Diablo Blanco Club 2, Under Control (2 page)

As a switch, Ben enjoyed both dominating and being dominated. Topping and being topped each held their own appeal, and Ben had become well versed in the various forms of discipline and bondage. Under the tutelage of Bryce Halsey and Richard Bennett, another partner of the Club, Ben‟s knowledge and skill in the world of BDSM had grown. His awareness of his own needs and the San Diablo residents‟ open acceptance of his bisexual nature had helped heal wounds created by the rejection he‟d endured from his own family when he admitted his attraction to men to them.

He‟d joined the Marines when he was eighteen just to prove to his father, Francis Murphy, that he was still a man, despite his sexual inclinations. Four years of hard work had gotten Ben into Force Recon. By twenty-four, he was leading his unit. Not Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control

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that it had mattered much, at least to his old man. Even in the six years since Ben had left the service, his dad still remained distant.

Then Ben met Vance. Just thinking about his fellow marine made Ben‟s cock stir.

Eight years ago when the young marine had transferred into his unit as their new sniper, Ben had a hard time tamping down his interest. Even now at thirty-two years old, he still had problems maintaining his composure around Vance, but at least he‟d gotten better at hiding it.

On their first leave, Ben had forgone a visit home to Virginia and accepted Vance‟s invitation to meet his parents and check out his hometown of San Diablo. Ben had been drawn to the town and the people from the second they‟d hit the city limits.

At that time, he had still regretted that his father would never accept him as he was. Gaining his degree as a physician assistant and taking a job at the hospital had made it easier for Ben to stay as far away from Virginia and his family as he could get.

And as close to Vance as possible, at least until Vance‟s unit was deployed overseas fifteen months earlier. Now, since hearing about Vance being wounded six months ago in a skirmish with terrorists somewhere in Iraq, Ben was waiting for the stubborn bastard to come home.

A drink request from a patron pulled Ben from his thoughts. As he watched the varied reactions of the members to the different activities playing out around the room, waited on customers, and turned down two guests curious about meeting for drinks after he got off shift, Ben realized it had been a while since he‟d last had sex. Pausing as he ran a damp towel over the taps on the draft beer dispenser, he had to take a few moments to actually remember when he‟d last been with anyone. Despite the frequent offers he‟d received lately, he‟d had no problem turning the interested parties down.

The truth behind his lack of interest was that he found it difficult to maintain a hard-on while his best friend, the man he loved, was halfway around the world fighting a bloody war.

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Six months ago, he had received word that Vance had been wounded and shipped stateside. After hearing how close he‟d come to losing him, Ben decided it was time to finally tell Vance the secret he‟d been keeping for years. How the object of his affection would handle the confession was another issue entirely. Although he didn‟t doubt Vance‟s friendship and he had long ago identified his friend‟s attraction and interest in members of both sexes, Ben was unsure just how accepting of his feelings the younger man would be.

Though their attraction had been simmering below the surface for years, Ben knew Vance fought his feelings. With his military career, Vance needed to maintain a certain facade befitting his rank. Publicly outing himself would mean the end of all that; even if he admitted to being bisexual, all anyone would notice or comment on would be his male partners. Ben didn‟t begrudge the younger man his denial, but he hoped for the day when he could hold Vance in his arms as both friend and lover.

But Vance hadn‟t made any effort to contact him since he left the hospital in Germany and was shipped to Bethesda, not even since he was shipped from Bethesda back to Pendleton four months ago. The fact that he continued to stay quiet and out of reach made the point of Ben‟s confessing moot. Justiss was a determined soldier, but Ben knew, having heard through mutual friends both in and retired from the Marine Corps, that the injuries Vance had sustained could spell an end to his being available for active duty.

If the rumors were true, the decision would be a difficult one for the soldier to handle. Vance‟s entire focus the two years they‟d served together and the six years since Ben had been out of the corps had been maintaining his standing in the military until he had put in enough years to retire. His skills with languages and training as a sharpshooter, as well as his leadership abilities, had moved him through the ranks, but if the injuries he‟d received were debilitating, active duty would no longer be an option, ending any further climb in rank. Ben knew that despite the closeness of their Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control

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friendship, Vance needed time on his own to come to terms with his changed future.

And when he was ready, Ben would be waiting.

The opening of one of the double doors leading from the reception area to the lounge had several Club occupants, including Ben, turning.

The sight of the very man his thoughts had been centered around and the silence that followed the closing of the door had Ben reaching for an unopened bottle of twenty-five-year-old scotch. Though his heart hammered against his chest, his years in the corps and emergency room training helped him hide his surprise behind a mask of calm. Cracking the bottle‟s seal and sliding a crystal rocks glass onto the teak bar, Ben stifled the curse that pressed at his lips as Vance approached.

Not quite six feet tall, the battle-hardened marine still bore signs of his recent deployment in the barely hidden limp and the healing scar that stretched from the corner of his left jaw to the spot just below his Adam‟s apple. Black slacks hugged his narrow hips, tailored to accommodate the thick muscles of his thighs and calves without looking bulky. His black polo shirt stretched tight over his broad shoulders, massive chest, and taut abdomen while the short sleeves emphasized the impressive bulge of his biceps. Though he was just two years shy of thirty, Vance‟s buzz-cut black hair was liberally sprinkled with gray, due more to his Apache heritage than the action he‟d been involved with as a member of an elite reconnaissance unit.

When Vance held up three fingers, Ben felt his stomach clench: it was going to be one of
those
nights. There had been different occasions over the years Ben had known Vance that he‟d seen Vance ask to use room three upstairs—the one room in the Club specifically designed for restraint and discipline. He‟d gone with the younger man each time and applied the punishment Vance needed to get through the anger or pain of the situation haunting him.

Setting the key for the room beside the bottle of scotch, Ben forced himself to look away from the man he loved and turn his attention to the patrons of the Club. He‟d assumed Vance‟s silence over the last four months had been based on his need to 10

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recover from his injuries, but one look at the emotionless mask on his friend‟s face told him otherwise. There had been more to this last mission than the knife wound on Vance‟s throat and the shrapnel in his thigh and hip.

Forcing down his emotions and focusing on an order for one of the customers, Ben heard the scrape of the key on the bar and the soft tread of Vance‟s boots as he passed.

He took his time to fill the drink request, knowing the buzz of the panic button would sound once from room three when Vance was ready. Staying busy and chatting up patrons who had questions was the only way Ben would be able to distract himself from the thoughts of what he‟d have to do once he joined his friend in the room As strange as it might seem, there were times when the four years of age that separated him and Vance had no bearing on their relationship. Then there were days when Ben looked into Vance‟s eyes and, instead of being the older, more mature one, Ben felt decades younger than his friend, whose soul was burdened beyond all imagination. Those were the days Vance would request to use room three. His dependence on Ben to exorcise the demons in his mind had forged a bond between them that nothing could destroy.

On those occasions, something ate at Vance‟s stoic control—something only a session under the whip and being bound in shackles would allow him to face and master. And Vance expected—no, counted on—Ben to provide the punishment. Over the last eight years, while they served in the Marine Corps and after his enlistment ended, Ben had never turned away from his friend‟s needs, but each time it came to this, Ben was concerned Vance would slip over the edge.

He feared that, instead of using the sessions to determine how long he could remain under control, the young marine would edge into the extreme end of the discipline spectrum. He worried Vance would venture into the realm where blood play and self-mutilation could become an everyday occurrence—a place Ben had no intention of ever exploring.

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Vance paid little attention to the other patrons as he entered the Diablo Blanco Club. A quick shift of his teal eyes as he passed a sofa acknowledged one of the Club‟s owners, Bryce Halsey, and his new wife, Mattie. Ben had e-mailed that the Dom had married. In the decade he‟d belonged to the Club, he‟d seen Bryce publicly fuck his subs. Vance had even seen Bryce direct another man in how to pleasure his companion when Bryce had decided to include a third. Vance noticed this time, though, the expression on the older man‟s face carried a hint of pride and possessiveness that hadn‟t been there in the past. Perhaps Ben was right in his estimation that this time Bryce had finally met his match.

But even the sight of the pretty brown-haired sub riding her master‟s cock in full view of several Club members couldn‟t shatter the ice that had been creeping through Vance‟s body since his last mission. Inches thick, the ice had built with each successive nightmare or memory tormenting him with what he‟d done. Even the concern shadowing Ben‟s gray eyes didn‟t touch the little bit of soul Vance knew remained inside him, and that just made matters worse.

The anger and self-loathing he‟d felt since his last mission had him tense and snapping at everyone around him. At night, he crawled into bed drained, desperate for peace, but it eluded him even in his sleep. There were times when he just wanted to escape from it all. But no matter how tired and no matter how dispirited he felt, there was as always that twinge—the feeling that forced him to face the dawn, crawl out of bed, and deal with the agony of physical therapy and the clawing ache that wouldn‟t leave him.

Not bothering with the glass, Vance snatched up the bottle Ben had lain out on the bar for him, hooked his finger through the ring on the key, and headed for the curved stairway on the far side of the bar. He could feel the different gazes of the Club patrons following him up the carpet runner. The back of his neck itched, just as it had on each of his missions. He‟d probably never lose the awareness of others watching him. As a soldier, that sixth sense had kept him alive. But it wasn‟t necessary at the Club. Since 12

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he‟d turned eighteen, it was one of the few places he could actually relax and indulge himself, and he knew Ben would always cover his six.

Ben had never really understood the methods Vance used to cage the emotions that raged within him. As a child, Vance couldn‟t understand where the intense anger came from. It was like a slumbering beast inside him: slow to arouse, but frightening when released. By his early teens, he‟d discovered a good knock-down, drag-out fight could help him control it, but he hated the reputation he gained at school and the upset it caused his parents.

The disquiet and frustration he had about his feelings truly manifested the first time he grew aroused while kissing his girlfriend. As his arousal grew, so did the intensity of his emotions. The strength of his emotions had overwhelmed and frightened him. Fearing that it would result in him hurting someone he cared for, Vance had gone to his father for help. His father, Gavin Justiss, had listened to his concerns and tried to reassure Vance that the fear he had about hurting someone weaker than him if he lost control was unfounded, but Vance wouldn‟t believe him. After several days of discussion, Gavin had turned to the owners of the Diablo Blanco Club—Bryce Halsey and Richard Bennett. Through practice and training, Vance developed the ability to focus his emotions, to draw on the rage and use its energy to maintain control over his emotions and calm his anger. It was that focus—that control—that made him a damned good soldier.

In addition to allowing him to control his emotions, the focus achieved through the use of pain also allowed him to control his body, which had given him the ability to hold off his own arousal and climax, for hours if necessary, in order to fully satisfy his lovers‟ needs.

Until Aimee. Until he‟d grown too confident in his ability. Until his dependence on pain to master his body and mind was used against him. Until he‟d lost his control.

In the six months since his last mission, he still hadn‟t regained it. The ability to focus his emotions to create and deny response in his body was gone. The mastery he‟d Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control

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taken years to perfect had disintegrated into nothing. Even the few times his body had reacted to mental or physical stimulation, climax had been impossible for him, smothered by the nightmarish memories of his last mission, when his body ignored his dictates and an innocent was harmed.

The rage and anger had built up and were eating away at him. He needed focus to regain his control, focus he could only obtain through physical pain. His own attempts to wield the lash on himself hadn‟t proved successful, but he knew what would help: Ben. Ben had assisted him with his battle for the last eight years. He would help now too.

While Vance knew Ben would balk once he spotted the healed wounds, he was confident he could get around that. Ben would help him drive away the anger, the guilt, and perhaps even the nightmares that made Vance consider ending his life.