by Ts McKinney
“Right in the center will be fine,” Brookes answered. Then, as if Landry couldn’t find the center of the stage all by himself, Brookes took his wrist and led him to the spot where he obviously wanted him. A sturdy bar with locks on each of the ends hung over his head. “Oh, and Landry, cut the shit with that voice change and ridiculous innocent look you’re going for at the moment. It’s not the real you. I’m not interested in that boy.”
As he talked, Brookes took Landry’s right hand, stretched it over his head and locked the cuff around his wrist to the clasp on the bar. His actions were so calm and steady that Brookes could have easily just commented on the weather instead of ridiculing Landry’s sub skills.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Landry hissed in fury, snatching his left hand away from Brookes before the man could lock it into place. He needed that hand free in case he decided to punch the bastard right in his smug face. How dare he?
“See? That’s the Landry I want with me on this stage. The real Landry, not that bullshit character you’ve created in your head because you think that’s how you’re supposed to act around a Dom.” The smile that followed those words could have only been described as pure evil. At least it seemed evil to Landry. He didn’t like to be corrected. His childhood was filled with that bullshit and he wasn’t interested in tasting it again.
“You can go fuck yourself, asshole!” Landry told him in a polite voice. He still couldn’t believe the asshole said that to him. His innocent character was nothing short of sheer perfection. He knew that because he’d practiced it in the mirror hundreds of times. With his very own eyes, he’d seen just how fucking sexy he looked.
“Nah, I can’t,” Brookes answered. “Not limber enough to even blow myself. I’ve tried. Can’t do it.” He eyed Landry’s slimmer physique. “Bet you can, though. Maybe you can show me sometime.” He reached for Landry’s left hand again, but, again, Landry jerked it back.
Like a child. That was exactly how Landry felt when he yanked his hand out of Brookes’ reach. A child that was smackass in the middle of a temper tantrum. Brookes’ amped up smile succeeded in amping up Landry’s tantrum.
Brookes winked. “There he is.” He whistled through his straight white teeth. “Uh oh, somebody’s getting mad. That’s quite a gift you’ve got there. One minute you can be purring like a sweet kitten and the next you’re hissing like a wild panther.” He grabbed the wrist again and this time, when Landry jerked, he didn’t let go. He looked down at the pale, slender hand caught tightly within his grasp, and said, “See? Those claws want to flex…maybe scratch my eyes out.” Instead of forcing Landry’s hand up and locking him into place, he gently caressed the soft skin right below the leather cuff. His rough fingertip drifted slowly, up and down, barely touching but still succeeding in sending unfamiliar feelings coursing through Landry’s body. “What are you afraid of?”
Landry gasped, the insult of Brookes’ insinuation knocking him on his ass. “I’m not afraid of anything!” He bit out between clinched teeth. “Especially you!”
“Now, now, don’t get angry with me for being honest with you. BDSM is about honesty. If I can’t trust that you’re being honest with your feelings, physical and emotional, I won’t be able to trust that I’ll give you what you need…what you desire. Anyway, kitten, that fake Landry you’ve conjured up is a complete bore. Downcast eyes can’t begin to compare to what you’re showing me right now – all fire and piss. That’s the kitten I want to play with.”
Landry didn’t understand. That wasn’t how a proper sub should behave. Brookes didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. He was an imposter—acting silly when he should’ve been firm. This wasn’t right!
He felt Brookes tugging at his hand again. His eyes looked at the strong fingers holding him prisoner. The dark skin looked sexier than fuck against his paler tone. Large hands against smaller ones. Calm control compared to a trembling mess.
“Are we going to play, kitten? If you don’t want it, that’s okay. Don’t ever do anything you aren’t comfortable with. Always remember that you have complete control of the situation. All you have to do is tell me to stop.”
Landry paused to consider that Brookes’ voice sounded a lot like a warlock casting a spell on him, bewitching and beguiling him. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. This world, his world of pain and pleasure, was the only place where he felt in complete control, and Brookes was messing with that sense of comfort by keeping him off balance with his softly growled words and fiendishly friendly smile. It made him angry, the feeling of teetering on the edge of the abyss. It scared him as it threatened to take away the only thing that kept his demons at bay. Without this, he would fall back into the dark world of meaningless sex where he fucked any and everybody. That was a place he didn’t want to go back to. He probably belonged there, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be the person worthy of the love his friends felt for him…not the prostitute whore he tried to keep hidden.
“What’s it going to be, kitten? The decision is all yours but if you want to play, it has to be real. None of your bullshit.” He stepped closer, crowding Landry with his muscles and rock-solid strength. “If you let me, I’ll make you fly, kitten.”
Landry fought for a snarky comment, something to knock the Dom back on his heels and force his alpha side to come roaring to the surface. Instead of his usual sarcasm or smart-assery, he heard himself whisper, “You…you can’t. Nobody can.”
The battle inside him waged on violently as Brookes’ gray eyes softened even more. His mind fought for control but couldn’t get any traction on the slippery slope before him. When he heard a soft chuckle slip from Brookes’ lips, his mind took several steps in the direction of regaining his sarcasm. His back straightened with pride as he pushed his hand toward the overhead bar. He guessed Brookes accepted his challenge because the bigger man locked his left wrist into place without another word or chuckle. When the locks were secure, Landry felt his arms being stretched as wide apart as comfortable and then another clicking sound indicated the beam was locked into place. He wasn’t pulled so wide that it was an uncomfortable position, but wide enough that his body immediately welcomed what it knew was about to come.
“Comfortable, kitten?” Brookes asked, close enough that his hot breath was right up against Landry’s ear.
“I’m fine,” Landry snapped. Irritation caused the snippy response. He wasn’t pleased that the Dom had known exactly where to position his arms—he’d much rather be in the position to critique everything Brookes would do wrong in their scene. He didn’t want the man to appear anymore perfect than he already did. The hot body pushed up against his back annoyed the fuck out of him, as well. Landry didn’t lie to himself often, or at least tried not to, he knew he was a whore. Once a whore, always a whore. The fact that his body automatically responded to bulging muscles, strong masculine scent, and a cock that was so big and hot that it threatened to rip through Brookes’ leather pants, wasn’t a shock to him. Quite the opposite, actually. It was more like a trained response that he prided himself on. No, the annoying part was that instead of simply being aroused by the solid mass of sex invading his personal space, he felt the urge to just melt against all that strength and power. Melting wasn’t his thing. Melting was off limits…dangerous. The melting feeling had to go. “Are you going to take all night to get me into position? Silly me thought we might actually have some time to enjoy making my ass burn.” To top off his tirade, he took a step away from Brookes’ heat. The fucker was so burning hot that it was apparently frying his brain functioning skills.
Brookes yanked him right back into place and held him there by wrapping one of his strong arms around Landry’s trim waist.
“Going somewhere, kitten?” he asked while trailing a fingertip across Landry’s quivering stomach muscles.
“Stop. Calling. Me. That.”
Another laugh. “You prefer cotton candy over kitten?” he asked. “Just tell me which one you like the most. I�
�m here for your pleasure.”
That damned finger just kept teasing his skin. So soft and gentle. So unfamiliar and scary. He tried to wiggle away again, but the iron band around his waist prevented his escape. The touches were barely a whisper across his sensitized flesh but they were driving him insane.
Melting unacceptable.
Soft touches—unacceptable.
“I prefer you call me by my name,” he growled. Fuck, he’d tried for a growl but even to his own ears, it sounded a lot like a whine. “Even better, don’t call me at all. How’s that sound?”
The grip tightened and an oversized, booted foot kicked his legs apart and settled right between them before Landry even knew what was happening. He hadn’t thought Brookes could get any closer than he’d been seconds ago, but that had been a colossal miscalculation on his part. He could literally feel Brookes’ heartbeat in the cock that was pressed against him. A couple seconds of squirming got him absolutely nowhere, so he settled back into place and concentrated on ignoring all the feelings swimming around in his head and body.
“Hummm…that’s sounds doable,” Brookes murmured. “I’ll never call you. I’ll simply show up to take what I want. How’s that sound?”
There was nothing worse than having your own words thrown back in your face.
“You’re infuriating.”
Lips grazed Landry’s shoulder blade and he bucked in surprise. It had felt like…a kiss. No, no, no! That wasn’t right, either.
Lips on body, unless sucking his cock—unacceptable.
“I’m okay with being infuriating and since you aren’t going to answer me, I’m going to stick with kitten. With your hair color change, cotton candy doesn’t fit as well anymore.” Brookes head-nuzzled Landry’s inky black hair and growled his appreciation. “I’m sure I told you I love the new look, but if I didn’t…” Lips grazed his ear, “I fucking love the new look.” A knee eased Landry’s legs a few more inches further apart. “Anyway, you hiss and purr even better than you do the sugary sweet treat. Kitten, it is.”
Apparently nickname decisions landed solely on Brookes and Landry’s vote didn’t count. Landry wanted to huff and puff about it, but found the desire to enjoy the silly nickname more powerful than the desire to dislike it. He’d heard of this myth—the one where a sub felt an all-consuming desire to please his master, but had always rejected it as nothing more than role playing the part of the supposed perfect sub. The silly grin that tugged at his lips every time Brookes praised him for anything had him suddenly leaning toward at least considering some evidence actually existed to back up the myth. He thought about it…rolled the idea around in his head just to get the feel of what it could be like…
A frown narrowed his brows together. What was he doing? What was it about Brookes that made him drop his guard and let sunshine and rainbows slip past all his defenses? The feelings trying to swarm his mind and soul were nothing more than silly boy dreams that didn’t exist in the real world. He lived in the real world. Years of living on the streets taught him what was available to boys like him…and, more importantly, what wasn’t.
Brookes wasn’t.
Brookes was looking at him as nothing more than a challenge, a homeless, stray kitten he wanted to gentle and trick into trusting him just so he could laugh at him as he walked away. He knew the score, knew he was nothing more than a Monday night boy – the boy that wasn’t good enough for the weekend. He was the one men were ashamed to take home and meet the family. He was the one that was perfect behind closed doors but forbidden out in public. His parents were ashamed of him as a child and in this big, bad world they lived in, parents were supposed to be the solid anchor of love and acceptance. His had been ashamed. Even to his parents, he’d been the Monday night boy.
Feeling safely cocooned in his armor of distrust again, Landry raised his eyes and looked into the mirrored wall a few yards in front of him. Green eyes collided with gray eyes. Landry’s green gaze full of disdain and mirth, Brookes’ soft gaze countering with a gentleness that immediately caused Landry’s eyes to flicker away nervously.
“Call me whatever makes you feel like the Dom you claim to be, it’s insignificant to me.” Landry leveled his eyes on Brookes again. “My safe word is Bible but you won’t be able to make me use it.” His chin lifted in a challenge that he hoped Brookes would accept. He was ready to begin the scene and shut the fuck up with all the sweet words and soft touches the Dom was using against him. Landry found he didn’t have weapons in his arsenal to defend against those types of assaults. Being whipped until his body ached for days? He could handle that shit all night long.
In the mirror, Landry saw Brookes’ face form a tight frown and his gray eyes took on a look of total confusion…before they turned all soft and sweet again. Damn! How did the man do that? No, why did the man keep doing that? He wasn’t supposed to be soft. His Dom abilities were legendary in the lifestyle. People had to book sessions with him for months in advance.
A nagging concern flickered through Landry’s brain. Months in advance? Brookes had been in Key West for over a month and as far as Landry knew, there hadn’t been clients coming and going from his hotel room, looking all satisfied and weak as kittens. No, his friend Jason, who worked the front desk at Island House, would have told him if something like that was going on. Had he cleared his entire schedule just to participate in a few scenes at his club – a club that wasn’t well known and didn’t actually have big names in the lifestyle backing it up? What the hell?
A warm fingertip teasing the center of his back snapped his brain back to the present. His body responded with a shiver. His face responded with a frown.
“It isn’t my goal to try and get you to use your safe word, kitten. Far from it. My goal is to bring your body as much pleasure as it can handle, whether it be from the tip of a flogger or the tip of my finger, not to shove you over the edge.” His head tilted inward until his lips grazed Landry’s ear. “Why would you say that? Is that what you think a Dom is for? To push you too far? Or is there another reason altogether?” he asked quietly against Landry’s ear and then followed the question with a chuckle when he saw Landry’s lips tighten together. “We’ll explore that one together, kitten – just you and me, exposing each other’s secrets,” ear nip with teeth, “stroke by stroke.” Another bite, but this one along Landry’s shoulder. “And then you can explain Bible. I’m sure there’s an interesting tale behind that safe word, just dying to be revealed.” A tongue swipe to stroke the spot he had just bitten. “That’s for later, of course. Right now…let’s get started, shall we?”
“You’re strange,” Landry snapped irritably, all the while hoping his voice didn’t sound to Brookes’ ears as breathless as it sounded to his own. Damn, but the man was insufferable.
“Strange, in a good way?” Brookes asked.
He’d stepped away from Landry and was busy toying with whatever he’d lain out on the table to use during their scene. Landry hadn’t bothered to look when he’d walked past the table earlier and now he wished he’d taken the time to at least glance in that direction. Would it be the flogger? A crop? A whip? Brookes used all of those in scenes earlier in the evening. Landry didn’t really have a preference, they all ended with the same results—his body fevered with a burning pain that kept him focused on what he was. Years ago he’d learned to use BDSM as a substitute for his frequent sexual encounters his friends begged him to step away from. He’d used sex as a shield just the same as Jagger used the lack of sex and touching as his shield. Apparently his countless sexual encounters drew more negative attention than Jagger’s icy cold front.
For years he hadn’t cared at all what people thought about him and his escapades. Just as soon as one of them walked in his shoes, survived what he’d survived, they could start judging him for what they perceived as indiscretions. Yep, those had been the good old days. He hadn’t given a fuck about anybody and nobody had given a fuck about him. Then Colton and Riley roared into his life, spread
ing what he’d considered bogus bullshit.
You deserve better than this, Landry. Living on the streets isn’t safe, Landry. You don’t have to sell your body, Landry. Come with us, Landry. There’s a place where you’ll be safe, protected, and loved. You’re a good person, Landry—a beautiful person, inside and out. Your body is a treasure someone needs to earn by showing you love and respect, worshipping you because of your spirit and soul, not because of a few moments of physical pleasure.
Bogus bullshit.
Yeah, complete bullshit but they’d been persistent little fuckers. Every other weekend for nearly six months found them on his street corner, preaching the same bullshit with the most earnest expressions he’d ever seen in his life. Again and again, they were there. Never once did they try to touch him. Not one time did they lead him into an alley and push him to his knees. Even when he’d fallen to his knees on his own and tried to unzip Colton’s pants so he could suck him off and get rid of them once and for all, they’d politely pulled him back to his feet and started with their bullshit all over again. They’d brought him food. They’d brought him blankets. Slowly but surely, they’d gained his trust with their gentleman tricks. Patience. Promises. Smiles. Softly spoken words.
Oh, fuck, no!
He tugged at his restraints. He wasn’t falling for that again. Not…that.
Against his better judgement, he’d allowed his group of friends into his tightly locked up heart, but he would be damned if he fell for the trick again. Absofuckinglutely not! No more room in his heart. Not an inch. Jagger had taken the very last of the space. Nope. Wasn’t going to happen.
He strained wildly against the bindings holding him immobile and vulnerable to the giant man still working quietly a few feet away from him. For the briefest of moments, he looked at himself in the wall mirror. Really looked at himself. No, nothing was different. He was still the whore he’d always been. Practically naked. Chained. Ready to be used.
