbed the top with the flat of his tongue, round and round, over and over. He teased and sucked and nipped, his mouth watering as the salty taste of pre-come burst like s.p.a.ce dust on his tongue. Jeremy shook like a leaf about to fall from the tree.

"f.u.c.k his mouth, Jeremy," Prescott said. "Shove your c.o.c.k into his throat. Make him take all of it."

Jeremy tightened his hold on Tyler's head, pressed his fingers into his skull and bucked his hips to drive into him. His eyes were glazed with l.u.s.t. Jeremy wasn't too big for him to take his whole c.o.c.k, and Tyler slid his hands to his b.u.t.t and let him dictate the pace.

"f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k," Jeremy panted. "Oh G.o.d, G.o.d."

Tyler needed to breathe but Jeremy was close, his d.i.c.k hitting the back of his mouth, pre-come and saliva dribbling down his chin. Jeremy's c.o.c.k swelled, jerked and a spurt of come jetted straight down his throat. Tyler was surprised when Jeremy pulled out before he'd finished coming. He sucked in a breath as a shot of gloopy fluid hit his lips, then his cheek. He knelt there, panting, come sliding down his face and Jeremy stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open. Then he smiled, the excitement and wonder genuine, and Tyler felt a tug that he'd not felt in a long while.

Nothing about that had been pretence which meant Jeremy was f.u.c.ked in more ways than one.

As Jeremy reached for him, a naked Prescott hauled him away and Tyler was left kneeling in the middle of the rug, aware he was being eyed by a pack of slavering wolves. He didn't look anyone in the face. The last thing he wanted to do was allow one of these men to think he was actually interested in him. That was the whole point of doing this, letting himself be used in this way. It was just f.u.c.king, nothing else. They were paying for his body but not his mind. Tyler didn't need to get anything out of it other than a brief feeling of s.e.xual pleasure and a wad of cash in his wallet.

But...

He grunted as someone pushed him hard in the middle of the back so he fell to all fours. A glance over his shoulder told him it was Gerald, a banker in his forties who was too rough. The jerk always told him how much money he'd made that week, about his enormous c.o.c.k-it wasn't that big-how important he was and how insignificant Tyler was. He liked to go into great detail about exactly what he wanted to do to him.

Gerald was hard, cruel and crude. He had leathery reptilian skin from too much time playing golf in Spain where he had an enormous villa and a huge pool and three servants, and Tyler hated the way the guy wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed as he f.u.c.ked him. Forget the c.r.a.p about intensifying the o.r.g.a.s.m, Gerald was a s.a.d.i.s.t. The only reason Tyler felt safe was because he was in a room with people watching and Gerald did like an audience. Tyler groaned as Gerald yanked his b.u.t.t cheeks apart and spat against his hole.

"I'm on f.u.c.king fire," Gerald said with a growl. "I almost came watching you get your arrogant mouth f.u.c.ked. Not going to choke on that c.o.c.k, but you might on mine."

The man was delusional, but Tyler made sure the laugh bubbling inside him didn't escape.

"I like the wings. f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, you look so f.u.c.king s.e.xy. I can't make up my mind whether to stuff your mouth first or your a.r.s.e."