Ropes and Dreams (6 page)

“And besides all that, Buddy, I said no more men.”

Buddy turned those big puppy dog eyes up at him and yipped. Drake would have sworn the dog was calling him a liar. He harrumphed and walked back into the house. He had a meal to cook.

Chapter Four

As badly as he’d wanted to change out of his uniform and drive his own truck, Ian hadn’t done either. He was going to see Troy in a professional capacity, and changing his vehicle or out of his uniform would emphasise neither of those things.

And it’d make this seem more like a date, which might freak Drake the fuck out.
Ian didn’t want that, just like he didn’t want that bastard Salt telling Drake anything about what Salt might have seen months ago in that club.

Ian hadn’t remembered right off the bat, but he’d woken up in the middle of the night with the image in his head of Salt, wearing little more than a leather jock strap and leather boots, watching Ian whip a sub who’d begged him for it. Ian had played with that particular sub a few times before. He’d always been a noisy one. If he wasn’t screaming, he wasn’t happy. Someday he’d likely blow his vocal cords out.

Ian had been paying attention to his sub, not to the bystanders. He’d only caught a glimpse of Salt after he’d finished the scene. The difference in the man’s clothing had caused Ian not to recognise him like he should have yesterday. Salt had looked disgusted in the club, as if Ian had abused the poor man strapped to the St Andrew’s cross.

Salt didn’t understand BDSM if that was the case. One word or the right gesture from the sub and Ian would have stopped the whipping immediately. Dressed as he’d been, Salt hadn’t appeared to be a newbie to the scene. Ian shrugged to himself. What did he know? Plenty of people dressed up to play a part they weren’t really into.

He was done worrying about it. If Salt had said anything to Drake about that night, Ian would correct any misinformation Drake had been given.

The sun was just setting when Ian pulled up by the ranch house. He’d arrived earlier than yesterday, because damn it all, he was eager to see Drake again. It didn’t surprise him one bit to see Salt standing on the bunkhouse porch glaring his way.

Ian got out and stared at the older man. When Salt finally looked away, Ian shut the car door and strode to the main house. It had been a stupid pissing match, but a necessary one. Ian wasn’t going to put up with Salt trying to interfere with his shot at Drake.

Ian knocked at the door. He thought it was actually the back entrance, but he didn’t care. It was the way Drake had gestured, and the side of the house where he’d seen Drake.

It wasn’t Drake who answered the door, which was disappointing. Ian introduced himself to the older man, who turned out to be Carlos. Ian had heard of him in town, as well as the rumours circulating amongst some that there was more to his position here than as ranch manager. Ian didn’t care, but he hoped if there was a ménage going on, the men were careful with who knew. Tolerance wasn’t something many people had for such things, though Ian didn’t care. Those same intolerant fools would try to run him off if they knew what he was into.

As he followed Carlos inside, Ian glanced into the kitchen when they passed it. His heartbeat accelerated when he caught a glimpse of Drake at the stove. The way Drake’s tight jeans hugged his ass made Ian’s mouth water more than the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.

Carlos cleared his throat and Ian realised he’d stopped to stare. So much for his self-control. Ian arched one brow and Carlos returned the look. Ian had a feeling this was a pissing match that neither would give on, but since he was here on business—first, at least—and since Drake wasn’t his, yet, he gave a short nod.

It wasn’t much, but he didn’t have a whole lot of bend to him. Carlos took it for the admission it was—that Carlos was the boss here—and resumed leading Ian to the living room, where Troy and Will waited.

Carlos, Will and Troy had to think he was stupid. The way the three of them looked at each other gave their relationship away. Ian wanted to tell them so, but decided to let them keep believing their ruse worked.

“Mr Samson, thank you for seeing me this evening,” Ian began, offering his hand first to Troy. After he’d shaken Will’s hand too, Ian sat in the large chair across from the two men. Carlos sat in the recliner, all but glowering at him. Ian just suppressed an eye roll. He detested that, anyway, and always wanted to smack whoever was doing it.

“It’s not a problem, and we hope you’ll join us for dinner,” Troy said, darting a nervous glance at Carlos. Will elbowed Troy in the ribs. Troy grunted and focused his attention back on Ian. “What can I help you with?”

Ian took out his notebook, pen and recorder. He held the last one up. “Will this be okay? I don’t want any misinformation because I didn’t hear something right.”

Troy nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine. Drake told me your partner had my number down wrong.”

“Yes, he did. Maybe he wrote it down correctly, and just couldn’t read it. That is entirely possible.” Ian turned the recorder on. “If you could just go back through the events leading up to our arrival, please. I need to make sure there’s no way for Fred Bell Senior to get off on the charges. We’re lucky that his brother has refused to bail him out or pay for an attorney for him. As much money as Jessup Bell has, he could probably hire an attorney to get Mr Bell off scot-free.”

“That wouldn’t look good if Jessup runs for the Senate like I’ve heard tell he plans on doing,” Troy said.

“Correct.” Ian put the tip of the pen to the paper and waited.

“Oh. Uh.” Troy coughed and grinned bashfully. “We went into the store for supplies. We knew something bad was going on between Fred Senior and Junior, but no one in town seemed to give a shit.”

That was the way of too many people, Ian knew. No one wanted to get involved. It wasn’t like they were the ones being hurt—which was bullshit. How many abused children grew up to commit crimes they might not have done if someone had showed them compassion earlier in their lives? Granted, not every abused kid turned to crime, Ian was proof of that, but—he stopped his mental rambling and concentrated on writing down the main points of Troy’s recounting.

By the time Drake stuck his head into the room and announced dinner, Ian had all the information he needed. He stopped paying any attention to anyone other than Drake. The man had timed it perfectly, so perfectly that Ian suspected Drake had lingered outside the living room, waiting for the interview to end.

And Drake looked extremely fuckable. His hair was dark brown with just a hint of wave to it, and his eyes were just as Ian had thought them to be in the headlights last night—brown with flecks of amber in them. He’d shaved, too, that dark shadow gone. Ian wanted to push him against the wall and claim every inch of him.

Drake’s gaze settled on him and Ian felt the connection between them like a jolt of adrenaline. He stood, intent on getting his hands on Drake, only to be stopped by the realisation that they weren’t alone. Ian tucked the notepad in his pocket and decided, fuck it, he’d already made it obvious that he was panting after Drake. He wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

He could, however, exhibit some manners.

Ian walked right over to Drake, whose eyes got bigger, wider, as Ian approached. He held out his arm, crooked at the elbow, and was aware that he would probably be laughed at later on after he left. As long as it wasn’t Drake doing the laughing, he didn’t really care.

Drake gulped, but he placed a shaking hand around Ian’s arm, holding onto him. Ian gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but since it wasn’t something he tried doing often, he thought maybe he failed at that. Drake’s breath hitched and his bottom lip quivered before he licked it.

Ian almost came in his pants.

He placed his other hand on top of Drake’s. “Thank you.”

The simple expression of gratitude eased Drake, the fear flitting out of his expression. Drake’s mouth curved into a shy smile that Ian was afraid he’d soon be addicted to seeing. It made him realise how serious Drake had seemed up until then, and he wondered what worries preyed on Drake’s mind.

Ian wanted to dine alone with Drake. He wanted to be able to talk, or try to, or if nothing else, just watch him and learn how he moved. A lot could be learned from observing someone, at times even more than speaking with them. Words could be wielded as weapons, they could be lies. Actions tended to be truer.

As it was, he sat across from Drake and endured an awkward dinner. The food was damn near orgasm-inducing, but the conversation was stilted, with Ian struggling to add anything worthwhile to it.

He couldn’t concentrate with Drake picking pieces of chicken off the bone and sliding them between his plump lips. Every time Drake licked those lips, Ian wanted to moan and taste them for himself.

Drake knew it, too. Ian suspected the man even began to deliberately tease him. He knew it was so when the other three men excused themselves in smug voices.

Drake’s cheeks were a ruddy shade of red. That colour spread down his neck as Ian watched him unblinkingly. He wanted to do so many things to Drake, so many dirty, fun things that they’d both enjoy.

When Drake looked away, Ian had a feeling he knew what was coming. He waited for Drake to speak.

Drake glanced at him, then puffed out a sharp breath. “So, uh, Salt told me he saw you at this…this place in Bozeman.”

Ian would have been angrier than he was about Salt telling Drake had Drake been upset. As far as Ian could tell, Drake wasn’t turned off, at least. He did seem nervous, but that could have been for numerous reasons.

Ian took a drink of his tea then turned the glass in his hand. “Yes.”
Shit, say more. Speak! Words, Ian, use fucking words!
“He did.” Fuck, that was all he could manage?

Drake sucked on his bottom lip. When he let it go, the flesh was noticeably darker. “Is that…? Do you only have sex with someone who’ll let you whip them?”

Ian told himself to calm the fuck down. He was not going to blow the chance he was being given to talk to Drake. The importance of the opportunity freed his tongue and words came easier than he’d have hoped. “No, although I do enjoy it. I am a Dom, but causing my partner pain isn’t a requirement.” Though God knew he’d miss it if he was forced to give it up. Would he give it up for Drake? Ian didn’t know.

“But you get off on it?” Drake asked.

“I’m not the only one who does in a scene,” Ian added quickly. “The sub’s pleasure is paramount to my own. Sometimes what gets the sub off isn’t pain, per se, but is more along the lines of humiliation or denial. Different things for different people. I enjoy seeing them get what they want, and what they need.”

Drake crossed his arms over his chest and leant back in his chair. Ian didn’t like that at all.

“Have you ever been dominated?” he asked, keeping his voice calm.

Drake frowned. “Well, I don’t know. Not like, officially, I guess. I just dated guys who tended to be bossy fuckers. Violent sometimes, but sure as heck not for my enjoyment.”

“There’s a huge difference between abuse and BDSM, Drake.” Ian was going to get names from Drake later, if Drake agreed to be his someday.

“I know that, I do.” Drake’s right cheek caved in, as if he were biting it until he spoke again. “Intellectually, I do. But, here’s the thing—I promised myself, no more men.”

“Ever?” Ian asked, feeling his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. What the hell had happened to Drake to turn him off men, off sex?

Drake nodded, shooting him a bashful look. “Yeah. I meant it, too, because I always end up dating jerks. The last one, he was really bad.”

Something dark crossed Drake’s expression, something that left fear behind. “He hit me a few times, and I didn’t like it. I figured, if I was gonna date guys like him, I’d just not bother anymore. I didn’t like being slapped at all. I can’t imagine being turned on by it.”

Ian barely kept from snarling. It took him a moment to trust that his voice would be as calm and level as usual. “Slapping is, in my opinion, a form of humiliation. It is less so to be slugged in the gut—but again, that’s my opinion. Some people get off on being slapped, be it for humiliation, pain or who knows what. It isn’t something I care for, though I’ll admit to having done it when a sub asked for it.”

“Shouldn’t you and whoever you’re”—Drake flapped a hand in the air—“BDSM-ing with both be comfortable with what’s going on?”

Ian shrugged. “It’s not a hard limit. I won’t do blood play or—” He stopped himself from saying scat or watersports. They were, after all, still at the dinner table. “Other things, but I want to please who I’m in a scene with.”

Drake frowned at him. “Huh. What about who you’re dating?”

Ian was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what about the person you’re dating?” He uncrossed his arms and propped his elbows on the table as he leant forward, an intent look on his face. “Is it the same thing? Do you want to please them or control them? Do you keep the dating and the BDSM separate? Like, have a guy you date and another guy or guys you whip or whatever?”

Ian reminded himself that Drake didn’t intend to insult him. He was merely trying to learn about what Ian did. “I haven’t had any serious relationships, Drake. I’m only twenty-four, and I’ve played around quite a bit, but no one ever interested me in more than that—and before you think that’s just me being a jerk, no one was interested in more than the pain I could bring them, either. But to answer your question, I wouldn’t date someone and have scenes with another person, not without specific consent from whoever I was dating. Ideally, though, I’d have a man who was both to me, a sub and a partner. BDSM is part of my life. Could I have a relationship without it? Probably, if I loved someone enough, but something would be missing.”

As soon as he said it, Ian knew it was the truth. And damn it, he wanted the whole package, and he hoped Drake would be the man to make it possible.

Drake suddenly scowled and stood up, almost tipping his chair over. Ian rose as well, ready to chase after the man, something he’d never thought he’d be willing to do for a potential lover.