Pretty for Master: Made for Master, #1

By Skylar Sweeney

Can a psychopath learn to love? Master plans to find out, and his captive agrees to lend a hand. But will Pretty lend his heart, too?

 

PRETTY

They call him the Mad Master. A giant in fancy clothes with a flower on his lapel, he's as terrifying as he is enthralling--and as cruel as he is kind. All I've ever known is pain, so a man who loves to hurt me is nothing new. But how he holds me makes me wonder if I can be someone more than a redneck biker who sells his soul on street corners. Someone like his pretty boy? Can a man no one's ever loved really win the heart of someone like him?

 

MASTER

I'm obsessed with a love I can't feel. I'm not sure what romance is, but it's all I think about—when I'm not thinking of pain.  Everything changes when I kidnap the most beautiful boy in the world to save him from a killer. I'm determined to give him the love he deserves, with lace and glitter and maybe a little pain on top.  But is it possible to romance someone when I've never learned how to love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skylar Sweeney
• Release date: Sep 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223330073

Book preview

PROLOGUE

MASTER

It isn’t Valentine’s Day at the Regal Hotel, but you’d never know it from the decor. Dozens of shiny foil hearts hang throughout the bar, and the mahogany tables sparkle with pink and red glitter—most of which seems to have made its way onto my Armani jacket in the last half hour. Every few feet along the bar, a brightly colored unicorn with little hearts for eyes sits and stares. I’m fairly certain they’re all crushing on me. But who wouldn’t be? I’m a beautiful man.

Is this what love tastes like? I question the drunken woman beside me, carefully inspecting one of the heart-shaped candies I’ve been munching as I sip my gin.

She snorts and tosses her hair. "Last time I checked, love tastes like semen. Do those candies have a manly tang to them?"

I belt out a laugh, shaking my head. This chick is a riot, and she has quite the point. How did you know I’m a true connoisseur of semen?

Her lips tilt into a smile as she raises her glass to me, chugging down another gulp she doesn’t need.  

The pink shirt is a big clue, not to mention your ticket to the Virginia Romance Authors’ Convention. The way you’re eyeing the bartender right now is what really clued me in, though.

I chuckle again. My hot pink shirt and vibrant bowtie are a bit on the flamboyant side, but when you’re a gay man who’s literally the size of a professional linebacker, the queen inside has to shine through somehow. 

Speaking of bartenders… I raise a hand at the very handsome brunette behind the counter, nodding in the general direction of my empty glass. I have a workshop on writing anal sex scenes to teach in an hour, but at six foot seven and two hundred fifty pounds of mostly solid muscle, I can risk a final gin. It isn’t like I’m going to forget how to bang dudes. I have a PhD in the subject.

The bar’s mostly empty aside from my drinking buddy and the stuffed unicorns, and the bartender perks when the door opens. He’s obviously eager for more tips.  

The lady beside me gives a low whistle, sitting up straight on her stool, and I follow her gaze to an attractive, dark skinned man. His height and breadth rival my own as he hovers in the entrance, the red neon of the Coors sign reflecting off his tight, black curls.  

He isn’t dressed for this upscale sort of bar, slumming it in ripped jeans and an old Journey tee, but the way his obvious package presses against the tight denim makes it hotter than couture.

Who the hell is that sexy boy, and how do I sign up for some of him? the woman croons drunkenly.  

I hold back a smirk. The man is a hottie, but this woman won’t be partaking in his pleasures anytime soon. Baby Daddy doesn’t swing her way—and I’m pretty damn sure my former lover and best friend is here for me.

I raise a hand in casual greeting. My boy doesn’t return the motion, but he heads my way, eyeing all the foil hearts and unicorn toys like he’s dropped headfirst into Wonderland, something that would be perfectly fine with me. The Queen of Hearts is my kind of girl. Hell, they call me the Mad Master at the kinkiest clubs in DC. Also at some high profile political charity events, but it’s at least said in whispers there.

What in the name of God is going on here? Baby questions with raised eyebrows. He comes to a halt before me, his black Army boots toeing my stool. I know you’re into some weird stuff, but unicorns? What the hell, Master?

I laugh aloud, picking up my glass as I rise to greet him with arms spread wide. I plant a light kiss on his lips. The man doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t press into me, either. He just stands stiffly before me, and it’s a sharp reminder that those lips haven’t been mine to freely kiss in many, many years.  

Fine with me. I’ll simply slap his ass in greeting next time.  

It’s a romance book convention, I explain, nodding toward the woman, who’s watching us with eager interest. That’s one of my fellow authors; she writes romances between gay men.

Baby blinks. She’s a woman.

I shrug. Women write, too.

My friend takes a deep breath, and I have a feeling I’ve missed some subtle implication or joke in his comment. It happens a lot, not that I give a damn. Other men’s subtleties aren’t my problem.  

Do you mind if we talk in private? He murmurs, hot breath tickling my ear, and that notable bulge in his britches almost brushes my own as he steps in close enough to whisper.

I don’t mind at all. Time with Baby is one of my favorite pastimes, right up there with kidnapping unsuspecting criminals and making them my sexual playthings.  

According to my therapist, spending time with Baby is the healthier choice. Not that I give much of a damn what my therapist thinks. Particularly since my latest one is now six feet under. He really shouldn’t have abused young clients like he did. Or overcharge me, for that matter. Gold digging bastard.

I leave the other author behind to drown herself in whiskey and cum-flavored candies, and we make our way to the far corner of the bar, settling down at a small, shadowed table. What it lacks in stuffed unicorns, it makes up for in abundant privacy.

Still working the Harlequin scene, I see. Baby’s low voice is tinged with amusement, and I can’t blame him for it. Male romance authors are a rare enough breed, but I was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder before the age of five, and I’m not exactly a people person. Or maybe it’s better put as, ‘I’m not exactly a sane people person.’ I don’t understand them, and I do a lot of odd things with no clue they’re odd. Writing romance is most definitely not the strangest on the list.

What can I say? I’m addicted to love, I reply to Baby with a shrug. Not quite sure what it is, precisely, but a lot of orgasms are involved, and what man can resist that?  

Love, and other various emotional bonds, don’t come naturally to me, but the idea of them has intrigued me since the moment I first saw Richard Gere kiss Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Maybe I can’t feel love, but that’s what makes books great: You don’t have to experience something in life to live it out on paper. Though at this point in publishing, I should really say in pixels. Ebooks and audiobooks are the libraries of our future.

The orgasms I’ll take, but the cheesy romance? I’ll leave that on the shelf. I prefer the PornHub route.

I snort. Porn’s as cheesy as it gets. Shirtless pool boys with dicks as long as their forearms and single moms in Playboy bunny outfits? Really?

Good point. His fingers brush aimlessly along his stubbled chin, and he studies me for a long moment.  

I simply sip my gin, waiting idly for my boy to gather his courage and tell Master what he’s done wrong, because he’s most definitely done something naughty. I know that face he’s wearing quite well. The last time I saw it was almost thirty years ago when he wet his diaper at the local BDSM club. I’ll never forget that perfect blend of fear and excitement shining in his eyes. How could I? It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

I need your help, he whispers, and my eyebrows shoot up in pure disbelief. My baby boy is not the sort to request aid from anyone who’s less than law-abiding, especially not from me. No favor from Master comes without a price, and this man hasn’t been willing to pay the toll in years.  

Baby and I have a long history of push and pull. Many a man has begged me for their freedom, but my Baby Daddy’s the only one whose wish was granted. Though I still call him Baby, he hasn’t been my baby in decades. These days, he’s known to his lovers only as Daddy, and he has no interest in being Master’s little baby boy ever again.

But Baby knows what my favor will cost him. He won’t willingly give up his new daddy kink for anything, so I decide to play dumb. Better to pretend I didn’t understand what sort of help he requested.

You’re a federal agent, with Quantico under your belt. I’m a romance author. I’ve written a few cop romances, but investigations simply aren’t my thing. What can I possibly do to help you?

Baby snorts and waves his hand derisively. "If I need help with an investigation, you’re the last person I’d go to. I can manage a case without the aid of the man who wrote Sexy SEALs Gone Wild and The Magician’s Vanishing Love." He sucks in a deep breath, eyes narrowing. What I need is the Mad Master.

A chuckle escapes me. And here I am, thinking that you don’t approve of said Master’s ways.

He reaches out and snatches my glass. His long fingers trace the edge in a nervous gesture I remember too well from our days together, so very long ago. My gut aches in nostalgia as I watch the man I couldn’t love, and lost instead, gather his thoughts.  

Chocolate eyes drag upward, locking with mine. "We are men of very different principles, but despite our varied looks on morality, you at least make an attempt to use your… special needs… to serve justice. I can respect that. It’s fucking delusional for sure, but I do respect the attempt."

I hold back a smile, amused by the thought that justice, of all things, is the reason I choose my toys with the eye of a vigilante. I do tend to focus my brutal attentions on rapists and killers, but it has nothing to do with justice. The only man whose beliefs I give a fuck about is the one sitting right before me. Every concession I’ve ever made to morality, I made for his sake.  

Empathy, guilt, remorse… in my mind, these things are nothing but pretty words to fill the pages of my books. The majority of my life has been lived in an apathetic sort of haze, and the only happiness I know comes from dark actions inflicted on others. That, and thinking of my baby boy. Though I can’t call it love, my relationship with this man is the closest I’ve ever come, and I won’t let anything destroy it. Not even the twisted urges that rule my thoughts night and day.

You know that I don’t grant favors for free.

He nods heavily. Yes, Master, I am well aware that I’ll owe you.

My cock jumps at the thought. What do you need, my little Baby Daddy?

He flinches at my latest nickname but chooses to shake it off, his chest rising with a hefty pull of his breath. This is about the Senator of Georgia.

My eyebrows shoot up. You know I make an effort to avoid him. I have absolutely no interest in associating with a man as dangerous as I am and twice as insane.

"I get that, I really do. But I have no choice, Master. I gotta bring the bastard down. I need to lock this son of a bitch away for good. Slam, bam, welcome to prison, you’re now officially a ma’am." 

I laugh, shaking my head at his gruff word choice. He’s such a cop at heart.  

"The Senator has the same connections that I do. It’s the only way to be a public figure and a compulsive killer. You know that’s not something one can manage without possessing friends in the very highest of places—political and criminal. Not to mention the old money background. Having all of the above is what allows me to be the sick man that I am, to do the twisted things that I do. The Senator’s no different."

I have my reasons for going after him, Baby snaps, fists clenching on the tabletop. I raise an eyebrow, surprised by the animosity in his tone. Badge or no badge, Baby is one of the most laid back men I’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking.  

"Watch your mouth, boy. Don’t forget to whom you speak. As for the Senator, no one would love to see him in prison more than I. But considering my own criminal proclivities, it’s not as if I can testify against him. What do you want from me?"

Baby reaches down, grabs the laptop bag next to his chair, and pulls out a slender manila file. You’ve heard that the Senator was recently accused of murdering a woman we found buried on his property? But under interrogation, he claims he’s never met her.

I nod and take a slow sip of my gin as I contemplate what my boy might be implying. "The body is over twenty years old. Your meager evidence will never hold up in court. Not without some definite connection between the victim and the Senator."

And we may have just found that connection. Baby flips open the folder, handing me a mugshot of a beautiful young man, or so I presume from his silhouette. It’s a bit difficult to tell when he has enough hair on his face to make Chewbacca jealous, but his eyes are so brilliantly blue they look painted on, and his cheekbones are to die for.  

"Well, isn’t he a pretty little pair of holes?"

A pretty pair of holes with a two million dollar hit on him. One funded by the Senator’s offshore account.

I choke, my mouth dropping. For that amount, you better have the brat in witness protection. Assuming he’s your connection, anyway.

Last week, we discovered that our victim abandoned a newborn baby on the steps of a Georgia church just days before she died. We think that this young man is her child—and, in all likelihood, the Senator’s bastard son.

My eyebrows shoot up, lips quirking. "Well, well, well, wouldn’t that be quite a trip down the rabbit hole. I study the image, frowning. There isn’t much similarity between them. They both have blue eyes and dark blonde hair, but beyond that…"

Doesn’t mean he’s not the man’s son. He was raised by the worst foster dad in the entire system. His parents are unknown, and no birth record’s available.  

I shrug. Men hire killers for a variety of reasons, and there are a hell of a lot of kids in foster care with no papers.

"But two million dollars? The kid’s a biker in a club called the Southern Soldiers. Why else would the Senator put that sort of hit on a nobody Neo-Nazi biker boy? He’s the senator of Georgia, and they tend to like those hater types in the Deep South, sadly enough."

He has a point. Considering what an easy target this boy seems to be, I’m surprised that the Senator doesn’t take care of it himself. He’s certainly the sort. We have that in common.

I’ve had eyes on the kid since we found him, had guys making sure he can’t lay a finger on him. The Senator won’t risk his fancy career by crossing the feds. Men who mess with us are always sorry. 

Well, then I guess you have it all covered. What do you need me for?

We need proof that the boy is his son, and considering that the Senator has an identical twin, DNA evidence won’t be enough for the prosecutor. Not when we’re talking about a major politician. He scowls. But the FBI director’s certain we’ll find a way. I just need to keep the boy alive until we figure it out.

I’m not a bodyguard, Baby. I have better things to do than sit around with a bunch of feds, waiting for killers to show. I’m not going to babysit the boy for you. Put the kid in WITSEC if he needs watching.

He sighs and tosses up his hands. I would never ask you to play bodyguard, Master. He picks up my glass and swishes the liquid within, staring into its depths for a moment before he takes another deep sip. The director is a fool. We’ll never be able to prove anything. Which is why I want you to take this boy home with you.

I sigh, checking my Rolex. I’m going to be late for my workshop if we don’t end this quickly, and what gay man doesn’t enjoy lecturing five hundred women on the intricacies of butt sex between two (or more) men?  

"I get it. You want to play the gent’s shining knight. That’s fine, but coming to me for this? You know that I’ll abuse this boy given the opportunity; it’s simply what I do. The need is too strong. I can’t resist it for long in close quarters. I stroke the image of the young man’s pretty face with my thumb, smiling at the hardening between my legs. Oh, those plump lips, peeking out through that mess of a beard, simply beg to swallow my cock down to the balls… And why would I want to resist? He’s adorable."

Baby takes a deep, steadying breath. I want you to take him, anyway. I don’t care what you do with him. Make him your new plaything, if that’s what you want.

My mouth drops. I’m honestly shocked, one of the many emotions I rarely feel. It’s like being slapped. This isn’t Baby’s way. "What happened to your fancy morals? Last time I checked, you were the one tsking and shaking your finger at me for my little games. Now you want me playing with some boy that you could simply stick in witness protection? I raise an eyebrow. There’s something here you’re not telling me. Something big."

Baby grimaces, eyes dropping down to the table. When they rise once more, they’re ablaze with fury. The Senator took my partner. He took Agent Hans. He says he’ll kill him unless I close the case, but my boss is acting like Hans is not even missing—more of those nasty political connections at work. He nods toward the mugshot. Take this Nazi loser home for me, Master, and keep him breathing. No assassin will make it past you, not with your security system and experience combined.

Again with the body-guarding.

Baby’s eyes narrow. "Not body-guarding. Watching the bait. The Senator considers you to be his rival. Having the boy will seem like a taunt. He’ll be infuriated, and I really believe that psychopath will show up at your place to do the dirty work himself, without the legion of bodyguards that follow him into the shitter at work."

Ah, I get it now. Baby doesn’t care about keeping this man safe. No, he wants the Senator in my unmerciful care.

And when the Senator does show his face? I ask quietly, because he’s absolutely right—the man will show. I know it because I would show in his position, and the Senator and I are a tad bit too alike for comfort.

Baby looks me straight in the eyes. I want you to make him scream like a bitch until he tells you where the hell my partner has vanished to.

A cold smile blooms on my face. "Baby, I’ll make him scream far longer than that, just for the fun of it. I stand abruptly. Fuck this conference. Let’s go play kidnap the biker boy. I could use a new pet."

Chapter One

CHAPTER 1

PRETTY

My world smells like Marlboros and booze, with a strong whiff of misery on the side. The first two, they make sense. I’ve been in this bar for half the damn day, and the bartender’s chain smoked the whole time. But the misery thing? I should be celebrating the beating I took, not drowning