“Enough,” I barked a few seconds later.
Following my command, Tank backed up until he was heeling at my feet while the cowboy and the pretty boy stood stone-still, their eyes dropping to the floor.
Good to know that command worked on more than my dog.
“What’re you here for?” I asked, wondering which of them would be brave enough to speak.
The pretty boy was the one to lift his head. “Justin asked us to look at a couple of apartments.”
I allowed my gaze to trail over the dragon peeking out from beneath the neck of his tight T-shirt. “For?”
“Temporary residence,” he said, although it sounded more like a question. “We’ve accepted the job offers and we’re moving here at the end of the week.”
“What does Trent think of you abandoning him?” I questioned.
The pretty boy grinned. “We’re still employed by him. Will be until everything’s up and running. It’ll probably be a year before we’re needed in our new roles.”
“A year, huh? And you’ll be here in Chicago?”
“Yes,” the pretty boy said, his eyes heating. He evidently knew the route my brain had taken.
“Good. I can think of a few things to keep you busy.”
“Really?” The pretty boy looked far too hopeful.
“Provided you don’t mind being naked and on all fours for a majority of the time. I can think of at least a few dozen ways to use you for my own benefit.”
They’d lucked out that day. I didn’t require either of them to give me an answer or to crawl around on all fours to interview for the position because the elevators had opened on my floor and I’d stepped out without a word, leaving them to take care of their business.
What I’d wanted to do was have them come into my office so I could pick up where we’d left off at the club the Friday before.
Looked as though I was going to get the opportunity to do so now.
I let my eyes stray to the floor-to-ceiling windows and the building that was directly across from me. I wondered what those old boys across the way would think if they saw a couple of naked masochists posing as furniture in my office.
I glanced at the keys and smiled.
Yeah. This might end up being a good day after all.
*
Case
(The pretty boy)
“AH, CHRIST! THERE’S CONCRETE EVERYWHERE, Brax. I’m gonna lose my mind.” I gripped my head dramatically because what else was I going to do? Somehow I had to make Brax feel my pain.
“We’re in a parking garage,” he stated, not giving in to my drama.
“It’s not any better on the street,” I said as I pulled my sunglasses over my eyes when we stepped out of the shaded parking area. It didn’t make much of a difference because the brilliant Chicago sun was blocked out by all the surrounding concrete.
I should’ve felt bad for giving him shit, but I didn’t. I knew Brax was exhausted after that hellacious road trip. So was I and I’d taken plenty of naps throughout. In my defense, I wasn’t a huge Florida Georgia Line fan (I preferred Brantley Gilbert), but the man I’d fallen in love with was. So, in an effort to save myself from wanting to jump out of a moving vehicle, I’d feigned sleep until it finally caught on.
“Who has the key to the apartment?” I asked Brax as we stepped into the building. We were surrounded by marble and chrome, straight lines and stale air.
I am officially in big city hell.
“Ben said he’d have it.”
“Mind if we stop at the restroom before we head up?” I motioned toward the back of the building, past all the gleaming black marble, fancy fixtures, and suits wandering around aimlessly.
Brax sighed as though he was put out. “Fine.”
The man had been downing coffee like it was nearing extinction, so I didn’t buy for a minute that he wasn’t in need of the facilities.
A few minutes later, feeling ten pounds lighter, I emerged from the restroom and waited for Brax to finish with his pretty-boy routine.
I grinned to myself. I found it ironic that Zeke had taken to calling me pretty boy instead of Brax. Granted, there was a hint of condescension in his tone when he did it, so I wasn’t mistaking it for a compliment. Still, it amused me to no end.
I’d never been called pretty in my life, and believe it or not, I wasn’t the sort to prance around in hopes someone would check me out. That came naturally and it had nothing to do with ego. At six foot three, two-hundred twenty pounds of solid muscle, I got the stares without even trying. I was a big man and I worked damn hard to keep it that way. The single dragon tattoo that adorned the upper half of my body garnered some attention as well.
But I was no pretty boy. However, there was something erotic about the way Zeke said it, so I wasn’t complaining.
The truth was, Brax was the pretty one in the relationship. With his perfectly mussed golden-brown hair, those emerald-green eyes, and the baby face, he looked roughly ten years younger than he was. Which was saying something considering he was all of twenty-seven. Most people figured him for a teenager.
He damn sure wasn’t a teenager. I could vouch for that.
The men’s room door opened and Brax stepped out, pressing his Stetson firmly on his head while those curious eyes scanned the space around him.
Fine. With the cowboy hat and those sexy-as-fuck Wrangler jeans and boots, he didn’t look like a teenager. He looked like a man you wanted to strip naked and engage in some wild and kinky sex. For the record, I’d done that plenty of times.
“You ready?” I asked, pretending I was tired of standing around waiting for him.
He turned to me, a serious expression on his face. “You have to be on your best behavior, Case.”
I frowned. “Me? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because the last time we were here, you got Addison in trouble. That girl doesn’t need any more trouble.”
I chuckled. “No, that girl lives for trouble. I didn’t do anything. She used me as an excuse to get her ass paddled by her Doms.”
“You locked her out of her office,” he declared.
“No I didn’t. She did. I merely engaged the lock. She was the one who shut the door.”
Brax rolled his eyes, then pivoted toward the elevator.
“You think Zeke’s here?” I didn’t want to voice the question, but I had to get it out there. That damn Sadist was all I could think about these days.
“Not if we’re lucky,” Brax said, his voice pitched low.
I knew Brax was looking forward to seeing Zeke every bit as much as I was. Perhaps more. Okay, maybe not more. Ever since that damn scene at Dichotomy, when Zeke had whipped me right into subspace, my dick had been perpetually hard. No matter how often I came—by my own hand or Brax’s phenomenal ass or mouth—it didn’t seem to help. I wanted what Zeke Lautner could give me. Us.
Since the day I met Brax, I had never questioned what I found so appealing about another submissive. He was one of the greatest men I’d ever met. Wicked smart, eerily attentive, ridiculously attractive, and damn good in the sack. Those were all qualities that appealed to me. However, he was a masochist like me. He wanted someone to give him pain, not to offer it.
Insert Zeke Lautner. Big, brooding, and brutal. All the things I longed for in a Sadist. Brax and I agreed that Zeke was the only man who could give us what we needed. While I was content with the status of my relationship with Brax—I loved the man, for fuck’s sake—we both knew we needed more than what we could give each other.
See, we were both masochists, and while we longed for pain and humiliation, neither of us was equipped to dish it out. We took care of each other and we sated those basic biological functions, but there was still that underlying need, the ache to be manhandled, beaten, fucked within an inch of our lives.
Hence the reason we went to Dichotomy as often as possible. It was our attempt to find a Dom with a heavy hand, one who might strip us of our control by beating us down in an ef
fort to build us back up.
I’d been to plenty of clubs in my day, including those that were glammed up on the outside but filled to capacity with men and women who were mere caricatures of the roles they attempted to play. Fortunately, I’d found Dichotomy in Dallas and had since managed to at least find one or two Doms who could give me a little of what I so desperately needed. However, no one had ever delivered it the way Zeke had.
Believe it or not, the truly sadistic Doms weren’t easy to find. While safe, sane, and consensual was the unspoken rule in the kink world, in my experience, most Doms were so caught up in it they couldn’t be effective. Always asking if I was okay, wanting to know my color, fearful they were going to make one wrong move and cause more pain than I could handle when, in reality, they rarely even registered on the low end of my pain threshold.
And that was the main reason I’d developed some sort of strange fascination with Zeke Lautner. I’d never met a man like him before. He didn’t ask questions like, “Color, sub?” or “Do you want it harder?” or “Are you ready to come?”
Nope. Zeke didn’t ask questions because he didn’t give a shit what my color was or if I needed to be hit harder or even if I wanted to come. Whenever I was in his presence, there was no question as to who was in charge. And I wasn’t sure how, but he seemed to know what I needed. I’d experienced his personal brand of Sadism only once, but it was an experience I would never forget.
“Tell me you’re really not hoping he’s here,” I taunted Brax when the elevator doors closed, sealing us into the small box. I fucking hated confined spaces. I imagined the higher we went, the thinner the air got, my chest squeezing for fear I wouldn’t be able to breathe.
“I’m really not.”
“Liar.”
A smile pulled at Brax’s mouth. I knew it. He was lying.
When the elevator stopped on the thirty-third floor, I waited for Brax to exit before I stumbled out, hoping no one noticed my misstep.
“Well, well, well,” Dale Cooper said as he pushed to his feet. “Look what the cat dragged in.” He moved around the reception desk and grinned. “Glad you made it all right. Long drive?”
“That’s an understatement,” Brax said, shaking Dale’s hand. He nodded toward me. “Not that he’d know. He slept the entire trip.”
I shook Dale’s hand. “Only because his singin’ makes me wanna stab out my own eardrums.”
“Fuck off,” Brax said on a laugh, that sexy grin of his heating my blood. The man had a way of derailing me from all good intentions.
Brax turned back to Dale. “We’re here to get the apartment key. Ben said he’d have it.”
“Ben took Addison to lunch.”
Well, fuck. I’d been looking forward to a shower.
Dale smirked. “However, I heard a rumor that Zeke has your keys.”
My back straightened and my cock made certain my brain was aware he was there.
“Hold up a sec.” Dale marched back around his desk and grabbed the telephone receiver. He punched a couple of buttons. “Mr. Lautner, I’ve got Brax and Case here. They stopped by to get the keys to their apartment.”
While I couldn’t make out what was being said, I did hear the distinct rumble of Zeke’s rough baritone. I noticed the way Dale’s eyes flared slightly before he quickly masked it.
“Yes, Sir. I’ll let them know”
Although my brain was screaming, “Oh, shit,” my body was having an entirely different reaction to this curious turn of events.
THREE
ZEKE
“PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE, DALE. They can wait,” I told the receptionist when he delivered the news that the pretty boy and the cowboy had arrived.
“Yes, Sir. I’ll let them know.”
Disconnecting the phone, I glanced out the window. The sun had slipped behind the clouds, darkening my office.
What the fuck was I doing? Was I really contemplating the idea of fucking with these boys? It would make more sense if I simply pretended they didn’t exist. It wasn’t like me to play with the same submissive more than once. I’d done it before and it had gotten me absolutely nowhere. Since I wasn’t a glutton for punishment, I should take a page from my history book and leave these two alone. Even if I was entertained for a short period of time, nothing good could come of it in the long run.
Still, I was thinking about them even as they sat one floor up in the reception area. I remembered that day on Trent’s jet. The day I learned one of my good friends had set me up. I’d been relaxing with Ransom while the pretty boy sat across from me, his gaze frequently straying my way. The moment the cowboy came into the room, I found myself unable to resist fucking with them.
“Trent wants these boys to meet with Justin,” I told Ransom.
“Why?”
“Hell if I know.” I smirked. “Maybe he’s looking to add some decoration to the office.”
Ransom’s gaze strayed to the pretty boy. “Well, that’d do it.”
I peered over at my friend once again, gauging his interest in the two. If Ransom wanted these two for himself, I’d certainly hand them over on a silver platter. I didn’t need the fucking headache.
Unfortunately, Ransom’s appreciation was only skin deep. He wasn’t interested in the pretty boy or the cowboy.
“String ’em up naked,” Ransom said. “Maybe in the lobby so everyone can watch.”
Yep, the man was as sadistic as I was.
But he was right. These two would make nice office decor. I could admit I wouldn’t mind seeing the pretty boy tied up and at my mercy. Perhaps trussed up beneath my desk while I worked. I could use the other for a footstool.
Speaking of other…
The cowboy appeared in the doorway, his green eyes instantly landing on his friend.
“Sit,” I commanded, pointing toward the spot beside the pretty boy. “Better yet, both of you kneel.”
Without a word, the pretty boy inched off the edge of the seat and right onto the floor. His actions didn’t surprise me one bit. He was eager to please. I’d seen it in his eyes when ours met earlier. The cowboy followed suit, moving close.
“I’ve seen you both before,” I said.
Neither of them spoke.
They were good boys.
Exactly how I liked them.
“How old are you, pretty boy?”
The pretty boy’s mouth moved, but the rest of him remained still. “Twenty-eight, Sir.”
“And you, cowboy?”
A small smile curved the cowboy’s lips. “Twenty-seven, Sir.”
“You two like to play?” I asked.
Neither spoke, but I hadn’t addressed one or the other, so it made sense.
“Pretty boy,” I called out. “Answer me.”
The pretty boy nodded his head. “Yes, Sir.”
“Are you collared, pretty boy?” They weren’t wearing collars, but being this was a business trip, it was possible they’d simply left them at home.
“No, Sir.”
“What about you, cowboy?”
“No, Sir.”
“Zeke,” I clarified. “I don’t like Sir. When you speak to me, refer to me as Zeke.”
“No, Zeke,” the cowboy corrected. “I’m not collared.”
“If I insist you strip right here, what would be your answer, cowboy?”
“I would oblige, Zeke,” he said, his voice raspy.
I peered over at Ransom. He offered a shrug as he grabbed a magazine and moved to one of the chairs farther away from me.
He was giving me free rein and who was I to pass up the opportunity?
“Stand,” I insisted. “From here on out, I’m speaking to both of you.”
Both men stood slowly, their eyes remaining glued to the floor.
I took a moment to look them over from head to toe. I definitely liked what I saw. I liked my submissives strong but compliant. And I could tell by the bulges behind their zippers that they were enjoying the fuck out of this.
I decid
ed to call the cowboy’s bluff.
“Strip,” I demanded. “Right now.”
While I hadn’t touched them that day, I had admired the view. Forcing them to kneel while their cocks stood proud and eager had been a rather pleasant way to pass the time.
Regardless of my past, I hadn’t had a submissive draw my attention quite the way they had. Not in a long damn time, anyway. That didn’t mean this was a smart move on my part. I tended to overwhelm people. Anyone who knew me would say I wasn’t normal. Not in any sense of the word.
Of course, I dealt with a myriad of stereotypes from all walks of life. People who didn’t understand my lifestyle and those who confused my desires with something else.
The bottom line was, I was a Sadist.
By definition, a Sadist was a person who received sexual gratification from causing pain and degradation to another. Yes. That was me to a T. I didn’t hide it, either. I only played with those who understood what it meant and who were willing to indulge those desires.
However, people were often trying to tie it to some psychological defect. Some went so far as to say Sadism had something to do with anger, a need to punish or to overcome some trauma from their childhood.
First of all, I wasn’t an angry man. Not by a long shot. I had a great life, good friends, people I depended on, and those I would lay my life down for. I didn’t walk around in a rage, wanting to beat on someone for the hell of it. And despite what my baby sister said, I didn’t listen to angry-man music. It was merely music to me. It suited me.
Secondly, I’d experienced trauma like a lot of other people. Losing my parents had been horrific. I wouldn’t deny it. I’d spent time talking to counselors, grieving, mourning the loss of two incredible people. I had learned to deal and moved on. The pain was still there, but it didn’t haunt me the way it had initially. I wasn’t looking to punish other people for my loss. What fucking good would that do?
Of course, some people believed Sadists lacked empathy. Not true. If they did, it likely had nothing to do with their sadistic streak. There were plenty of people who lacked empathy. That didn’t mean they had the desire to cause physical pain to another person. Personally, I cared about plenty of people. Namely, my baby sister. Also, the friends I’d made over the years. And fine, perhaps by referring to people by nicknames rather than their given name allowed me to keep my distance. That didn’t mean I lacked the ability to associate with them. I merely wanted to keep them on the periphery of my world. It was my preference.
Their Ruthless Sadist (Office Intrigue, 5) Page 4