Playing with the Enemy

The man howled and raised a large fist to either break my face or knock my head off my shoulders when someone pulled my head back by the hair and shoved his tongue into my open mouth.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I grabbed the new attacker's throat, and he pulled my hand away with such ease that I didn't feel the glass shards in my back as I struggled to slide away from him.

And it was a him. It had to be.

Suddenly, my eyes snapped open, and I bit down.

The madman let me go, and I slid to the tiled floor of the host club. Hands and knees on glass and food. But I couldn't crawl away. I wouldn't let myself do that. Such movement didn't bode well. The weaker one looked, the harder attackers pushed.

So, I sat, trying to clear my head, to calm my racing heart.

Everywhere was silent now, the music had stopped, and people had gathered.

The bouncers were there. They moved to help me up, but a large shadow got in front of them and squatted down in front of me as I gasped for air and tried to stop the trembling of my entire body.

Fear, anger, rage, I didn't know which one was shaking me so forcefully that my vision had blurred.

I blinked rapidly as sweat poured off my forehead and into my eyes. My back and my thighs were on fire.

I was trying to find my collar, but my hands were shaking too much; I kept reaching behind me, but couldn't grab it.

The offending customer leaned down over the large shadow. I couldn't see him, but I recognized his voice.

"I've got this, boss," the man rumbled, and the 'boss' replied, without any hint of being out of breath, "take care of that wound."

"Boss?" the offender retorted; I could feel his tight rage in his voice.

"Take care of your wound. I'll take care of this one for you," the 'boss' stated calmly.

I still couldn't see. I could barely hear, my own heartbeat and ragged breath filling my ears, but I wanted to scream, to yell, to curse at the bastards who were treating me like some insignificant object, but I couldn't form words.

My body wasn't working the way I needed it to.

I sensed people moving away. I wanted to call them back, but my tongue was heavy, thick in my mouth.

A sharp slap struck my face. Once, twice, then my arm went up, stopping a third strike.

My vision cleared.

"Are you fucking mad?" I growled, finally finding my voice.

Black eyes stared at me, and I stared back. My gaze moved to his lips, and I confirmed that he was the one who had accosted me.

I looked up from the bloody evidence.

"What do you think you're doing?" I spat.

"You've stopped shaking," he droned.

"What?" I gasped, then I blinked. He was right, the trembling had stopped.

I looked around. Only the bouncers remained; all other customers and workers had moved away.

It was that type of club. A nightclub for people with specific tastes, a certain amount of money, and a wish to be discreet, run by nefarious characters.

The man in front of me was a regular. But he usually drank, nothing else. I had seen him many times in the past year.

I pushed his arm away.

"What was that for?" I snapped at him, this time finding my torn collar and setting it right as I pulled my shirt at the front, closing the gap that exposed my firm chest and upper abs.

His eyes were fixed where my hands held my shirt together.

"What?" he asked lazily as I staggered to my feet. I could feel my back now, and the back of my thighs, a burning sensation, but I wasn't done with the behemoth that stood with me and caused my head to lean back.

I rarely looked up at people. I stared for a second longer than I should have, and he smirked.

I frowned and stepped forward boldly. One thing I learned in the past three years was that if you gave bullies an inch, they would take a mile.

"Why did you put your tongue in my –"

He did it again. This time, we were both standing, toe to toe. His large hands held my face in place as I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to stop.

After a moment, he pulled back.

He stared at me. "What? No bite this time?" he droned with the ghost of a smile on his swollen lips.

My arm came up and he caught my fist. He spun me around, pulling my arm up behind my back. I bit my tongue in an effort not to cry out.

The bouncers were still standing right there. Watching.

I turned my head back as he pulled my arm with enough force to pop my shoulder out of its socket, but was stopping just short of doing so.

"Let. Me. Go," I grunted through gritted teeth.

"Will you try to hit me again?" he rumbled in my ear, his chest vibrating against my prickling back.

I didn't answer.

He pulled.

"No!" I grunted, standing on my toes to relieve the pain.

He pushed me away, toward the bouncers. I didn't turn back. I kept walking. The bouncers, there had been three of them all along, parted for me to leave.

The black-eyed man called out behind me, "You belong to me now, just so you know."

I didn't look back, didn't acknowledge him.

I went to the back of the club, the changing room for male hosts. I ripped off what remained of my shirt, saw my back in the mirror, and smashed the fucking mirror with my fist.

That was how I had met the man I would learn was Marcus Sullivan.

He had kissed me in public to claim me and to keep others off me.

I pushed the memories away. I had work to do, things to move around, and, most importantly, I needed to give Martin a very hard talking to. But before that, I needed to get my dick down before I had a car crash.

==========

Leon's POV.

FUCK! He looks so fucking good!

I've seen the pictures, but...damn that fucker's even hotter than before! I almost came from watching him walk into the room!

And when his face transformed when he saw me, I wanted to take him right there! It was just like old times!

My mind was full of Jade Malroy even as my secretary sucked me off.

"Nngh."

My secretary pulled me out of my reprieve. I glanced down at her. I had trained her well. In under a year, she had become an expert at giving head. It was almost time to let her go, to get a new toy to play with.

My cock was full on down her throat as she took all of me in expertly, doing that thing with her tongue and throat muscles that had taken her four months to get right.

"Ha!" I bit down my voice. We were in my office, the door was locked, and the room was soundproof, but as I always told my protégés and sex partners, habits were simply routines you've mastered till you no longer needed to think about them.

I didn't make it a habit of crying out. That took a very special event.