by L. A. Witt
Okay, so they’d been on level enough ground to have sex a couple of times, but what kind of idiot was he if he thought Andre wanted this to continue? Especially when it wouldn’t be continuing here?
Halfway up the stairs, Joel stopped.
Ahead of him, a whip cracked against skin. Someone screamed. In another corner of the building, a man’s strained voice whimpered, “Yes, sir! Please, sir!” Behind Joel, laughter and chatter from the café vibrated in the air.
Why the hell am I here?
He didn’t have an answer. Not a logical one, anyway. Of course he’d come here to see Andre, but somehow that didn’t seem rational on any level.
Still not sure what he expected to happen, he continued up the stairs toward the playrooms.
Several were closed off, and he hoped Andre wasn’t in one of them. The man was an exhibitionist, after all, but he might’ve been playing with someone who wasn’t, and Joel wasn’t sure he could wait until Andre emerged after a scene.
He peered into one of the open doors. In that room, three very good-looking, leather-clad bears had a younger man on his knees in the middle of the floor, blindfolded with his hands bound behind his back. A few people watched from against the far wall, but . . . no Andre.
Across the hall, the largest of the available playrooms was occupied by two women currently being rigged up for what looked like an intense predicament bondage scene. Something involving nipple clamps and some devices between their legs that could not possibly be comfortable. Joel gave the room a quick sweep in case Andre was in there, then moved along. Predicament bondage was totally fine for the people who were into it—Bill and April both fucking loved it—but it was absolutely one hundred percent pure not his thing. Anything beyond lightly immobilizing him or cuffing him to a bedpost was not happening.
The next two doors were closed, and he couldn’t tell if any of the voices on the other sides belonged to Andre. Someone was getting whipped, which could definitely have involved him.
Then, a voice made his neck prickle:
“Do you have another carabiner?”
Joel’s mouth went dry. He followed the sound of the voice, and sure enough, Andre and another Dom were setting up some complex rigging for a bondage scene of some sort. Probably something involving the metal St. Andrew’s cross in the middle of the room.
A naked submissive watched them, kneeling at the sidelines, his expression equal parts nervous and excited. Andre’s back was to the door. The other Dom rifled through a duffel bag, found a medium-sized carabiner, and handed it to him, and Andre started threading some rope through it.
Joel stood near the door, but didn’t make a sound. There was still time to slip away and pretend he’d never been here. Except . . . he didn’t want to. He was mesmerized, watching that gorgeous man. Andre had dressed the part tonight, too. Black leather pants. Knee-high riding boots. No shirt.
And with or without the black leather and boots, he was every inch the Dom. Just from the way he was standing, he could’ve been wearing Hello Kitty pajamas and he still would’ve radiated Dom.
Abruptly, before Joel had decided whether to stay or slip back out, Andre turned around and jumped.
“Joel.” He blinked a few times. “I . . . What are you doing here?”
“I’m, uh . . .” Being a fucking idiot, that’s what. Joel cleared his throat. “Just came to watch. I mean, socialize. Hang out.” Yep. Idiot. “Watch.”
“Oh. Well.” Andre shifted his weight and smiled, and Joel couldn’t decide if it was forced or not, even as Andre added, “You’re just in time. Steve’s letting me tie up Connor.”
“Great.” Joel’s smile was definitely forced. Not because he wasn’t happy to see Andre—he just couldn’t figure out how he felt about being here, or what he’d thought might happen, or how things might play out now that Andre knew he was here.
What was I thinking?
“Connor.” Steve’s terse voice pulled Andre’s and Joel’s attention back to the scene. The man snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor, and Connor scrambled to his feet and hurried toward him. He knelt again, this time at his Dom’s feet, head down and body almost vibrating with what was probably anticipation.
Steve tipped up his submissive’s chin, and they looked right in each other’s eyes as he spoke softly to him. Steve was probably laying down the rules for the scene. Or maybe just putting Connor into the right headspace to submit. Whatever the case, the quiet conversation was only for them. All Joel could be sure about was the expression on Connor’s face. He gazed up at his Dom with palpable reverence as any devoted submissive would, but what made Joel’s breath catch was the trust, understanding, and love in Connor’s eyes.
Joel couldn’t help a little pang of envy. The bond between a Dom and a sub had always fascinated him, and he’d felt guilty for a long time that he and Rob hadn’t had it. It hadn’t occurred to him until way too far down the line that the problem wasn’t on his end, but either way, that bond had been missing. That deep trust. The pride coming from the Dom when the sub pleased him and from the sub when he’d earned his Dom’s praise.
The hair on Joel’s neck stood up, and when he turned, Andre was watching him. His expression betrayed nothing. There was no telling if he was annoyed at Joel’s presence, or trying to telepathically say, See? You totally want to be a sub, or if he was trying to read Joel like Joel was trying to read him.
Andre broke eye contact first. He turned back toward Steve and Connor, so Joel did too. And damn them, they still looked so sweet and devoted to each other. Joel really did envy that part. His relationship with Rob had been all chains and barbed wire. Joel had been contained, possessed, ruled. And it wasn’t that he wanted to be in a healthy submissive relationship either. He had no desire to submit to or dominate someone. It was the trust and intimacy he envied.
He didn’t want another abusive relationship. He also didn’t want to be in another kinky relationship—not even a beautiful, admirable one like Steve and Connor’s. What he did want was something safer than what he’d had with Rob.
His eyes flicked toward Andre, and his heart sank into the pit of his stomach.
Joel sighed. The little bit of playful submission he enjoyed—light, easily escapable bondage and maybe the occasional good-natured power game—would never satisfy a Dom like Andre. And Joel could never be happy as the kind of sub Andre wanted.
Except he wanted Andre. The man, not the Dom. But he couldn’t have one without the other.
So why are you here? To torture yourself?
He could leave. Just because Andre knew he was here didn’t change the fact that all he had to do was slip out and not come back. Ever.
He couldn’t make himself leave, though. As the scene began, as Andre and Steve started wrapping rope around Connor’s extremities and tying him to the St. Andrew’s cross, Joel stayed. As he watched, he tried to tell himself there was some way this could end without him being more frustrated and distracted than he’d already been since the last time he’d come here.
Once Connor was completely tied to the X-shaped structure, Andre stepped back. He glanced at Joel, and they both quickly looked away.
Oblivious to the weird vibe between Joel and Andre, Steve roughly cupped Connor’s face and forced him to look him in the eye. “Andre’s going to beat you with that flogger. What do you say?”
Connor licked his lips like it took all the effort and concentration he could muster. “Th-thank you, sir.”
“Good. And what’s your safeword?”
“Red. Sir.”
“Good.” The Dom smiled and patted his sub’s cheek. Then he stepped away and gestured for Andre to continue.
As he always did, Andre warmed the guy’s skin up with a softer flogger before—once his back and butt glowed pink—switching to the stiffer, meaner cat-o’-nine-tails.
Leather hit skin. Connor cried out, his voice echoing through the room. He strained against the ropes holding him spread-eagled across the St. An
drew’s cross, but he wasn’t going anywhere.
In seconds, several fresh pink lines joined the welts crisscrossing his bare ass cheek. Not two seconds later, the tails hit again. Connor moaned this time, squirming in his restraints. Joel couldn’t tell if it was pain or pleasure. Probably both.
He shuddered at the memory of trying to knuckle through S&M scenes, gritting his teeth and telling himself that at some point, he’d reach the promised land of endorphin-filled bliss.
Proof positive that I am not a masochist.
Joel shook the thought away. Connor enjoyed it, he didn’t, and that was why Connor was currently tied up and being beaten raw while Joel watched.
While Joel watched Andre.
Who was fucking gorgeous. Sweat. Leather. Muscles. That grin on his lips that he always had when—
Wait. No. He wasn’t grinning. His lips were taut, and somehow it didn’t strike Joel as being from exertion or even concentration. No, there was something else lurking in his eyes, and Joel couldn’t put his finger on it.
Andre raised the flogger, and . . .
Didn’t swing it.
He held it up for a moment. Then, slowly, he lowered it. Not to lay the tails across Connor’s back, just bringing it back down like he’d decided not to swing it after all.
Joel’s spine prickled. He stood straighter, gaze frozen on Andre. Something wasn’t right.
At the edge of Joel’s peripheral vision, Steve seemed to have caught on too. He watched Andre, brow creased and posture tense.
Around them, a couple of spectators murmured behind their hands, and others exchanged puzzled looks and shrugs.
Andre didn’t seem to notice any of them. He stared down at the flogger in his hands for the longest time, his expression blank.
Finally he released a long breath.
And set the flogger down.
Steve stepped closer. “Andre? Are you—”
“Red.”
Andre didn’t say much for a long time.
Steve had handed him some water and assured him he’d take care of Connor, and Andre had taken a seat by the wall.
Joel had wavered between getting the hell out before his presence fucked with Andre’s head any further, and checking to make sure he was okay. He finally decided on the latter, and approached cautiously.
“Hey.” He waited for Andre to look up at him, then softly asked, “You all right?”
“Yeah. I just . . .” Andre sighed. He finished the bottle of water and tossed it in the trash. “Head’s not in the game tonight, I guess.”
“Sorry to hear it.” This is my fault, isn’t it? I’m distracting you. “Should . . . Do you want me to take off, or—”
“No,” Andre said quickly, turning to him again. “No, definitely stay.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
Andre smiled faintly. “I’m sure.”
Joel started to sit beside him, but Connor and Steve came up to them, so he stepped aside to give them all some room to talk. After a moment, Andre hugged Connor, shook hands with Steve, and the two of them left.
The room was empty now except for them. There were still some ropes pooled at the bottom of the St. Andrew’s cross, and the flogger was still splayed across Andre’s duffel bag, leaving the place looking like a crime scene. All that was missing was a chalk outline on the floor and some number placards placed beside evidence that needed to be photographed.
Joel returned to his chair next to Andre. “So, is everything all right with them?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Andre waved a hand. “They wanted to make sure I was okay, I wanted to make sure he was okay. It’s all good.”
“Are you both okay?”
Eyes down, Andre nodded. “I feel bad for Connor. I—”
“Why? You did exactly what any conscientious Dom would’ve done.”
“No, because a conscientious Dom wouldn’t have started the scene in the first place. Not when his head wasn’t in the game.” He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling.
Joel studied him, not sure what to make of any of this. Now that he knew Andre outside the dungeon, he’d seen him as both a Dom and a regular guy. Sometimes Andre leaned toward one more than the other. There was always a hint of Dom in his voice and his posture, but outside the club, out in his regular life, it wasn’t as apparent.
Right now, he was definitely more regular guy than Dom. He might’ve come strutting in here at the beginning of the night with his shoulders back and his chin up, eyes gleaming like they always did when he was ready to scene, but now . . . he was just Andre. Just a guy who had needs and wants and feelings, and Joel wished for the billionth time he could be what Andre needed and wanted.
But as the scattered ropes and sweaty St. Andrew’s cross could attest, he wasn’t.
He cleared his throat to make sure his voice stayed even. “So, uh. You want some help picking all this up?”
Andre’s shoulders sank a little. Top drop probably wouldn’t be settling in quite this early, so Joel guessed it was just defeat from having to safeword out of his own scene. “I guess I should clean it up. And yeah, I could use a hand if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t need to be anywhere else.”
Their eyes met, and they both managed subtle smiles.
Joel got up. With what seemed like some effort, Andre did the same. He pulled on a shirt, and then they got to work picking up the room for the next scene. While Andre coiled up the rope, Joel wiped down the St. Andrew’s cross with some paper towels and disinfectant.
Andre stuffed the ropes into his bag. Then he picked up the cat-o’-nine-tails, and for a long moment, he stared at it, running his fingers through the tails.
“You okay?” Joel asked.
“I’m fine.” Andre tossed the flogger into the bag. “You know, there’s a reason my head wasn’t in the game tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m not gonna lie.” Andre met his gaze. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Joel’s heart skipped. “Really?”
Nodding, Andre looked down again. “I’ve been thinking about you like crazy anyway, but then when you walked in . . .” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was distracting you.”
“It’s all right. I’m the one who was supposed to be focused. To be honest, I shouldn’t have agreed to do the scene in the first place. Even before you showed up. I’m just . . .” He tapped his temple. “Just not here tonight.”
Joel swallowed. “But why not?”
“It’s not obvious?”
Blood pounded in Joel’s ears. “Spell it out for me.”
Andre took a deep breath and turned to him. “I want you, Joel. You’re the only one who’s been on my mind lately.”
“Me too.” Joel hesitated. “That’s why I’m here.”
“But you know I’m into all this.” Andre waved a hand at the ropes and cross. “You’ve said yourself we can’t make it work.”
“I know I have. But I just . . . I can’t stay away. The thing is, I went out with someone else tonight.” He paused, waiting to see if that made Andre bristle with jealousy. It didn’t, and thank God—Joel didn’t care for possessiveness. He went on. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And it’s not just physical. I mean, we’ve only scratched the surface of getting to know each other, but . . . Maybe I’m just an idiot for thinking that means we have some shot at . . .” He exhaled sharply. “Some shot at something.”
“No, it doesn’t make you an idiot.” Andre slipped a calloused hand into Joel’s. “If it does, it makes us both idiots.”
Joel’s brain took a second to put the pieces together, and when it did, his heart sped up.
Andre smiled . . . shyly? God, that was adorable.
“So I guess the question is,” Andre said, “what do we do?”
They locked eyes.
Pulse pounding, Joel took a handful of Andre’s shirt, pulled him in, and grabbed the bac
k of Andre’s neck in the same instant he kissed him.
Andre didn’t miss a beat. He wrapped his arms around Joel, tilted his head, and returned the kiss like he’d been waiting his whole life for it.
Joel held on tighter, kissing him hard until he had no choice but to come up for air. When he did, head spinning and hands shaking, he said, “This is nuts.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re not . . . I mean, we’re . . . we . . .”
“We’re not sexually incompatible,” Andre said.
“We’re not?” Joel eyed him. “But you’re kinky. I’m vanilla. We can have all kinds of amazing sex, but I’m done pretending to be kinky for someone else, and I won’t ask you to pretend to be vanilla for me.”
“And what about pretending I’m not this attracted to you?”
Joel’s stomach somersaulted. “I . . .” He threw up his hands. “Why, Andre? For God’s sake, look at me. Look . . . look at you.” He gestured at Andre. “You could have any guy you wanted. What the hell is so special about me?”
“What . . .” Andre stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Joel, I’ve been lusting after you since that asshole first dragged you into the dungeon.”
“But why?”
“Come on. Why wouldn’t I?” Andre touched Joel’s cheek. “Look, I know he made you believe you’re unattractive, but he’s wrong.”
“But I’m . . .” Joel swallowed, avoiding Andre’s eyes.
“Do you think I’d lie to you?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Then take me at my word when I tell you that I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you, and every time I’ve seen you since then, I’ve wanted you more. And now that I know what it’s like to be with you . . .” A shiver finished his thought.
“I don’t know how we can do this, though.” Joel shook his head. “It’s fun now, but what about . . .” He gestured at their surroundings. “This isn’t me, Andre.”
