by Myra Scott
“That’s not a lot of reassurance,” I snapped at Zane.
I felt like all the stress from a few days ago was surging back to me with a vengeance. This was bad, and all of us knew it. It wasn’t that they money was astronomical—it was a lot, and it would have put a dent in my personal finances if I lost, but that wasn’t the part that had me worried. If I lost a lawsuit for something like assaulting a kid who’d just turned twenty-one, it would be a tremendous blow to the Sentry.
If I lost, I knew the guys wouldn’t ask me to resign, but it would be expected from just about everyone else so that the casino could save face in the PR shitstorm.
There was no way around it. I had to find a way to keep this quiet and clean, and on top of that, I had to win.
“I recognize the kid’s last name,” Zane said ruefully. “Kid comes from a banking family around Chicago. He’s got connections.”
“So, we’re fucked. Got it,” I growled.
“Don’t say that,” Gage said in his best calming voice, but even he showed his nerves a little. “There’s no nails in the coffin just yet. We haven’t even started.”
Gage was usually on the quiet side like me, but I appreciated that reassuring Tennessee accent of his when it did come out. I nodded to him, taking a deep breath.
“So, what’s the next move?” I asked. “I’ve already touched base with Rodney, he’s happy to be my attorney, with your leave, Zane.”
“Done,” Zane said before I’d even finished saying his name.
“I’ll pull the backup security tapes for that night so we can see what we picked up,” Bart said, crossing his arms and giving me a curt, resolute nod. “The police still have the main one that got most of the action, but maybe there’s something else they’re missing that we can get a hold of and take to court. And Zane, let me get a whisky so I can try to remember who all was working the floor that night.”
“I’ll get us both one, now that you say it,” I said, and Zane stepped out from behind the bar as I stepped in and started to pour us a couple of glasses.
“Good,” Zane said. “And don’t worry about Rodney,” he added, pointing to me. “Mick, I’m getting you the casino’s entire team of attorneys to work with, and all the legal fees are on me. Don’t worry about that part. After all, we’re family.”
I couldn’t hold back a smile at that. “Thanks, Zane.”
“Shit, maybe I should start a fight,” Bart interjected with a hearty laugh, and Gage grinned at him. “Next time a new casino opens up, just turn me loose on them for half an hour and have the legal team on standby.”
Zane snorted a laugh, and the others chuckled while I took a long drink of the whisky in front of me. I made a face. Why did I keep trying to convince myself I liked whisky?
I handed Bart his glass and made my way over to the piano to sit on the bench, letting out a long breath.
“Before we get into this, we do need to know what we’re up against, evidence-wise,” Zane said, and I knew what was coming. “Mick, how much can you tell me about what really happened that night?”
I rubbed my forehead. We’d been over this before in brief, but never in the kind of detail we’d need for legal purposes. But I wasn’t the kind of man who could lie easily, and this wasn’t the time for that. My parents raised me better than that.
“Yes, my hand flew out in a fist,” I admitted, “and yes, it hit him in the eye.” Gage looked mildly surprised, Bart’s lips curled up into a proud smile, and Zane just nodded. “It wasn’t like I was squaring off with him and planning to lay him out, it was just a reaction. The kid was throwing jabs at me and getting so in my face that I had no idea if it was him or someone else or a bunch of people, I just threw the punch out there to make it stop.”
“Okay, that could be good,” Gage ventured, nodding. “You didn’t punch him trying to break things up—you tried to break things up as a civilian, not as an employee, and you just got caught up in the fray.”
“That might make you no less culpable than the rest of the people brawling,” Zane agreed, nodding slowly, but Bart looked a little more hesitant.
“I wouldn’t be that optimistic,” he grunted. “The fact that you were working makes all the difference in the world, that’s what I tell all the security staff. Can’t hold you to a different standard.”
“Like hell we can’t,” Gage suggested with a grin, but Bart shook his head.
“That’s my policy, at least,” Bart said. “But we’ll pitch it to the lawyers and see what they say. Those assholes are magicians, they can work with anything you hand ‘em, it seems like.”
“That’s why they make the big bucks,” Gage said with a wink before turning to me. “Whatever happens, Mick, we’ve got your back all the way through this.”
“Thanks, guys,” I said, and there was a sincere smile on my face. Having guys like these made all the difference, even when they drove me up the wall with stress.
And speaking of stress, there was one other guy I’d need to see to help me get through this.
CHAPTER EIGHT - ERIC
I was so excited.
Last night, I had hardly been able to sleep at all, lying awake in my big, comfy bed just staring up at the dark ceiling, thinking about what the day would hold. Normally, I was pretty damn good at compartmentalizing. While I was at the dungeon, I was focused one-hundred-percent on my job, on being the best, sexiest professional Dom I could be. But the second I showered off, put on my normal street clothes, and headed back out into the real world, I could leave it all behind. I was a different man when I was in my dungeon room than the man I was just walking down the street.
It was necessary to be that way. Being a Dom could give you a lot of emotional baggage, and as much as I loved my job, I definitely didn’t want to take my work home with me. At least, I never had before. Until now.
Mick was different. I had worked with all different types of men in my job, some of them so stunningly handsome I couldn’t quite figure out why the hell they needed to pay me for an intimate experience. But none of them had ever affected me the way Mick did. Something about him was so intriguing to me, so irresistible. I found myself daydreaming about him when I was awake, and in the rare moments when I could turn off my brain long enough to sleep, I dreamed of him then, too. It was like he had seeped into every thought in my head, every urge in my body, every beat of my heart.
“Get a grip, Eric,” I told myself firmly as I looked over my appearance in the mirror at work. I had a small bathroom attached to my chamber where I could clean up and spiff up my look between customers. Right now, I had just finished off a session with a repeat client, a quiet older man who mostly just wanted someone to boss him around and then give him a hug at the end. Easy. But now, I was preparing for Mick to show up.
Which was not so easy.
I had dressed in my favorite black leather ensemble, which covered my bottom half but left my muscular chest exposed. I wore my usual boots, which were perfect for lightly pressing on a client’s chest or for having them kiss my feet. I had elbow-length leather gloves and a matching leather choker around my neck. It was a pretty typical look for someone in my profession, give or take. Some Doms liked to cover up more. Some liked to be almost naked. I usually struck a balance between the two. I preferred to leave a little bit to the imagination, so that my clients were more likely to fantasize about me outside of the dungeon.
It was like giving them a cliffhanger, to ensure they’d come back for more.
And I really, really, really wanted Mick to come back for more. I smoothed my hands back over my short-cropped hair and gave my mouth yet another rinse of peppermint mouthwash, then I heard a knock at the door—but not the bathroom door. The door to my chamber. I almost audibly gasped, then looked at the clock on the wall. Yep. It was time for Mick’s appointment. My heart started thudding instantly, and I forced myself to breathe
deeply and slowly as I went to answer the door. I was supposed to be the one in control, not the one fawning and swooning over my client. By the time I opened the door, I had regained most of my composure, enough to give Mick a devilish smirk.
“Welcome back,” I crooned.
“It’s good to be back,” he said, the corners of his mouth just tweaking ever so slightly upward, like he was fighting a big smile. That nearly made my heart melt. God, I was in deep.
As soon as he was in the room, I shut the door behind him and walked over to stand in front of him, crossing my arms over my chest. I looked him up and down with a critical eye, then ordered, “Take off your clothes, now.”
He obeyed silently, starting to strip off his shirt. But he wasn’t meeting my gaze. That just would not do. “Look me in the eye while you strip,” I commanded.
His brown eyes flicked up to look at me as he kicked off his shoes and unzipped his jeans. It was all I could do to keep from gasping when he tugged down his boxers, letting his stiffening cock spring free. It was so fucking hot, seeing that he was already getting hard for me. We had hardly begun, and there he was, aroused and ready. I was grateful that my rather restrictive pants couldn’t betray the fact that I was hard, too. All I had to do was think of him.
“Get on your knees and tell me why you are here today,” I instructed, regarding him with a haughty expression. He slowly, dutifully knelt down in front of me. His eyes never broke contact with mine.
“I’m here to be punished,” he replied simply.
“Do you deserve to be punished?” I asked, glaring daggers at him even though I really just wanted to wrap my arms around him. Again, I inwardly scolded myself about keeping it professional. He wasn’t here for a hug.
“Yes, Sir. I deserve punishment,” he answered.
“And why is that?” I prompted. This was an important part of the game: to act as a kind of therapist to my client. Sometimes I almost felt like a priest, having my clients recount their sins or transgressions to me so I could dole out an appropriate punishment. Although, I was pretty sure most priests went with a series of Hail Marys, not a spanking.
“I… am dealing with some trouble at work,” he said, a little reluctantly. He was so good at keeping his emotions in check, and I had a feeling that was part of why he had all this pent-up frustration: he never let it out.
“And you caused this trouble? How? You must tell me so I can select the proper punishment for your sin,” I told him matter-of-factly. He hesitated. I stepped forward so that his face was nearly flush with my crotch. I reached down and took his chin in my fingers delicately, tilting his face up so I could stare down at him. “Tell me, Mick.”
“I responded to a crisis a little too violently. I lost control of myself, and now I’m going to have to pay. Literally,” he added grimly. My mind raced in circles. I wanted so badly to break character and just ask him flat-out what was going on. But that wasn’t part of the game. I had to move on somehow.
“You responded with violence, so you will be punished with violence,” I declared, running my fingers back through his hair roughly. He groaned at this small gesture, and I felt my cock twitch. Fuck, he was so hot.
“Stand up,” I commanded. He got to his feet. He wasn’t as tall as me, but he was still a pretty formidable figure. Which only meant that I needed to be more intimidating to make up for it. “Put both hands behind your back,” I said imperiously.
He obeyed. “Stay right there,” I barked as I walked across the room to bring back a pair of handcuffs. I stood behind him and fastened them over his wrists, then grabbed my flogger. I didn’t want to cause him any real pain. I got the sense he was less into the pain and more into the servitude. So, I lightly lashed at his taut ass cheeks with the flogger, delighting in the grunts and groans of pleasure he let out.
“That’s right, Mick. Moan for me,” I purred, pressing up against him from behind.
He leaned into me willingly, and I rubbed my groin against his bound hands. He was breathing raggedly now, desire evident in every breath. I reached around to scrape my fingernails lightly down his puckered nipples, chest and hard stomach. It wouldn’t leave a mark, but it was enough to be slightly ticklish with a hint of a sting. He shivered as my hands smoothed down his curly happy trail, following the sharp V of his pelvis. My fingers moved slowly closer to his stiff cock, and I could feel him positively vibrating with anticipation. But at the last second, I stepped away, leaving him staring at me with hungry eyes. That was exactly how I wanted him. Ravenous and trembling with need. I grabbed a leather cord that I kept hanging on the wall.
“Do you really think I would touch your cock before making you service me first?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I paced around him in a slow circle. I whipped the floor hard with my leather cord, making a loud snap. Mick didn’t even flinch, which turned me on. He was a tough nut to crack.
“No, Sir,” he replied. He licked his lips. That was all the encouragement I needed.
I strode over to him and snapped my fingers. “On your knees.”
He knelt down. I slowly, teasingly unzipped my pants and stepped out of them. I was wearing a pair of black nylon briefs with a circular hole through which my cock emerged, stiff and long. After I slipped a condom on, Mick leaned forward, as though magnetically drawn to my groin. I stepped back and slapped him lightly across the face.
“How dare you,” I breathed with false indignation. “You will suck my cock when I allow you to and no sooner. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” he growled. I slowly stepped back up to him, stroking my cock with my hand. I gently tapped his cheek with my shaft, teasing him.
“Do you want my cock in your mouth, Mick?” I purred.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do you deserve my cock in your mouth?”
He looked up at me, his eyes shining with desire. “I could never be worthy.”
I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. “Good answer. I’m going to fuck your face now, Mick, and you’re going to enjoy it.”
“Yes, Sir,” he said gruffly, eyeing my cock hungrily. He parted his lips and I gently pressed my length into his warm, wet mouth, groaning with delight. He licked and sucked at my cock, taking my full eight inches deep into his mouth until I could feel the tip brushing against the back of his throat. He bobbed up and down, pumping my cock with his sensuous lips and his warm tongue. I reached down and tangled my fingers in his hair, pressing him down harder on my shaft as I moaned and sighed.
“Good boy,” I groaned. “Such a good little cock slut.”
I was getting closer and closer to climax, but I was nowhere near finished with Mick yet.
“That’s enough,” I ordered. He let go with a wet pop and looked up at me expectantly. I looked at the hard cock between his legs, engorged and begging to be touched. “So hard for me, aren’t you, Mick?”
“Yes, Sir. You turn me on like nothing else,” he answered, taking a little liberty with his response. I couldn’t even be angry, though. Those words were music to my ears.
“Do you want me to touch your cock?” I asked, biting my lip.
“Yes, Sir. Please,” he responded through gritted teeth.
“Stand up. Follow me,” I huffed, snapping my fingers. He got up, and I led him to the bed, pointing to it. “Get on the bed and scoot back against the pillows.”
He obeyed quickly, sitting pretty on the bed with his hands still linked behind his back. I sauntered over and unlocked them, gently massaging the angry red marks on his wrists before placing the handcuffs on the bedside table. Mick watched me with wide, impatient eyes. This wasn’t moving fast enough for him, but that was part of the game—making him wait. I could tell he was used to a fast and hard lifestyle, getting instant gratification. But this wasn’t his world, it was mine, and I made the rules.
I climbed onto the bed and knelt in front of him, looking him
over. Then I took the silk restraints already attached to the bed posts and lifted Mick’s hands to restrain him again, his muscular arms spread out on either side. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving as he watched me silently. I looked down at his massive, hard cock. I wanted him so badly. More than anything.
“Do you ache for my touch, Mick?” I asked softly.
“Yes,” he answered roughly and quickly added, “Sir.”
“You’re a good little cocksucker,” I praised him. “I think you did a good enough job to deserve a little reward, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes. Yes, Sir.”
Smirking, I took out a condom and slipped it over him, then reached down and gently circled the plum-red head of his shaft with my forefinger. Mick groaned and strained to move closer, like it was physically killing him to hold back. That was why I restrained him. I wanted him to be patient. I began to lightly stroke his length, my hand only very loosely gripping him, not enough to get him off but just enough to tease him. It was driving him crazy, I could tell.
“You want more?” I asked. He nodded, his eyes glazing over with need. “Then beg me for it. Tell me how badly you want me to stroke your cock.”
“Please, Sir. It hurts. I need it,” he begged, his voice gravelly and rough. “I don’t deserve it, but I need it. Please.”
“Very good, Mick,” I complimented. “Very good.”
I increased the pressure as I stroked him and he groaned, his cock twitching in my leather-gloved hand. I pumped him faster and harder as he writhed and moaned, straining against his silky ties. Then, just as I was about to work him over the edge, I slowed down again and lightened the pressure. I was driving him wild, which was just what I wanted. I reached over to open the bedside table drawer and take out a small butt plug. I held it up in front of Mick, whose eyes widened. He began to pant.