Sand Trap
Page 8
“Stop with the vivid descriptions, Olly. I was there, remember. God, I wish I had a gag handy. A big rubber ball gag.”
“Heath didn’t use one of those, though, because he would have wanted to hear you scream. He wouldn’t have been able to resist flogging your balls. Next question—did he use a flogger on you?”
“No!”
Aiden was far too triumphant for Olly’s liking. He was convinced Heath would have used something, so if not a flogger… “A crop! He used a crop.”
Aiden shifted on the bed. “You haven’t asked a question.”
“Don’t need to waste one. I can see from your face I’m right. I’ll bet you my next custard donut that he took his time wrangling you into that contraption, then he cropped your balls. I’ll add another donut, a jammy one this time, if he didn’t edge you for hours before fucking you into oblivion.”
“Do you have a camera hidden in our bedroom, Olly?” Aiden scowled.
“He probably chained your hands to the end of the bed, as well.” Olly smirked when Aiden rubbed at his wrists.
“I hate you.”
“You love me. I’m adorable.” Olly rested his chin on Aiden’s knee. “I’ll save the rest of my question quota for another time.”
“For that, I’m eternally grateful. Now, for goodness sake, finish packing. If you’re not ready by the time Joe wants to leave, he’ll probably tie you up and stuff you in the boot with the luggage.”
Olly thought about that for a moment and decided it was quite likely. He scooted off the bed, panic rising in his belly. “I don’t know what to do, Aiden. I can’t seem to think straight about anything at the moment—it’s all too confusing. Everything I look at reminds me of what happened at the hospital, even the silliest things like a pair of nail scissors, Joe’s razor, even a balled-up pair of socks for Christ’s sake. Then I think about what could have happened and I just want to curl up and cry.” Hot tears welled.
“That’s because you went through a significant traumatic experience and you’re suffering from a form of PTSD.”
At the sound of Joe’s calm tones, Olly whirled around. “Sir!” He threw himself into Joe’s welcoming arms.
“Thank you for keeping an eye on him for me, Aiden,” Joe said.
“What?” Olly rubbed at his eyes then peered at Aiden who was sliding off the bed. He edged around the room, keeping well out of Olly’s reach. “You were babysitting me for Joe?”
“I, um, maybe?” Aiden made it to the door.
“We’re leaving in an hour,” Joe said to Aiden. “Heath’s expecting you at your place.”
Aiden made his escape, mouthing ‘sorry’ at Olly before he left.
Olly tilted his head back to get a proper look at Joe’s face. Joe’s expression gave no indication of remorse or guilt, just his usual serene certainty that everything was under control. His control. He pressed a finger against Olly’s lips preventing him from forming them into a pout.
“Who knows what’s best for you, sweetheart?”
Olly ducked his head, escaping Joe’s finger. “You do, Sir.” In Olly’s mind, nothing was more certain. Joe only ever acted in Olly’s best interest, even to his own detriment. “But you don’t have to worry about me.”
“That’s for me to decide, Oliver. After everything you’ve been through recently I didn’t want you to be on your own.”
“Because you’re a psychologist and you were analyzing me?” Olly asked.
“No, because you needed a friend. I know what you’d do if you had too much time on your own to think. You’d mull over every detail of what happened and start to blame yourself, wish you’d handled things differently. Then you’d start worrying about all the what ifs with that creative imagination of yours, and end up having nightmares for weeks.”
“You know me too well, Sir.” Olly nuzzled against Joe’s chest, absorbing his warmth.
“I have better things to do with you in bed than watch you toss and turn in your sleep.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“So no sulking with Aiden. He’s a good friend.”
“The best. Now I understand why he didn’t run away when I interrogated him about what he and Heath got up to last night. I think you did me a favor, Sir.”
“That grin is far too wicked. I suspect you need to be punished.”
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About the Author
Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.
She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She’s fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.
Email: lmsomerton@aol.com
L.M. Somerton loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.pride-publishing.com.
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Tales from The Edge: A Double-Edged Sword
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Tales from The Edge: Driven to the Edge
Tales from The Edge: Binding the Edges
Investigating Love: Rasputin’s Kiss
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Investigating Love: Tarot’s Love
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What’s his Passion?: Testing Lysander
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