Something in the Way He Needs (Family 1)

Chapter 1

“YOU better not call me an asshole or tell me I’m selfish or any other bullshit for the rest of our motherfuckin’ lives,” Asher Penaz growled at his friend.

Of course, it was entirely possible that Oliver couldn’t hear him or wasn’t listening. There was no way for Asher to know because there was a wall of nearly naked women between them. He pulled yet more money from his wallet, tucked it into the tiny string holding up the almost-too-small-to-bother bikini gyrating in front of his face, and thought about how he’d never once expected to find himself in this position.

It wasn’t that Asher was opposed to nudity—far from it. But the female form wasn’t what did it for him. Not that any of this mattered to Oliver, as evidenced by the fact that the man had dragged him to this place.

“A selfish asshole is the perfect description for a guy who can’t let me enjoy my last weekend of freedom.” Oliver’s voice floated over across the sea of flesh. “It’s my bachelor party, Asher. Quit making it all about you, as usual.”

Asher threaded his fingers together and pulled his hands up, cracking every knuckle. After endless weeks of his old friend’s needling, he had agreed to come to this ridiculous bachelor-party weekend and sealed his own fate. Okay, so the unfortunate decision was his own fault, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t kick the crap out of Oliver for nagging him into it.

Oh, that little image made him feel a whole lot better. He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs, hoping to discourage future lap dances, and thought of how he could use his broad, muscular, six-foot-four-inch frame to inflict the most pain on his friend without leaving marks that would show up in wedding pictures. No reason to upset Shirley on her big day, even if she was making a remarkably bad decision by marrying Oliver.

Predictably, thinking of inflicting pain managed to do what two hours’ worth of wiggling tits and grinding hips had not, and Asher felt his cock harden against his thigh. It was Thursday afternoon and he was stuck in Vegas on Oliver’s madcap adventure until Sunday. Maybe he could escape for a few hours and find his kind of bar—one with hard bodies covered in leather kneeling at his feet. Yeah, that would make the trip almost bearable.

He moaned out loud at the thought of a tight ass raised and spread, waiting for him to take his pleasure. Oliver claimed he was selfish, but the subs Asher had been with hadn’t ever complained, so no harm no foul as far as he was concerned. Well, maybe there was a little bit of harm, but that was kind of the point.

“I’m not selfish,” Asher muttered defensively, more to himself than to Oliver, but the women who had been dancing between them had moved on to other customers, so his friend heard him.

“Oh, yeah? What do you call a guy who gets his rocks off by hurting other guys?”

“They get off on it too, Oliver,” Asher growled. “That’s the whole point. Just because I’m not into vanilla sex doesn’t mean I’m selfish.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “You whip ’em, beat ’em, fuck ’em, and leave ’em. It’s the last one that makes you selfish.”

Asher felt his body temperature go up and tried to keep himself calm. He tightened and relaxed his fists repeatedly and then ran his hands up and down his pressed, dark-washed jeans.

“I just haven’t found the right guy yet. That’s all. I’d be happy to have a relationship if I ever found someone compatible outside of the… bedroom.” Asher knew that wasn’t exactly an accurate description of the place he most frequently had sex, but saying sling, club, or dungeon wouldn’t exactly help make his point. “And, by the way, I don’t need commitment advice from a guy about to embark on his third marriage. You might want to try my approach and wait for someone compatible before you walk down the aisle next time.”

Oliver’s usually jovial expression changed and he looked truly offended. “Shirley and I are compatible. She’s great. This one’s going to work out. You’ll see.”

One blood-inducing tongue bite later, Asher was nodding his shaved head with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I’m sure it will,” he said, not meaning a single word. “And Shirley is great.” That part he actually meant. As far as Asher could tell, Shirley’s only flaw was crappy taste in men.

“Seriously, though, Asher. You’re, what, forty-four, forty-five now?”

“I’m thirty-nine and you fucking well know it, you piece of shit.”

Oliver chuckled. “Right. Thirty-nine. So you’ve had about two decades worth of dating, and in all that time, not one guy was good enough to be with you if he had his clothes on. Think about that, my friend. Think about it.” Oliver tapped his index finger against his temple as he spoke. “The department has that shrink on staff and you can go to her anytime, even if it isn’t ordered. You might—” Asher’s hand clenched into a fist and flew out on its own initiative, making solid contact with Oliver’s bicep. “Ow! What the fuck, man? I’m not one of your little boy toys, Asher. Keep your damn hands to yourself or I’ll show you that a real man knows how to defend himself.”