Manipulate (Deliver 6)

Didn’t matter if it made sense or not. He felt threatened by every man Ricky hooked up with. Not just threatened. He felt murderous.

“Your best friend is bisexual.” Ricky’s voice cut like a knife, sharp and penetrating. “Don’t ask me to be something I’m not.”

“I would never… Fuck. You’re right.” He drew in a slow breath and dragged a hand down his face. “I’m such a prick.”

“A possessive prick. Could be worse.”

“Whatever. I was out of line, and I’m sorry.” He turned to leave. “I’ll get out of here so you can shower.”

“Tell me about your first night with Van. How did you meet him?”

“What?” His breath left him as he glanced back and met Ricky’s eyes.

“How were you captured?”

Shame dug in its claws. “It’s in the past. Talking about it changes nothing.”

“Why is it such a huge secret?”

“Why are you so hellbent on making it one?”

“Forget it.” With a scowl, Ricky spun toward the shower.

His back rippled with muscle and strength, tapering into a trim waist and tight ass encased in tanned skin and…

All the air vacated the room.

“What is that?” He lurched forward and gripped Ricky’s arm, his gaze sweeping over dozens of red welts. “Who the fuck hit you?”

“I asked for it.” Ricky yanked his arm free and set his jaw.

“Who?”

“Calm down. You know I like it rough and—”

“Give me a goddamn name!” he roared.

“Van Quiso.”

He stopped breathing. “What did you say?”

“You heard me just fine.”

“How did he—?” His heart rate careened into the red zone. “Did he force you? I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking—”

“I went to him, Martin. Willingly. I drove to his cabin and told him to hurt me.”

His arm moved on its own, catching Ricky around the throat and shoving him against the wall.

“The man who held you captive? The motherfucker who tortured all of us? You gave him permission to hurt you?” He seethed, pushing Ricky harder against the tiles. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m not afraid of Van.”

“Did he fuck you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Answer me!” He shoved Ricky higher up the wall by the throat, putting them face to face, chest to chest, hip to hip. “Did. He. Fuck you?”

“No.” Ricky pulled at the fist around his neck. “He’s married, remember?”

Relief spread through him, magnified by the proximity of Ricky’s six-foot-two brawny frame. The shared heat of skin and sinew evoked sensations—tightening, pulsing electricity—that should’ve felt awkward, not pleasant.

They’d touched so many times his body craved every fist bump, one-armed hug, wrestling scrimmage, and brotherly pat. But never this. He should’ve cringed away from such close, intimate contact with his best friend.

Yet he didn’t.

Hypnotized by the energy in the air, he held Ricky to him. Foreheads drifted together. Breaths mingled. Tension stretched, waiting for that one twitch or sound that would break the trance and snap them apart.

Ricky’s dark brown eyes searched his face as if trying to understand what was happening.

Christ, he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he was doing or thinking. Instinct had put him in this position. The instinct to keep Ricky away from anyone who might take him. The impulse to possess, control, and protect so that no one could ever hurt him.

“Martin.” The hungry glare in Ricky’s eyes stole his breath. “Either kiss me or let me go.”

He yanked his hand from Ricky’s throat and staggered backward, reaching blindly for the exit behind him.

“This conversation isn’t finished.” Ricky stepped into the shower, his gaze stony. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

With a nod, he strode out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of his mattress.

The spaciousness of the master suite comfortably accommodated two large beds and a sitting area. The need for privacy had never been an issue between Ricky and him. They didn’t bring strangers home. No regular lovers or friends with benefits.

None of his roommates were in relationships. Most of them sought out one-night stands. One of them didn’t have sex at all.

He shared the latter category with Kate, even though his roommates thought he was a manwhore. He let them believe the lie because the truth was too painful to explain.

Ricky slept around the most and would jump at the chance to fuck him if he so much as crooked a finger. Ricky’s interest in him wasn’t a secret, but they didn’t let it complicate their friendship.

Their bond transcended sexual urges and uncomfortable moments in the bathroom.

Bracing his elbows on his knees, he waited as Ricky finished showering and dressing in the closet. A few minutes later, his best friend joined him on the bed, perching beside him in the same elbows-on-knees pose.

“Tell me what happened tonight.” He studied Ricky out of the corner of his eye. “Start at the beginning.”

As Ricky talked, it was hard to hear the details. The phone call to Van, the table in the woods, the leather belt, the stimulation of hands and fingers, and the ultimate orgasm… He despised every provocative word, every hitch in his friend’s breath, and every jealous reflex that clamped his own airway.