The submissive cringed, face tightening into a clench of pain that vibrated through his tense muscles. His spread legs were strapped into the stirrups on the medical table, arms bound to his sides. His shaved genitals were a deep red, almost purple, and matched the shade of his erect dick. His bound state ensured he wouldn’t come until the Dom allowed it and had sensitized the genitals. The Dom alternated between stroking the dick and attaching weighted clips to the scrotum and crown of the penis.
Cock and ball torture. Common, varied, and open to endless possibilities if the top had any imagination at all.
This one didn’t.
The scene appeared to be following the script of a popular Internet video. The Dom had sworn his sub could handle anything Ash dished out. He’d insisted his sub needed more pain.
Ash snorted. It didn’t matter if it was true or not, the couple wasn’t getting anything from him. He had nothing to prove, and pushing the limits on some random guy had lost its appeal.
He’d been ready to leave, certain after ten short minutes that the sub wouldn’t work for him and that training the Dom on torture techniques would be equally unappealing.
Now Sawyer stood next to him, and any thought of leaving had vanished.
“What do you like, Sawyer?” Ash asked without turning his head. The guy wouldn’t be standing unfazed in the dungeon if this was new to him.
“Pain.”
That one simple word struck close to his heart. He inhaled, breath rushing through his nostrils. His pulse thumped too hard, too fast. The sub released a moaned whimper that teased his inner need. That quickly, an image of Sawyer spread-eagled, sweating, and covered in welts from his cane erased the one before him. His sweet calls of suffering would build Ash higher—or would Sawyer grunt through the agony? Did he fight or flow with the pain?
“What kind of pain?” His question came out lower than he’d intended, and probably revealed more too.
Sawyer shifted, the material of his shorts rasping on the cement wall. How Ash heard it over the general noise of the dungeon was a mystery. But it taunted him with more ideas, of stripping the damn things off and turning that hard ass a blistering red.
“A lot.”
The gravel in his voice rumbled over Ash. Would it be there when he begged for mercy—or more? “Limits?”
Another shift. Each move brought Sawyer closer without being obvious. Casual, if it weren’t for the tension that slithered up Ash’s nape to tingle over his scalp. A whip cracked, precise and sharp. A grunt. A whine. A slap. Desire coiled deep within his chest, dark and slow and lined with barbs.
“None.”
Ash whipped his head around, scowl slamming down. Anger burst out in a protective rush. “Don’t say that,” he admonished, jaw tight. “Ever. There are always limits.” Unless you have a death wish.
Sawyer didn’t flinch or respond for several long moments. A flatness fell over his expression, a blankness that hid everything behind a wall of indifference. Gone was the dimple, along with any hint of levity. His eyes narrowed, chin lifting. The subtle defiance almost begged to be challenged, yet refused to be broken.
How much would it take to shatter that reserve?
“I know my limits,” Sawyer stated with the same cold flatness. “I know that few can reach them. I know when to stop and I know what I need.” He shoved away from the wall, gaze scanning the dungeon before it landed back on him. “What do you know…Asher?”
That fucker. The darkness within him morphed to red and tainted his calm. He turned to Sawyer, hands fisted at his sides, breaths slowing to long pulls as he stared into those damn golden brown eyes.
Sawyer arched a brow, his cool too calculated. This was his game. He’d push until he got the reaction he wanted, or at least some reaction. Most likely, it was how he manipulated Doms to get what he wanted.
Ash puffed out a disgusted laugh and leaned in until his lips hovered over Sawyer’s ear. Sawyer didn’t back away, which only intrigued him. His strength and power was more alluring than any complacent submissive. They didn’t touch, not a single brush of skin or material, yet the impression of Sawyer’s form layered over Ash’s chest in a silent taunt.
“I know you’d break before me.” He stated the truth with a firmness meant to entice. He nipped at Sawyer’s earlobe, striking sharp and fast before he pulled away.
Sawyer’s surprised grunt ignited a quiet purr of satisfaction within him. The glare was another front, one that failed to camouflage the golden flash of want. Damn how he longed to play with that want, to test it, drive it, and see precisely how far he could go.
Sawyer chuckled, a low rumble that matched the crook of his lips. That dimple cut into his cheek beneath the scruff of beard stubble, a pop of boyish charm that’d been erased by something dark. Something…sad.
“Is that an offer?”
“No.” He couldn’t follow through on his challenge no matter how badly he ached to do so. “I don’t play with employees.”
“What if I quit?”
“There are other guys to play with. I can refer you to someone.” He had to force the last sentence out.
Sawyer gave another lazy glance around the room, his head barely turning before he focused back on Ash. His eyes had flattened out, the heat gone, along with the interest that’d been simmering there only a moment ago. “I’ll let you know.”
He turned and strode from the room without a backward glance, his stride confident like his posture. Like the man. More than one guy watched him leave, interest and speculation in every expression.
Ash clamped his jaw tight to hold back his objections, but it didn’t quell the possessive desire that boiled beneath his skin. Fuck me.
He inhaled, the dungeon scents tripping old switches and controlled urges. His pulse slowly decreased with each long breath, his craving reined in until it nestled near his heart.
He forced himself to turn back to the scene before him. He took in the tear-streaked cheeks, panting whines, tight grimace, and got nothing. No residual pleasure or urge to partake.
The sub was an unknown to him. A stranger whose suffering didn’t touch him.
Not as deeply as someone he knew.
Someone he wanted.
Sawyer Stevens was a known unknown. A mystery he longed to solve despite the reasons why he shouldn’t. His inner sadist gnawed at the danger signs and spit them back out.
Two months—less than two months—and Sawyer would be long gone from here. It was doubtful he’d even look back when he left, let alone return. Was he really an employee, then, or just a temporary replacement?
Did it matter?
Not to that dark desire wedged near his heart.
That nasty little kernel of wrong that set him apart from so many. That’d festered within him for as long as he could remember. That’d picked and nibbled and grown until he found a safe release. An out in a community that didn’t question, but didn’t always understand either.
Hell, he didn’t get it, not all of it, and it was a part of him.
A part his family could never know about. Not if he wanted their love and acceptance. His sharp scoff cut over his dry throat. There was so much of him his family didn’t know about. So many years of lies and façades, of presented images. Of hiding his truths behind what they wanted him to be.
He couldn’t hurt them. Couldn’t let them down.
Yet the longer he pretended the harder it was to breathe.