“Oh?” That shit really worked? Because Matt hadn’t recalled it having any effect on him when he’d been told to be home before curfew or not to go out with his friends. “For how long?”
“As long as it takes.” Standing in the doorway, Curtis bit into a pear and gave Garet a nod. “C’mon. I put the paper and pens on the table. Get writing, kid.”
Sliding off the bed, Garet walked out, head lowered, but no longer scowling. Matt widened his eyes at Curtis and let out the impressed whistle he’d been holding in.
Curtis stepped in and closed the door.
“Nice work. I don’t…” Seeing the frown on his face, Matt switched gears. “What’s wrong?”
Pear dangling from his fingers, he searched Matt’s gaze. “I don’t know everything about what went down and I don’t have to, but I’m going to make him so fucking sorry he won’t know what tied his balls in a knot.”
“What?” Were they talking about Garet, because if so, the whole ball thing was disturbing.
Curtis jerked his head toward the living room. “I got your bag. You’re back on my couch, and I’m on you tonight.”
On him?
Curtis’s last words registered first, and Matt rewound. “Lawson threw me out of his apartment?”
“He thinks it’s…” Shaking his head, Curtis bit into the pear and ground the fruit between his teeth. “Nevermind. He’s not thinking. He’s over-fucking-thinking. So, until we wear him down, you’re all mine.” The last was accompanied by a shit-eating grin and an eyebrow waggle.
The argument at the gas station. Matt closed his eyes, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d really stepped in it with Lawson this time. All of the might-have-beens he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring had snarled with his memories of Lawson’s mouth on his own, producing a bitter cocktail of longing and regret. “I never should have told him.”
Curtis clapped Matt on the shoulder, making him open his eyes on a jump. “Yeah. That whole virgin sacrifice thing is so not a turn-on, but we’ll see if we can make him think better of throwing you to me.”
Shooting off the bed, Matt put several feet between himself and Curtis. “What the fuck are you talking about? He actually fucking told you?”
Curtis tossed the rest of the pear in the trash and dusted his hands. “I said I wouldn’t take you back unless he told me the whole story. So, here we are.”
“Great.” Matt groaned. “Just great. Look, if he doesn’t—”
“Oh no.” Curtis wagged his finger. “You have a hard-on every time he’s in hearing distance. I am so not buying the Matt the Martyr routine. Not anymore. Lawson, I can’t do anything but fuck with. And it is going to be my supreme pleasure to show him the error of his ways.”
“I don’t have a choice here?”
Curtis tilted his head, considering, then gave Matt a wicked smile. “Nope. But ya know? I’m kinda glad you did freak him the fuck out, because this is going to be fun.”
That afternoon, Curtis brought him to a leather store downtown and bought him a tight pair of pants that rode right up his crack. Matt walked around for twenty minutes trying to tug the seam away from his ass until Curtis slapped his hands away. “You do that in the bar, and I’ll make you take them off.”
Matt’s brow tightened. “You can’t do that.”
A slow grin spread across Curtis’s face and he leaned in. “Try me.”
Curtis paid for the trousers and Matt mentally added it to his tab before the Dom caught his expression and tapped him on the nose with his credit card. “This is one is on me.”
Matt nodded slowly. “Okay. I suppose if I’m going to have something up my ass all night, you should at least pay me for it.”
“Boy…” A knowing smile ate up the rest of Curtis’s grin, and he palmed the back of Matt’s neck, tipping his forehead close. “I promise when I’m up your ass you won’t try to pull me out and dance out of the way.”
Blushing furiously, Matt jerked back, but Curtis held him fast. The shop clerk coughed, but Curtis ignored him, instead slicking Matt’s lips with his tongue and slanting his mouth across Matt’s before delving deep. The man tasted like coffee and peppermint, an odd combination that settled Matt’s nerves and he growled into the kiss, dick hardening. He might want Lawson, but Curtis had been a close second for a while.
“Stop.” Matt pulled back, breathing hard, and shook his head. “Just… I can’t.”
Things were too confusing as they were.
Dark pupils eating up his eyes, Curtis pulled away, the look a dangerous one Matt didn’t recognize. It said, for now in a way that made Matt believe there would come a moment in the not-too-distant future when Curtis could and would have everything he wanted. “As you wish.”
They drove back to The Asylum, Matt wearing the leather pants and a white T, a temporary collar around his neck from Curtis’s giant stash. Dude had a thing for ropes and bondage gear. Some of the cuffs in his collection clearly fitted to the collars so a sub would have his hands bound to his throat or behind his neck. Matt didn’t even want to know what the circle in the middle of the chest harness was for—or the spikes on some of the other restraints.
Curtis buckled the collar, his gaze lingering on a tag at the center, expression far away before his expression hardened. “This belonged to Lawson once. He’ll recognize it even though no one else will.”
Matt frowned at the cryptic statement, trying to picture Lawson wearing a submissive’s collar, and decided to roll with whatever Curtis had planned. As long as the man didn’t have him scrubbing out more trash barrels all night, he was good. He’d smelled enough stale beer to last a lifetime.
In the bar, things were hopping. Ram and his bros lingered around the pool table, leaning on the cues though they didn’t play. Members cut him and his crew a wide berth. Taking something shiny out of his pocket, Curtis let a fine length of chain slip through his fingers and clipped the end to Matt’s throat. “Two steps behind me, boy. Eyes down. And for fuck’s sake, whatever you do, keep that mouth shut unless you want to find out what a club punishment is really like.”
Matt nodded, fingers lifting toward his throat. At Curtis’s sharp look, he put his hand to his side and lowered his gaze when Curtis tugged him toward Ram by the leash.
“My man. You going to play the game or are you just looking for something long to stroke?” The humor in Curtis’s tone softened the sarcasm.
Ram laughed. “Looks like you got some balls to break tonight yourself. Lawson get tired of his toy already?’
“You know how it is.” Matt felt more than saw Curtis’s shrug, his field of vision limited to Ram’s shiny black boots and the striped end of the pool cue resting against the wide planked floor. “Law’s used to an easy win and this one puts up a hell of a fight.” Matt’s fists clenched at his sides, and he breathed deep when Curtis palmed his ass, pulling him close. “I like a challenge. Besides, he gets bratty, I’ve got something more substantial than Lawson to occupy his mouth.”
Matt bit the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood. Curtis pulled him along to the next group of men and signaled Reed for a beer, making Matt kneel and tip his head back while he drank from the stein and then bent low to kiss him and transferred the mouthful with a hearty helping of lips and tongue.
Nostrils flaring, Matt glared when Curtis lifted his head and shared a wink that was for him alone and brushed his hair back from his face. “Good boy.”
Thankfully, Lawson wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and Matt figured around eleven p.m. that he’d gotten away without witnessing a different kind of bloodshed in The Asylum. That was, until Curtis turned to him where he perched on a barstool and tried all night not to look at the door every time it opened to see if it’d be Lawson entering with that grim look and long-legged stride.
“Ready?” Curtis put his hand on the back of Matt’s neck, bringing his attention around, and encouraging him to stand.
Matt canted his head, eyes narrowed. “For?”<
br />
“We’re going upstairs my reluctant sub.” Whistling, he preceded Matt up the first flight of steps and stopped in front of the dungeon door to crack his knuckles. “Let the games begin.”
All he could think as Curtis raised his hand to rap on the dungeon door was, if this was the beginning, then what the hell had the rest of the night been?
Chapter Sixteen
The quiet of the dungeon, the scent of leather, the slight chill in the air seeping from the bare brick walls, soon to be chased away by body heat, all grounded Lawson as he did one last round to make sure everything was in order. Whatever else went sideways, this was his space. The only one besides the ring where he understood the rules. Where he had complete control.
He shoved up the sleeves of his black shirt, the leather encasing his thighs and the heavy boots he wore all coming together to put him in the headspace he needed to do his job. The safety of the members required his complete focus. Most were experienced enough to be left to their own devices, but even the most practiced player could slip. A Dom might need help getting a panicking sub out of intricately tied ropes. A sub might be too deep in the zone to use his safeword. Restraints might be too tight, or even too loose.
Any number of things could go wrong and at least one long-established member was always on hand to supervise on nights the dungeon was open. Lawson had chosen the first that the play space would be used after a month of renovations to assure himself things would go off without a hitch.
Here, more than anywhere else in The Asylum, needed to be safe. Welcoming. An escape from the outside world where power and vulnerability found a balance in calculated risk, delving into pleasure and pain with no limits beyond what the players agreed to.
He wouldn’t be one of them, but at least he’d get to see The Asylum as it was intended to be. Out of reach of judgment and fear that had no place within these walls.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to face them again. He’d gotten Ezran home, choosing silence rather than the lecture the boy needed. His behavior was frustrating. Disappointing. None of the words he could say would be enough, but he had a feeling Ezran knew. The boy had returned with him without protest. Gone to his room. Whispered an apology before Lawson left him there.
For tonight, he’d stay put. Maybe some time to think of the danger he’d put both himself and Garet in would be enough to adjust his attitude. If not, there was plenty of time to figure out how to handle him.
He’ll be fine once Noah’s home.
Four years. Noah had said four years as though it was final.
I don’t accept that.
Which didn’t matter. Dwelling on the facts wouldn’t help the boy. Wouldn’t help Lawson keep his promises to Noah.
Inhaling slowly, Lawson looked over the brick wall where various whips, floggers, and paddles hung, his lips quirking as he recalled being on the receiving end of them all. He and Curtis had been introduced to the BDSM lifestyle together. Noah dominating them both had been natural, until they realized their own inclinations toward taking control, rather than surrendering it. A power struggle between three Doms was less than ideal, but there had been some pleasure in fighting for who would be on top.
He’d stopped challenging Noah long before Curtis. No matter how much he trained, he’d never best Noah’s extreme conditioning and he didn’t enjoy losing. He’d made a horrible submissive.
And he had the scars to prove it. Scars he was rather fond of, much like the ones he’d earned in his most challenging fights. Every mark on his skin that had come after he’d met Noah made the ones before seem inconsequential. His pride had been restored a little more with every one.
Checking the time on his phone, he went to unlock the door. Members were waiting patiently, lined up on the stairs, and he inclined his head, letting them know their night could begin. He stood back, arms folded over his chest as the men passed. Most nodded to him in greeting. One or two introduced their new subs. Hinted they’d be willing to share if he was interested.
The last made his eyes narrow. Since when had it become acceptable to be that forward with him? Curtis was right, he needed to make it clear he hadn’t become soft. If seeing him with Matt less than a handful of times had the men acting this familiar, ending things before they’d gone any further was probably for the best.
His expression had the next few men passing him without comment.
Until Doc, who wasn’t the least bit fazed as he stepped into the dungeon alone, blocking the line as he stopped and gave Lawson a slow once over, one of his self-satisfied smiles on his lips. “This should be interesting. I’m available to take over if needed. My boy had to take an extra shift. He’ll be sad.”
Lawson gave the other man a cold look, not in the mood for the cheap shots he always seemed to use as foreplay. “That won’t be necessary.”
Doc let out a soft laugh. “We’ll see.”
Before long, Lawson understood why the sadist was so amused. He sucked his teeth as Curtis stepped into the dungeon with Matt trailing close behind. Every eye in the dungeon seemed to fix on him as Curtis passed with a slight incline of his head, slowing once they’d passed to bring Matt to his side with a firm grip around the back of his neck. Right below a leather collar.
Curtis was a good Dom. Attentive, speaking low to Matt when he stiffened, uncertainty filled his eyes. He wouldn’t have brought the other man to the dungeon, nevermind wearing a collar, without going over and having signed the club rules for safety, protocol, and power exchange. How he’d convinced Matt to experiment with him was a mystery, but the first sign that it hadn’t been done willingly and Lawson would step in. That was his role here. Nothing more than he’d do for any other.
But when Matt nodded, Lawson clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away. Matt had been staying at The Asylum long enough to know what his options were. Lawson had told him as much. Putting on a show in the bar to make himself seem unavailable was one thing.
Maybe he was tired of the act. He’d developed somewhat of a friendship with Curtis. Was clearly more comfortable with the man.
This is good. Better than good.
“Rough deal, pal.” One of the few fighters who rarely came up to the dungeon, Dallas Stephens, broke away from the line and moved to Lawson’s side.
His friendly approach wasn’t as misplaced as many of the others. Mid-twenties, with close cut, curly black hair and light brown skin, Dallas was a mid-weight fighter who’d wrestled semi-pro for a few years. He’d been initiated into the club by Lawson himself after his own business mogul father had disowned him. They’d met while he was trying to get a job in the mailroom of a company Lawson was consulting with. The way he’d kicked over Lawson’s bike might have led to his untimely demise. Instead, Lawson gave him the opportunity to pay him back the damages with a few winnings in the ring. Which he’d done, and more, over the past two years.
“Fuckers are placing bets on how long it’ll be before you take over.” Dallas kept his voice intentionally low enough for Lawson’s ears alone. “Ram’s getting them worked up.”
“Not surprising.” Lawson schooled his features, seeing Ram beyond the doors, a smirk planted on his lips. Looked like he’d convinced one of his cronies to let him fuck them after all. “He’ll have to find his entertainment elsewhere.”
Dallas crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe, but he’s looking for any rift between you and Curtis that he can exploit. You two’ve had your moments, but you’ve never fought over a man before, far as I know. More than once and it’s gonna become an issue.”
Lawson glanced over at Dallas, hoping he found some assurance in his nod, because there wasn’t much else he could give him. Matt being passed back and forth wasn’t ideal, but so long as Lawson and Curtis came off as being on the same page regarding him, few would dare interfere.
Which meant he couldn’t glare when Curtis brought Matt to the Saint Andrew’s Cross at the far end of the room. He couldn’t grind his teeth as Curtis ran his finger
s through Matt’s hair, then hooked his fingers under the hem of his shirt, drawing it up and over his head before tossing it aside. Could do nothing as Matt’s leather pants followed.
“If it helps any, I get what you saw in him.” Ram had taken Dallas’s place at Lawson’s side, his tone laced with derision. “Letting Curtis steal him away and fuck him right in front of you, though? Damn weak. Did Noah take your balls to prison with him?”
Another pitiful attempt to get under Lawson’s skin. Mention of Noah might have done the trick once, but he barely had enough attention to spare Ram as Curtis restrained Matt to the cross. He knew the extent of Matt’s inexperience. He wouldn’t go that far in front of the whole fucking club, would he?
“Nothing?” Ram seemed irritated now. “All this trouble and he’s no different than any other twink you get bored of after one night?”
“Is there a reason you’re still here, Ram?”
“Just having a friendly chat, man.” Ram snorted as Lawson turned to begin his rounds. He grabbed Lawson’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me I just had to wait my tu—”
Latching onto Ram’s wrist, Lawson swiveled, twisting until the man’s shoulder popped. He slammed his fist into Ram’s gut, releasing him as he crumbled to the sleek wood floors with a howl. Straightening, the little effort it had taken to drop the man barely enough to quicken his pulse, Lawson smoothed his hands over his shirt.
Without needing to be asked, Dallas strolled over, lips slanted in a smirk, and hauled Ram to his feet, dragging him to the door. No one stepped in on Ram’s behalf or even looked his way. He could run his mouth all he wanted. There were only two men who could put their hands on Law and come away from the interaction still standing.
Three. There are three now. Lawson huffed out an empty laugh as he made his way along the perimeter of the dungeon. He hadn’t hurt Matt when the man had done the same damn thing, but what did that matter? His comfort with the man’s touch, his presence, hadn’t been returned. They’d been tolerated as the price he believed he had to pay.
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