Since being offered a position as manager, Troy Ramirez’s life has revolved around the BDSM club Tied Up. He couldn’t have asked for anything better, yet a persistent thought gnaws at him, and it has the smiling freckled face of Tied Up’s receptionist.
Every Tuesday, Chris Brewster takes advantage of his free night to let off some steam, and always puts on a show in the common playroom at the club, letting the harshest Doms do anything to him. He likes to be used and manhandled and watched, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that Master Troy’s gaze is focused on him and filling with rage -- and maybe jealousy, too -- every time a Dom touches his body.
Troy wonders why the redhead spitfire agrees on those rough scenes every Tuesday and asks for all that pain to be inflicted on him. He shouldn’t even feel attracted to such a loose-mouthed sub, but somehow he’s drawn to Chris and suffers for him whenever a Dom puts his paws on that perfect body. Is there something nagging Chris and making him seek pain? There’s no way Chris will confide in him, since the boy is as tight-lipped about his personal stuff as he’s uninhibited when it comes to be used in the club. But there’s clearly something going on, and Troy has to find out before Chris sinks into the pain inside his soul.
When every nook and cranny in the room had been sanitized and he’d gotten rid of those hideous gloves, Troy took a moment to look around at the gleaming surfaces and breathe in the citrusy scent from the detergent. As he was about to get to the door, Chris walked in carrying a pile of fluffy black towels with little bottles of shampoo and bodywash on top of it. One of these rolled down when the boy stopped abruptly to avoid bumping into him, but Troy managed to grab the bottle midair and put it where it belonged, on the built-in shelf in the shower stall.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” the boy stuttered, suddenly nervous.
“Don’t be, Chris.” Troy said in a tone he hoped would sound soothing and comforting. “It’s okay.” He grabbed the other bottles and arranged them in a row next to the first one, then took the towels from the boy’s hands.
What the fuck?
No, it couldn’t be.
But no way could he ignore the slight shivers in Chris’s fingers where their hands had brushed and the delightful sensation the warmth from the sub’s skin had given him. After placing the towels in the open cabinet next to the shower, Troy went back to Chris and tried to get a glimpse of his hands, but the boy promptly hid them in the front pockets of his pants.
“Why are you so nervous, Chris?” With a knuckle he lifted the sub’s chin because he wanted those blue eyes to see him and through him. “Is it because of me?”
Chris shook his head and tried to look away, but a stronger hold on his jaw made him rethink that. “No. Of course not, Sir.”
Troy’s fingers moved to the back of Chris’s neck and fisted a handful of soft curls. Hard. “Try again, boy.”
“Sir ...” Chris whimpered, then closed his eyes on what looked like a grimace. His lips parted. Though dry and a bit cracked in the middle, they were a work of art. Rosy and soft. Like the tongue that peeked out to wet them and left behind a shiny trail. Chris’s breathing rhythm got faster and the air he gulped in seemed to do nothing to slow it down. When the boy opened his eyes again, there was a moistness that made them look more transparent and enhanced their natural brightness. “It’s that ...” The sub’s whisper cracked and a few seconds passed before he could speak again. “I don’t know what to expect when you’re around.” His eyes strayed for a couple beats, then went back on Troy’s. “It’s not like with the other Doms. When I’m with them I know what to do and what they want from me. But with you, Sir --” He licked his lips again and studied Troy’s face with such honest and open eyes it was a miracle the Dom hadn’t melted down. “Anything is unpredictable with you.”
Troy loosened the grip on Chris’s hair. “Are you scared I’m gonna freak out and insult you again? Because I won’t make that mistake again. I promise.”
“I know.” Chris mouthed and his lips didn’t seal shut. They stayed in the shape of an O for a little and it was such an enticing view it was no surprise Troy’s pants started tenting. “Master Troy ...” The boy whispered in a raspy voice that added to the plea glistening in his blue irises. “Please, Master Troy. Kiss me.”
Troy ran his fingers through Chris’s curls, their soft and springy texture calming his wild thoughts. “No, Chris. Not now. Because if I do I know I will need more.” He gave one last tug at those reddish strands before he forced his fingers to leave Chris’s warmth. “Once I taste you, I won’t be able to restrain myself.”
