Watch Point Read online

  Next stop is a mom-and-pop motel a couple of hours north of here, barely on the grid. They don’t even take credit cards. I prepaid them in cash and have established a routine while staying there over the past few days. They think I get up early every morning to go ice fishing. The actual owners appear to be largely absentee and the clerks mostly underpaid local teens.

  No one is awake at four in the morning to see me carry Chase into my room. He murmurs a few words as I lay him on the bed farther from the door. Starting to come around. I can’t take chances. This might all be over within an hour. Maybe Big Daddy will get the message, wire the money, and I’ll be on my way by dawn.

  More likely Aiden won’t even see it until after breakfast, though.

  I’ve brought Chase’s bag of gear with us because I left no trace behind, but as I look through his rope and restraints now, the temptation to use them is too great to pass up. I roll him onto his face and bind his wrists together.

  He’s murmuring something into the pillow.

  “What’s that?” I pull one shoulder back.

  “Gotta piss.” He hasn’t opened his eyes. “Are we going to do it again?”

  He still hasn’t realized he’s being kidnapped. “You wanna piss?”

  “Yeah. Why, you into that or something?”

  I don’t answer other than to haul him to his feet and march him into the tiny bathroom. With his hands bound, I have to be the one to drag the cargo pants down.

  He bends his knees. “Um. Aim me? I don’t want to piss on your pants. It’ll get everywhere if I just let fly.”

  He’s right. And he doesn’t seem put off by the fact he’s wearing mostly my clothes now. I slip my hand around him and feel him quickening from my touch. “You better hurry up, or you’ll be too hard to get it out.”

  “Working on it,” he says, breathy, eyelids fluttering.

  A hot stream starts to flow, and I can feel vibrations in my palm, the scent musky and thick, my own cock hardening like some kind of instinctual response. When he’s done pissing, I shake him a couple of times, unable to resist flicking my thumbnail through the last drop at the slit, invading him just that little bit.

  He wants more. His hips curl and he bites his lip. This one craves being violated. I can smell it in the sweat that breaks out all over him as I pull my hand away. I know his type. I was his type. I used to be the butchest butch bottom there was.

  “I’m going to tie you to the bed,” I say as I wash my hands in the sink.

  “All right.”

  How a suspicious backstabber like Aiden Milford raised such a trusting son, I can’t fathom. Chase follows me puppylike to the bed, leaving the pants and underwear behind, and my cock throbs. It’s only been a few hours since I fucked him, and here I am wanting more already. This is the problem with sex, always has been. I do better when I do without it entirely. The need ebbs. But give me a taste and I’m all hunger. Not that I was different from the other guys on my team that way: once we got going, all of us could be insatiable.

  Time to shut that right down, though. If the plan goes perfectly, I’ll be a very rich man in a couple of hours, and I’ll never see Chase Milford again.

  I say nothing as I tie him faceup, limbs spread-eagled to the corners of the bed.

  Then I sit back on the other bed, taking my time removing my boots. I can feel a chill coming from the badly insulated window. I check the latch, the blinds. This place is not the slightest bit soundproof. I dig through the rest of Chase’s gear: sure enough, there’s a gag. It’s almost cute, a dinky black rubber penis that goes in the mouth like a pacifier. “You buy this online?”

  “Yeah.” He blushes deeply, though, like just being caught owning it is humiliating.

  “You ever worn it before?”

  He shakes his head this time.

  I should resist. I should have better self-control than this. But a lot of virtues about me have been stripped away of late. I straddle him and rub the black rubber back and forth on his lips like I’m putting ChapStick on him. He whimpers.

  “Is that your I-want-it whimper or your I-don’t-want-it whimper?” I demand.

  He closes his eyes. So ashamed.

  “It’s okay, Chase,” I say, like I’m talking to a hurt dog. “It’s okay to want it.”

  His eyes open then, full-on sultriness hitting me like Superman’s heat vision, and he licks his lips. “Make me.”

  I get it. I really get it. He wants everything, all the dirtiest fantasies imaginable, but he can’t bring himself to do them. But when the big, bad wolf comes along, it isn’t Little Red Riding Hood’s fault, right? Okay, Chase. I’ll play bad guy for you. “Open.”

  “No.” He likes being defiant.

  Fine. This one’s easy. I don’t have to be physically rough on him to wrestle the gag into his mouth. All I should have to do is pinch his nose shut . . .

  But he’s tricky. He breathes through his teeth, baring them at me, again daring me to force him.

  There are other forms of coercion. “You’ll take the gag now or you won’t get my cock later,” I say.

  His mouth pops open like the beak on a new-hatched chick. Ha. I push the gag in, and he makes a satisfied grunt.

  And yeah, I just promised him my cock later. We’ll see if he still wants it when he finds out I’m ransoming him. My jeans feel two sizes too small.

  I force myself to climb back onto the other bed, where I waste a little time unzipping my own gear bag and checking the equipment. I’m not carrying a gun. That’s just asking for trouble in more ways than one. There’s a fake in there that would be convincing to an amateur but not to anyone who knows firearms. The knives, though, those are real.

  The most important thing in the bag is a paperback book. I settle back on the bed, turn on the reading light, and cross my ankles as I try to find the place where I left off.

  Chase makes a whimpering sound. I’m assuming this is when he would normally make a sarcastic or seductive remark. But he’s wearing this gag, see. You’re not really going to do the fake-nonchalant dom thing and pretend to read that book, are you? I imagine him asking.

  You bet I am, kid. You bet I am.

  I read for an hour. He falls back to sleep, despite the gag, despite the ropes, despite his erection. Maybe it’s the sedative still in his system. I check the time, then check my email. If a reply comes to the darkweb inbox, it’ll set off a couple of scripts that will trigger a notification in the email accessible on my phone. It’s getting harder and harder to be untraceable these days, but there are ways to do it.

  Still no answer from his father, but he probably hasn’t discovered Chase missing yet. I resolve to read for one more hour. If there’s no reply by then, we’ll move on to another location.

  Reading is the only distraction I’ve found is worth a damn. Anything else I try, television, movies, music . . . my mind wanders, and all too often I don’t like where it wanders. When I read, though, every sense is engaged, every nerve. My entire self is transported into someone else, and that’s the best thing for my mental health, honestly.

  When Mom was dying, I would read to her. She wanted me to read aloud because she couldn’t hold the book anymore. And then we’d both escape into the world of Harry Potter or The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo or whatever her partner, Melinda, had brought her, saying their book club was reading it and Mom should catch up in case she got out of the hospital in time for the next meeting.

  She never made it to book club, never left that hospital again, unless you count when she was transported through the pages of a book.

  I realize I’m not reading, other than imagining what my name would look like tattooed on the inside of Chase Milford’s thigh. His cock deflated earlier, but as I stare I see it’s lengthening again, filling up and stiffening. His hips begin to undulate like he’s dreaming about fucking, or being fucked, and his head thrashes a little as he moans into the gag.

  Shit. It’s like his cock and mine are connected. Every time he
gets hard, mine Pavlovs right along. I free mine and stroke it for a moment of relief, but the need for more quickly surpasses what my own hand can satisfy.

  I set the book down, move to his bedside, and loosen the ropes leading to one wrist restraint to give that hand a few inches of freedom. Not enough to untie himself or touch himself. Just to see what he’ll do. To see if he’ll do what I hope he will.

  He does. He’s not afraid to look me in the eye as that hand pats my thigh, feeling for my cock, finding it, stroking it.

  So long since I’ve been touched. So long since I’ve spoken to anyone but doctors or lawyers or bank clerks or collection agents. The little voice trying to tell me this is wrong is silenced by how deeply right it feels in my gut. He makes a soft grunt into the gag like he likes what he feels in his fingers.

  “You want it?” I hear myself saying. He nods enthusiastically. “Where, in your mouth?” Another nod. “Your ass?” Again. “Should I choke you with it until you can’t breathe?” The most enthusiastic yet. “You’re a sick little fuck, aren’t you?”

  This time he shakes his head no, though, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to show reluctance, trying to tell me to back off, or just disagreeing with my assessment of his mental state.

  “Keep pulling on me. Nice and easy,” I say. His hand hasn’t stopped moving this entire time, and it’s hypnotic watching the red bulb of my dick disappear and reappear from the tunnel of his fingers. Over and over. Pretty soon a big bead of pre-come has gathered, and just when I think it’s going to fall he swipes his thumb over it, smearing the whole sensitive head, and I’m as close to coming in another man’s hand as I’ve been in years.

  Across the room, the phone in the pocket of my jacket vibrates. I can barely hear it over the harsh sounds of my breathing and the muffled moans Chase is making as I get close, but I do hear it. I force myself to pull free of his grip and check the messages.

  There’s a reply from Papa Bear. My heart rate, which is already racing from arousal, spikes higher and I feel light-headed. This is no time to have some kind of spell or episode, for fuck’s sake. I force myself to take slow, even breaths. The text I just received has no content in it. It’s just the last piece of a technological Rube Goldberg chain set off when my darkweb inbox receives a reply. Untraceable, but it means now I have to log in to see the message.

  I take out the prepaid smartphone I plan to discard as soon as I no longer need it. Time for a quick access. I just need to open the anonymous browsing app. As soon as I remember the unlock code for the phone. That’s hard to do with Chase making whining puppy noises at me. Impossible, even.

  Fine. Is it really giving in to temptation when he’s begging me? The gag is still in his mouth, but he’s begging with every sound he can make, every motion of his hips, every bit of body language he can muster.

  I pull the gag free, and he gulps air. “Tell me what you want,” I demand.

  “You want me to talk dirty? Is that it?”

  I slap him sharply on the cheek—not hard enough to ring his bell, but to send a message. Obey or pay. “Tell me.”

  “I w-want your cock. I want it, all of it.” He looks up at me as he talks, awkward and embarrassed at first, but his tongue loosens as he warms up, as his own words stoke his fire. “Want every inch, hard and fast, hard and slow, any way you’ll give it to me, gore me with it, stuff me with it.”

  Pre-come is dripping from me now, and he’s not even touching me. “Such a dirty mouth.” I straddle his face and feed my cock to him until he gags. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

  I pull free to hear his answer. “Fuck me, sir, fuck me, please, anything you want, sir, anything.”

  Every time he says the word “sir,” it’s like a jolt of electricity zaps me right in the ’nads, making my cock stand on end. “Who taught you to say that word?” I breathe, sticking two fingers into his mouth just to make sure he doesn’t go more than a couple of seconds without knowing he’s mine to invade any time I want. I circle his lips with the wet tips. “You got some topman somewhere, some leatherdaddy gonna come looking for his boy?”

  “No, sir, only you, sir. You’re the only one.” His eyes are glittering with a kind of triumph, or maybe it’s just pure thrill. Only you, sir. Does he know how deep under my skin his words just went? Does he?

  So deep I’m too impatient to untie him all the way. If there was any chance of me stopping short of fucking him again, it was gone the moment he said that. I pull a knife from the bag—not the really big one, just a sharp, useful one—cut his ankles and one wrist free, then turn him over and attach his free hand to the rope I left intact.

  “Ass in the air. Come on. Up if you want any lube. Otherwise I’m fucking you dry.” It’s just tough talk and I know it—who would fuck without lube? He knows it, too, probably, but that doesn’t stop it from being hot. He gets that ass in the air with alacrity. I waste no time in drilling him with a couple of fingers slicked from a bottle, corkscrewing until he groans. He’s all moans and passion until he feels the chill of the lubricated condom between his cheeks and goes completely still. I’m so eager to fuck him that it hasn’t even warmed up from my body heat by the time I’m trying to get my cock inside him.

  In. I’m in. Now we’re both still as statues. In the battle between my body and my brain, my brain takes this moment to force a pause in the action, maybe to force me to think about what I’m doing. What am I doing? Besides giving us both what we desperately need? Right. I’m doing the only sensible thing. I’m maintaining my cover as a hot trick. I’m keeping him happy. I’m keeping him lulled into a sense of security.

  I’m spanking his ass as I thrust, as he matches my rhythm back at me, meeting the blows of my palms and my prick. Sweet mother, it’s so fucking good I can’t think of anything else until after I come, until after I’ve cored him but good. I’m still inside him, afterpulses of my own orgasm rocketing through me as I reach around to give him a quick jerking off. It doesn’t take long, the ring of my fingers around the head of his cock moving lightning fast until he makes a puddle on the bedspread. I flatten him into it then, biting the back of his neck and licking his sweat in a last indulgent overdose for my hormones.

  Okay, enough. He’s now either passed out, asleep, or pretending to be, and I tell myself it doesn’t matter which. Time to get focused on the operation again. I pull the comforter over him to keep him warm and then check the messages. It’s a bit of a process to get logged in and retrieve what I need, but it’s only a matter of time before I’ll see his father’s reply. Aiden Milford made millions in pharmaceutical price speculation and healthcare consolidation, the kind of scum who’ll close a hospital for not being profitable enough. Never mind that the job of a hospital isn’t to make money, or that maybe it could be profitable if his own companies weren’t also responsible for jacking up the price of drugs so much. I guess in his twisted mind that’s win-win.

  You can see why a guy like that needs a bodyguard. Rich as fuck and an obvious target for grudges.

  The reply is pure Aiden. Arrogant, nonsensical, posturing, and stubborn.

  TOUCH A HAIR ON HIS HEAD I WILL END YOU MOTHERFUCKER I HAVE NAVY SEALS ON MY PAYROLL NSA CIA FBI ALL IN MY POCKET WE WILL BE ON YOU LIKE A HEAT SEEKING MISSILE YOU LOWLIFE TRASH PUT MY BOY BACK IN HIS BED YOU STOLE HIM FROM AND ILL LET YOU LIVE

  I have to chuckle sadly as I read it over again, making sure I’ve figured out where the punctuation was supposed to be. SEALs on your payroll, huh? A little out of date, that, unless he hired another after me. I WILL END YOU? The man has watched too many Hollywood action movies. The profanity and wording make me think he’s sent this reply without telling his security team first. Pure reaction. I was hoping he’d get over that and formulate a more cold-blooded response. When Aiden turns cold and calculating, especially when it’s about money, he can shut off his emotions entirely. I think when he does the calculation, he’ll find that the ransom is actually pretty cheap and well worth paying. But he’s no
t there yet. I need to give him time.

  I have to wonder if the reason he hasn’t told his own security about his son being missing is he’s afraid they’re in on it. Gotta wonder if he’s screwed any of them over or broken his promises to them like he did to me. A paycheck is nice, but only loyalty can inspire loyalty.

  Chase starts to snore. I’ll let him sleep while I shower and get ready for our next move.

  Time stamp: 0506 Tuesday, Pottstown, Maine

  I brew us both coffee in the coffee maker and give him breakfast: nuked English muffin sandwiches I stashed here in the fridge. Time to get out of here. Another day pretending I’m going ice fishing, but this time with a friend. That’s assuming anyone even sees or notices, which they probably won’t.

  Chase is still naked except for the restraints while we eat breakfast sitting on the bed. He asks casually as he licks his fingers, “Hey, so, where are we now?”

  “You got somewhere you need to be?” I ask, just as casually. Or faux-casually.

  He shakes his head. “Nope. If I had somewhere to be, I’d have something better to do than sneaking out for raunchy hookups.”

  “You worried about your car?” I wonder if there’s a loose end.

  There isn’t. “I walked to a convenience store and took an Uber from there.” He shrugs but his eyes are challenging me. What now? they seem to be asking. “My father would kill me if he knew what I was doing.”

  I can’t help it. I lead him on. “He’s a real hard-ass, huh?”

  “The worst. Raging homophobe doesn’t begin to cover it. I’ve seen him fire guys for even suspecting they’re gay.”

  Huh. I wonder who besides me. I keep my face neutral and don’t dare say anything.

  Chase chuckles and sips his coffee from the paper cup. “The really rich thing is, I think he thinks he’s protecting me. Like if I never get a whiff of gay hormones, I can’t be tainted.”

  Ha. “Little late for that, isn’t it?”

  “Twenty-two years too late,” he says, being truthful about his age. “Born this way.”