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LYKIN CONTINUED TO profess his innocence for days after his arrest. The young man from the club would recover from his injuries, and there was no proof that Lykin had committed the other crimes. His family’s solicitor was finally able to get him released into their custody.
For a month, McCullough and Stiles watched and waited, but no more bodies were discovered. Stiles began to wonder how long the Velvet Rope’s owner would want to pay for him to visit the now-reopened establishment, so he wasn’t too surprised when McCullough broached the subject at a regular Monday-morning meeting.
“We’ve decided to move you to a new assignment.” He thumbed through a folder on his desk while he spoke. “Do you know much about numbers? Accounting, I mean. A bank owner in Sacramento believes one of his employees is embezzling.”
“Sacramento? As in California?” Stiles asked, his eyes widening.
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“No. Absolutely not.” Though he tried not to show it, Stiles was getting very excited. He never dreamed he’d be traveling in this position.
“Fine. We have you booked on a train leaving Thursday. Lawrence has your tickets and itinerary. Here is what information we have on the situation.” McCullough handed Stiles the file he had been looking through. “You are to report to Douglas Whitaker. He is the agent in charge of this case.”
Stiles rose from his seat and offered his hand to McCullough. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, sir.”
“For me as well. Good luck, Mr. Long.”
IT WAS TOO early to go to the Velvet Rope, so Stiles returned to the hotel to pack. He thought about the case he was leaving, and he realized it didn’t feel finished to him. He couldn’t help but think the real killer was still loose on the world.
A doctor hired by the family had quickly declared Alexander Lykin insane, and he’d been whisked away to a sanatorium in New York State. The agency and the police believed he was the murderer and that no other young men in St. Louis would be found dead. It was all too neat and tidy as far as Stiles was concerned.
Francis Rossi was another mystery. The man had disappeared after Lykin was arrested. Several rumors had circulated at the brothel, but none of them seemed likely to Stiles. The agency would have known if the man had returned to Italy and the forgiving arms of the church. Stiles thought the other rumor he’d heard was even less likely. He didn’t believe for one minute that any parish here in America would welcome a priest with such a reputation, Italian or not. So where the hell had he gone, and why?
Michael O’Leary was the only one still in St. Louis. Fall was quickly approaching, and Stiles had learned from McCullough that O’Leary had taken a position at a small all-men’s college in a village on the outskirts of Chicago. It only made sense that he would be leaving soon as well.
By the time evening rolled around Stiles had bathed, shaved, and prepared himself for an evening with Paul. The stroll to the Velvet Rope was refreshing in the cool night breeze, and Stiles enjoyed himself as he went. He would miss St. Louis. It was like a wild child on the verge of being conquered by a strict parent... but not just yet.
Henson shook his head when Stiles entered the main parlor and asked for Paul. “I’m sorry, sir. Your regular is already in attendance with another patron at this time.” The man looked truly sorry, though Stiles was sure it stemmed from the money the man felt he was going to lose if Stiles walked away.
“Oh. Well, I’ll come back later. Unless Paul is engaged for the entire evening.” Stiles hoped that wasn’t the case. He really wanted to see Paul again and have a proper goodbye. He felt the envelope tucked away in his inside pocket. It was a little something for Paul’s farm fund. Henson started to speak when Paul called out from the stairway.
“Wait. Wait!”
Descending the stairs, Paul crossed the room in a few long strides, smiling at Stiles as he approached. He wore trousers and a shirt that was entirely unbuttoned. Stiles admired the way the muscles of his flat stomach bunched as he walked.
Henson was not so happy to see Paul as Stiles was.
“This is highly unusual, young man. You already have a patron to entertain.”
“I know, Henson. He’s the one who sent me. Now, may I speak with Mr. Long... in private?” Paul’s face was glowing with some secret that he seemed bursting to tell Stiles.
“Thank you, Henson.” Stiles dismissed the butler but tried to say it kindly. Henson huffed, but left the two of them alone.
Paul approached Stiles and rubbed his palms on the lapels of Stiles’ jacket. His face was flushed. He tried shoving his shirttail into his trousers quickly. Stiles liked the unkempt look about him, and waited for Paul to speak.
“Do you still find Mr. O’Leary attractive?”
That was certainly not what Stiles had expected to hear. He studied his young lover and saw that he was clearly very excited about something. Stiles’ eyebrow raised slightly, questioning what Paul meant. “Yes.”
“Good. He wants you to join us. Actually, he wants to watch you fuck me.”
Again, Stiles was taken aback by Paul’s words. It was clear, however, that the idea excited Paul, and Stiles’ cock began to fill. And then he thought, maybe O’Leary could be tempted to join him and Paul, rather than just watch. His cock pulsed at the image that made in his brain.
Yet Stiles would never do anything to hurt Paul, so he asked, “Are you all right with this?” Paul’s plump bottom lip quivered as he stared up at Stiles. Stiles wanted to taste it, run his tongue over it and then plunder the man’s mouth.
“Very all right. He’s never taken me that way. Most times, his only request is for me to use my mouth on him. A man can be left very needy when sucking someone off and getting no relief in return.” Paul’s dimples deepened as his lips twisted in a wicked grin.
Stiles ran his fingers over those plump lips while a picture of Paul on his knees before O’Leary flashed into his mind. Paul sucked with abandon while a look of total bliss formed on O’Leary’s face. Stiles shivered at the thought. He’d never been with two men at once, but God help him, he wanted it now. Taking Paul’s hand, he let himself be led to where Michael O’Leary was waiting for them behind a closed door.
WHEN PAUL OPENED the door, they could see O’Leary pacing the room in circles. Stiles thought he was an incredible-looking man, but when he turned those icy blue eyes toward him, it froze Stiles where he stood. Was that fear or lust he saw igniting in O’Leary’s eyes? Whatever it was caused him to stop and stare at Stiles. He let his eyes roam over Stiles from his face to the floor and back again. This time when he looked Stiles in the eye it was clear, there was no fear. It was a hungry, deep lust that emanated from O’Leary.
“Close the door, Paul, and undress,” Stiles said, without breaking eye contact with O’Leary.
Paul did as he was bidden. Stiles waited for the other man in the room to say something... anything, but he didn’t. He didn’t watch Paul undress, either. O’Leary kept the constant eye connection between the two of them.
Stiles spoke softly. It felt like he was talking to an injured animal, and he didn’t want to say or do anything to frighten him away. “Would you like Paul to undress you?” He didn’t dare speak the other man’s name for fear of him making a quick escape. And Stiles wanted this. He wanted to see this man naked, his cock hard and dripping, and he wanted to touch. No, he wanted to worship the man’s body with his hands and his tongue.
O’Leary still hadn’t spoken, but he began to remove his clothes. First, he removed his coat and placed it on the chair he was standing beside. He folded it neatly though he never actually looked at it. Stiles watched O’Leary’s long fingers undo the buttons of his vest and place it on top of the coat. The only sound up to that point had been the rhythmic breathing of all three men. O’Leary’s voice broke the intimacy of the moment and replaced it with desire.
“Paul.” O’Leary motioned for Paul to come to him. The younger man must have known what O’Leary wanted, because he immediately came forward and continued undressing O’Leary.
Stiles could not move. He was frozen to the spot, watching every inch of pale, muscled skin that Paul revealed as he removed O’Leary’s shirt. There was a fine dusting of reddish-brown hair across O’Leary’s chest. Stiles followed Paul’s motions with his eyes, his lust growing with every look he took at O’Leary’s body. Just above his navel, hair a lighter shade of red thickened and formed a trail that dipped lower. Paul knelt to remove O’Leary’s shoes and socks next, then stood to undo the buttons of his trousers.
O’Leary stood before Stiles completely naked and gloriously hard, so hard that his foreskin had pulled back to reveal the dark-red head leaking a small amount of clear fluid. Stiles licked his lips and adjusted his cock in his own trousers. He had been with many men in his time, but Michael O’Leary was the most perfect specimen he had ever witnessed. And O’Leary knew the effect he was having on Stiles. Stiles could see it on his face, and he couldn’t look away.
O’Leary placed his finger under Paul’s chin and lifted his face. Still staring at Stiles, he lowered his head and ran his tongue over Paul’s lips. He took Paul’s mouth in a sultry, slow kiss. Paul moaned under the pressure and his fingers twitched at his sides. Stiles watched O’Leary move his other hand to grip Paul’s sac and give it a squeeze. Paul groaned louder.
Stiles removed his clothes, not caring that they had landed in a pile on the floor beside him. When everything was removed and his own member was revealed, he did not miss the look of heat in O’Leary’s eyes as Stiles took his member in hand and began to stroke it.
O’Leary’s cock was long. Longer than Stiles’ was, but it did not have the girth that Stiles’ had. It rose and tilted slightly to the left, away from his body. His sac was full, and hung low between his legs. Placing his hands on Paul’s shoulders, he pulled his lips away and pressed Paul slowly toward the floor.
Once there, Paul did not hesitate to take O’Leary’s length into his mouth. Stiles knew how good that felt, having had Paul do the same to him on a number of occasions. Watching Paul do this to O’Leary was something else entirely. Stiles grabbed his penis and squeezed hard. He did not want to lose his seed this way, not yet. O’Leary smiled at him for the first time as he watched Stiles try to get himself under control. It was a beautiful smile, and it did funny things to the inside of Stiles’ chest.
“I want to see you fuck him. He says you are a very good lover.” It was the first time O’Leary had spoken directly to Stiles. His voice was low and smooth. It felt like silk against Stiles’ skin. He shivered and squeezed himself again.
“I think you must be ready by the way you are grabbing yourself.” O’Leary laughed a little when he spoke this time. Stiles loved the sound of his laughter.
“I’m having a bit of a control issue. Not that I usually do, but seeing two such attractive men naked in my presence is creating a little stress.” Stiles offered his own smile and chuckle. “I haven’t done this before, but I am more than willing to give Paul’s ass my cock for your enjoyment.”
O’Leary sucked in a breath and pushed his cock farther into Paul’s throat. Stiles knew then O’Leary was as excited as he was. Paul removed his lips from O’Leary’s cock, which was shiny with Paul’s spit.
“How do you want me?” Paul asked the question of O’Leary as he knelt on the floor.
“On the bed,” Stiles ordered.
“Yes,” O’Leary agreed.
Arranging Paul on the bed on his stomach, Stiles found the small bottle of oil on the bedside table and opened it. O’Leary positioned himself on the other side of the bed, his cock facing Paul’s head. Stiles held the bottle over Paul’s crack and let the oil drizzle onto his skin. The room filled with the scent of vanilla and spice.
O’Leary gasped when Stiles buried one finger in Paul’s ass up to his knuckle. Paul groaned and pushed back at Stiles, asking for more. As Stiles continued to work fingers into Paul’s ass, he could see O’Leary pulling harder and harder on his cock. Little drops of seed formed at the tip and dripped onto the bed. Paul rose up on his elbows and stuck his tongue out to catch the drips. O’Leary’s hips bucked at the touch.
“Put it in his mouth. I want to see him suck you,” Stiles said as he used the leftover oil to slick up his cock. He didn’t want to hurt Paul, and he knew his lust was at a fever pitch.
Pulling Paul’s hips up as he knelt on the bed behind him, Stiles placed his cock at Paul’s entrance. He’d done this many times before, but right now, with O’Leary in the room with them, he didn’t know how his control was going to be. Just as he breached the pucker, he looked up at O’Leary. The man’s head was thrown back and his eyes were shut tight. That just wouldn’t do.
“O’Leary. Look at me,” Stiles demanded. O’Leary’s eyes flew open and he stared across Paul’s body at Stiles. His eyes drifted down to where Stiles was connected to Paul, and he licked his lips, a low rumble coming from deep within him.
Gripping Paul’s ass, Stiles thrust forward. He couldn’t stop himself. Paul, his mouth full of O’Leary’s cock, groaned deeply. Stiles knew the vibrations would play havoc on the sensitive flesh. He knew he was right when O’Leary yelled out.
“Fuck. Oh my God.” Then, looking back into Stiles’ eyes, he added, “Fuck him. Please, for the love of God, fuck him.” O’Leary’s voice deepened to a throaty growl as he made his desire known. “Let me see you fuck him.” O’Leary rubbed his hands through Paul’s hair and then down over his shoulders, holding on to them to balance himself.
Stiles began a steady rhythm, though it was taking every bit of constraint he had to hold back and not plow his dick into the dark warmth of Paul’s body. He knew in time Paul would adjust to the girth and it would begin to feel good. So, patiently, he watched Paul for the signs that he was beginning to enjoy the two men who were stuffing him full at the moment. He stroked the length of Paul’s back and whispered how wonderful he was.
Paul arched his spine and pushed back against Stiles. When he lifted one of his hands and reached under himself to stroke his own cock, Stiles knew he could let go. He pulled almost all the way out and then pushed back in quick and hard. When he looked up, O’Leary was holding Paul’s head still while he snapped his hips back and forth, pushing his cock into Paul’s mouth as far as he could. Paul was making all kinds of delicious sounds, letting both men know he was enjoying being used this way. Stiles continued to knead and touch Paul’s body, trying to bring him pleasure as well.
They went on like that for a time, the three of them working together, building to a crescendo that would move the earth beneath their feet. Stiles pumped faster, barely holding onto his sanity. O’Leary had closed his eyes and seemed to be floating in some place far away. Stiles wanted to see O’Leary’s eyes when he came, and he wanted to feel the hot channel hugging his cock spasm around him as Paul lost his seed as well.
“O’Leary.” Stiles’ breath was broken as he called out the name. “Tell me, shout it when your release comes. I want to know you are coming. Paul will want to know.”
Paul began to buck furiously beneath Stiles. His ass closed tightly around Stiles’ cock as he emptied his load on the bed linens. Looking up, Stiles watched as O’Leary’s chest heaved, and then he held his breath.
“Oh God! I’m... I’m—” His breath ran out and he nearly fell over Paul on the bed as his climax shattered him.
Stiles could no longer hold it back. One, two, three more thrusts and his world exploded. His body shook as if he had tremors. Gripping Paul’s hips, he spent himself entirely in his lover’s body. It was amazing.
Somehow, he had withdrawn from Paul and was lying beside him. When Stiles’ breathing had calmed and he could gather his wits about him, he looked up and across the bed. Michael O’Leary had taken his clothing and he was gone, leaving only Stiles and Paul in the room.