Page 57 of Grind
And what then?
Ezra’s throat tightened, and he put down the cover of the old scanner he was using to transfer all the neglected papers onto a hard drive. He tried to return to the spreadsheet he created, but his thoughts kept drifting off to the man who’d offered him help when he’d needed it most.
Maybe Ezra was fooling himself, because he’d grown so fond of Frank, but he liked to think that the relationship they’d developed over the past year was real, even if forged in controlled conditions, and that Frank really was the person he seemed to be.
Ezra was blindsided when Frank first told him he wanted their relationship to be more than an arrangement, or friends fucking. But while it might have been a ploy to take advantage of a man in an impossible situation, Frank had always showed his affection for Ezra with actions rather than words and money. And even to a cynic like Ezra, that felt good.
The night at the boat had morphed into an evening with friends, but Frank had prepared everything with his pleasure in mind, down to Ezra’s favorite brand of crackers, and since they were already fucking whenever Frank wanted, what other reason for all that effort was there if not legitimate affection?
It delighted Ezra as much as it scared him.
Too antsy to sit still, he stood up from the desk and returned to the bedroom they now shared. He’d already changed the sheets after last night’s sex fest, but he needed tomove, and maybe also see Frank, who was still working on Ros's old bicycle. He’d started repairing it after Ezra complained about the walk to Ros’s place taking too long. He didn’t need to be asked or given a promise of Ezra doing something for him in return and did it because he thought it would make Ezra’s life here a bit easier, like a nice, normal person who wouldn’t turn into a dragon in the third act of a movie, in a twist everyone expected.
Ezra peeked out through the curtains and licked his lips when muscles shifted under Frank’s T-shirt as he tightened a bolt by the bike’s front wheel.
It had been three weeks since Frank had gotten over his weird inhibitions and fucked Ezra, and they’d been on a sensual high since. It wasn’t unusual for a client to touch Ezra in passing, or act in a tender way outside bedroom activities, but he’d never been around one man this much, and Frank’s continuous attention recalibrated something deep inside him.
It got to a point where Ezra was at the door as soon as Frank arrived home, like a puppy eager for petting, and that wasn’t like him at all. He’d always seen himself as a prize to be won, because scarce things were worth more money and effort, but in this new reality where Ezra needed Frank to survive, his value didn’t seem so straightforward.
A part of him worried Frank would lose interest, or start taking him for granted, which made every glance at the mirror nerve-wracking. There were things Ezra did every day to remain the best version of himself. He was still working out with the limited equipment around Frank’s place, and eating well, courtesy of fresh groceries, but without clothes that fit him right, and without regular cosmetic treatments, he might soon stop looking so appealing. The change would not be perceptible to Frank right away, but he would start noticing that something was different about Ezra and eventually no longer see him as worthy of all his efforts. And while Ezra did not want to think about it, he knew that being rejected by Frank would crush his heart, which he’d so recklessly been giving away bit by bit.
The happier he was here, the greater the stakes. And the more painful the potential fall.
Ezra couldn’t help but feel that the small scar on his chin, which he’d so carefully treated over the past two years, was becoming more visible without the daily application of cream, and just earlier today, he’d discovered a pimple on his temple. It wasn’t immediately apparent from behind his dark hair, but a clear sign that the cosmetics the clueless Prospect had chosen at the supermarket were of even lower quality than the ingredient lists suggested. Not to mention that the cheap hydrating cream was doing a shitty job at hydrating, and the scrub contained crushed walnut shells, which Ezra refused to put anywhere near his precious skin.
Soon enough, he’d have dry skin flaking off his nose like some unkempt wretch, and Frank would see that everything about him was a carefully maintained illusion. What would happen then? Would he need to make concessions where he didn’t want to make them, to make up for being a sub-par product?
His gaze drifted to the bottom drawer of Frank’s bedside table, where he’d found all the sex toys during the frantic search through his host’s things. Apart from their first night together, Frank never voiced a desire to tie Ezra down, but there was a lot of bondage gear in that damn drawer, and there was no way Frank wasn’t fantasizing about using it on Ezra every time they fucked.
Ezra, the beautiful escort, could easily say no, but could Ezra the man in need of protection do the same without suffering the consequences? The truth he was unwilling to consider was that if a man as big and strong as Frank wanted to tie him down, or break both his legs to keep him from running, Ezra wouldn’t be able to stop him, but refusing ropes and cuffs offered him an illusion of control he wasn’t willing to give up on.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it. In the safety of his imagination, Frank could strap him to the bed, use a blindfold, and tease Ezra until he shook, desperate to come. Causing pain wasn’t Frank’s thing. He liked to give pleasure, to watch Ezra lose control, and most likely, he’d use the bondage to edge him until he begged, unable to touch himself—
No.
No bondage.
Bondage was an unnecessary risk, and while he wanted to make Frank happy and keep his attention for longer, he’d allowed it once in the past, and paid for it. Nothingterriblehad happened, but his client wouldn’t release him when asked, and the imprisonment went on for so long that Ezra ended up pissing himself. He never saw the guy again, but the humiliation stuck with him like a brand on the forehead.
And now that he thought back tothat, his bladder felt unnaturally full, so he left the bedroom and went to the small space next door. Frank kept it clean and had refurbished it to a high standard—that couldn’t be denied—but it was utilitarian to the point where it looked as basic as the showers at Ezra’s gym. Every single surface was white, with the exception of a mirror Frank must have gotten somewhere on sale, since it had a frame with cartoony fish. Ezra had attempted to decorate the bathroom with a rug, and hung up a framed Ferrari poster gathering dust in the corner of the guest room, but this place needed more than that—at the very least matching towels, and a fresh coat of paint in a color that wasn’t white.
He was in the middle of relieving himself when the rumble of a car engine outside startled him so badly, he flinched and ended up pissing on the seat and floor.
Fuck.
He was losing it.
Despite the safety Frank provided, the revelation about Paul left him skittish like a bunny about to get a heart attack over a branch breaking behind it.
“Hey, Frankie!” Shane said outside. “Slaving away for your pretty cabin boy?” he asked, referencing the night of the blood moon.
Ezra exhaled and glanced toward the small window. It was cracked open but opaque, so he finished relieving his bladder and moved straight to the much-needed clean up. Shane might be all smiles, but he was a shark. Ezra could feel it in his bones and didn’t want to let him smell blood in the water.
“This bike is in good condition. Ezra and Ros like each other, and this will make moving between our homes easier until I fix the Dodge,” Frank said as Ezra sprayed the seat and floor with bleach before wiping everything with toilet paper.
“You think that will make him stay? What if he uses that thing to ride away into the sunset?”
Ezra dropped the disinfectant-soaked paper into the toilet bowl and stared at the window as his stomach sank in anticipation of Frank’s answer.
