“Finish him,” the gruff voice came from behind him.

The order was for him.

And hearing it, his orgasm ended almost harder than it began.

His mouth was again forced full, the plastic not to his liking, but he had his limits.

As did they.

This time, the rules would be followed.

However, perhaps next time he’d convince them to try something different.

Even if he was done, it was not unpleasant to listen and participate as things concluded fully.

He found it also wasn’t unpleasant to have his hair seized and his thigh abused, the harsh noises of a hand landing on flesh bringing pain mingling enjoyably with the sound of flesh pounding into flesh when things culminated.

He turned his head, freeing his mouth, and declared, “Now leave.”

He allowed himself to enjoy the release, and when the bed shook with their exit, he turned, dropped to a hip, then to his ass, and slunk up to lie naked in his own bed with his back against the headboard.

He approved of what he saw.

Big. Built. Hung.

The future was not female.

His lips curved.

After they both visited his bathroom, they came back and dressed lazily, knowing his eyes were on them, but even so, they didn’t waste time.

He should have thought of men.

However, it would never have occurred to him. The very idea was repugnant.

Until, of course, what he’d experienced in the red room.

But now, after some thought, he’d come to the understanding that men would be so much less trouble.

The tall one with the larger cock who’d taken his ass strolled to the chest under where his TV was mounted and swiped up the envelope that he had left for them there.

Well-tailored trousers of exceptional material, superbly-tailored dress shirt, dark blond hair groomed perfectly.

Just as he’d ordered.

Yes, he should have thought of men earlier.

Men understood authority, the importance of money and what it bought, and how to take orders, even if taking them was being ordered to give them.

They would simply provide a necessary service and not be a problem.

“My wallet. Trousers,” he demanded.

The other one snatched up Benito’s pants from his valet.

He was also quite tall, and had a superlative physique, but was shorter, leaner, and less endowed, though, he had a great deal of grace when he moved and a deep voice Benito found he appreciated, especially during the act.

The man dug out his wallet, draped the trousers as he’d found them and brought the wallet to Benito dressed in his own tailor-made slacks and shirt.

Benito approved of the man draping his trousers. Those trousers cost seven hundred dollars.

Yes, men were much less trouble in a number of ways.

Benito took it from him, slid out two hundred-dollar bills, and tossed them to the bed before placing his wallet on the nightstand.

“Gratuity,” he stated magnanimously.

They looked at each other, then the tall one moved forward and grabbed the bills.

Next time, he’d have the short one fuck the tall one while he watched before he let the tall one have him.

Though when that happened, he would wish to be tied down.

“Again. Monday evening. Eight o’clock. Allocate two hours,” he ordered.

“You got it,” the gruff voice of the tall one muttered.

His voice was appealing too.

They left the room, the shorter one closing the door behind them.

They’d given him their names, he just hadn’t bothered to take note of them.

He’d do that next time.

On that thought, Benito sighed.

He had the rest of the day to contemplate that memory and prepare for his meeting with Tack, and apparently Knight would be joining them tomorrow morning.

Not a surprise, though a nuisance, but Knight Sebring was the hero of every working girl in Denver. So after Lannigan cut a swath of vengeance using Benito’s whores to do it, some intervention from Sebring was expected.

However, Knight would be easily enough handled. It wasn’t Benito who’d murdered five prostitutes. Such a thing was bad for business in a lot of ways, and Sebring knew Benito was all about business.

Benito was pleased to note there wasn’t much to prepare for the meeting.

That morning, enjoying a leisurely late breakfast before his scheduled guests arrived, doing it giving considered thought following the foul day he’d had yesterday, Benito had come to the conclusion that, in the end, it would be just as he’d decided he wanted it to be anyway.

He’d offer the bones as immunity for past lapses in his better judgement. He’d promise to continue to stay off Chaos’s patch and explain it would soon no longer be an issue as he’d be focusing solely on his filmmaking enterprises (something that would assuage Sebring). And they would band together to find Lannigan, his other offerings allowing him bargaining power to have some time with the asshole before Chaos did whatever they were going to do with him if Chaos found him first.

And perhaps them allowing him to watch whatever they were going to do with him.

With Knight in the mix, someone would find Lannigan.

He hadn’t even really needed to go to Mamá Nana, though he wanted at that motherfucker first.

Not to mention, months of looking, both him and Chaos, it would have been advantageous if he’d been the one to find Lannigan, one-upping the Club. It would also go a long way not only with relations with the Club, but also to repair some of the chinks in his reputation that Camilla and Lannigan had left after they’d played him.

But after visiting Mamá Nana and the feelings he felt through that he didn’t like much, he’d reassessed the situation and reminded himself he was already flirting with the idea of streamlining his operations.

Recent events just solidified that.

Whores refusing to go out.

Angry pimps invading his space.

Sitting down with police to explain he had no understanding of what was happening as he ran no stable of prostitutes, so he could not imagine why they were wasting his time. And further, he had utterly no idea who might murder five poor wayward women or who Arthur Lannigan was. He hadn’t even heard of the man.

That police interview alone had cost him fifteen hundred dollars in attorney fees.

He couldn’t continue to bleed this kind of money on attorneys and doctors and informants and securing the loyalty of his own men.

In normal times, he wouldn’t think of it.

Whores refusing to go out, and because of what Lannigan was doing, even dealers getting fidgety, if his earnings continued to take a hit, and he kept having massive expenditures, his resources would begin to run precariously low.

It went without saying, he’d worked too hard to earn them. He absolutely was not going to allow the likes of Arthur Lannigan to destroy all he’d built.

Absolutely not.

Yesterday had not been a good day.

The last several months had not been good months.

Today was much better.

What a difference a good sleep, a good think and a good fuck made.

Yes, he should have considered men long before this. They got off, they left and got off with someone else. Those two men wouldn’t think of him again until tomorrow night. No scheming and conniving and emotional tangles. He paid them for their services, gave them a healthy gratuity, the end.

Benito was fine with that.

With a smile, he moved from the bed and went to the bathroom.

He disposed of the condom and grabbed a plush, deep-blue washcloth to clean his cock and wipe the lube from behind.

He then went into his closet and found some lounge gear, royal-blue pants and matching shirt in a soft, stretchy material that was warm, but breathable.

It was the best money could buy. His loungewear. His washcloth. His apartment with the view of the Front Range. And everything in it.

He’d let loose his ambition, his greed, and he’d been extremely successful.

It had been exhilarating.

Now he would have to scale back to keep it, however Benito liked to think of it as a sort of semi-retirement.

The result would be no more whining pimps and twitchy dealers and unnecessary attorney fees and visits to Mamá Nana.

And he was fine with that too.

Very much so.

He pulled on his loungewear, his mind on the best, he started thinking about Tallulah.