by Lynda Aicher
This might be his job, but hell if he would submit to an asshole who didn’t deserve it.
The man leaned forward to lap a wet swipe of his tongue up the length of Tyler’s jaw. The venomous bite to Tyler’s earlobe wasn’t a surprise, yet he recoiled anyway.
“No. I’m going to fuck you, boy.” The poison leaked from the john’s voice in icy wisps that struck at Tyler’s defiance. “I didn’t pay for a pussy.”
“No,” Tyler grunted back, unable to stop himself. “You paid for dick.”
Stars bloomed yellow and white before Tyler, his stomach heaving at the vise-grip squeezed on his nuts. He choked back the sickness, his breath hissing through his teeth, his muscled strained to breaking as he resisted the john’s demands. He would not succumb.
Minutes, hours later, the man released his hold. Tyler sagged instantly, the chains clanking against the X-frame of the cross. “You sick motherfucker,” the john snarled, spittle speckling Tyler’s face. “You must really enjoy the pain.”
Too exhausted to reply, Tyler kept his eyes closed and searched for that elusive zone. The one he needed to find if he was going to get through the next part.
The musky scent of sweat mixed with the stronger blend of blood and the annoying lemon tinge that clung to everything in this club. The infamous, exclusive sex club, The Den. He scoffed at the thought. Yeah, the place was great for hiding people’s true natures. All of the deep, dark secrets they didn’t want the world to know.
Like the fact that the john who was currently preparing to fuck his ass had a wife, kids and a political career that would all be destroyed if this side of his life was ever discovered. Then again, Tyler was the sick one being paid to get beaten and fucked. Proud moments all around.
He braced for the coming invasion. Just a little bit longer and he could get the hell out of there. The low buzz from endorphins was masking some of the pain. It wouldn’t last.
“Wake up.” The command was followed by a hard slap to Tyler’s tortured ass.
Blazing knives of agony raced outward to wrap around Tyler. He cried out against the blinding fire that consumed him, the temptress urging him to surrender. No. Damn it. He wouldn’t give over that last piece of himself. Not to this fucker.
The nudging between his ass cheeks roused Tyler enough to grate out, “Condom.”
The man chuckled. “Like I’d fuck your loose ass without one.”
“Fuck you,” he breathed, the words unheard by anyone but himself.
Grunting, the john plunged forward, any resistance bypassed without care. Tyler inhaled a quelling gulp of air and held it to keep the sounds from escaping his chest.
“Not so loose after all, huh?” the sick man snarled, his pleasure twisted within the grind of the words and the bruising grip on Tyler’s hips.
Tyler became pliant, the ripping boom of drums and guitar setting the beat for the reaming. He could do this. Each dry thrust was a testament to his endurance. Blood did not make for a good lubricant, but it was better than the lube-free approach the bastard was taking.
His own dick hung limp. Getting off wasn’t even a remote possibility. Not that the bastard who was fucking him cared. Sometimes the johns did. This one never did.
“Come on, boy,” the john grunted. “Where’s your fight?”
Gone. Survivors knew when to play possum. If he ever wanted to walk again, now was his time to perform. It wouldn’t be much longer anyhow. The bastard never had staying power. Thank fuck for that.
Tyler grunted, a particularly hard thrust forcing the sound out of him.
“Damn it, boy.” Another slap landed between Tyler’s shoulder blades. “Fight me.”
The lightning knife of pain shot through Tyler’s chest to rip through his zone of acceptance. He jerked forward, his arms straining against their hold. “Motherfucker. Get off me.”
“That’s it.” The john surged harder, his leather pants grinding against Tyler’s flayed backside. He panted with his excursion, the sickening noise increasing with his rhythm. “Take it, you pussy.”
“Fuck,” Tyler croaked. Blackness clouded his vision and he shook his head to chase away the approaching darkness. He couldn’t black out. It wasn’t safe. Shit. He needed to get out. Allowing the next words out took every ounce of preservation he possessed. “I’m done.”
“You’re not done ’til I say you’re done.” Pain exploded from Tyler’s temple and blasted through his brain. The roaring throb pounded out a beat of defeat that he fought to resist. Fuck, fuck...he couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus. Everything hurt. But he had to stay conscious, no matter how much he wanted to drift away.
“Almost there,” the john huffed. “Earn it, boy.”
Earn it. What the hell did the asshole think he was doing? Was the man delusional enough to think he was actually enjoying this? Every part of him hurt, right down to his curled toes. Even the beatings he’d taken from his old man hadn’t prepared him for this level of all-encompassing pain.
A loud crash jerked Tyler out of his drifting numbness.
“Goddamn it.” The curse jarred the air with its violent strike. “Get off him. Now!”
“What the...” The john was ripped away from Tyler before he could finish.
“What the fuck are you doing?” a rough voice growled.
Tyler faced the wall, his back to the door, and he tried to jerk around to see what was happening. The movement sent another wave of fire over his back, stars blooming before his eyes once again. He gave up, slumping forward with a groan.
The thump of more boots joined the chorus of drums, and Tyler’s humiliation was solidified with the arriving cavalry. He closed his eyes. He could handle the embarrassment if he didn’t see their faces.
“Shit.” The soft curse was spoken at his side.
Gentle hands embraced his wrist, the pressure from the cuff slowly releasing. A groan tumbled from his lips at the biting pinpricks of pain that feasted on his numb arm.
“Easy,” the gruff voice spoke into his ear as he took Tyler’s weight, keeping him from falling when his other wrist was freed. Strong hands rubbed and kneaded his arms as the circulation slowly returned.
Even with his eyes closed, Tyler knew who was holding him. Just like every time he’d seen the other man at the club, he became instantly aware. His senses heightened, his body responding to the mere proximity of the powerful dominant.
Of all the men to find him at his weakest, it had to be Master Seth.
Dom. Club owner.
And the one man Tyler needed to stay away from.
Chapter Two
“You’re sure she’s coming?” Seth questioned Kendra once again, pacing to the window of his loft to stare out at the rain-streaked darkness before returning to stand by the couch.
The woman leaned into Deklan. They stood together by the front door, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. The simple form-hugging spandex dress was sleeveless, short and complemented her lean form. With Deklan in his standard black leather pants and T-shirt, the two were a daunting couple.
She nodded. “Yes. Allie said she’d be here as soon as she could.” Her Dom and lover hugged her close, his eyes narrowed at Seth’s doubt.
“Right.” Seth crouched next to the man lying facedown on his couch. Sick disgust traveled through his stomach at the sight of the bruised and tattered back. But even worse was the absent look of hopelessness that stared back from pale blue eyes. “We’ll take care of this, Taylor. He won’t get away with what he’s done.”
The man closed his eyes, not a single muscle on the rest of his body moving to respond to Seth. That alone was enough to have Seth vowing vengeance. He stood, the abrupt action making his knee pop in protest. He snaked his fingers through his hair and yanked the long mass away from his face. Cursing, he strode to the kitchen and tossed through a drawer until he found a rubber band at the bottom. Three hard tugs later, and the annoyance was tied back in a stubby tail at his nape.
“He should be at
the hospital,” Kendra insisted, stepping out of Deklan’s arms to confront Seth as he left the kitchen. “What—”
“No.” The sharp denial, although low, made everyone stop.
Kendra persisted, turning to the injured man. “But you need—”
“No.” The bitterness in Taylor’s voice reached over the space to slap them all. The fire in his hard glare was the first emotion Seth had seen since they’d burst into the room to stop the abusive Scene. Conversely, it gave him hope. The incident hadn’t broken the young man.
Seth kneeled by the couch and raised a hand to still Taylor’s efforts to sit up. The smooth skin on the man’s shoulder was one of the few unmarred spots he could touch. Again, the sick disgust curled within him. Not at Taylor, but the man who’d done this to him.
And at himself for allowing it to happen.
“Stop,” Seth commanded and applied the slightest bit of pressure to the shoulder.
Taylor froze, his gaze dropping to the floor, a clump of black hair falling over his forehead to hide his eyes.
The brief glimpse of vulnerability almost shattered Seth. The muscles under his hand quivered in strain or alarm—he didn’t know which. But even the thought that this innocent sub might fear him made him pull away instantly. “Sorry. You...” He paused, swallowed. “I won’t hurt you.”
Taylor lowered his chest back to the cushions without responding, the small grimace was barely noticeable before the man hid his face in the pillows. The possessive feelings he’d felt toward this man increased with every second he was near him.
“I’ll make this right,” Seth vowed, his voice low and gritty with promise. He leaned into Taylor until his lips brushed the soft tips of hair over the man’s ear. The lingering scent of orange drifted over him, diminishing the stronger antiseptic smell. “I’ll take care of you. You have my word.”
The man inhaled, his hand clenched into a fist before Seth leaned back. He scanned the sub’s damaged back, the torn skin having been tended to by the club’s medical staff. The wounds had been cleaned and treated with antibiotics, but some of the deeper cuts contained small pools of fresh blood. More than one dipped beneath the waistband of the loose cotton pants the medics had given Taylor to wear.
Seth squeezed his eyes shut, unable to think of the hidden damage. Had they really allowed a sub to be hurt this badly? How?
He glanced at Deklan. The rigid stance and stone-cold face said it all. As head of security, Deklan took this incident as personally as Seth. Bringing Taylor to the privacy of Seth’s loft located over the club was the only way they’d gotten Taylor to agree to having his injuries cared for.
The ones he let them tend to, at least.
A brisk knock broke the silence. Kendra rushed to answer the door before Seth could stand. Beside him, Taylor withdrew even more. He turned his head into the pillow and tucked his fist under his chest in a move that made him appear smaller than his six-foot frame really was.
“Allie,” Kendra said as she swung the door open and grabbed the other woman’s hand to tug her inside. “Thank you for coming. I know it’s late.”
“It’s all right.” Allie dismissed her worries before stopping to give Kendra a thorough scan. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Kendra reassured her. “It’s not me.”
The lawyer released a long breath before darting her gaze around the room. Her brief show of relief was quickly stashed behind a professional demeanor. “What’s going on?”
Seth straightened. “I asked Allie to call you.”
“Why?” Allie swept by Kendra and moved toward Seth. The loud click of her heels on the hardwood dulled to a muted thump as she stepped onto the area rug. She stopped before Seth, her focus holding on Taylor. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing.” Seth’s denial shot down his spine.
“No, Allie,” Kendra exclaimed, jumping to his aid. “Seth didn’t do this. It was another Dom. That’s why we need your help.”
Allie focused back on him, her eyes narrowed. She pursed her lips and tucked her long spiral curls behind her ear in an impatient gesture. The thick mass sprang from the precarious hold almost immediately. Her assessing glance held on his mouth before it descended. Seth barely resisted the urge to wet his lips.
The tailored cut of her suit curved over her slim form. It nipped and tucked in the right places to accentuate her full breasts, thin waist and long legs. A hint of silver lace breached the juncture of the jacket, providing a touch of femininity to offset the harsh black color of the suit. By comparison, the suit made the low-cut red number she’d worn to The Den’s Mardi Gras party look daring and naughty. Two very different yet enticing sides of the same sexy woman.
“Taylor was a guest.” Seth tilted his head to the man in question. “He was hurt by the member who brought him.” His jaw clenched against the anger that rose once again.
“I thought this was a members-only club. How’d he get in?”
Deklan spoke up to answer Allie’s question. “As a private guest of a club member. Taylor passed a clearance level, just like you did for the Mardi Gras party.”
The small swallow was the only tell Allie gave to the reference of her one visit to the club. Her inexperience with the BDSM scene had been blatantly clear back then. “Then how was he hurt?”
“It was my fault.” The muffled voice came from the couch.
“No,” Seth insisted in unison with Deklan and Kendra. The three voices echoed off the open space and high ceilings of his loft. Seth rested a hand on the top of the man’s head in a small gesture of comfort. “No,” he repeated softly. “It wasn’t your fault.” What would it take to get Taylor to accept that he wasn’t to blame?
Allie stepped up next to Seth. A low inhale leaked over to him. She clenched her briefcase tighter as she took in the full state of Taylor’s back. She looked up at Seth. Questions and doubt radiated from her eyes.
“I know you do pro bono work,” Kendra said from behind them. “We’re hoping you can advise Taylor on his rights.”
Allie nodded, but her focus stayed on Seth. “Don’t you have a lawyer?”
“The Den does. But you’re here to advise him. What the club does is independent of what Taylor does.”
She continued to stare at him, not even a blink to break the hold. Did she see his guilt? Doubt his intent? Know his desire to see her bound and kneeling at his feet?
She turned away and set the briefcase down, the plush rug dulling the sound. Her gaze slid over Taylor one more time before she looked back to Seth. Grim determination settled over her features. “Would you all please excuse us? I need to talk to my client in private.”
* * *
“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” Kendra said, her brow wrinkled in concern. “Cali’s down there too. Call if there’s anything we can do.”
“Thank you.” Allie pasted on a tight smile to reassure her friend. “I’ll let you know.” With a last glance at the injured man on the couch, Kendra left the loft.
The quiet patter of rain dominated the room now that everyone had left. Allie sunk into the stiff chair Seth had placed by the couch and tried not to sigh. Kendra’s call for help had caught Allie at work, even though it’d been after ten o’clock on a Friday night. The adrenaline rush from the stressful drive through the early July downpour had faded into the dull flow of exhaustion. A state she was used to working through.
Her relief at finding Kendra unharmed had evaporated when she’d seen the battered condition of the man lying before her. Her gaze skimmed over his back and she silently cursed the person who could do that to someone. The bright red stripes stuck out in sharp contrast to his pale skin, crisscrossing from his shoulder to the waistband of his pants and below. She swallowed back the rise of disgust that churned in her stomach and rose up her throat.
Is that what Kendra had endured? Her friend had suffered abuse like this from her ex-boyfriend and Dom. It was horrifying to Allie. She couldn’t imagine the pain. But
Kendra had found something better with Deklan. Maybe Allie could help this man see that he deserved better too. At the very least, she’d make sure he got the medical attention he needed.
She’d become a lawyer partly because it allowed her to help others. But the more her law firm pigeonholed her into corporate negotiations and acquisitions, the more impersonal it became. Her pro bono work kept her grounded to the personal side of the law. And this man obviously needed help. It would be a perfect fit if it wasn’t for the overwhelming Dom in the other room.
Her gaze skidded to the closed door where Seth Mathews had retreated. He had dominated too many of her fantasies since her one and only visit to The Den over four months ago. Not that she would ever act on any of them.
Gathering her energy reserves, she shifted to the side in an attempt to get a look at the man she’d agreed to help. His face remained hidden within the pillows, an act that spiked her curiosity and her empathy. This would be hard for anyone to handle, and his actions proved he wasn’t enjoying the attention.
But he wasn’t to blame. The challenge would be in getting him to accept that fact. She needed to earn his trust before she had any chance of helping him. Fortunately she was used to dealing with proud men. She’d learned the subtle art of getting a man to bend from growing up with three older brothers. Her testosterone-dominated career demanded she apply the skill almost daily.
The adrenaline kicked back in to prep her for the coming encounter. She had to prove she was there for him, no matter what. How she handled the next few minutes would determine if she had any chance of helping this man. And for some reason, she really wanted to be there for him.
Chapter Three
Tyler ground his forehead into the pillow, wishing like hell he was anywhere but there. He inhaled and almost choked on the rich scent that flooded his system. The tang of soap and aftershave blended together to provide an aroma he instantly recognized as Master Seth. How could he possibly react to another man after what he’d just been through?
