CHAPTER THREE: STRIPPED WITHOUT A TOUCH

STRIPPED WITHOUT A TOUCH

Arthur stepped out of the car after Lila, his shoes crushing the gravel underneath as he took in the compound properly this time. The tattooed men he had noticed earlier were still there, scattered around in loose groups. 

One stood by a Harley Davidson, the side of his jacket folded back just enough for Arthur to see the handle of a Glock tucked into his waistband. Another sat on a crate by one of the buildings. He held a sheathed knife as he slowly grinned, revealing a silver-plated tooth tucked between tobacco ridden ones. 

Arthur looked away quickly, only to meet Victor's assessing gaze again. 

Victor walked down the steps, the tattoos snaking his arms twitching with every flex of his cut biceps. The men didn't look at him, but they shifted slightly as he passed, opening a path for him without him asking. 

“You’ve grown,” he said to Lila, his voice steady. He stopped in front of her and stretched a hand to her cheek. “This is him?" 

Lila slapped his hands away, her expression growing colder. "This is Arthur," she replied, wrapping an arm around Arthur's waist. “He’s my fiance.”

Victor kept his gaze on the blue-eyed man standing beside his daughter, taking his time. Arthur tried keeping a calm demeanor, but it all shattered the moment he caught the silver ring dangling from the man's exposed nipples. 

An image instantly flashed in his head–his tongue on the rings, Victor's hand running through his hair. His dick hardened slightly in his pants, forcing him to shift between feet. 

What the fuck was he doing? 

Victor's gaze dropped slightly to Arthur's crotch before meeting his gaze again. Arthur feared that he may have noticed, but the old man simply tucked a hand into his pockets, pulling out a cigar and lighter. 

“Tell me,” Victor said with a low grunt, stepping closer. With a single flick, he lit the cigar and placed it between his lips. "What do you do, Arthur?”

Arthur cleared his throat, tearing his gaze from the man's pecs, to his haunting grey eyes. “I’m…" he swallowed. “I'm between jobs at the moment.”

Victor’s eyes stayed on him for a moment. “So you don't have one,” he repeated, glancing between his daughter and the lean man. “So you thought–”

“He didn’t think anything,” Lila cut in. “I asked him to come.”

Victor turned his head slightly toward her. “You always did like bringing your toys home,” he said with a low tone, as if the conversation bored him already. He took another drag from the cigar before flicking a bit of ash to the ground. “Come. No point standing out here.”

Without waiting, he turned and began toward the building. Lila tossed the car keys to one of the men, mumbling something about them being careful with the bags as she followed after. Arthur walked beside her, noting the slight tension in her shoulders and tightening of her jaw. 

But halfway to the door, Victor suddenly stopped and turned his head slightly in their direction. 

“Get settled in, Lila," he said calmly. “I need to speak with Arthur." 

Lila blinked, frowning. “What?" 

Victor turned fully toward them, his eyes settling on Arthur again. "I want to have a word with him… privately.”

Lila scoffed, shaking her head. “Whatever you want to tell him," she slid her fingers between Arthur's, “you can say it in front of me." 

Victor looked down at their clasped hands, then back up at them. “I prefer not to," he said, smoke spilling past his lips and nose with every word. “You don't need to be scared. He'll be fine." He turned to Arthur. “Won't you?" 

Arthur didn't respond. He simply swallowed, unweaving his fingers from Lila's, her eyes flickered briefly toward him before dropping down to her watch. 

“Five minutes,” she muttered. "Don't take too long." 

Without so much as a glance, Lila turned and walked up the stairs, into the building. Arthur kept his gaze on her for a long moment, watching her retreating frame before shifting his attention back to her father. 

Back to the man that he couldn't stop imagining holding him and–

“Come." 

Victor's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality. He took his eyes off the scar that cut across the back of the man's head and looked up. 

Saying nothing more, Victor turned and began walking toward the side of the building. Arthur quickly followed him and they slowly made their way down the back. 

The sounds of the men tugging the bags in the trunk faded as they moved further, past stacked crates and rusted metal drums, until the noise of the compound dulled into something distant.

For a moment, neither of them said a word. 

Then Victor stopped and turned to face him. Arthur shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how out of place he looked standing there. 

“My daughter,” Victor said, placing his hands behind him. “Do you love her?" 

Arthur blinked, caught off guard. “I–uh… yeah," he stuttered, swallowing. “Of course I do.”

Victor took a step closer, his lips curling into a slow smile. “You say it like you are meant to," he said, stopping a few inches away. “Not like you truly feel it." 

Arthur looked up at the towering man, trying to still his trembling hands. “You speak like you know anything about me." 

"No?” Victor hummed softly. 

He took another step despite how close they already were. Arthur could feel the man's breath brush his upper lip and catch the strong smell of burnt wood from his jacket. Even his nipples rings–

“You’re a careful man,” Victor continued, his voice lowering. “You’re polite and quiet, and you wait for permission before you speak.”

Arthur’s chest rose slightly. “That’s not–”

“You don’t touch her unless you think she’ll let you,” Victor cut in. “And even then… you hesitate”

He raised a hand to Arthur's cheeks and grazed it slightly as he tilted his head. He watched the boy's face heat up and his lips curved–just slightly.  

“But I don't." 

Arthur’s heartbeat picked up. There was something in the way he was being looked at, like he’d been stripped open without even realizing it.

And he loves it. 

“What do you mean?" Arthur asked, trying to steady his voice.

“I'll show you." 

Victor dropped two fingers to Arthur's chin and tilted his head up, his touch firm. Arthur froze and every instinct told him to stop back… but he didn't. His breath left him in shudders, and he could practically taste the tobacco in his mouth. 

"Show me,” he whispered, already leaning toward him. 

But just as their tongues were about tangling, Victor suddenly pulled back, leaving Arthur bent slightly forward, lips puckered, eyes closed and mind blank. 

After what felt like forever, he opened his eyes and found Victor looking over him, his gaze settled on him. Like he was some… specimen. Grunting, Arthur stood up straight and smoothened his shirt. 

“I’m–” he started, his voice uneven. “I’m sorry." 

Victor stayed quiet for a moment. “That's what I thought," he huffed, biting down on his cigar. 

He stared at him for what felt like forever to Arthur, before finally turning away as if nothing had happened. 

“Go freshen up,” Victor said, his voice steady as he began walking back toward the main room. “After dinner, meet me at my study.”

Arthur stood there, unmoving, the taste of smoke still lingered in his mouth as he stared after Victor, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

And what was about to…