Page 6

A few months later

Reese Tenley

C hristmas in July just wasn’t my thing, even when the celebration took place at a kink party—and I loved Christmas. Granted, I looked hot as fuck in a Santa hat, but even I had limits.

This party was weird. Some rich guy West knew hosted it in his giant backyard, and everyone was required to wear a Christmas-related decoration or outfit. Hence my hat—and River’s two Sharpie’d ornaments on his hand that just looked like a pair of balls. He’d drawn them on the way over here.

That was where Christmas ended. The cocktails were flowing and ranged in hues of pink, blue, and orange. The pool was packed with men in skimpy briefs in bright colors. The food …

River returned from the buffet with two paper plates and a scowl.

I’d snagged us a high-top table close to the bar. Because of course this guy had his own tiki bar.

“This is some bullshit,” Riv muttered. “Only an insane person would cut their pizza into squares.”

“Or someone from Chicago.”

“We’re sayin’ the same thing.”

I grinned and took a swig from my beer. My brother was pissy today. He blamed jet lag. We’d just come back from six weeks in Mali.

I’d promised West we’d show up, though. We’d had to cancel the last event he’d found for us, and I didn’t want that guy to slip through our fingers.

Lucas West was social, easygoing, evidently attracted subs like nothing else, and he was seriously good in the sack.

River and I would benefit from having him as a friend.

West was currently surrounded by a gaggle of subs on the other side of the pool.

If I ever convinced River to start a kink community with me, West was going to play a key role in recruiting members.

We’d only met up twice before today, and the second time had settled things for me.

I mean, the first time had been about something else.

He’d had a goal—he’d wanted to get laid.

Plus, the theme had been sadism. The second event, however…

Way too soft for River and me, yet it’d shown a side of West that intrigued me.

I could see the Daddy Dom in him now. He wasn’t particularly interested in taking things further with many of them, but he was naturally nurturing, kind, and patient around subs on the Little spectrum. And boy, did they love him.

I could learn a thing or two from him. ’Cause I was interested in exploring Daddykink too.

I just didn’t know how to handle that kind of submissive.

One of them had run up to me earlier to offer me a drink, and I’d felt awkward and stiff.

I didn’t know what to say—I was wired to punch the daylights out of someone for smiling that widely, because it usually meant that person had the upper hand.

The look of triumph meant your opponent had been defeated, not just that you were fucking happy.

I continued drinking my beer and observing the crowd.

Some fifty people were here, all enjoying the snack buffet, the pool, the open bar, and a few games.

It was Doms against subs in the pool, a spanking contest on the porch, and naked wrestling in a large makeshift sandbox.

Beach sand, meet a bare ass. All with the grand view of a pricey Tudor-esque McMansion.

Two masochists were going at it on the sand-filled tarp, and a dozen or so kinksters were enjoying the show. Personally, I preferred to watch the audience, not the circus.

Meanwhile, River was going to town on his pile of pizza squares.

I snatched a mozzarella stick and took a bite.

“You seem to like your pizza squares a whole lot,” I mentioned. Aside from the fact that he was still scowling.

“The shape doesn’t make them less tasty,” he bit out.

Jesus.

“You need to get laid, brother.”

“I need to sleep ,” he corrected.

I shrugged and let it go, ’cause West was on his way over with another kind of smile on his face. He was curious.

His Christmas outfit consisted of regular slacks and a button-down—too hot for the summer—and he’d donned a pair of antlers.

“What’s the verdict, guys?” he asked as he reached us. “It’s a nice party, isn’t it?”

I mean…it was nice I could walk around in my boxer briefs, but the Santa hat was starting to itch. In fact, I removed it and wiped sweat off my forehead, then finished my mozzarella stick.

“I’m enjoyin’ the people-watching,” I said, chewing. “You’re certainly popular.”

Life went on when we weren’t around. On the way over here today, West had mentioned he’d joined a community and everything.

“You could be too, if you didn’t lurk in the shadows,” he pointed out teasingly.

I grinned a little and pinched a few fries next. They felt kinda limp.

Didn’t taste great either.

“You’re on the prowl,” River noted.

West tilted his head. “Am I?”

River nodded once and bit into another slice—square—of pizza. “I noticed that about you. You’re not enjoyin’ the journey. You just wanna find someone and get settled. Eager beaver.”

Nice. A little afternoon profiling when he was dead on his feet and lacked the ability to ease into things.

I elbowed him. “You don’t spring that shit on people.”

He frowned.

West knitted his brows. “I don’t agree with that. I’m far from ready to settle down.”

That one got River going again. With his mouth full. “I didn’t mean it’s gotta be Prince Charming. But you wanna be settled, even if it’s a playtime dynamic.”

I suppressed a sigh and glanced over at the sandbox again. Poor Lucas West. River was right; I’d observed the same thing, but you didn’t fucking say it to someone you weren’t close to. At least, not yet. I wasn’t gonna let my brother push the guy away. I liked him.

West and River went back and forth for a while, and I eyed the two masochists cranking things up in the sand.

I’d located their Doms, who stood along the sidelines cheering them on, and they had some friends there too.

One of the masochists threw himself toward the other, causing a bunch of sand to fly at the audience.

They laughed and brushed it off, all happy and highly entertained—except one dude.

I watched him force a smile before he turned away to brush his hands over his face.

I cocked my head. Something was off with his demeanor. He wasn’t annoyed by the sand. It was something else. He tensed up and rubbed a fist at his chest, and he screwed his eyes shut.

He’s military.

I stood straighter and registered his high-and-tight haircut, his posture, and what he wore.

Jeans and a tee, a Santa hat tucked into his back pocket, hands balled into fists—he was trying to regain control.

Everything about him screamed battle, and as I watched a group of partygoers walk closer, I felt the need to intervene.

If he had PTSD or something, there was no way of knowing how he’d react to surprise.

Someone bumping into him by accident could set him off, whether he fell into panic or rage.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, leaving River and West to their little eager-beaver debate.

That guy was losing his fight fast; I could see from halfway across the backyard that he was starting to hyperventilate, and he staggered toward the rosebushes below the high porch.

I picked up the pace and strode past the brat brigade cheering for the sand wrestlers.

Once he was within reach, I positioned myself in front of him. “Let’s get you some privacy, buddy. I’m gonna put my hand on your back and steer you to the side of the house, okay?”

He tensed up further and wouldn’t open his eyes, but he managed a quick nod as he sucked in a sharp breath.

I slipped a hand to his lower back and got him to move. The short end of the house was only some ten meters away, with plenty of trees and bushes.

“We’re almost there,” I said, cupping his elbow too. “What branch are you in? You’re not on deployment. You’re home.”

He coughed and clenched his jaw, and he went back to rubbing at his chest.

I ushered him behind a large thicket of conifers before I put my hands on his shoulders. I didn’t know why, but something told me he needed to be grounded rather than given more personal space.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He was a big guy, taller than me by at least two or three inches, and he had the muscles to go with it. Maybe a little older than me too.

He swallowed and coughed again. “G-Greer.”

“Okay, Greer—you havin’ a flashback?”

He nodded jerkily.

“Active duty?”

Another nod.

“I want you to hold your breath, Greer,” I told him. “Just hold it. It’ll shift your focus.”

He hauled in another breath.

“That’s great.” I rubbed his shoulders firmly.

“You don’t strike me as Navy or Air Force, so I’m gonna guess Army or Marines.

Another guess—you’re seein’ desert or mountain terrain everywhere.

” He reacted when he was sprayed with beach sand.

“No matter. You’re outside DC right now.

Plenty of cute guys in the pool. You smell the grass?

Can you hear the sprinklers just turned on next door? ”

He exhaled harshly and scrubbed his hands over his face.

“One more breath, Greer,” I coaxed. “A deep breath—hold it. And if you can, let it out slowly when you need to.”

He was getting there.

I rubbed his arms next, keeping my touch firm and measured. “That’s it. You’re at a pool party with a ridiculous Christmas theme. There’s a cold beer with your name on it as soon as you’re up for it.”

A breath gusted out of him, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is f-fuckin’ stupid.”

Oh boy. He was not going down that road on my watch.

“I know,” I replied. “Who the fuck uses sprinklers in the middle of the day?”

He huffed and took a step back. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” He swallowed and hung his head, and his hands ended up low on his hips. “Fuckin’ hell.”

I folded my arms over my chest and kept watching him. I wasn’t leaving until he felt okay. But he was heading in the right direction, so that was good.

He let out a long breath and tried to relax. He rolled his shoulders a bit and loosened his stance.

“Want me to go get you somethin’ to drink?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Maybe later. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose and tilted his head up, eyes closed. The sun shone down on him.

“I’ve been lucky,” he said, his voice warm but hoarse. “I haven’t had a nightmare since my first deployment. But every now and then—fuck, it’s like I’m right back there.”

I got it. The flashbacks could suck ass.

A while later, he was back in control. He blinked and glanced around us, then met my gaze. He was definitely tired.

“You seem to know what you’re doin’.”

I offered a one-shoulder shrug. “I know my way around flashbacks.”

He nodded with a dip of his chin. “You still in?”

“Oh no, I got out.” Kind of. Technically. I extended my hand. “I’m Reese.”

“Nice to meet you.” He shook my hand. “I appreciate you gettin’ me outta there.”

“Anytime.” I scratched my bicep absently. “Do you have a partner here you want me to go get, or…?”

“Nah. I was supposed to come here with a buddy, but he had to cancel,” he answered. “I don’t think I’ll stick around much longer. Watchin’ brats get sand up their asses is only fun for so long. I was hoping there’d be more for Sadists here.”

Dude. Tell me about it.

“I feel you. The majority of the events I go to are a disappointment in that area,” I said.

“But we gotta keep lookin’, right?” I nodded toward the backyard, not quite ready to let him go yet.

“Come grab a beer with me. I’ll introduce you to my brother and a buddy of ours. We’re lurkin’ in the back.”

He only hesitated for a quick beat, and I couldn’t blame him. But we could probably shield him from social interaction if that’s what he worried about. Then he could head out and get some rest when I knew he was in a better mood.

“A beer doesn’t sound bad,” he answered.

“Fantastic. Where are you stationed, by the way?” I assumed he was home on leave or something like that.

“I just left South Carolina,” he replied. “Started my three-year-stint as a DI in ’04, but the place was a shitshow and I was transferred back so we could head overseas.” In other words, he was a Marine. “Things have settled down a bit now, thankfully.”

I nodded in understanding. “But you’re not from the South originally, am I right?” There was no mistaking the New York accent, though he’d definitely been influenced by his time in South Carolina.

It was kinda hot. I couldn’t lie.

“Brooklyn, born and raised.”

There we go.

“Excellent,” I said. “You can bitch about the shape of the pizza here with my brother. He’s thoroughly offended they cut the pies into squares.”

Greer frowned. “That’s messed up. Squares? For real?”

I smiled.