The high hiss of the whip sliced through the air, a precursor to the crack as it met the meaty flesh of the sub’s ass. His subsequent wail bounced off the ceiling before his cries changed into a low whimper. Tears streamed down his cheeks, back heaving with each quick breath. A series of thin red stripes were layered over his pale skin in neat parallel lines detailing the cause of the tears.
Ash studied the scene, noting each detail. Only ten strikes in and the guy was ready to break. Maybe he had more in him. Maybe he’d loosen up once—if—he let the endorphins take over.
More likely he was only enduring the pain to please the Dom. The beard-laden, whip-wielding man was completely focused on the sub, a stern expression mollified by his smirk. He was definitely enjoying the exchange.
Ash shook his head—in envy or displeasure? More likely frustration. A scene like this was pretty straightforward. A standard exchange of power that was synonymous with the BDSM community. Too bad his needs were simpler, but much darker than that.
The pungent scent of sex and man-sweat set the atmosphere and triggered more than one carnal response. His dick was full but not erect, his predatory instincts heightened as he analyzed every guy in the room.
Dane’s was one of the most reputable BDSM clubs in the area. The best gay one by far. But there was nothing new. Nothing or no one that wound him up or fed his demon. He had a few guys he played with regularly, but he was leaving each scene feeling less and less fulfilled.
Not the bottom’s fault either.
He leaned against the wall and scanned the scenes taking place in the dungeon. Every one of them had varying degrees of the power exchange in play. From complete Master/slave relationships where the sub was greedily sucking his Dom’s toes, his raised ass displaying a large plug, to the basic flogging, paddling, bondage, and humiliation play.
His life would be easier if any of what he saw could appease him. He’d tried when he’d first ventured into BDSM. Ten years and way too many mistakes and empty scenes later, he knew better now.
He glanced at his watch, winced. Did he want to wait around for forty more minutes? What was the likelihood that the bottom would work out? He’d been in the Portland community for long enough to know most of the true pain sluts. But guys moved around. New men developed stronger needs and newbies could surprise him.
Could—but seldom did.
Damn it. He’d been up at four for an East Coast call, and his bed sounded like heaven. But the chance this guy might have that elusive something he’d been searching for kept him from canceling even though he was exhausted. He dropped his head back, a sigh escaping. He was thirty-five years old and grumbling like an old man.
He shoved away from the wall and strode down the long hallway, the sounds of the dungeon fading with each step. A muffled growl filtered from one of the private rooms that lined the hallway, and he let his imagination go for a moment. A scene built in his head that few would like but he longed for. A whip. Deep red welts. Blood. Tortured screams.
It faded as quickly as it’d formed when he entered the bar area. The tables were littered with men, the Thursday night crowd prepping for the weekend. He nodded at a couple of guys, ignored another. Were any Kick partners here? It was summer and most of them were busy keeping the company in the black.
Not an easy feat given the accident that spring.
A sudden crush of remorse nailed him like the unexpected freight train it was. His heart constricted, gut dropping before he willed the pain away.
Chris and Finn had first bonded with him right here at Dane’s. His gaze landed on the exact table where they’d listened to his pitch on technology, apps, and how he could help their new company. He hadn’t known shit about adventure sports, but he’d talked circles around their limited knowledge of computers, networks, business requirements, and employment regulations. And what he hadn’t known, he’d quickly learned.
The responsibility to carry on what they’d worked so hard to create weighed on him daily. Finn was slowly improving since he’d woken from his coma, but he had a long way to go before he’d be released from the rehabilitation center. And Chris, he missed that fucker every damn day. He’d died too young—though at what age was death appropriate?
He scoffed at himself, the self-mockery sticking to his dark mood.
He spotted Grady at the bar, the corner chair unofficially his since he’d started dating the bartender. His boyfriend, Micah, was behind the bar like normal, a familiar presence who’d managed to break through Grady’s barriers when no one at Kick had been able to after Finn’s accident.
And right next to the newest Kick partner was their newest employee. Sawyer Stevens.
Thirty years old. Born, raised, and currently living near Moab, Utah. An experienced whitewater guide and…what?
Their backs were to him, postures relaxed. Just out for a drink? Conversation? Or was Sawyer here for another reason?
And he cared…why?
He resisted the urge to scrub his face and folded his arms over his chest, clamping his curiosity down. It was pointless and none of his concern, unless Sawyer’s interests created a business issue, but none of his background checks had hinted at any problems. By all accounts, their newest employee was the Boy Scout savior he seemed to be.
Appearances meant nothing, though. He knew that too damn well.
Sawyer agreeing to join them when most of the experienced guides were already booked had Ash puzzling for the reason. For a guy whose résumé rarely ventured outside of the Four Corners area of the Southwest, this had been a rather large leap. He hadn’t needed the job, either. In fact, he’d left one to take theirs.
Goodwill? Curiosity? A sudden drive to explore other areas of the country? Or, based on his appearance here, the hopes of some extracurricular activities with one of the partners?
Sawyer would be disappointed if that was the case. The partners had a strict rule about playing with employees. The potential for disaster was too great, especially given how focused every employee needed to be on their job.
Ash took another look at his watch, impatience eating at the last of his calm. His appointment wasn’t late, though, and getting annoyed would solve nothing. Releasing a slow breath, he navigated a path through the tables to Sawyer, edging between the empty stool at his side and his solid form.
“Hey.” He nodded at both of them. “How’s it going?” His arm was pressed against Sawyer’s, the space tight enough to justify the contact. He could sit down or nudge the stool over, but he didn’t.
“Hey, Ash,” Grady said, smiling. He’d loosened up once he’d realized that none of the partners were going to think less of him because he liked to submit to Micah. “What’s up?”
“Not much.” He looked at Sawyer, who met his gaze without flinching. He hadn’t moved away either, but there definitely wasn’t a challenge in his interesting golden brown eyes. The color was contained by a black ring round the edge of the iris that seemed to highlight their uniqueness. He’d noticed the color at the office and had had a hard time not staring at them—him. “You ready to head out tomorrow?”
A crooked half smile lifted Sawyer’s cheek, a dimple making an appearance beneath the dark scruff of his beard. “Yes.” That was it.
Ash waited another beat, questions flying through his mind that were better left unasked. Such as if he liked to be tied up? Whipped? Caned? Hurt until he cried?
Heat simmered through their shirtsleeves and radiated into Ash. The simple contact should have been barely noticeable instead of blazingly intense. Maybe it wouldn’t have been either if he weren’t so crowded into Sawyer’s space, and so damn aware of the guy.
“Grady spoke very highly of your skills,” he finally said, voice measured. Too bad they’d been solely about his whitewater abilities.
“Huh.” Sawyer dropped his gaze in a slow perusal that managed to singe Ash’s cotton shirt before he shot Grady a lazy grin. “He didn’t say much about you.”
Fucker.
Grady’s burst of laughter broke the dash of tension. Top then? Switch? Bratty bottom? He was taking a leap and going with gay, based on the sexual tension that snapped between them. He could ask. Would under different circumstances.
But Sawyer was an employee.
He blew out a shallow puff of air and let the jab fly by. “I’m not surprised.”
“No?” Sawyer lifted a brow. His features softened some, the hard edges smoothing out to display a hungry curiosity along with a youthfulness that’d been buried beneath the harder front.
“Nah.” He shook his head, glancing at Grady. “He’d have no idea what to say about me.”
Grady’s brows jumped, the open question flying between them. “That’s because you hide your lazy ass behind a desk all day,” Grady countered, maintaining the tight-lipped hold the partners kept on their personal desires—and one another’s.
He flashed an approving smile at Grady. “And my lazy ass keeps the company operating so you crazy fucks can play all day.”
“Hear, hear.” Grady lifted his glass, a grateful grin splitting his face. “We do appreciate it.”
“Sure you do.” His focus shifted as a couple entered the bar. He turned to track their progress as they crossed the back of the room and headed down the hallway. His appointment had arrived. “Remember that the next time you toss a disgruntled client at me to handle.”
“Damn.” Grady grew serious. “I definitely do appreciate you.”
“It doesn’t matter how hard you work to please the customer,” Sawyer said, head shaking in commiseration. “It’s impossible to make everyone happy.”
Grady clinked his glass against Sawyer’s on the bar. “Truth.”
There were some people who could never be pleased, no matter how hard the guide worked. And still others who refused to understand that nature was unpredictable and their guide couldn’t do anything about the weather or water levels or the customer’s own unpreparedness.
And appeasing those dickheads when Ash would rather hang weights from their balls was all part of the game. The challenge was to give them what they wanted without giving them more than he wanted to.
“Ash,” Micah greeted him from behind the bar. “What can I get you?”
“I’m good. Thanks.” He stepped back, pointedly dragging his arm against Sawyer’s, the contact buzzing over his skin before it dropped away. “I have an appointment.”
Sawyer whipped his head around, eyes wide before he quickly turned back to Micah. Grady’s brows winged up and Ash smothered his chuckle.
He left without another word, ideas spinning in his head that had nothing to do with the men he was about to meet.
Sawyer Stevens wasn’t new to the BDSM scene; he’d been too comfortable in the surroundings. He didn’t throw off a Dom vibe, yet the submissive vibe wasn’t there either. Maybe something in between that only came out in a scene or the bedroom?
There was interest, though. Subtle, curious awareness that smoldered behind those gold-tinged eyes. And that intrigued Asher far more than the meeting he was about to have.