Page 6 of The Quarterlands (Dark Water #4)

He could feel Tyler’s eyes on him later that evening, watching through the smartwall as he greeted Walcott.

The outfit Alex had chosen consisted of black chinos and a soft maroon cashmere sweater.

He looked stylish and sophisticated but also strong.

The thin sweater hugged his toned chest and showed off every hard-won plane of his pecs and biceps.

He could see Walcott drinking it in, enjoying the view.

If he’d greeted the politician wearing tight black leather, he’d have scared the man off before they started.

Walcott was subtler than that; he wanted a seduction, not an ambush.

Walcott was an amusing dinner guest, full of indiscreet anecdotes about his time in government, including one about the prime minister that had Alex in stitches.

Over time, he’d stopped feeling guilty about his part in the eventual downfall of the people Tyler gave him to.

His job was to show them a good time, and he was determined to do that.

If their lives were going to be ruined by sleeping with him, he wanted that to be worth it.

After dinner, he invited Walcott back to his room. “We talked about something we might have in common,” he murmured. “I’d like to show you what I mean by that.”

In his room, he had an entire closet full of outfits and implements. He opened the door, letting Walcott peek inside.

“I love role-play,” Alex said smoothly. “I thought we could choose some outfits and have some fun.”

Walcott laughed as he held up a police officer’s uniform. “Are there handcuffs to go with this?” he asked saucily.

“Of course.” Alex winked, snapping one onto Walcott’s wrist.

The rest of the evening was the most fun Alex had had since starting work for Tyler. Walcott was an inventive lover, and it was a breeze to go along with his suggestions. Alex had always had a good erotic imagination and he loved giving people the kind of sex they enjoyed.

He had Walcott every which way possible – handcuffed to the bed, against the wall, over a chair…

The sense of power was exhilarating. Was this what Tyler got out of it, Alex wondered, one fist wrapped in Walcott’s wild grey hair as he pounded into him?

Only for Tyler it was real, but he was just play-acting.

Afterwards, Walcott nestled against his chest and wept.

“That was so good. I’ve been paying to see prostitutes,” he admitted. “ But they just beat me and fuck me, and it’s so sterile. It’s like they hate it. You made it fun, Alex. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” Alex murmured, and he meant it.

He knew he’d done a good job, so he was confused when Tyler called him up to his suite the next day and gave him a cold glance.

“Did I screw up?” Alex asked anxiously. “Did Walcott complain about me?”

“No, he went away satisfied, and I have enough footage to ensure he’s in my pocket now.” Tyler gazed at him from narrowed eyes. “You were right. You knew how to play him. That is your particular skill, after all.”

“I just want to do my job for you to the best of my ability to further your ambitions,” Alex explained, not liking where this was going.

“Well, you succeeded. I thought he wanted it brutal, but you picked up on something else, some other yearning he had. A desire for connection that I hadn’t appreciated.”

“He’s a human being. He’s lonely. His husband isn’t into him anymore, and he’s afraid of his own desires,” Alex said softly.

“Did you like being in control?” Tyler demanded abruptly. “It looked like you were having fun. Did you even need the blue pills?”

“Yes, of course, and I took them. Any ‘fun’ you saw me having was to hook Walcott for you,” Alex replied, feeling a wave of despair.

He was always caught between the devil and the deep dark water with Tyler. If he did his job too well, then Tyler doubted him, and yet doing his job well was the only way he could make Tyler trust him.

He was forever walking on eggshells, trying to strategise the best way to make the man believe him, and he was so tired of it. He knew Gideon would have no sympathy with these emotions. Gideon was a Quarterlands kid with no tolerance for self-pity, so he squashed it down.

“It looked like you were enjoying your work a little too much,” Tyler growled. “You were all over him.”

Alex saw it, then, the way he’d seen into Walcott’s psyche.

He saw Tyler’s jealousy, insecurity, and unquenchable desire to be the best. Alex was so good at understanding what these men wanted and moulding himself into it.

Did he even have any desires of his own, or did he exist merely as a mirror for theirs? He no longer knew.

“Everything I do is to please you,” he whispered.

“Why?” Tyler demanded.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Alex touched Tyler’s cheek gently. “I want you again. I always want you. I wanted you every second of my time with Walcott. I kept thinking that I wanted you to do to me what I was doing to him.”

“Oh, you’d like that, would you?” Tyler’s eyes were dark now, and Alex knew the expression in them all too well.

“You know I would,” he whispered, leaning in for a kiss.

Tyler’s lips were warm and possessive, his mouth hot and hungry. He could feel Tyler’s erection pressing into him and was sure they were going to take it to the bedroom… only to find Tyler’s hand wrapped around his throat, pushing him away.

“No,” Tyler snapped, his dark eyes glinting dangerously.

“I’m sorry, sir. Did I do something wrong?”

“I’ve had you,” Tyler growled. “I wanted to have you to prove a point. I wanted you to beg, like I said you would, and you did. That’s it.

This is not a fucking love affair, Alexander!

Did you think you could sweet-talk your way into my bed and become – what?

– my boyfriend?” He laughed. “I don’t fucking think so.

You’re a servant, an expensive one, granted, but nothing more.

You did your job with Walcott well, but if I fuck you again, it’ll be because I want to, not because you’ve manipulated me into it. ”

Alex lowered his eyes submissively. “I’m sorry, sir. I understand. I let my desire for you run away with me. My apologies.” Yet he hadn’t mistaken that erection. Tyler definitely still desired him, and his mixed messages spoke not so much of his need for control as his fear of losing it.

Alex pondered this as he walked back to his suite. Was that it? Was Tyler more emotionally compromised around Alex than he wanted him to know? It would make sense of his yo-yoing moods and the emotional whiplash of simply trying to please him.

He saw Walcott many times over the next few months and each time it was a pleasure.

He liked the man, and he performed his job well, not that Tyler thanked him for it.

He behaved more like a jealous lover, berating Alex for his skill while all the time insisting he keep Walcott onside.

It was exhausting, and Alex was wilting under the pressure.

He stepped up his yoga to try and keep his emotions under control, but he hoped this particular job would soon be over.

Then, one day in early November, Andrew dressed him in a beautiful tuxedo, and he was taken by helicopter to an old manor house in the country.

It was a luxury spa hotel, of the kind very few people could afford these days.

He was ushered inside and taken up a flight of wood-panelled stairs to a suite, where he found Tyler waiting for him, looking sharply handsome in a dinner jacket.

“There he is! The man of the hour.” Tyler broke into a round of applause and then handed him a glass of champagne.

“We’re celebrating?” Alex took a sip.

“We are indeed. I’m proud to announce that I’ve been granted the government’s contract to build dozens of floating cities. We did it!”

With a broad grin, Alex raised his glass and toasted Tyler.

As he sipped on the champagne, he glanced around.

The suite was grand, with a colossal four-poster bed taking centre stage.

It exuded luxury, with two deep crimson velvet sofas and several large oak chests and wardrobes, giving it a cosy, old-fashioned vibe.

A massive fireplace dominated one wall, with an intricately carved wooden mantle, showcasing a blazing fire.

It was unusually chilly for autumn, and had even snowed briefly earlier, making the warmth from the flames even more welcome.

“Welcome to La Papillon,” Tyler said, waving his arm around expansively. “One of the most exclusive hotels in the country.”

“La Papillon? The butterfly?”

“That’s right. The owner, Chef Richard, came from France originally,” Tyler explained.

“He started out in a government work camp as a refugee after one of those interminable wars in Europe – I can’t remember which one.

He eventually found work as an IS in a restaurant in New London and discovered he was an excellent cook.

He worked hard, embraced his freedom when his contract finished, and now he owns this place. Hence the name, La Papillon. ”

“His life was transformed from something ugly into something beautiful,” Alex murmured. “An inspiring story.”

“His food is magnificent, and he’s cooking just for us tonight. I’ve bought out the entire place. We’ll have a ringside seat next to the kitchen and we can watch the genius at work. I’ve ordered the full tasting menu, so I hope you’re hungry.”

It was hard not to be swept along by Tyler’s good mood. He loved showing off the history of the grand old manor house and all the luxuries it contained. Tyler, on genial good form, was almost impossible to resist, full of interesting stories which he told with his usual sharp wit.

They were taken to a rustic dining room with oak beams, and true to his word, they were the only guests there. Tyler really had bought up the entire place to reward Alex for bringing in Walcott.