Rough Road (6 page)

“I don’t know why I bother with this one.” Keith steps away from me, cold air where his body heat had been warming me. “Except the little slut likes pain, and I fucking love hurting him.”

“May I watch?” His voice sounds almost bored now, but I can tell he wants this. Does he know it’s me yet? Does he recognize my body? I’m still mostly clothed.

“That’s fine,” Keith tells him.

My safeword pops into my head; I don’t know why. I usually get off on being watched, and this is Wish, the guy who fucked me senseless and then cuddled me all night. I try to shrug it away, end up literally shrugging, and it turns into a shudder of anticipation. I want him to watch, and I want him angry.

“No,” I whisper.

“What’s that, Ed?” Keith leans close to my hooded face.

“No, I don’t want him to watch.” I flush red when I say the lie, not that anyone can see with the hood over my face. By now, Wish knows it’s me. Will he play my game, or will he walk away?

“Tough shit. You come into my place of business and start mouthing off about my wife and kids? I want everybody to watch me stripe your skinny ass for that.”

“You’re going to cane him?” Wish’s voice isn’t disinterested anymore. And damn it, now that I know what’s coming . . . a caning is hard to take, even for me, and Keith knows it. He’s going to break me down in front of . . . in front of Wish. He’s not just going to hurt me, he’s going to humiliate me too.

Keith’s answer comes in the first blow. The cane whistles through the air slightly before it connects with the back of my thighs. A tight, hot pain—a warning crack.

“Count.” The order comes from Wish, not Keith, but my response is automatic.

“One.”

The next strike hits my ass, just across the fleshiest part. Not hard enough.

“Two.”

The third blow has more force behind it and hits right over the thinnest part of my ass. This sensation is darker—there’s bone involved. I flinch away, which drags my cock across the bench, my Prince Albert catching on the edge and sending blinding pain behind my eyes.

“Fuck.” I try to breathe through it, try to find some center of control.

“Three,” Wish corrects me. “Say it.”

“Th-three,” I grind out. The fourth stroke hits the exact same spot and I can’t help it, I shout. “Four!”

And then I start to cry. A little gasp, not even a sob, but it rushes out of me at the same time the cane strikes the back of my thighs again.

“Fi-hive.”

A sixth blow follows quickly and tears are flowing freely inside the blackness of the hood.

“Count,” Wish orders, and I shake my head. “Count.”

“Can’t.” I whimper. If I count, the caning will resume. I want it, I want it desperately, but I still can’t make myself say the number. I groan into the bench.

“Then Wish will count them for you.” Keith runs a fingertip over one of the cane marks, and the sensation makes me arch with shivery bliss.

“Six.”

Seven tears a real sob out of me.

Eight makes me safeword.

“Yellow,” I gasp.

“Ed?” Keith’s voice is calm, familiar. “You okay, buddy?”

I shake my head. “I hate the fucking hood. I hate the fucking cane. I hate you.”

Lies, but in the moment it feels true.

“Do you want to stop? Take off the hood?”

Do I?

“Yes.” I nod.

He pulls the hood off me. “Do you want me to untie you?”

I shake my head, eyes still closed because I’m not ready to see Wish. Grateful the hood is gone.

“Do you want me to hit you again?”

“I want . . . something else. Not the cane.”

“I’m going to untie you, Ed.”

“No!” Panic grips me. If he unties me, there’s a chance I could turn around and punch him. I’m all adrenaline and frustration right now, sexual and otherwise. I
need
something.

“Do you want me to leave?” Wish asks, addressing me directly. He’s moved around to the other side of the bench, standing in front of me. Leaning close? I open my eyes. No, not leaning; he’s squatting so we’re eye-to-eye. My hard-hat-wearing angel, hair flopping on his forehead and half covering bright-blue eyes. He lifts a hand like he wants to touch my face.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “You can stay.”

“Can I touch you?” He asks me, not Keith. I nod slowly, captivated by his calm gaze. He slides a hand along the side of my face, cups the back of my neck, and strokes. “You’re okay now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He smiles his gorgeous, slightly crooked, smile. His hand tightens. “I’d like to play with you some, if you’re up for it?”

Am I? My erection flagged during the caning, but I’m still aroused, still
wanting
. And maybe that’s all it is—maybe pain without sex wasn’t enough for me tonight, in spite of my intentions.

I glance over my shoulder at Keith, who seems to be admiring the marks on my ass as he rubs them softly. I’d been so focused on Wish, I’d forgotten about Keith.

“Keith? Do you mind?”

Keith smiles. “I told you, I thought you’d like him. Have fun. I can step back and supervise if you want me to.”

“Thanks, sugar, but that won’t be necessary.” I turn back to Wish. “Untie me, we should talk.”

He releases the cuffs, helps me stand upright. I step out of my shoes and jeans, scoop them up to take with me. My ass and thighs throb. Glancing around, I see the closest booth is empty. I gesture toward it with my chin, and he follows me. When I sit, pain radiates from my ass to hallelujah and I shiver. I pull myself together: a jut of my chin, a tone to my voice.
Armor
.

“Are you going to tell me why you safeworded?”

“I thought we could say hello first.” I smile at him. “Catch up?”

“I thought it was a hookup.” His voice is flat.

I casually shrug. “Easier, you know.”

“For who?” He glares at me. Oooh, that gets my blood flowing. I drop my hand to my lap and give my dick a squeeze.

“Stop that.” He slaps my hand away from my cock. “We’re talking first.” There’s a bit of mockery in his voice now. “Why did you safeword? Was it the cane?”

“The cane was fine. I was out of sorts for other reasons.”

“The hood?”

“I don’t like having my head covered like that. Not ever. I don’t even like to wear hats. Keith knows I hate it, but we were—”

“I saw. The role play. Riling him up, calling him a breeder, and insulting his bedroom skills. Was the fact that I was watching part of it? You told him no but you didn’t safeword. I assumed you weren’t really protesting.”

“I wasn’t really protesting, but yeah, it was part of it. The sight deprivation, it made me uneasy. And I wanted to rile you up a little too. Conflict turns me on.”

“But you’re okay with playing with me now?”

I study him carefully. “Why do you want to play with me after how I treated you?”

“I’m twenty-four years old; I’m not going to apologize for what gets me off,” he says in a lilting impression of my voice. Okay, there’s a point for him. He glances over to the bench. “Keith threw you down over there. You laughed, and it was like you’d started living in that moment. Watching you come alive like that made my dick so goddamned hard. Watching you take a caning—and he was really pushing you—that was intense.”

He drops his gaze to his hands, then smiles again. “Why do I want to play with you? Because you turn me on. I want to hit you. I want to fuck you. I don’t want to own you or master you or any of that Dom shit. I’m not looking for a waxed body to push around and call mine. I want to watch a grown man take a goddamned beating and thrive on it.”

Holy fuck. Wrap me in paper and stick a bow on me because I am sold.

“Come here.” I pat the couch next to me, and he scoots closer, placing a hand on my thigh. It feels good, warm and friendly, and his pinkie finger strokes me gently, almost absently. My heart starts racing as I remember our night together the week before—but it isn’t the orgasms or the sex or even the pain that runs through my head as my dick starts plumping up. It’s the way he held me while I drank the tea, and the way he kissed me like he was praying for something.

“I sent my car to your brother. For the bodywork,” I blurt out, not even sure why.

His lips quirk in a smile and I see a flash of teeth. “I know.” He squeezes my leg. “I helped work on it.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs.

“Why so shocked, S-Class? I’m sure I’m not the only guy you’ve ever dated who works more than one job.”

“We’re not—” I start to correct him, but then he’s kissing me, and I can’t remember why anything else matters.

He nibbles at my lower lip and buries a hand in my hair, clutching at it like a lifeline as he takes my mouth. I reach, needing to feel skin under my palms, and I jerk up on his T-shirt until I get my hands underneath it, run my palms over that flat stomach and give in to the need to explore, to give a pleasure that’s about sex, yes, but about more than that. This fan-fucking-tastic connection between us.

The hand on my thigh reaches around to my burning ass and grips hard enough to make me squirm from the pain still throbbing under the cane marks. He breaks the kiss to whisper in my ear, “These are so fucking hot. Want to fuck you while you wriggle like this.”

His fingertips dig in along one of the welts, and I go shivery in my belly, wanting to give him that, wanting to make up for being a cranky old queen when all he’s ever been was nice to me. But more than anything—wanting to be alone with him.

“Let’s go to my place,” I murmur as he bites my earlobe.

He pulls back and stares at me a moment. “If it’s a hookup, I’d just as soon stay here.”

Oh, he really doesn’t play fair, does he? I search his face for some indication that he’ll change his mind, that I can talk him into coming home with me without giving anything away besides my very eager ass, but his expression is all challenge and unmovable calm.

“You’re . . .”

“Twenty-four years old. A grown-up, last I checked. I rent a decent place, I have a steady job, and I even have a cat.”

“Baby, I don’t want to know about your pussy.” I try for levity, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I like you, Eddie S-Class. And yeah, I wanna fuck you. But I don’t appreciate being treated like the help.”

“The hel—? I did not.” Outrage makes me snarl, but he doesn’t back down.

“Get off and get out is not my scene. I told you what I wanted. Now we’re both here, by some coincidence, because we wanted to get off. And with any one of those little pain-sluts out there—” he gestures toward the rest of the club “—I’d be all over that. But that’s not what I want from you.”

He stares me down. I can’t remember the last time someone stared me down.

“What—exactly—do you want, lovely? I don’t agree to anything without knowing the terms.”

“Always a business man, aren’t you? I want sex—as much of it as we can have. And I want to get to know the guy I’m sleeping with.” A shrug. “I’m a simple man, S-Class.”

“I’m not.” The words burst out of me before I can stop them. I blush, and despite the closeness of his body and the intimacy of the club, I shiver, and goose bumps peak across my skin.

“I know.” He pulls me closer, running his big palms over my naked thighs and ass to warm them. “I don’t need to know all your secrets. Just, I dunno, how you drink your coffee and what you like on your pizza. The things you get to know about a guy you’re seeing.”

“Black. And cheese.”

“See, that’s a start. And you prefer ham to avocado in your sandwiches, and you drink hibiscus tea.”

“Yeah,” I agree, fatigue starting to press in on me. “The buzz from the caning is wearing off, and I’m getting . . .”

“Stand up.” He helps me to my feet, and the next thing I know, he’s sliding my pants over my legs and helping me slip into my shoes. “Did you drive?”

I shake my head. “No, never here. If I play, I’m too wrung out afterward to drive.”

He frowns. “I took a cab myself.”

“So we’ll take another cab back to my place.” I shrug, then smile. “I’ll let you look at the pictures on my walls. I might even tell you about the people in them. But you have to promise to fuck me hard first.”

“Deal.”

When we get into the cab, he pulls me practically into his lap. The welts on my ass burn in protest at being dragged across the seat, but I don’t care. Sometimes the souvenirs are even better than the beating itself. Squirming to chase that sensation a little more, I lean into him and kiss him, slow and deep, wrapping my arms around his neck and rubbing us together, chest to chest.

“God, I love this,” he whispers against my lips. “I could kiss you all night.”

Oh yeah, I could definitely be on board with that plan. I scoot even closer, throwing one leg across his lap so I can grind my hardening cock into his thigh. His hands sneak up under my shirt without any apparent destination, simply petting me, letting me feel the cool blast of air conditioning in contrast to the warmth of his palms.

I feel like a horny teenager, rutting in the backseat of the car, one hand on his chest, the other clutching the sizeable bulge in his pants. He slides a hand down the back of mine and squeezes, sending little starbursts of pain through me and making me squirm.