Surveillance

Leigh Ellwood

Surveillance a Phaze Force HeatSheet by

Leigh Ellwood

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Phaze 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222 This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. eBook ISBN 1-59426-463-5 Surveillance © 2007 by Leigh Ellwood All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Cover art © 2006 by Kathryn Lively Edited by Judy Doyle Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

www.Phaze.com

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Also by Leigh Ellwood

A Winter's Dare Dare Me Daring Young Man Double Dare Dulce Jack of Diamonds Jack of Hearts Jilted Muse Phaze Fantasies, Vol. 1 The Healing The Stars Look Down Truth or Dare Under Covers Voyeur

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Chapter One The idea, originally, had been not to appear so desperately enthused when Darlene offered him the job. Acting gigs in Atlanta theatre were scarce now, leaving Troy with few options. He would need a job that allowed him to work around auditions. That his best friend operated a successful housecleaning business was fortunate, and he had hoped a blasé reaction would at least confirm his talent. He could play it cool on the exterior when his inner starving artist clawed and begged for rent and something to eat besides baked beans and Cheerios. Not even Cheerios, for this month's budget wouldn't allow it. He had to settle for a box of whole grain Ns from the salvage mart. I should write that down, he thought wistfully. Write his own scripts, seeing as how none were coming his way. Do a one-man show, offer free beer if he thought it would fill seats and his coffers. "It's twice a week, but it's a great job. You'll be able to get by on it for a while," Darlene was saying over a steaming mug of frothy cream. They were sitting on the deck at Caribou Coffee, overlooking busy Peachtree Street. Bloated with cars in both directions, filled with people who knew their intended destinations—their nine to five deskwork, their 401ks, their security until retirement and a life sentence to a Winnebago and Bermuda shorts. Troy snorted and sipped the latte paid for by his friend, the first drink he'd enjoyed in two weeks that didn't have a sulfuric aftertaste. Where was the adventure in security, anyway? He rather enjoyed making soup from ketchup packets. Even the plastic added an extra thickness that he hoped would keep him regular. Right. "Pays five thou a week," Darlene continued. Troy did his absolute best not to shoot vanilla soy milk and coffee through his nose. Sir Olivier would have been proud. Damn, he was in the wrong biz. With that kind of cash he could realize his dream of upgrading to the Cheerios with those freeze-dried strawberry nuggets. And buy milk!

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"Sounds good," he said, his voice cool, his knee bouncing nervously under the table. "Of course, it pays a lot because it's a fairly big apartment, and the client is a total germophobe." Darlene rolled her eyes. "The guy grates soap over his pasta like it was parmesan. Well, he's out of town for a few months and wants the place spotless when he returns." Troy crinkled his brow. "And I'd have to keep going back twice a week? Is somebody sub-letting the joint?" "Nope. The apartment is empty." Darlene set down her mug, looking suddenly coy. "Then why the need to clean the place so often if nothing gets touched? I mean, yeah, some dust might accumulate, but if the place is ventilated well enough..." "He's a very anal retentive germophobe." "Okay." This gig sounded better by the minute. For five thou a week he could watch TV from a rich weirdo's luxury Buckhead abode. Satellite, in color! Do a bang up job of cleaning on his last week, and collect a hefty paycheck. "Oh, and all the rooms are always monitored with video security. He's a paranoid, anal retentive germophobe." "I see." Crap. Still, five thou to polish furniture and maybe those large, porcelain cat sculptures rich weirdos were fond of buying... "And you'll be naked, did I mention that?" His face bent toward the glass tabletop. He could see, in the faint reflection, the tiniest bit of latte foam bubbling from within his nostrils. He choked and gargled like a virgin taken by surprise during her first blow job, and snatched the proffered paper napkin from Darlene's hand. "I guess I didn't." Troy could hear the smirk in her voice. When he finally regained composure, the only thing he could say was, "What?" "You'll clean the house naked, in full view of the security cameras. It's kind of...ah, a hobby for my client. He likes to watch." "Explain how a germophobe would allow an unclothed stranger to polish his tchochkes." That didn't sound right at all. Troy cringed and wished he hadn't asked so loudly just as a couple neared to take an adjacent table. "So he's a perverted, paranoid, anal retentive germophobe. So what? It's good money, the checks always clear, and you need it."

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"I don't need to parade around a rich weirdo's apartment. What if—" Prudence reminded him to keep his voice low. With an exaggerated clandestine bend toward Darlene, he finished with a hiss, "What if I end up on YouTube or something?" "With your body, you'd get a seven-year contract with HBO. OZ 2, Back to the Hole. Wasn't that your plan all along, to leave Atlanta for a wider field? This job could fund that." It was, and Darlene was right. Troy knew an actor had a better chance of finding work in Los Angeles or New York, but Atlanta offered a wealth of opportunities when the seasons were right. As more independent production companies sought to film on location or build studios away from the juggernauts that controlled the industry, Troy realized he could stand out in the South, get a few good roles for his portfolio, then make the move. Besides, Atlanta had too well established a gay community for him to want to leave so quickly. There were friends, and potential lovers—if he could just find one—to consider. "Eventually," he conceded, sipping his drink. Oh, if only it didn't taste so damn good, if only Darlene wouldn't buy him another one again, she'd be wearing it for suggesting this job. "But first—" "You need to eat and you need a place to sleep. Some nekkid vacuuming for five grand a week sounds like a good trade off for personal pride, you think?" Darlene patted his hand; apparently she spied some apprehension on Troy's face. "Don't worry. He's very discreet about these things. He's on tour, so there's no added embarrassment. You won't even meet him." On tour. Troy shuddered. That could only be one person, a flamboyant pop singer known to make Elton John look conservative. Troy shuddered at the thought of this weirdo germophobe playing security tapes of his naked, Pledge-slinging ass at private parties. A gaggle of screaming hens on a plastic-wrapped sofa, whacking off into sterilized buckets. Now there was an image worthy of adaptation. Maybe the NEA would give him a grant to stage it. Still, five thou a week. Three months. More than he made in the last two years. Lot of adventure to be had with that. And, Troy had to admit, security. "And nobody else will know?" he asked Darlene. Darlene crossed her heart and licked the foam from her upper lip. "What would possibly go wrong?"

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Chapter Two What indeed, thought the off-duty policeman, is this? Dean idled his cruiser behind the faded Ford Taurus parked in the back lot of Buckhead Arms. These spaces were unofficially reserved for employees—night guards, maintenance and other hired help. Thursday nights usually saw Darlene Winstead's Acura in this spot, and Dean doubted the lovely cleaning lady had cause to downgrade vehicles. A quick check of the plates confirmed the car didn't belong to her, but to one Troy Clarke, who bore no marks on his driving record. Well, perhaps that would change tonight, Dean mused to himself as he parked alongside the mystery car. Guests knew better than to park here, and Dean knew that he couldn't put it past the day guard—the retired Winston, bless his kindly heart—to buzz in a petty thief. Slipping out of his uniform top and replacing it with the white security shirt provided him by Buckhead Arms, Dean slipped out of the car and started toward his second job. A shame for a cop like him to need one, but though he was paid well by the Fulton County Police Department, they could only offer so much to a man whose ex-wife commanded a hefty alimony and child support check every month. All because of two words admitted to his wife in a moment of self-discovery and frustration. I'm gay. And I'm certainly paying for it. He was still shaking his head at the memory of being taken to the cleaners when he entered the foyer. Winston held court at the front desk, leaning over in a flirtatious manner toward Darlene. Next to her stood a gorgeous specimen of man in tight jeans that revealed every ridge of leg muscle, and a generous swell of curved ass. Any more constricting and Dean was certain he could tell if his eye candy had a cut cock. And I do like them cut. Dean's mouth watered at the sudden image of burying his face between the man's thighs. He ducked quickly behind

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the counter so nobody would detect his own prick hardening in his dark slacks. "Dean, this here's Troy Clarke," Winston was saying as Dean eased to one end and pressed his hips into a file cabinet to quell his erection. "Troy is going be cleaning Mr. Blair's apartment Tuesday and Thursday evenings, so he'll be a familiar face during your shift. He's starting tonight, Darlene was just giving him an orientation." "Sounds good." Pity other body parts wouldn't be as familiar in the near future. Two jobs gave him no time to socialize. "I trust you have your badge?" Troy smiled awkwardly and held up the required, laminated photo ID. It cast a reflection from the overhead light, creating a bright flash that caught Dean's eye. He blinked and turned away as Troy let the card drop to his chest and dangle from its lanyard. "Yes, sir," he said with enthusiasm. "Bonded, too. Darlene took care of that." "Good." Troy sounded a bit too eager, given the way he nearly stepped over Dean's question. Suspicious enough behavior to prompt a second check for blemishes on his record, but if somebody as trustworthy as Darlene vouched for him, Dean figured he could let Troy's nervous nature pass as just that. Besides, now that he had his personal information from the plate check, if ever he needed to clarify anything, like his sexual preference or relationship status… Winston's chuckling voice broke into his borderline lustful thoughts. "Damn glad she did, too. Anything that frees up her evenings I can get behind." Darlene extended a hand and led the silver-haired gent away from the desk, then slipped her arm around his waist for a playful squeeze. "Speaking of, let's not waste anymore of this one. 'Night, fellas," she called behind her shoulder as the two strolled toward the exit. Dean waved to their retreating backs, turning back to Troy as he remarked, "They look so cute together. I'm glad Darlene found somebody." Winston and Darlene were rather adorable. The twenty-odd year age difference was barely noticeable in the light of their loving gazes and relaxed gait. Dean remembered a time when he and his ex looked no different on the outside. Yet for all his smiling and obligatory cutesy nicknames for his then wife, the actions were mere window dressing. He

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had tried to convince himself he could lead a normal—strike that, heterosexual—life, but realized for him normal had another meaning. Now, busy as he was, he'd be lucky to get the chance to discover that kind of companionship. Not two feet away stood a gorgeous man with kissable lips and short blond hair needing hands to rake through it, and all Dean could offer was a finger on a button as he buzzed the elevator to give the new help access to Bobby Blair's place. "You know how the elevator works, right?" he asked as Troy stepped through the open doors. "Each apartment has a private entrance. The doors open, and you're in. No hallways or extra doors." Troy lifted his cleaning caddy in one hand and with the other offered a mock salute. "Yep, Darlene showed me everything. See you in an hour." "Right." And Dean let out a heavy sigh once Troy was out of sight. Damn his dedication to duty, and his reluctant nature. Given the proper signals, he'd have joined Troy in the elevator to "go down" while they went up. It wasn't as though anybody ever came to this building at night except the six tenants, he had to have something to do. Easing himself on the raised swivel chair, he shifted his hips to relieve the ache in his pants and adjusted the security monitors. This job was basically money flushed down the drain for the paranoid Bobbie Blair, who had badgered Buckhead Arms for the security and even paid his and Winston's salaries, yet Dean was glad for it. Six hours a night giving an absentee rock star peace of mind was easy money, and it didn't leave him exhausted for his next shift. Watching Troy work, he imagined, might make him rather excited.

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Chapter Three The elevator doors slid open to opulence and charm, a study in black and white. It seemed to stretch for a mile—the white carpets and walls, black furniture and trim, a few personal knickknacks, but nothing to indicate that an obscenely wealthy rock legend lived here. Bobbie Blair's Atlanta digs represented the antithesis of the singer's public persona. If the man owned anything flamboyant or colorful, it was probably in storage or nailed to the wall of another residence. Or maybe encased in acrylic, next to Jim Morrison's Cub Scout uniform, at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum. He knew to go to the first closet on the right, which housed the vacuum and other cleaning appliances. It was an unpronounceable brand dressed in umlauts—the latest in Scandinavian dirt-sucking technology, so Darlene had informed him. Heaven forbid an outside cleaning machine come into contact with Bobbie Blair's carpets and distribute dust from a lesser home, spreading it throughout the apartment like a virus. Troy snorted as Darlene's expressions of mock horror surfaced in his memory. Judging from what the tabloids reported, Mr. Blair didn't seem so fastidious where his love life was concerned. He fought the temptation to check the medicine cabinets for a completely different style of dirt, the kind he could sell to the Enquirer. In the end, he resisted. I like to think I have some morals. Besides, he probably has cameras hidden in the Jacuzzi jets. Extracting Darlene's list from his back jeans pocket, he studied the drawn-out itinerary—an anal retentive ordering of what got cleaned and when. Living room, bedroom, kitchen, and bathrooms. No shoes to be worn except in the foyer—Shit! Troy slipped off his loafers and kicked them toward the elevator doors—and no clothes at all while in view of the security cameras. Troy sighed and looked around the room. They could be anywhere, the little buggers. Darlene had said the micro lenses were hidden in various points around the apartment, perhaps as the glass eye of a staid

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figurine, or else a secret two-way mirror that recorded as well as reflected. Troy didn't want to look too obvious searching for them, lest he somehow piss off the mighty Mr. Blair and forfeit his pay. Okay, bubba. Shed the shorts and shine the countertops. He took a deep breath. He could do this. Technically nobody was here to watch him, and if Bobbie Blair valued his privacy and marketability to younger audiences, Troy's buff housecleaning exploits wouldn't see a large audience. So little for so much money…Troy straightened and steeled his nerves. Then he removed every stitch of clothing he wore. Shirt, jeans, and briefs puddled by the elevator, and Troy took a tentative step into the living room with the cleaning equipment. All was still and quiet, and suddenly he felt silly for being apprehensive. What was he expecting, anyway? A false wall wasn't going to tip over and reveal a studio audience. Bobbie Blair, however, was expecting his apartment to be spotless. Troy set to work polishing and dusting furniture. After about twenty minutes of hard work, Troy was grateful for the lack of clothing. Running through the list of chores left Troy's skin with a fine sheen of sweat, despite the air conditioning. He liked, too, that he didn't have his tight jeans to constrict movement when he had to bend underneath a table or high-legged chair to get at a stubborn clump of dust. If only Bobbie Blair would at least concede to him wearing a thong or something. Having his cock swaying free was a bit of an annoyance. Then again, he was likely better off without one. He could only imagine that thin string slicing him in two with one wrong turn. He finished ahead of schedule, but wasn't quite ready to dress. Troy put up the cleaning supplies and ambled back into the living room, hands clutching the small of his back as he walked. He hadn't realized how out of shape he was—so much bending and stretching to clean curtain rods and baseboards truly gave his muscles a workout. He hoped the voyeuristic singer appreciated Troy's growing masochism. "Okay, first paycheck goes to yoga lessons," he grumbled and rolled his shoulders, trying to work some blood back into the weary joints. His own practice of the hatha discipline was spotty at best, since he only went to classes when he could afford it. As a solitary practitioner he was terrible, as he always made an excuse to do something more fun. Definitely time to rethink that, he mused with a chuckle.

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He looked around the living room. A painting—it looked like a Picasso for the lopsided eyes and superfluous nostrils on the being portrayed—gaped worriedly back at him, and a series of pointed, crystal obelisks lined one mantle. Music awards, Troy had noted as he gingerly dusted them. Any one of them could be a conduit to Bobbie Blair's cinematic fantasies. Ah, well. He paid for a clean home, and he paid for a naked stud to do the work, so why not leave the man with something extra? Troy could afford to be generous now. Stretching his arms over his head, he arched his back and took a deep breath, then slowly bent forward as far as he could go. Back when he was religiously into yoga, he could touch the floor without bending his knees. Now, the best he could manage was a perpendicular pose. He had to wonder what vantage point the camera in this room had. Bobbie Blair would either think Troy was worshipping him or mooning him. **** Mother of God. Dean shifted in his seat to find comfort in the wake of a fastgrowing erection. He had only glanced at the multitude of small screens relaying the activity in Bobbie Blair's apartment when he thought he saw a man shedding his jeans. Normally he didn't bother with the monitors, as the building was very secure, and Dean didn't share Bobbie Blair's paranoia. The neighborhood was safe, and Dean saw no reason to anticipate trouble. His shifts usually offered him the opportunity to catch up on his reading. Until now. Darlene was trustworthy enough that Dean didn't see the need to spy on her. Delicious Troy, on the other hand, had warranted at least a peek to see if his good looks translated well to a minuscule black and white screen. He had hoped to see more of the man, but to see this much was truly a dream come to realization. "What are you doing?" he asked the monitor as a mute, lithe Troy cautiously inspected his surroundings before commencing his private streaking. The man was gorgeous, given what all Dean could see from the various odd angles the security cameras provided. His abs were lean and cut, and a nicely sculpted back and legs provided Dean with enough imagery for months of masturbatory relief. And that ass! Taut and smooth, perfect for gripping each side while he slammed his cock into what surely would be a tight little hole…

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Gads. Dean's nipples tightened underneath his uniform shirt, which seemed to grow heavy in increasing heat. His cock turned to stone as he watched Troy bend and stretch, sweep and dust the apartment in the buff. Unconsciously he scratched at the buttons to get to his skin. Following his divorce he had been lucky to enjoy the pleasures of only one man, and since had to rely on taking matters into his own hands. Dean wasn't much for porn, but watching the progressive erotic nature of Troy's au naturel workout turned him on more than any stroke film had done. Of the building's six tenants, four were home and two still out of town, this Dean knew from the cars in the lot. No deliveries would come at this late hour, and if anybody should happen into the lobby he had the high desk to conceal him. One hand grasped the armrest of his swivel chair while the other unbuckled his belt, then lowered his zipper and fished through the flap in his boxers to release his cock. Sliding his ass low in the seat and spreading his legs wide, Dean shifted into a more comfortable position for stroking as he watched Troy. Nice. Nimbly his fingers massaged his balls then danced up his shaft, pausing a bit to stroke the reddening, circumcised tip before sliding back to base. He matched every bend, every stretch from Troy with a rough caress, until soon he was able to synchronize his pleasure with Troy's strenuous domestic dance. The cleaning done, Troy then suddenly let free a bending pose that caught Dean off guard. Whoa! The living room monitor revealed a perfect shot of Troy's ass, his buttocks parted enough to allow a shadowed view of his nether eye. Damn, what he wouldn't give to be upstairs now and bury his face in that. He'd rim that asshole until Troy's knees buckled, then take advantage of the man's prone position to fuck his hole senseless. How he'd love to see Troy twist back to watch him pump and grind his cock. He wanted to see the ecstasy flit across the blond man's features and make him beg for more. He appeared to be doing some kind of post-work stretching or yoga, Dean realized. Troy slowly shifted positions so that he now extended one leg far behind him while he leaned forward on the bended knee, his arms outstretched. The warrior pose, or some variation of it. Whatever it was, it allowed Dean an outstanding view of Troy's limp but impressive cock. He watched it dangle pendulously between the man's legs, and fantasies of taking that velvety skin into his mouth strengthened. Dean could no longer hold back his desire for release, and only then did he speed up his end of the process, yanking his cock until his balls

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tightened and nearly exploded. He barely grabbed a tissue from the desk in time, but managed to shoot his load into it as the orgasm hit. His satisfaction came in an exhaled groan that filled the silent room, and when all was still again he calmly wadded the tissue into a compact paper pebble and tossed it in the trash can by his feet. When the elevator doors open to let Troy back into the lobby, Dean had tidied himself. He remained behind the desk and offered the cleaning man what he hoped was a benign, clandestine nod. He had no mirror and couldn't tell if the spontaneous jack-off session left him flushed. If it did, Troy was kind enough not to say anything. Troy looked completely unawares, and Dean wondered if the man knew he had been watched. "Well, that wasn't too bad for a first night," Troy said as he crossed the lobby. "See you Thursday?" "Sure thing." Dean buzzed him out, waiting until the blond was completely out of sight before cracking a smile. "I hope to see much more of you then," he added.

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Chapter Four Troy's next three cleaning sessions at Bobbie Blair's seemed uneventful, yet comfortable. What apprehension he felt on the first night of naked labor had melted away, and by his second Thursday as temporary house boy he was right at home in his birthday suit…and the Buckhead condo. He didn't think twice about dropping trou to scour the already spotless apartment, but for the owner's benefit he made sure to complete all chores on his list so he could rightly earn his paycheck. The free time he enjoyed during the week, too, allowed Troy to reacquaint himself with yoga, and he resumed day classes at a nearby community center. The stretching helped eased the ache in his muscles as he worked, and overall he could sense the improvement in his mobility and well-being. If only he could ease the ache in his groin that intensified every time he walked past that hot security guard. When the elevators doors closed he would let out a labored sigh and inhale sharply again to calm his rapidly beating heart. The first time Troy saw Dean he was instantly attracted—how could he not be? Warm, brown eyes and matching short hair, finely chiseled arms bulging under short sleeves…God, but he loved a man in uniform, even a rent-a-cop could do in a pinch, if he would do the pinching. That he was a bona fide cop working for extra cash, and gay—so said Darlene in passing during a lunch—only served to raise Troy's hopes. According to Darlene, the hunky cop was unattached, which baffled Troy. How could such a gorgeous gay man go unnoticed in Atlanta? Troy had to conclude that holding down two jobs contributed to Dean remaining on the market. He just had no time to get to the market. But twice a week, Troy had him all to himself, to an extent. Troy knew his time as Bobbie Blair's housekeeper was short, so he had to make the best of the situation. Which was why he had planned to engage the security guard in a brief conversation upon his leave.

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He had it all planned out: he'd leave Blair's apartment and make mention of some souvenir or item in the singer's home. Hopefully Dean would take the cue to talk more, and soon a discussion about something or other would grow from there. Troy would then offer to continue their talk over drinks this weekend. Then Dean would accept, and they'd go out. Afterward, they hop over to Troy's place where Officer Dean would demonstrate the latest in half-nelson holds for aggressive prisoners. Then he would fuck Troy rotten, handcuffs optional. Well, a bottom boy can dream, Troy thought wistfully as he neared Blair's building. He took a deep, calming breath before entering, and maintained a tight grip on his cleaning caddy so Dean wouldn't see his hands shaking. The guard's welcoming smile was his reward. Dean had been studying a newspaper folded back to the crossword puzzle, but set it aside to stand. Troy's heart lifted at the sight of Dean's tanned, cut arms and the way his uniform shirt pulled tightly across his chest. I surrender, Officer. "Working hard or hardly working?" Troy teased as he approached the station. Immediately he sucked the air through his teeth, wishing the words would come back with it. "A bit of both." Dean grinned and reached to buzz the elevator for Troy, but quickly pulled back. "Oh, before I forget, Darlene called and left a message. I have the note here somewhere." "Cool." They were going to meet up after Troy finished work. "Sorry about that. When I get my cell plan renewed you won't have to play receptionist anymore." Troy cringed when he knew Dean wasn't looking. Man, was he on a roll. "Not a problem. It's around here somewhere." Dean lifted tiny stacks of yellow Post-Its and rumpled newspapers. Troy eased closer with the intent to assist but froze at the sight of the lighted panel situated just beneath the counter. He hadn't noticed it before; likely because this was the closest he'd been to the guard's station. He certainly would have reconsidered the job had he known Bobbie Blair's security cameras could be seen through the small monitors—he thought the recordings were private. Troy easily recognized shots of the living room and kitchen, and realized Blair must have turned them on in his absence.

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Troy felt his face become hot, and he stepped back before Dean noticed his proximity. No…No way could the guard have seen… Did he? Dean certainly acted naturally, neither embarrassed nor leering, no mannerisms or tone to imply he had witnessed Troy's nudity. Maybe he hadn't turned the camera on until recently. Or, perhaps he had seen Troy, and didn't think much of him? The notion caused a momentary ripple of anger to shiver through Troy's body, but he quickly recovered. No sense in jumping to conclusions, when the truth could be that Dean might have seen him, but was being polite for his benefit. I hope that's it. If so, he'll have to be taught not to mind his manners. And as Dean handed him the small square note scrawled with Darlene's message, a wicked, unrelated grin curled Troy's lips. **** With Troy safely upstairs, Dean released the breath he finally realized he'd been holding. Damn. He knew Troy was an actor, but Dean wondered if he should try making a few auditions, given the way he was able to bluff through their brief exchange. At least, he thought he had done so successfully—Troy hadn't given him the impression that he was suspicious. Unless he was acting. Give the guy a little golden, naked trophy. Shaking away any doubts, Dean settled into his chair and tossed aside his puzzles and papers. The monitors revealed Troy's entrance into Bobbie Blair's apartment, and the handsome blond wasted no time getting into uniform, or lack thereof. Shoes, pants, shirt, and briefs all disappeared, leaving an enticing view of tight, bare buttocks bending over to retrieve a dust rag and a can of polish. Nice. Dean's cock throbbed in his slacks and he shifted to allow it to grow unfettered. When his own underwear obstructed the erection's completion, he sighed and undid the fly. The purpling head seemed to immediately seek freedom and a helping hand for relief, which Dean was only too happy to oblige. Onscreen, Troy bent and stretched, dusted and polished like a pro. To Dean's disappointment, the house cleaner appeared to rush through the work, as though he had somewhere else to be. The notion that Troy might have a date after this job caused Dean to swallow back a hard knot forming in his throat. He shouldn't be surprised if that were true, though. Troy was gorgeous and outgoing. No doubt he had a line of admirers following his career, to say nothing of every move of that tight, beautiful

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bum now in full view of the camera. Troy was bent over his caddy, probably looking for a sponge. Dean's heart lurched. Long fingers grasped that ass and pulled both cheeks apart, exposing a deliciously puckered hole that looked as if it had never been breached. What the fuck? Dean shifted in order to get comfortable, but he knew the action was done in vain. "What are you doing?" he hissed at the bank of screens, but kept his gaze fixed on the activity in the top right monitor. Like he had to ask. Troy had plunged one finger into his hole and arched his shoulders upward. His head was turned sideways enough to display a sliver of a satisfied smile. Nice. Troy knew exactly what he was doing. He had figured out the guard was watching—to be certain, Dean was surprised the young man hadn't before mentioned the possibility during the time he cleaned the apartment. Now, of course, cleaning seemed the farthest thing from Troy's mind. Just as security was for Dean. When Troy reached underneath him to stroke his balls, Dean all but forgot his name. He cupped his own sack and stroked in time to the onscreen figure. The urge to come was strong, but Dean knew this was definitely something that needed to be saved for Troy's tight entrance. Troy rolled momentarily onto his back, pinching his nipples and arching his neck. His own hard-on appeared darker than the rest of his body, likely purple with the ache of an imminent explosion. That would feel so good between his lips, Dean realized as he watched Troy turn back to resume fondling his ass. Tempted as he was to continue his surveillance, however, he decided he needed to see what the rest of Troy's ecstasy looked like, in person. He was in the elevator in a flash, and halfway to Blair's apartment when he realized his cock was still poking from his pants. He moved to zip himself, then stopped. Then he smiled.

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Chapter Five Come on, Officer Friendly. Get up here with your nightstick and show me some police brutality. Troy's back ached, and his hamstrings felt as though somebody had set a match to his heels and allowed a line a fire to crawl north. Much as he enjoyed being the bottom, there were more comfortable positions than this one, though the pleasure he felt from stroking his ass was enough of a distraction from the strain. Up and down the crack of his ass his finger explored and prodded, stopping on occasion to plunge deep and reach for that spot that made him want to cum into a gallon jug and watch the excess spill. A brief survey of Blair's home led him to conclude one security camera was hidden in the somber gaze of the large porcelain Weimaraner, looming near the living room entertainment center. So, after the pretense of cleaning for Bobbie Blair's benefit, he set the caddy down and struck a pose…right in the Weim's snout. He could only hope the camera's eye was pointed properly, lest he present a more comical than erotic scene for his sexy voyeur. "Freeze!" A part of Troy did just that. His cock stiffened in response to the deep voice resonating through the apartment. He struggled to remain still, but his balance failed him. Quickly he released his backside and splayed his fingers against the floor in order to remain in his partly upright position. "On the ground, hands behind your head," came the next command. Troy gently but awkwardly complied, speeding up the process when a no-nonsense, "Now!" rattled his skull and set his heart into overdrive. He winced on pressing his aching cock against the floor. He wanted to lift his head, to see what certainly had to be a sexy, authoritative strut, but he feared the retaliation. No, he relished it, and felt exhilarated by the sense of foreboding that accompanied the falling shadow by his face.

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Two bare feet came into view. Dean now stood over him, and Troy dared a peek. God! He was naked, and freaking huge! This vantage point made the guard's cock look massive. He hoped that wasn't a distortion of his current perception. His ass muscles twitched as he contemplated that rod reaming his insides. "What seems to be the trouble, Officer?" he called meekly. A lame line it was, yes, but the mild chuckle issued from overhead settled Troy's nerves somewhat. "You are aware," Dean began, padding silently away, "that you are in violation of a number of regulations." "Am I?" Troy's voice involuntarily cracked. Dean was so near. He could swear the man's gaze burned his skin, though he couldn't see it. Let him like what he's looking at. "I hadn't realized—" "That it's a crime to be here all by your lonesome? A handsome man as yourself?" It was a lamer line than his own, but Troy was flattered all the same. "Sir, I'm sure we can work something out…" Then came the first touch to his lower right calf, a light dusting kiss that made Troy's nerves sing. "A beautiful body like this…" Kiss, kiss…"forced into labor…" Three more danced up the back of Troy's thigh. The tap of Dean's cock against his taut skin beat a disjointed rhythm as the guard moved upward. Any more sensation and Troy was certain he would come right there. Bobbie Blair was going to freak at the stain if it set. Dean's nose nudged the swell of Troy's buttocks, and nimble fingers pried apart the cheeks. Cool air brushed the sensitive nerves within and Troy shuddered. "Touching yourself in full view of a dog statue," Dean murmured. "That's a violation of Code Twelve, Section A…" The tip of his tongue grazed the puckered eye and Troy gasped. Lord, but it had been so long since a guy had done that! "I'll turn myself in," he babbled. "Community service, work release, whatever. Just don't stop." "Of course not." Dean's voice was slightly muffled, and Troy finally dared to crane his neck back to see behind him. Dean lay prone between his legs, his face buried in Troy's ass, licking and suckling. After several seconds of administering agonizing pleasure he lifted his head and shifted forward so that his cock ground just below Troy's sac. "You're not going anywhere until you've served your sentence."

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"Hard time, I imagine." "Very. Brace yourself." Troy took this to mean he could move his hands. Tucking his elbows under his chest, he raised his ass enough to allow Dean entrance. Seconds passed, and he realized Dean was lubricating his cock with his own saliva. "Wait." He reached for the caddy and tossed back a small vial of baby oil. It worked well for removing stains on chrome faucets, so said Darlene. He thought a moment. She certainly seemed insistent he keep it with him at work. That bitch…I love her so much. Further thoughts dissolved, however, when the head of Dean's shaft breached his hole. Dean eased himself gently into Troy, pausing to let the bottom become accustomed to the girth—so Troy guessed. Once seated entirely, though, Dean wasted no time in getting rough. "Higher," Dean grunted, and lifted Troy with him until Troy was on his knees. This movement altered the sensation of Dean's cock, sending more pleasured vibrations through his body. With the heels of his hands planted on the floor, Troy concentrated on Dean's oiled cock sliding in and out, then pounding deep. "Teasing an officer of the law," Dean growled, "making conversation with an officer without offering your phone number, jaywalking…" "What?" "You see how the tiles are arranged in the dining area and kitchen?" Troy followed Dean's voice with his eyes. "You're supposed to keep to the black squares. You criss-crossed them without thinking, I'll bet." "I've had a lot on my mind," Troy gasped. "What's that?" Thinking how I wanted a lot in me, like you. That answer was obscured by his orgasm. Troy quaked in Dean's grasp as the wave crashed over his back and legs. Seconds later, he erupted and spurted hot cum on his thighs. Dean's aggressive lovemaking wore him out quickly, and he collapsed forward. Dean joined him soon afterward, withdrawing in time to spray Troy's back.

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When he was quiet, he draped himself over Troy and peppered his shoulders with kisses. "I think I can let you off with a warning," he said, his voice a purr. "Damn, if that's a warning, I'd hate to get the death penalty." He turned his head to see Dean's smile. Close up, he was gorgeous. Troy melted. "I reckon I could zap you good, without the chair," he said. "Wanna try after work? That is, if my probation officer will let me out with a handsome man like yourself." It was worth a shot. Troy never felt so content and sated in his life. Surely asking for a date couldn't be considered forward after an incredible fuck. All the same, he was shocked as Dean's expression hardened into melancholy. The guard quietly stood and loped toward the pile of clothes by the elevator. Troy half-rose and turned to a reclining position, watching Dean dress. "I'd like nothing more," the guard said finally. "You're a great guy, and you deserve the best." Something foul bubbled in the pit of Troy's stomach. This didn't sound like a happy speech. The doors opened and a now clothed Dean loitered by the elevator. "I wish I could join you, but I still have a long shift to finish." "Oh." Of course he did. Only Troy had the easy job here. Scrambling from the floor for his clothes, he settled into sitting position near the thick, sliding doors to dress. "How about breakfast?" Dean then suggested. "That is, if you don't mind eating early…say, three in the AM." "There's a three in the morning now?" Troy cracked, and the two laughed. Dean sauntered closer to help Troy better plant himself on rubber legs. The guard's encircling arms made him shiver and anticipate a kiss. Thankfully, Dean did not disappoint. Dean edged closer and pried apart Troy's lips with his own, gently exploring the inviting cavern with his tongue, kissing Troy as a lover would. The sensation warmed him all the way down to his toes, and though he had managed to get on only his underwear, he felt comfortable and natural in the guard's embrace. "I'm afraid that's going to have to hold us until I get some free time, whenever that is," Dean said ruefully. "Two full-time jobs don't give me a lot of time to socialize."

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"I'm sorry." Troy's heart softened. Guilt ate at him; he knew he shouldn't feel bad for himself for being denied a potential boyfriend. Dean apparently had it worse than him if he had to work himself to death. "And as much as you turn me on," Dean's laugh sounded a bit sour, "I have to wonder what kind of guy I'd be for you if I were never around." "Well, if you ask me, I think you two are perfect for each other." Both men looked at each other, knowing well neither had said that. They turned simultaneously to see that the elevator had opened quietly without their knowledge. Leaning against the threshold, Bobbie Blair eyed the pair with decided bemusement.

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Chapter Six "Sweetie, I should give you a tip for a job well done," the flamboyant pop singer declared as he sashayed into the apartment. Dean watched Troy follow the man's every movement. Known for having a flair for bizarre attire, Bobbie Blair looked resplendent in an aqua blue, two-tone longcoat covering a melon Oxford and black silk trousers. A wide brimmed black hat with a white-feathered band topped the ensemble, and thick rings supporting marble-sized rocks adorned each finger. To Dean, this was rather a demure outfit for his boss to wear. He imagined Troy wouldn't know the difference. "I-I, Mr. Blair," he finally acknowledged. "We weren't expecting you for another month." "Change of plans, Deano. Two venues had to postpone, so I thought I'd hide out here 'til the Atlanta show." Bobbie was deep into the living room, close to the scene of the crime, when he whirled around and peered at them over his diamond-rimmed sunglasses. "I can tell you had the same idea." A quick look to his side revealed Troy had turned a dark shade of red. His entire body blushed. Any other day it would be cute. "Mr. Blair, I take full responsibility—" The singer was quick to interrupt. "Don't you dare, Deano. I've been around much longer than you. I know it takes two to tango…and to horizontal bop." "Right." Now Dean could feel his face flush. Bobbie seemed to be in one of his moods. He could only hope the singer wouldn't take it out on Troy. A firing he could take. There were other night security jobs to be had, providing Bobbie didn't sully his reputation. "I admit, I about shit myself when I entered the downstairs lobby and you weren't at your post," the singer continued. "I thought, no I'd hoped, maybe you'd had a stroke and were slumped behind the desk. At least I'd have a chance to administer CPR." A derisive snort indicated to

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Dean that perhaps Bobbie Blair's definition of resuscitation involved attention to the other head. "So I check behind and see you…on screen giving this lovely the pounding of his life." Bobbie slithered closer, a manicured and polished hand extend cautiously. Those long, insured by Lloyd's of London pianist fingers barely grazed Troy's bare chest. The young man twitched. "I haven't seen the cleaning tapes yet, ducky, and Darlene told me you were a dish. What I watched downstairs, though…mmm, baby! That was worth your every paycheck." "Uh, thanks?" Dean felt Troy's relief wash over him. Those rubber knees wobbled again and Dean steadied the other man as Bobbie slid further away. "So what's this I hear about there being no time to be together?" the singer demanded. "What kind of bullshit is that? After all Darlene and I did to match you two in the first place—" Match? Hello? Dean glanced at Troy—clearly he had been unaware, too, for the shock on his face. "That's right." Bobbie hadn't waited for a vocal protest. "I got tired of you moping," he strongly eyed Dean, "and Dar got tired of him mooning about being alone," he crooked his neck toward Troy. "Nice setup, you think? I get a hunk to strip down for you while you're minding the screens—" "Excuse me?" Troy's voice was loud, but what boldness was intended was slightly obscured by a quake in tone. "So, you're not into…watching people?" "Oh, I am, don't get me wrong." Bobbie was unapologetic. "I adore watching." He winked. "I was betting that Dean did, too." You got that right. Carefully he slid an arm around Troy and was relieved that the other man leaned in rather than resisted. "Good thing, too, I'd rather do than watch," he supplied. "Damn straight, pardon the pun." Bobbie rolled his eyes. "So, as of tonight, you're both on my personal payroll. I need an extra hand on my tour security team, plus a backup singer since Gino dropped out in Phoenix. Your resume says you sing?" This was aimed at Troy. "Definitely!" Troy said, all apprehension gone. Bobbie clapped his hands playfully. Problem solved. Just like that. Dean blinked and tried to make reality come into focus, and was pleasantly surprised when nothing had changed.

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"Now, if you'll excuse me…" Bobbie rolled back his shoulders and pushed past Dean toward the waiting elevator. "I'll be downstairs at the front desk. I'm hoping to catch a rerun of my favorite TV show." The innuendo wasn't lost. Dean felt the familiar tug in his pants coincide with Troy's hand cupping his ass. "I wouldn't mind being renewed for a few seasons," Troy whispered in his ear. "And FYI," Bobbie added just before the doors shut, "next time do it closer to the coffee table. Where that Weim statue is pointed, I'm sorry, but it kills the effect."

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About the Author Leigh Ellwood is a multi-published author of romance and the creator of Phaze's award-winning Dareville series. An EPPIE nominee in a former life, she was honored with the 2005 Golden Rose Award for Best Erotica (Dare Me) and the second place prize for Best Pansexual Erotica by the ERWI (also for Dare Me). She is proud to make Phaze her primary home for her romantic novels and short stories. Readers can visit Leigh at www.leighellwood.com.

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Collect all the Force HeatSheets!

Fraternization – Cara North Eyes of Desire – Portia Da Costa Into the Heat – Kate Burns Savior – Jade Falconer Journey to the Dark Side – Marty Rayne Submissive Secrets – Eliza Gayle Shantage – N Surveillance – Leigh Ellwood On Again – Jenna Allen San Francisco Surrender – Will Belegon Breaking the Rules – Sage Burnett Summer of Fire – Nicole Gestalt

Available at www.Phaze.com!

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Leigh Ellwood

The hottest romance, the most memorable heroines, and the most gorgeous heroes… Welcome to the next PHAZE in erotic romance! Join us online for author chats, writing workshops, and win big prize contests with our FREE monthly newsletter!

www.phaze.com groups.yahoo.com/group/PhazeChatters eBooks available at Fictionwise.com, CyberRead.com, and AllRomanceeBooks.com print titles available at Amazon.com, BN.com, BooksAMillion.com and on the shelves of Borders bookstores!

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