Superior Officer

“What the hell are you doing here?” Edward Carter whispered, doing his best to keep up the haughty expression he was pretty sure he was expected to maintain during this whole incredibly stupid charade.

“The same as you probably,” Fisher murmured under his breath. “Billy talked you into playing dress up, right?”

Edward took a deep breath. He could feel Billy’s eyes boring into the back of his neck, along with those of Billy’s boyfriend—the resident birthday boy. Edward only just resisted the temptation to let that deep lungful of air out as a sigh. He might have been a fool to ever agree to take part in the idiocy, but he had agreed. Doing anything less than his best now, wasn’t an option.

Straightening his back and tilting up his chin, Edward circled his ‘prisoner’. The metal plates beneath the heels of his high black boots clicked against the bare concrete floor. Even in costume, ready to fulfil part of Billy’s boyfriend’s voyeuristic little fantasy, Fisher was as hot as hell.

“How on earth did you end up being cast as the prisoner in all this?” he whispered.

Fisher’s lips twisted into one of those lazy smiles that inevitably had the power to make Edward’s knees weak and his cock hard. He looked away, but there wasn’t much to look at except Fisher. The room tucked away in the back of the seedy club was barely furnished.

An old chair stood in one corner, looking like it would disintegrate the moment anyone was stupid enough to try to actually sit on it. There was a huge mirror hung on the wall, the gilt peeling off its frame, but all that did was reflect the same image that Edward had been trying so hard to avoid.

Turning his head slightly, he went back to admiring the other man’s uniform clad body directly. The sight of all the khaki fabric draped over Fisher’s muscular frame finally jerked his attention back to what he was supposed to be doing.

What was it Billy had said? A toffee nosed officer running a sadistic prisoner interrogation—not the kind you’d ever want anyone to experience in a real war, but the kind it was hot to fantasise about when you forgot reality existed, when you were all alone in your bed jacking yourself off and needed a little adrenaline to help you over the edge.

Except in Edward’s dreams, he was never the one doing the interrogating. Fisher’s accent wasn’t as posh as his, but that didn’t stop him having the kind of voice bloody brilliant at giving orders.