Page 89 of Love Language

“What should we do now?” Marco mused, as if to himself. Except that he wasn’t really musing, because he was voicing, which meant he was playing up to the audience.

Marco turned to face them fully. “Any ideas?”

What? What the hell was this? Audience participation? Marco, that sadistic bastard, seemed to be loving it. And Greg was discovering that his exhibitionism and shame kinks went a lot deeper than he realized. Fuck.

Someone raised a hand, not like in elementary school, more a half salute that was high enough to get Marco’s attention.

“Oh,” Marco remarked casually. “I’m Deaf so you’ll have to have my sub translate for you.”

What the… seriously? Seriously, really? Marco knew he didn’t really like interpreting. And to do it now, signing all the dirty things that the audience would say… He was probably going to die of embarrassment on the spot.

Which totally explained why his jock strap was so wet it was practically transparent.

He glared at Marco, who seemed to find his defiance amusing. “Color?” he voiced and signed at the same time.

“Green,” Greg answered in the same fashion, through gritted teeth. Where did Marco get all these twisted, impossible ideas?

“Go ahead,” he said to the man. “Anyone can just call out.”

Greg had forgotten about this side of Marco. The outgoing, crowd-pleasing side that usually only came out when he was in a Deaf group.

“Spank his ass,” the first voice said.

And Greg had to repeat it, the signs vulgar and obvious even to a hearing audience. Marco watched and nodded, a glint in his eye.

Show us how you take a dildo. Fuck your boy. I bet he’d like a nice flogging. Yeah, turn his ass red.

Greg was already red. He felt like he was flushed from head to toe. It was like he was sitting alone in the spotlight, everyone seeing how horribly humiliated and aroused he was.

Take off your thong. Show us your dick. Get yourself off. Yeah, touch yourself. Show us how you suck your Dom. No, he should take his ass.

It was all pretty tame stuff, but repeating it like this, making himself own the dirty things the audience was saying, was driving him crazy. He was pretty sure the voyeurs were just calling stuff out now to make him squirm when he had to translate it.

One voice cut through. “I’d like to see my boy sucking you off.”

Greg looked up, and then kept staring. Because the Dom was rough and tattooed and muscular, and his sub even more so. Muscles on top of muscles, tattoos snaking down his arms and covering his chest. Even kneeling with a collar and a leash, he looked dangerous. They were both so young, so strong, and so completely out of Greg’s league.

He was just an old fool, a middle-level manager at a boring old company, who was probably only handsome in Marco’s eyes.

And somehow, that one was even worse to repeat, even more awkward and shameful and delicious.

Marco held up one hand, cutting everyone else off. What was that again?

Greg sucked in a breath. He wants his boy to suck me off.

Who?

They both turned to face the other couple.

Marco stalked over to them, looking the much taller Dom right in the eye. They were a study in contrasts, Marco small and ethereal, the Dom solid and hulking. But Marco dominance had nothing to do with his size. “Are you offering your boy’s services?”

The Dom snickered. “He’s eager for it. Look at him.”

Greg couldn’t help it. The other sub was hot. Impossibly, dangerously so. He felt almost a little guilty thinking it, especially since he was so different from Marco.

But no one could ever eclipse Marco in his eyes. And now Marco might be giving him an experience with this boy as… as a present, maybe.

The boy looked up, eyes still lowered from his master’s, but meeting Greg’s. He did want it. He really wanted it. No, he wanted Greg. Boring, fifty-year-old Greg with his flabby belly and wrinkled eyes.