by Anna Zabo
Eli walked out of the reflection, only to return holding a flogger—a soft one. Didn’t matter. Even something like that could induce pain in the right hands.
The first impact shook Justin and he caught his breath against the thud, the weight of impact. Then the same, on the opposite shoulder. Muscles heated and unknotted under the slow, gentle blows. Again and again, until his back and ass felt warm and pleasant.
Then a hard hit, quick and loud, spreading fire over heat. Yes. He arched onto his toes when the second landed and hissed when the third crossed his back. After five, he lost count—each time the tails met flesh, they bit harder, flew faster.
And that sound, so rhythmic, so beautiful. Someone moaned over and over and it wasn’t until the words tumbled from his mouth that he realized it was him.
“Please, oh fuck, please, Eli. Please. Don’t . . .”
Eli swung harder and light burst in Justin’s vision. Yes. God. That. Bright pins of fire in his back, on his ass, glowing hotter with each crack and thud. His arms and legs ached and his cock—if he’d had any purchase whatsoever, if he could have reached down, but that, too, was at Eli’s mercy.
Justin slitted his eyes and peered at the mirror, but couldn’t see through the blur of his vision and the shaking of his body. Every strike drove a cry from his throat and took him up and up, toward that singular place where there was no difference between the fire in his back and the heat in his core.
Eli muttered something that Justin could not decipher. But a handful of blows later and—FUCK.
Icy cold raced through Justin and burst into burning sparks behind his eyes. Then the second blow landed and he arched up and away. Every point the flogger hit—and who the hell knew how many tails were on that thing—felt like a million stings. Eli didn’t stop, laying blows down and then back up, taking Justin higher until all that existed in the world was the end of Eli’s whip, the sound of leather flaying skin, and the light and heat and pleasure of living. Gold flowed through his veins and into his heart, the joy and brightness of being alive.
Justin rattled against his cuffs and grappled with the moment until it stretched and covered him, blanketing his skin with pins and needles and glass burning at every inch of his back. Every time he fell, Eli drove him up again with a rain of fire and ice.
How long it lasted, Justin couldn’t tell—just that it ended, falling like a sheet of silence and darkness. No. Not yet! He cried and slipped down, only to be caught by the cuffs and chains that still held his arms outstretched to the heavens he’d just occupied.
“Justin.”
He peeled his eyes open and Eli was there, holding his face, stroking his skin. Flushed face, sweat beading at his forehead, damp curls clinging to his face. He’d lost his vest at some point.
“Justin?”
“Here.” His own voice was cracked and broken. He knew he’d not reached the top of agony, suffered to his fullest. Though Eli’s touch radiated against the buzzing and thumping of Justin’s veins, it didn’t lessen the burning ache in his soul and skin. This couldn’t be the end. A thought formed and he caught it, wet his lips, and spoke one word.
“Thirteen.”
Eli’s lips parted. “Are you sure?”
He pushed the words out with each breath. “Did—you hear—me safeword?”
Lips on his, nearly downing his need before Eli broke the kiss. “My beautiful Justin.”
The pride in Eli’s voice lifted Justin. “Yes.” Everything. I want you to have everything. It had been taken once before. This time, he offered.
“Then thirteen it is, Mr. White.”
Justin arched in his bonds. Yes.
* * *
Eli pressed his forehead against his shirt sleeve, partly to blot the sweat from his face, but mostly to give himself a moment to breathe, to think. God. He’d flogged Justin harder and longer than any sub he’d had, pushed him into screaming agony and wordless pleasure, taken him to the top—or so he’d thought.
Thirteen. A whisper, a plea for more.
A caning. Against the welts on Justin’s backside? Agony. He walked to the table. And delight. Lyle lingered there and Eli met his gaze. Wonderment and a tiny slice of envy. But he nodded. He’d heard Justin, too. They all had, so silent the room had fallen.
A cane. Not the carbon fiber one—later. There would be time for that later. While Justin wanted pain and, fuck, Eli wanted to turn Justin inside out—he still had to be in control. Keep them both on this side of the edge.
No mistakes.
No matter how much he wanted to go tumbling over with Justin.
Heart beating in his throat and skin and muscle vibrating against bone, Eli drew one of the thinner rattan straight canes off the table. Still quite painful and it would leave beautiful stripes across Justin’s ass.
Wouldn’t that be a delight to see: Justin squirming in his chair at work from the welts Eli had laid there.
He stepped back, ignoring the ache in his leg, the burning in his arms. No idea how long the scene had gone. Didn’t matter. He still had the strength and Justin needed him. He gave the cane a flick in the air, testing its flexibility.
Justin started, the chains rattling against the frame.
Electricity snapped through Eli, down to his cock and balls. He lined himself up and swung, cracking the cane across both buttocks, and Justin’s cry vibrated down to his soul.
“One.”
He let Justin inhale and manage the pain, his lithe form trembling until those slim hips rocked forward, looking for some purchase for Justin’s hard cock.
Enough of that. Eli laid down the second cut, eliciting a longer cry. “Two.”
He didn’t let Justin rest nearly as long before the third or fourth, just enough to count the blow out loud. Justin’s shouts and whimpers, his shudders as each blow landed only drove Eli to land the next stroke harder. “Five.”
He caught himself, balls tight, shoulder aching, and took a breath.
The edge was right there, heady and wonderful. Eli flicked his arm—firmly but controlled.
“Six.”
Justin thrashed in his bonds. “No, please!” Tears had finally ruined Justin’s eyeliner. His face shone with sweat and ecstasy.
Shit. He couldn’t want . . . Eli swung a bit harder, the crack of the cane against Justin’s ass resounding like a shot.
There is was, reflected back in the mirror, Justin’s pain slipping into pleasure, mouth open in a scream that made Eli groan. The dark head of Justin’s cock bobbed, tip slick with fluid.
It took every ounce of Eli’s willpower to steady his voice. “Seven.”
He laid eight across one of the other stripes and the sounds Justin made, the twist of joy and hurt in that mirror nearly undid Eli. Nine and ten followed and Eli tightened his grip, grateful for the gloves . . . his palms were wet—hell every inch of him was drenched. And his cock—
That, he wanted to bury in Justin. Right now.
Eleven. The chains shook and Justin’s voice cracked. A woman somewhere behind Eli moaned.
Twelve. Pause. Breathe.
Justin shook like a leaf. He opened his eyes and found Eli in the reflection and mouthed one word.
Thirteen.
Eli snapped the cane out, harder and faster than before, and the sharpness of Justin’s cry shattered against the roof of the room. But it was the expression on Justin’s face that nearly undid Eli—transcendence. Eyes closed, mouth open, face relaxed. Joy. Rapture.
“Thirteen, Mr. White.”
Justin sagged in his bonds. Eli dropped the cane and strode forward to pull him back up. “I’m here.”
“Eli.”
Fuck, he needed inside Justin. “Yes.”
“Want—”
Eli scraped his teeth against Justin’s shoulder and gripped Justin’s shaft. “I know what you want.” He rocked his bulge against Justin’s crack, driving another moan from him. “Say it.”
“Please fuck me. Please. I need you.”
&
nbsp; Eli couldn’t dig the condom out of his back pocket fast enough. Thank fuck he’d had the sense to slip that and a small container of lube into his pants before he’d started flogging Justin.
He held the foil between his teeth just long enough to undo his pants and free himself, before he ripped it open. Hard to roll it on with shaking hands and nearly impossible to think with Justin moaning, “Please, please, God, I need you,” over and over. Lube next, over the condom, on his glove, then he was against Justin’s entrance, pushing in as Justin shoved back.
Fuck. So tight and hot. He gripped those slender hips and thrust in deeper, savoring Justin’s cry, the brilliance of joy in his blue eyes, the tears on his lashes, and all that smeared eyeliner.
Deep and hard strokes, forced breath from both their lungs. Justin arched and stretched up onto his toes, elegant neck exposed. Beautiful. All his. Eli thrust in and held Justin on his cock, delighting in the trembling around his shaft, the rattle of the chains holding Justin, and those lovely hoarse cries from deep in Justin’s throat.
“This what you’ve been craving?” He licked the back of Justin’s ear. “My cock inside you?”
“Yes.” Almost a hiss. “Feels . . . so good.”
He drew back and slammed in again. “I bet you want to come. Empty your balls in front of all these people for me.”
Justin tightened and whimpered and Eli nearly spilled himself, desire wrapping sharp tendrils of need into his spine and balls. He pushed the rising tide of chaos and need back down.
He slammed into that tight hole again. “Not an answer, Mr. White.”
Even tighter. Fuck. Eli pressed his hand against Justin’s belly and wrapped the other around his dick.
“God, Eli.” This time, the plea was edged in desperation. “I—yes. Here. With everyone. For you.” The words tumbled out of Justin’s mouth, one on top of the other. He shook and rocked and tried to find the movement Eli denied him.
Justin gasped and moaned. Chains rattled down into Eli’s bones. “Please!”
The cry filled the room.
So much pleasure written in Justin’s body. So much pain. The need and desire. Liquid heat in Eli’s spine. Sparks raising the hairs on his skin. Eli’s doing—and Justin’s gift back to him.
Eli pulled out and pushed in with short, tight, hard strokes. A rough, fast fuck. Neither of them would last through anything more, but he would take Justin to the edge. Make him hang there. Beg. He loosened his grip on Justin’s cock and stroked with the same tempo.
Justin’s whole being shook, his breath turned into moans that put everyone else’s to shame. Deep, powerful, and from the soul. So close—he must have been so close. “Don’t you dare come yet, Justin. Not until I say.”
“I can’t. I can’t.” Justin’s head lolled back against Eli, the rest of his body taut as a bowstring.
So tight. Eli barely moved inside Justin as the sparks of his own release shivered up to his brain. “You will because I want you to.”
Groans and gasps and curses. Eli ground in, pulled out, rammed in. Someday, he would put Justin on the edge like this—and then say no. He kissed Justin’s shoulder and whispered one word.
“Come.”
Justin thrust between Eli’s fingers and coated the glove and floor with spunk. Between the shout that ripped through Justin and the way he tightened around Eli’s shaft, there was no holding back his own orgasm. He bit down on Justin’s shoulder and plowed into him. Fire rose to Eli’s skull and his vision blurred to white as he emptied himself inside Justin.
The rattling of chain kept Eli in the present and he blinked his vision clear.
Justin shook in his bonds, from exhaustion, not delight. Eli steadied himself and kissed the nape of Justin’s back. “I’ll get you down.”
“I—I’m fine.” Justin’s voice was all breath. “It’s okay.”
A little lie, but Eli let it go. Given how high he’d driven Justin, it was no wonder he didn’t feel what his body showed.
“’Sides, I like you here. Like this.”
Eli’s heart twisted in a way it hadn’t in far too long. “I like this, too.” He pressed his lips to Justin’s back once more. “But I’d also like you wrapped in my arms on a couch.”
“Okay with that, too.”
Good. Eli pulled out, making sure the condom came as well. He stripped off his gloves—the one coated in lube and semen was too slippery to grip much of anything. His dropped to his knees, his leg protesting the movement—he’d been on his feet quite a lot this night—but he needed Justin down. One ankle cuff free, and the other—he’d leave the leather bands around Justin for now. So nice to see him cuffed and collared.
When he rose, Lyle was nearby with a trash can. Eli stripped the condom and threw it away. He tucked himself back into his pants before reaching up to free the wrist cuffs. Justin half hung from the chains. “Can you stand?”
“Hmm?” Justin took a deep breath and placed his feet more firmly under him. “I think so.”
Well, they’d find out. He unhooked one wrist. Justin swayed, but managed to stay upright, though the trembling didn’t lessen. Eli unhooked the other and caught Justin as he sagged, stifling a hiss when his leg protested against the added weight.
Lyle cleared his throat.
No fucking way. If it took every ounce of his will to manage the pain, he’d not let anyone else touch Justin. “Think you can walk?”
Justin’s chest heaved. “Want to.” He wavered in Eli’s arms. “Not sure, though.”
Well, okay. Thankfully, Justin wasn’t that heavy. And Eli did have several inches on him.
“E.” Lyle spoke softly.
Justin stiffened in Eli’s arms.
“We’re fine.” Eli bent, and scooped Justin up. He ignored the stab of pain that flew up his leg, ignored Lyle’s frown. “This is going to hurt a bit, Justin.”
Justin wrapped his arms around Eli’s neck. Lovely blue eyes, rimmed with smeared eyeliner and moisture, and a smile that wrapped itself around Eli’s heart. “I like pain.”
“So you do.” Eli stole a kiss and carried Justin out of the room. And, fuck, did it hurt. The entire walk up the stairs and back into the great room was one halting mass of agony. But he wanted the space and distance from the other scenes, and the sofas were more comfortable upstairs.
One look cleared the couch he wanted. Much to his relief, Eli was able to sit and not collapse down onto the cushions.
Justin touched his face, brushed something away.
Moisture. Tears.
“Eli, you didn’t—”
He pressed fingers to Justin’s mouth. “Don’t make me start counting again.”
Justin’s lips twitched under Eli’s fingers. “Yes, Eli.” Humor there.
Good. Because he would not take Justin’s pity, not one bit of it. He wouldn’t wipe his tears away, either. They weren’t a weakness. Anyone here who thought that—didn’t belong. Any reminder Eli needed of that was written on Justin’s face and in the welts across his back.
Iron strength, once the snark and insecurity were stripped away. What holds you back, Justin? How do I help you?
A cough interrupted Eli’s thoughts. This time it was Michael. He knelt and placed Eli’s cane on the floor and handed him a blanket. “We have Justin’s clothes and your vest, too. I’ve sent Sam for water.” Soft, neutral words, but Eli had known Michael too long not to see what lay behind. Understanding. Pride.
That tumbled Eli’s heart, nearly as much as the kiss Justin planted on his neck. “Thank you.” He nudged Justin so that they both lay on the couch before draping the blanket over them.
Justin melted into Eli and at least for this moment and in this space, everything was perfect. Eli shut his eyes and clung to that, writing it into his memory as strongly as he could.
Justin White, in his arms. Pressing kiss after wordless kiss against his lips.
Chapter Eight
Justin had never been so turned on by a car ride, but then he’
d never been tied up and placed in a car before, either. Complex bindings held his arms to his side and bound his hands and palms together in front of him. Rope crisscrossed his torso and back and the knots dug into the welts on his back as he sat in passenger seat of Eli’s car. Leather creaked when he shifted, earning him a twist to a nipple through his shirt or a caress of his cock through his jeans, depending on Eli’s mood.
He was belted in but without his hands free, he was acutely aware of how off balance he was every time the car turned—and how absolutely hard he’d become. Between the ache in his back, the restriction of his arms, and the occasional spike of pain from Eli’s relentless torment of his nipple, the only thing keeping him from a mind-blowing orgasm was the tightness of his pants.
Oh, but did Eli try to bring him off. When the road emptied enough, Eli massaged Justin’s length until Justin rocked his hips, pressed his head back against the seat, and moaned.
At the moment, they were driving through a busy stretch of road and both of Eli’s hands were firmly on the steering wheel. Justin watched the lights swim by through the window. He’d half expected to go home with someone tonight, even brought a change of clothes. This is every one of my erotic dreams come true.
“Is it, now?”
A shiver slid straight down Justin, even as embarrassment rose like summer heat. “I . . . didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Eli’s chuckle was almost inaudible over the car noise. “Yet you did.”
“Guess you’re used to hearing that.”
“No, actually. You’re the first.”
No way. “How is that even possible?”
Silence for a moment as Eli switched lanes. “I’m a bit much for most, really.”
All those jealous looks at the party. “But everyone wants you.”
“Everyone thinks they want me. Most subs I’ve scened with like the experience, but I’m a bit too—much—for long-term.”
“Most?” There was the stab of jealousy. Not like Justin hadn’t been with other men. Or been dominated by them. Or kept by them—Francis. He shivered.
Eli glanced over, brows furrowing. “Most. Some want that intensity, but my D/s relationships have been no more than that—Dominant and submissive. And always short-term.”