“Ah, Christ. I’m sorry, Evan. I’m so, so sorry. I’m never going to raise anything to you in anger. My voice. My fist. My anything.” Clint pulled him against his chest as Evan relaxed, the words exactly what he needed to hear. “I guess we’ve both got issues. You’ve got this driving need for approval.”
“And you have this insatiable hunger to please everyone else.” He pushed away, trying hard to convey the gravity of his statement in his expression. “When will it be enough?”
“I don’t know.” Clint embraced him securely. “But we’ll find out together.”
20
No matter how much Clint tried to make time to see Evan, something always came up. Mondays were crazy. He’d had to cancel the meeting with Kelley’s board to sign the papers on the new lease at Pacific Place, which kept him in Belltown all day.
Monday night it was a fundraiser for some charity Clint couldn’t remember the name of. He’d invited Evan to join him, but the damn fool already had plans with Patsy—payment for canceling their brunch over the weekend. Clint would have to talk to him about that. As his assistant, Evan had to be available twenty-four hours a day. As his lover, Clint expected the same for entirely different reasons.
Tuesday was a deal to buy a shipyard that fell through and forced him to meet with investors to explain why, a meeting that lasted well into the night. It was now Wednesday, and Clint counted the minutes until he’d get home to find Evan kneeling in front of the playroom door exactly at seven.
“Mr. Duke?” Angela sounded over the intercom.
“Yes?”
“I have your messages for the day. Would you like me to deliver them before I head out? Or shall I leave them on your desk for tomorrow?”
Clint glanced at the clock. He still had two hours to kill. “I’ll read them now.”
“Yes, sir.” She knocked gently before walking into his office and over to the desk he’d spent more time at this past year than his own bed. “Tomorrow’s meetings have all been confirmed and alerts set to remind you fifteen minutes before each one so we don’t have a repeat of last week.”
“Change that to thirty.” After showing up late to a meeting with the Tokyo office when it was already midnight their time, Clint refused to go through that embarrassment again. “I don’t like to be late to my own party.”
“It’s your party,” she countered. “It doesn’t start until you get there.”
“I know someone else who says that.” Someone he couldn’t wait to spend time in the playroom with.
“Do I know him?” Angela, of course, knew the truth about his sexuality. After all, she drew up his contracts. All his contracts.
“Evan McKoy,” he hummed, smiling at the sound of his name.
“Sounds like things are progressing nicely between the two of you. You must really like this one.”
To put it lightly. The sex between them blew his mind. The playroom. The bathtub. The stairs—which he’d never done before. It was all incredible.
But, it was their time outside of sex that really had him hooked. The breakfasts on the terrace. Listening to smooth jazz while doing crosswords. Watching the Weather Channel and both lusting after Jim Cantore. It was their version of normal, and it was absolutely glorious.
For whatever reason, he felt the overwhelming need to share his thoughts. “He has the best sense of humor. Oh, and his laugh just gets to you. You can’t help but laugh right along with him.” He grinned as he conjured up Evan’s beautiful image.
“Is there anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, there is. I’m going to need you to terminate all my other contracts.”
She looked at him. “All?”
“All,” he replied with a grin. He had no need for any of his other subs or slaves. Evan was more than enough. When he caught the way she’d lost her smile and suddenly avoided his gaze, he sat up. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. I’ll take care of it. If there’s nothing else.”
“Angela,” he warned in a tone she’d know better than to ignore. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“What makes you think I’m hiding something?”
He looked at her. “I’m not an idiot. I didn’t get to be where I am by ignoring signs.”
“Yes, sir.” She cleared her throat in preparation. Whatever she had to say was about to rock his world. He didn’t know how he knew. He just did. “I think your uncle is the one stealing the money.”
That was not what he expected.
“Uncle Grant?” Of course, Uncle Grant. He was Clint’s only living uncle. Instead of being offended at the accusation, he was curious. Angela wouldn’t make that claim lightly. “What makes you think that?”
“Call it a hunch.”
“I’m going to need more to go on than a hunch.”
“I don’t trust him. He’s been far too quiet lately.”
His phone buzzed. He checked the message, not glancing up from the screen. “He did just have a heart attack.”
“Before that.”
“He goes out of his way to tell me what I’m doing wrong on a regular basis.” He set his phone aside. “Trust me. He’s not been quiet.”
“Do you trust him, sir?”
Odd question. No, not odd. Awkward. He couldn’t answer it truthfully without creating more doubt. He didn’t trust his uncle, not after the man had made a play for the company when Franklin Duke passed. “Where is this coming from?”
“Like I said. It’s just a hunch.” She moved to the door. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Grant Duke is harmless.” Even as he said it, he didn’t believe it. No Duke had ever been labeled as harmless.
She paused at the door and glanced over her shoulder, a sober look in her eyes. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
Damn this Seattle traffic. Evan checked the time on the car’s clock and alarm shot through him. He had two minutes to get upstairs and into position. There was no way he’d make it without punishment. As much as the idea of a spanking thrilled him, he didn’t want to disappoint Clint and risk him canceling their session. Tonight, as with every night in their playroom, was about them pushing their limits. Expanding their horizons.
Together.
He parked in the first spot he found and sprinted to the elevator, pacing and cursing until the doors opened. He used his card and entered the code, again pacing and cursing as the elevator seemed to take forever to get to the 37th floor.
When the doors opened, he rushed out, rounded the corner, and took the stairs two at a time, into his room, stripped down, and jumped into the shower. Clint demanded a clean sub. Hell, Evan demanded a clean Dom for that matter. He scrubbed swiftly and shut off the water, doing a half-assed job at drying on his way to the door to kneel.
“Stop!”
Evan froze two feet from his spot.
“You’re late.”
He nodded and lowered his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“What kept you?”
Shit. He couldn’t tell him the truth, that he’d been on the phone with Walsh relaying what he’d learned this week and lost track of time. “I couldn’t find a place to park.”
“And that’s my problem?”
“No, sir.”
Clint slowly ascended the stairs, his dark scowl on Evan as he didn’t slow until they were a foot apart. He had on a loose pair of sweats sitting low on his hips, and it had to be one of the most delicious sights Evan had ever seen. Even his bare feet were strong, dominate, taking control of every step he took.
“Kneel.”
He did on the spot, still two feet from the door.
“Are you in position, Evan?”
“Sir?” He lifted his gaze in question. When Clint didn’t respond, Evan sucked in a breath, worried he’d disappointed him. Worried his Dom was about to cancel their play.
“Breathe.”
“I-I—”
“Shhh.” Clint
placed his finger over Evan’s lips. “Breathe.”
He drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out.
“Better?”
He nodded.
“Words, Evan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve missed you,” he declared, shocking Evan. Were Doms allowed to miss their subs? The aftermath of that question still hurt to think about. It destroyed Clint that Evan questioned what was and wasn’t allowed. He wouldn’t make that same mistake. “Have you missed me?”
“More than you know.”
Clint brought Evan to his feet and searched his eyes. “I want to know. How much have you missed me?”
Was that vulnerability he saw? “I-I don’t know how to answer that.”
“With your words.”
“How about my heart?”
Clint stumbled back as if the question knocked him off-balance. He recovered and unlocked the door, motioning for Evan to enter. He did, thrilled. Despite being late, he’d earned the right to enter the playroom—and without punishment.
“I want you to turn around and face me, arms in the air, legs spread. You will keep your eyes straight ahead.”
Evan did as instructed. Clint approached, slowly circling while running his nose along Evan’s shoulder line. He nodded his approval and pointed down, ordering Evan to his knees. Clint fastened something above their heads. Four chains, each with a leather strap on the end, made up the corners of a square. Evan wanted to look up but refused to disobey Clint’s command.
“Right hand.”
He moved his right arm out, sucking in a breath as his pulse reacted when Clint took it and locked it into position. Into what position, was the question. Evan did the same with the left on command and was now on his knees, his arms extended, held in place by leather restraints.
“Spread your legs.”
How? He was on his knees. Clint grasped an ankle and locked it in place, followed by the other. Evan was now spread eagle, locked into suspension, face down. It felt like floating, so freeing. And a little unnerving.
“You were late.”
No. No! He didn’t want to be punished. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Will it happen again?”
“No, sir. Never again.”
“Let’s be sure it doesn’t.” He rested his hand on Evan’s ass before slowly rubbing his cheek. “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
His answer came with a shocking spank. Not because it hurt, but because it didn’t. It stung, but in a way he could have never imagined. It stimulated Evan’s nerves, exciting them. He bit his lower lip to stop from begging for another.
Clint struck again, this time a bit harder. The chains clanged from the sudden movement. Evan whimpered as his body rocked in suspension, the motion surreal, like he was flying. He swung back, returning to his Dom, and moaned when Clint made contact. He jerked, sending him into motion and driving him that much closer to orgasm. Each time he returned, Clint reached under him and stroked. Dear Jesus, he had no idea how good this would feel.
He lost count before he came. Disbelief rocked him. He actually had an orgasm from being spanked. Well, suspended, spanked, and jacked. Regardless, it was a first for him. He fell limp, panting, sweat dripping from his body from sensory overload.
Clint panted, too. He moved in behind Evan, positioning himself between his legs, rubbing his star with a well-lubricated thumb. He then swayed Evan’s body in the air, playing with him, toying with his hole. Each time Evan returned, Clint pushed deeper, first with his thumb, then his finger. Then two fingers.
Then he grabbed Evan’s hips and held him in place as he slowly pressed against the opening, using the suspension to his advantage. He worked his cock inside, filling Evan and once again holding him still.
“Slow,” he hissed.
Evan didn’t want slow. He wanted to swing more, to feel weightless, flying above the world. “Clint,” he whimpered.
Clint responded by moving Evan forward until they were barely connected, holding him still for several seconds before slowly pulling him back, sinking his flesh deep. He then repeated the motion. And again. And again. Evan bucked, desperate for him to move faster. He needed more friction. This slow and steady pace was torture.
“Clint!” His body shook, the pleasure coursing through him overloading his muscles. He twisted to ease the ache in his shoulders from holding his weight. Clint seemed to understand and grabbed him around the waist, holding him up so he still flew. Evan whimpered again. It felt so good, so much more than he’d ever felt.
He rocked them again, holding Evan so the restraints no longer carried him. Clint did. He thrust, careful to keep his arms around Evan and bit at his shoulder as he widened his stance. “Jesus, Evan. Ah.”
Evan cried out when Clint drove hard, shoving him forward, catching him, and slamming him again. It was too much. He panted and rode the motion, begging Clint to take him all the way. “Please, Clint. Please.”
“Do you want to come?”
“I need to come. Oh, God!”
Clint reached around and gently fingered Evan’s sensitive head, causing him to buck wildly. “Easy, baby.”
“Let me come!”
“Are you asking me for permission?”
“I’m begging.” He refused to let his orgasm win, not until Clint allowed it. It was a true test to Evan’s control. To both their control. When Clint pinched Evan’s nipple, He jerked and almost lost it.
Pineapple.
He realized the echo of the safe word in his mind was for him, not his Dom. He hadn’t made that connection until now. It was his way of telling his own will to yield to the will of the master. “Clint!”
Clint thrust his fingers into Evan’s hair and held tight, holding his chin high as he drove into his body. It was too much. It was all too much. The suspension. The way Clint held him. The entire experience.
“Please,” he whimpered, unable to hold out much longer. Pineapple.
“Come for me.”
Yes! Evan exploded, crying out in his release. Clint joined in his howls until they were both so spent neither had the strength to stand on their own. They held still for several minutes, recovering from the cataclysmic event that had them both too stunned to do anything else.
Clint released Evan’s restraints and helped him stand but faltered under his own fatigue. Evan caught him, ignoring the pain in his own shoulders. Clint had to be in more pain. Hell, he’d held both their weight for far too many minutes as they’d climbed that final trail, stood at the edge of the cliff, and jumped together.
Without a word, Evan helped Clint out of the playroom and down the hall, into his bedroom. He straightened him out on the bed and tucked him in before kissing his forehead, just as his Dom had done for him after their previous sessions.
As he turned to leave his lover to recover, Clint reached out and stopped him with his hand on Evan’s wrist. “Stay.”
“Are you sure?”
Clint nodded and closed his eyes. Without another word, Evan crawled into bed and curled up behind him. Clint shifted to his other side, his front to Evan’s back, and pulled the smaller man to him, kissing his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“For?” He stiffened. What did Clint possibly have to be sorry for? It was another amazing session, one that had Evan sated and so full of emotion for this man he could barely breathe.
“Me,” he whispered, exhausted.
Evan closed his eyes, fighting back the tears. He waited until Clint’s breathing slowed, and he started to quietly snore. Only then did he confess what he’d known since their first kiss. “I love you, Clint Duke.”
21
Clint had broken yet another rule.
Subs were never allowed into his bed after play. They needed boundaries. The sub needed time to heal. The Dom…well… simply gave the sub space. The sub never helped the Dom to bed. The sub never tucked in his sub, kissed his forehead, and attempted to quietly slip out.
But not Evan. Of
course, not Evan.
The sub shouldn’t be curled against his Dom, breathing deeply, lost in a dream world that, hopefully, didn’t include men like Clint. Men who had to dominate others to feel fulfilled.
He closed his eyes and sighed, content holding his lover to him. All his life he’d made a point of sleeping alone, yet he’d broken this rule countless times with Evan. Tonight, he’d broken the cardinal of all his rules—he’d asked his sub to stay with him after play.
This blurred the line. It blurred all the lines. Evan was so much more than a playmate. He was more than an arranged partner, someone under contract to submit. He was the one man who’d done what no one else had. He made Clint feel. More than that, he made Clint want Evan to know just how much. Hell, he’d asked Angela to cancel all his other contracts because of Evan.
Which meant their time had already come to an end. That realization didn’t please him any. He’d put rules in place specifically so this wouldn’t happen. If he continued to break them, he’d only make things worse. They each had a role in this. Clint was the Dom. Evan was the sub. That was it. They played, both in the playroom and out, and kept it casual. Anything outside of that made it too confusing. Too damn emotional.
“I love you, Clint Duke.”
Clint opened his eyes at Evan’s declaration, careful to not change his breathing. Love? Evan couldn’t love him. He’d done nothing to deserve it. He’d never do enough to earn it. He fought the urge to turn Evan to face him and ask him to say it again.
Shit. Now what? This changed everything. He’d just finished convincing himself emotions couldn’t be a part of this. Then Evan went and dropped the ultimate of emotional bombs. Talk about blurred lines.
He closed his eyes and imagined a life with Evan. Falling asleep together every night. Waking together every morning. They’d have dates, some in the playroom, others outside the penthouse.
That thought consumed his thoughts. Evan deserved a man who wasn’t afraid to be true to himself. Clint hiding his sexuality, avoiding emotions behind contracts, went against everything Evan believed in.
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