My fuck toys—referring to them that way kept things less complicated for me—came down a few minutes later, looking exactly as they had when they went upstairs. There was still a gleam in the pretty boy’s eyes, as though he hadn’t quite come down from his high.
“It’s late,” I told them. “And I’m sure you’re exhausted; however, I’m not sure when you last ate. Are you hungry?”
Both men looked at me and nodded. Now that I thought about it, until a few minutes ago, I wasn’t sure either of them had said anything—except to answer my questions—since they emerged from the aftercare rooms.
“Good. So am I.” I looked at the cowboy. “Since you’re the chef, you have free rein of my kitchen.”
His eyes widened as they should. My home had top-of-the-line everything, including a chef’s kitchen. I wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, but I could hold my own. Plus, my baby sister loved spending time in there, making a mess while she worked to concoct something amazing. I would admit, her cooking skills weren’t any better than mine, but I generally suffered through simply because it put a smile on her face.
“The fridge is stocked, so make whatever sounds appealing. I prefer meat over vegetables and keep the carbs to a minimum. If there’s anything you need for future meals, jot it down and I’ll have it delivered.”
“Yes, Zeke. Thank you,” the cowboy said.
I stepped back out of the way, signaling for him to get started. While he took care of dinner, I had plans for the pretty boy. Plans that included him taking care of me.
“You. Back upstairs. I need to shower.”
A smile formed on his lips as he said, “Yes, Zeke.”
*
Case
(The pretty boy)
I WAS STILL TRYING TO wrap my head around the fact that Zeke Lautner lived in a fucking mansion. In fact, the long, winding road up to the place had me feeling as though I was about to greet royalty.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t a traditional mansion but it was ridiculously nice. Honestly, I’d expected him to live in a loft warehouse of some sort. The type with concrete floors, exposed brick, and pipes running along the ceiling joists. This was … not that.
In the living room, which appeared to be the focal point of the downstairs, there were two oversized black leather sofas with an iron coffee table between them. If I wasn’t mistaken, that coffee table doubled as a cage. Whether it was for Tank (I somehow doubted that) or for his human fuck toys, I wasn’t sure. The hardwood floors were sleek and dark, the walls gleamed white, and the fixtures appeared to be black iron. A couple of splatter-paint art pieces—black, white, and red—decorated the one wall that didn’t contain floor-to-ceiling windows.
Based on what little I’d seen, I would venture a guess that it came in close to four thousand square feet with wide-open spaces and a monochromatic theme. I’d noticed two additional bedrooms upstairs when we headed down the hallway to the two guest bedrooms. One looked to be the master bedroom, the other very feminine, as though a woman lived there. However, there was no one else in the house. Not that I could tell, anyway.
I followed Zeke back up the stairs, admiring the impressive staircase as I went. The floating knotted-wood planks stained the same color of the hardwood and decorative wrought iron railing were unique by design. Very impressive.
I had a weird desire to snoop around, to see if I could find what made this guy tick. And maybe I would have, except once we reached the top landing, my body hardened at the thought of what was going to come next.
Honestly, I didn’t care what he intended to do to me. After that scene at the club, I was ready and willing to bow at the man’s feet. No one had ever made me feel what he’d made me feel. The pain, the pleasure. The intensity of it all still lingered even a couple of hours later.
Zeke stepped into the room I’d pegged as the master bedroom. The space was enormous, as was the furniture. Plush gray carpet covered the floor, a huge bed sat on one side of the room, several rectangular windows high up on the wall above it.
I noticed instantly that the bed was constructed of thick, black iron with posts that rose up from the corners and bars across the top. The headboard consisted of several rows of squares—capable of having chains hooked through them, which explained the huge cage beneath the bed, likely built to shelter one of his fuck toys, if I had to guess. It wasn’t the sort of bed you found in a regular home, that was for damn sure.
On the opposite side was a full wall of windows with thick black curtains that were currently pulled back to reveal a sliding glass door. I couldn’t tell what was outside, but I figured it had to be impressive for a room to be set up to overlook it.
There was a matching black dresser, two nightstands, a large armoire, and what appeared to be some sort of chest on the same wall as the dresser. Very modern, very open. Very unexpected.
I didn’t know how I’d envisioned Zeke Lautner designing his personal space, but it wasn’t like this.
“This way, pretty boy,” he said, motioning toward the bathroom.
I turned and followed him through a set of double doors. On the other side of those doors was a huge open space. I was equally enthralled with the decor in here, noticing there were very few walls aside from the four that confined it. The double sinks were black—appeared to be quartz—sitting atop gleaming black cabinets. No hardware, just sleek lines. There was a Jacuzzi tub that looked like it would hold three people—or maybe just one Zeke—a single door that I suspected was the water closet, and a shower that took up almost half the space. No enclosure on it, simply gray, slate-tiled walls and floor.
“Undress,” he said as he pulled his T-shirt off over his head before walking to the back of the room.
The way he moved captured my attention. All those hard muscles flexing even though he appeared relaxed. Zeke disappeared and I realized there was another door on the far end of the room, likely a closet.
Since he’d given me a command, I didn’t hesitate, stripping off my T-shirt first, my shoes and socks next, then finally my jeans. The floors were warmer than I expected and I had to wonder whether he had radiant heat beneath the tile. I’d heard that was a thing in the northern states. Having grown up in Oklahoma and Texas, that was a luxury we hadn’t needed.
When Zeke returned, the man was wearing only his jeans, his giant boots discarded in the room he’d emerged from. He moved with purpose, his long legs devouring the space on his way to the shower.
I waited, curious as to what he would do next.
The water came on and then he was stripping those jeans over his powerful legs. All corded muscle covered by smooth skin. His ass was a masterpiece, just like the rest of him.
“Over here.” He pointed toward the shower floor. “Kneel by the wall. Facing me.”
Swallowing hard, I did as he instructed, doing my best not to appear overeager. I was, but I damn sure didn’t want Zeke to know that.
The wet slate floor dug into my knees, but I welcomed the pain. It blended with the delicious sensations still coursing through my body. While I had anticipated having open wounds on my back from our scene, I’d been surprised when Mistress D informed me there were only a few large welts that would likely disappear by morning. She had applied some soothing oil over my skin, outlining the huge dragon that covered my back.
Admittedly, I’d been a little disappointed when I learned the marks would go away so quickly. I had wanted to wear them for a little while longer. Perhaps fall asleep with them, feeling the sting as I settled into bed. It would’ve been a nice reminder of the scene from earlier.
While I kneeled obediently, Zeke stepped beneath the water, which was coming at him from multiple angles—a rain shower head above him and several others lining the wall at his back. I probably should’ve tilted my head down in submission, but I was entranced by the man’s body. He was one of the biggest men I’d ever seen and I’d been around plenty, myself included. The gyms were full of powerful males and some females, all looking to enh
ance their physique to push their bodies to the limit.
There was no way Zeke didn’t work out with a body as honed as his. That wasn’t natural muscle tone, but it was admirable, regardless. His chest was broad and covered with various tattoos, but even from the front, you could see his lats. They flared out from his back, wider than his chest.
I tried to admire all the sleek lines and thick muscle, but my gaze inadvertently lowered, taking in his cock. He was hard as steel, the skin over the thick head glossy. I’d seen men with arms smaller than that man’s cock. It wasn’t just the length that was impressive, it was the girth. My ass clenched at the thought of him fucking me into oblivion. That damn plug he’d used today had absolutely nothing on him.
Soap suds began drifting down his body, gliding over his impressive dick before slipping farther until they washed down the drain. I had the strange urge to wash him, to let my hands roam over him, memorizing every inch to lock away for later.
“You didn’t come tonight,” he said, drawing my attention up his body.
His head was tilted back, his hands washing the soap from his bald head.
“No, Zeke.”
Black eyes leveled on my face a second later. “Is that normal for you?”
“If I can reach subspace, I tend to hold off.”
“That’s your drug? Subspace?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “But it’s rare that a Dom can get me there.”
“Your pain threshold is high.”
Although it wasn’t a question, I answered anyway. “Yes. And it seems the more I play, the higher it gets.”
“At what point did you realize you needed the pain?”
I hadn’t expected the questions. “I was … a … uh … teenager.” I didn’t want to go into all the reasons with him. I didn’t like talking about my childhood. While I wasn’t abused or mistreated in any way by my parents, there were some things that had molded me into the man I was today.
“How long have you been in the scene?”
“A while. I went to my first club when I was twenty-two.”
“And you’re twenty-eight?”
He obviously remembered from the time he’d asked on the plane. “Yeah. I’ll be twenty-nine in December.”
The room was filling with steam from the heat of the water, holding back the chill from the air. But it wasn’t the steam that had me warming. No, that was the way Zeke’s hand drifted down to his cock, his big fist encompassing the thick shaft as he stroked slowly, leisurely. I was entranced by the damn thing, wondering briefly if he would split me open if he fucked my ass. While Brax’s cock filled me completely, it wasn’t as long or thick.
However, I got the feeling Zeke wasn’t going to take my ass tonight. The way his eyes continued to linger on my face, I knew he was thinking about my mouth. I was almost disappointed when he didn’t move toward me once he had rinsed off completely. Instead, he took a step back and sat on the wide tiled bench in the corner.
“Your turn.” He motioned for me to get up.
My legs were trembling from anticipation, but I managed to remain steady as I got up and closed the distance between us. The water was hot but not scalding.
“Wash,” he ordered.
I’d showered with plenty of men before—some intimately, some not—but never had I felt as exposed as I did when I stood before Zeke. His eyes were merciless, roaming over every inch of me, sometimes lingering for several seconds before moving on. I worked my soapy hands over my skin, trying to focus on breathing. My cock was so hard I hurt. My balls, still sensitive from the earlier torment, felt as though they were going to explode.
It wasn’t until I was rinsed clean that Zeke spoke again.
“Over here, pretty boy. Kneel in front of me.”
Again, there was that hint of condescension when he said pretty boy. As though he was making fun of me. The humiliation only added to my desire.
I eased down between his splayed thighs, not touching him as I did. I wanted to feel his skin, curious as to whether it was as tough as the rest of him, but I knew better than to touch without permission.
He stroked his cock several times before reaching out and cupping the back of my head, drawing me closer.
“Open your mouth, pretty boy. I want those lips on my dick.”
He wasn’t gentle as he guided me forward, but I hadn’t expected him to be. I was still shocked that I was in Zeke’s house, in his shower, about to devour his cock. My thoughts briefly drifted to Brax, who was downstairs cooking. I wondered whether he wished he’d come with us. If for no other reason than to watch.
When my lips were wrapped around the thick crest of Zeke’s cock, he released my head and leaned back against the wall.
“Now suck me.”
Hesitantly, I reached up to grip him with my hand. I half expected him to order me not to touch him but he didn’t.
He growled low, an aggressive, albeit sexy sound that made my cock jerk and twitch. Forcing my jaw as wide as it would go, I worked his cock into my mouth, retreating slowly, then pushing forward again. His cock was velvet over steel, every vein and ridge slick beneath my tongue.
Zeke didn’t move, but I could feel his eyes on me.
I briefly wondered if he ever lost control. Doubtful. Not based on the way he remained still as I worked him with my tongue and lips. I couldn’t take all of him, but he didn’t seem to want that, so I didn’t gag myself. I lost myself in the smoothness of his flesh against my tongue, the way his cock flexed in my hand as I stroked in tandem with the bobbing of my head.
Seconds turned to minutes but Zeke didn’t move. He seemed content to enjoy my mouth on him, but not once did I get the impression he was going to come. My jaw started to ache, but I embraced the pain, letting it fuel my desire to please this man in any way that I could. Giving back to him what he’d given me earlier tonight.
Time continued to crawl by as I sucked and licked, stroked and squeezed Zeke’s enormous dick. I’d somehow gotten lost in the rhythmic movement, so when Zeke’s hand curled around my head, it startled me.
“Wrap your lips around me and suck,” he ordered. “Close your mouth.”
I did and Zeke took over, holding my head as he forced his cock in deep.
“Relax your throat.”
It was relaxed, but I couldn’t tell him that.
“Take more of me, pretty boy.” His tone was firm, lacking any emotion—aside from that patronizing superiority when he said pretty boy—whatsoever. “All the way in your throat.”
Yeah. I wasn’t sure that was even possible, but I couldn’t argue with him filling my airway, the head of his dick brushing my tonsils. Every movement was controlled. Every thrust of his hips. Every pull of my head. He was using me. I was merely an orifice for his pleasure.
I fucking loved every second of it.
He became rougher as the minutes ticked by, but still controlled. He knew what he wanted and he was bound to take it from me. I was more than willing, eager. I wanted him to come down my throat, to taste him.
His cock pulsed a few times and I sensed he was close, but there was no sound coming from him. No grunts, no groans of pleasure. He used me roughly, fucking my mouth in earnest now, driving deep into my throat. I would gag and he would retreat but only slightly before pushing in deep again. My lips were burning from being stretched thin, but I had no way of asking him to stop.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned. “And you’re gonna drink it all down.”
I moaned softly, encouraging him.
The force intensified and then he jerked my head all the way forward, my nose brushing his pubic hair, his cock brutalizing my throat. It was only when I thought I would pass out that I felt him shudder, his dick pulsing as hot cum splashed into my mouth. His cock head filled my throat and he groaned long and low.
He retreated shortly thereafter, releasing my head and staring down at me. My eyes watered from having my airway blocked.
“Now what do you sa
y, fuck toy?”
I locked my gaze with his as I swallowed, my throat raw from his abuse. “Thank you, Zeke.”
The approval I saw in his black eyes was all I needed. And I got the feeling it was all I would get.
ELEVEN
ZEKE
Saturday, October 13
I WOKE ON SATURDAY MORNING feeling as though I’d slept in a strange place. I figured it had to do with the fact there were people in my house. I was used to solitude. Just me and Tank. My subconscious seemed to know that the cowboy and the pretty boy were there, although I couldn’t see them.
Having observed them at dinner, I opted out of having them sleep in the cage beneath my bed. I could tell they were exhausted, likely more so from their trip than the scene at the club. I wasn’t one to be gentle on my toys, but I figured a full night’s sleep would be good for them. It would prepare them for what I had in store.
The sound of metal clinking on metal mixed with the deep baritone of male voices rang up the stairs. Since I’d given the cowboy instructions to cook breakfast, I could only assume he was extremely obedient. I figured Tank was down there keeping him company because he was no longer sprawled out along the foot of the bed.
I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand.
“Fuck,” I grumbled. It was already eleven o’clock. Granted, it had been a late night—I hadn’t closed my eyes until right around three—but it wasn’t like me to sleep late, regardless.
So, maybe the cowboy was making lunch, instead.
With the curtains pulled back, the sun shone in, the golden rays bouncing off the water of the lake a few yards below. I had bought the house for the view alone. It settled something inside me. I spent plenty of time out on the deck or in the yard simply admiring the view.
My stomach growled, a direct response to the scent of bacon wafting up the stairs. Having enjoyed the cowboy’s cooking last night, I was curious as to what he would come up with this morning. While beef stroganoff wouldn’t have been my first choice, I certainly couldn’t complain.
Their Ruthless Sadist (Office Intrigue, 5) Page 12