Rough Road (5 page)

A part of me wants to drop to my knees and beg him to hurt me.

Authority rolls off Keith in waves. Though definitely more of a Dom than a sadist, he’s good with masochistic subs. I started going to his club years ago in hopes of scratching an itch sex alone couldn’t touch. We’ve done plenty of scenes, though we’ve never had sex—he’s not gay, but he’s talented with a flogger and the things he’s done to me with nothing but his voice and a paddle?
Shiver.
Straight girls have all the luck.

“Ed?” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Sorry. Just, damn, sugar, sometimes I wish you were gay. It’s been a weird week.”

He laughs, holds up the bottle. “I’ll bring this to Heather in the kitchen, and I’ll ask her to fix you something stronger. Unless . . .” He cocks his head. “Ed, if you need . . .”

“Oh, god, Keith. I can’t ask you to—”

“To what? Spank your hot little ass? Clamp your nipples? Slap your cock? Squeeze your balls? Tie you down and make you hurt until it feels good?”

I moan. I want it.

His voice drops low and sexy. “Bend you over my knee and have Heather count the strikes? Send you home still hard with an order not to touch yourself so you can think about what a naughty shit you are? Or maybe I’ll let Heather get you off. She loves that, you know. How much it embarrasses you to get off in a woman’s hand. It gets her wet.”

I’m erect and aching now, and I whimper when he cups my cheek with his palm. “Or maybe I should put your cock in a cage so you can’t get it up. Yeah, take full advantage of that sexy piercing of yours. What do you need, Ed? All you have to do is ask. I’m not your Dom, but I
am
your friend. If I can help you, I will.”

Shame washes over me, red-hot and tangling like a wet lump in my throat. No matter what I said to Wish about humiliation not being my usual kink, when it
does
work for me, it really,
really
does. I shudder hard, and because he’s looking at me expectantly, and because I trust him, I answer.

“I appreciate the offer, but I played with a new sadist the other night—sex too. It was hot, but it was just a one-off. Part of what made it so hot was how much he wanted
me
. So, yeah, I want that, but I would want it to be because you want me, not because you feel sorry for me.”

He drops his hand. “Ah, Ed. I’m sorry, buddy. I love playing with you. I like the way you love the pain. But . . .” He glances pointedly toward the kitchen.

“Exactly. It’s just pain—for both of us.”

“I’ll go get you a glass of wine,” he says as he walks away, leaving me with my thoughts. I’ve not always wanted sex with the pain. Self-denial can be a hell of a lot of fun. There’ve been times in my life when getting off was less important than getting good and hurt. But now, after the scorching night I shared with Wish, I want both.

Keith returns a moment later with two glasses of wine.

“Have you talked to Davis Fox this week?” he asks, handing me a glass.

“Not since the accident, why?”

“Rodney Romeo is making my life miserable.”

Oh, that asshole.
I fight back the urge I feel to snarl whenever I hear that name. My loathing of him sits heavy on my skin, but this isn’t about me now. Shit. No wonder Keith is stressed. Romeo has been hunting for ways to put Keith’s BDSM club out of business for years.

“What’s he doing this time?”

“He’s resurrected the roads bill. I’d have thought you’d be all over that—your dealership: the land would be taken by eminent domain if the bridge proposal goes through.”

Fuck me sideways. My dealership. The pro shop. Ben. The cushion against depression and relapse I’ve spent years carefully cultivating
for Ben
. I sit up straighter.

“They killed that project for lack of funding.”

“Romeo wants to bring it back. He thinks he can get the project federal funds, but even if he can’t, he’s got a nasty tax proposal laid out to pay for it. Sin taxes. Increased taxes on alcohol sales, and on memberships to private clubs which serve alcohol.”

“That fucker. How is he going to sell an increase to the country club set?” I know those guys; they aren’t going to take kindly to higher taxes—on anything—though they can afford it. Keith’s customers are not necessarily rich and powerful, and this could hurt his bottom line, and potentially the viability of the club.

“I don’t know, but so far they seem to be supporting him.”

Well,
shit
. I hope I don’t have to play golf to solve this. I fucking
hate
golf.

“What if I bought in with you? I can help float you so you don’t have to pass the costs on to your customers.”

“No offense, but Romeo hates me enough already. And after you signed his kid to a sponsorship contract behind his back? Your name on my club would be poison. Come on, Ed. You knew that would come around to bite you.”

“Hey, I let the kid out of the contract as soon as Liquid Force showed an interest. Which they wouldn’t have done if he hadn’t won the tournament. Which wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t had a sponsor. I did his kid a favor, and I didn’t have to.”

“You manipulated a thirteen-year-old kid in a game of ‘whose dick is bigger’ with his dad, and it doesn’t matter if the end result was a good one. You humiliated Romeo in front of thousands of people.”

I wave my hand. “You know that’s bullshit. No one cared about that. They were pumped to see the hometown kid win.”

“Rodney Romeo cared about it. And you and I could both be fucked now.”

I hang my head. He’s right. I know he’s right. But still . . . Ah, fuck.

“I’m sorry, Keith. We’ll fix it. I have some pull with the city council, seeing as how my granddaddy built this town. They’ll listen if I say widening the bridge is going to ‘spoil the small-town feel’ of Lake Lovelace.”

“Okay. Well, let me know how I can help.” He sips his wine. “So, what else is going on?”

“Ben’s getting married.” I pinch the skin at the bridge of my nose. “I have a lot on my mind.” Okay, so maybe Ben isn’t the only one on my mind, but his upcoming nuptials are the easiest explanation for why I’m out of sorts. As for that night with Wish—it’s starting to feel surreal—it couldn’t have been as good as I remember it; I just hadn’t had good sex in so long, it’s sticking with me.

“Tell him congratulations from me and Heather.”

“I will.”

“You haven’t been to the club in a while. You know, you don’t have to play. You could come to hang out.”

“Maybe I’ll come by sometime this week.” Sometimes, sex in the club seems too sanitized, too impersonal. Too tame.

“You know Gabe would love to see you.”

“Oh, no. Keith. I can’t. The last time was so disappointing.”

“I thought you liked hairy old bears?”

“Sugar, he was adorable. And he knew his knots. He was amazing right up until he had me all tied up and then was afraid to put any muscle into it when he hit me.” The utter disappointment of that night washes over me. “Seriously, Keith, you have the worst taste in men.”

Keith laughs. “He’s a nice guy, and he thought you were cute. He didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Story of my fucking life.” I grunt. “And a waste of beautiful bondage.”

“For Gabe, the bondage was the main event. You know, he might have put more effort into the flogging if you hadn’t answered the phone in the middle of it.”

“It was Ben.” I shrug. “I don’t let Ben’s calls go to voice mail. Ever.”

Keith sighs. “I know, and I understand why, but you do realize he has Davis now. He doesn’t . . .”

“Don’t finish that sentence, please.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Heather announces from the doorway. Saved by the bell.

The club smells like leather, and a little like sweat. The bouncer waves me through, his bored expression turning to an appreciative leer as I walk past. Once inside, I take in the view in front of me. It’s quiet—subdued—tonight. The main dance floor is mostly empty, though a couple sways absently to the beat in the corner.

“Ed?” I hear Keith behind me, and he sounds surprised. Hadn’t I said I’d come by this week? I turn, jutting my chin just
so
, hopeful he might be up for playing tonight.

“Hello, sugar. Did you miss me?”

He grins. “It’s been three days, not three years. But I love seeing you here. Are you with someone?”

“Nope.”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“I thought we covered the fact that you have the worst taste in men.”

Keith laughs. “All right. Too bad, I think you’d like Wish.”

Wish. Here.
After my initial shock—of course, why wouldn’t he seek out Keith’s club after I mentioned it?—the name sends a rush of longing through me. But my reasons for not dating him are still valid. I glance around, but I don’t see him. Maybe he’s playing with someone in one of the private rooms. I try to ignore the sharp pang of jealousy at that thought.

“. . . watched him with the subs; he’s pretty intense. Only plays with men. Heather says he’s really handsome.”

“I’m sure he’s lovely, but the only wish that’s going to be in my pants tonight is this one.” I grab my dick and give it a squeeze.

He reaches down and cups my cock. It’s been a little plump since I came in—the smell of the place is enough to give me a hopeful semi, but when Keith squeezes me
,
I harden in his hand. His grip tightens before he lets go, then he flicks my fly with his thumb, hitting my piercing through the zipper. It’s a sharp nip of pain, and the shock of it makes my eyes roll back in delight.

“Oh, sugar.” I shudder. “Got any more of that for me?”

I can tell the moment he decides he’s in. His lips twist—it’s an intimate tell, something only someone who knows him would notice. He’s going to make me work for it.

“Heather is sick,” he murmurs. “It’s hotter when she’s here to watch.”

“That’s what you get for fucking breeding, Keith. They go off to school and bring back the plague.” I roll my eyes for effect. He wants me to pick a fight; I’ll give him a fucking reason to hit me.

The slap comes without warning, across my face, open hand, a sharp
crack
. The bouncer’s head snaps up, but then he sees it’s Keith and me and he knows the game. There’s a whole lot of
not my kink
in this world, but yeah, an openhanded slap across the face is
so
my kink. And Keith’s employees know it.

“Watch your mouth, Ed,” Keith growls low.

“Make me,” I growl back, and it’s
on
. He grabs my hair in his fist and drags me across the room. He walks fast, pulling me off-balance as I stumble after him, following the pain and him wherever they’ll take me.

A bench. He pushes me against it, hard, and lets go of my hair. He kicks my feet apart and shoves me down so my face hits the wood, my ass in the air. A tumble of laughter spills out of me. It’s absolutely delightful to be thrown around like this. Like he fucking means it.

“That’s it? Hair pulling? No wonder your wife stayed home,” I taunt. “I bet she’s not even sick. Unless boredom is a disease now.”

Crack
. An openhanded swat across my backside. It would be better if I were naked. I reach for my belt, but he slaps my hand away.

“Put your hands back on the bench,” Keith orders. “And shut the fuck up about my
submissive
.”

He ties my hands, then my legs at the ankles. God, I’m so hard now. I’m not going to get fucked tonight, but at this point I don’t even care. He’s going to hit me. Not a playful slap on the mouth or swat on the ass, he’s going to fucking hurt me.

He pulls a hood over my face. Not a blindfold, but a hood. I shudder. I don’t like the hood. I’ve never liked the hood.

“Asshole,” I snarl at him.

“You don’t like the hood,” he grits through his teeth, “you can use your fucking safeword.”

“Fuck. You.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Inside the blackness of the hood, unease creeps into me. I hate not being able to see, and I hate feeling the fabric on my ears. The apprehension will make it harder for me to relax into the scene, and Keith knows it. He’s always been good at knowing exactly how to push me out of my comfort zone to make everything more intense.

He steps up close behind me and reaches around my waist to undo my belt. With a rough tug, he pulls my pants down to expose me. Freed from the confines of my jeans, my dick slaps against the wooden bench.

“You forgot to take off my shirt. Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

“I’m not going to flog you.”

“Asshole,” I snarl again. This time, the flick of his thumb hits my guiche piercing, back behind my balls, and a tight spasm washes through me.

“We have an audience. Maybe I’ll let him join in.” Keith gives the ring another flick, then runs a soothing hand down my side. When he speaks again, it’s directed out, away from me. “Hi, Wish.”

I shudder, off-balance, turned-on, and self-conscious all at once.

“I didn’t know you played with men, Keith.”

Wish’s voice is bright with surprise.