He groaned and got up, stretching out his sore legs and back. Sublimating all his sexual energy into exercise had brought him back to the high level of fitness he’d sustained through high school and college. That was good. But the humming feeling at the base of his spine and the lovely hard-on he kept springing when he was around his boss sent him a different message – of the “not good” variety.
Finally the judge rendered his verdict – in favor of their client – and Sophie stood, adjusted her short jacket over her hips, and turned to him. “Bring my stuff,” she said, before turning on her heel and walking out, chatting with various other attorneys hanging around the courthouse. Evan had to force his mouth shut and his eyes away from the sway of her ass. She was as full and womanly as any female he’d ever lusted after. He preferred them not stick-thin and was an avowed tits man – the bigger the better. She glanced back once, catching him gawping like a kid, sending him scrambling to gather up her files and scurrying after her.
He kept looking down at his phone, wishing his mother would send him Damian’s contact info, on his way up the aisle. And ran smack into Sophie’s back, dropping every piece of paper in the known universe to the floor. She glared at him, then turned away, muttering about “imbecile law school graduates” to the suited men around her.
As he was collecting the papers, his phone buzzed again.
“Mom, did you find it?” He attempted to prop the phone against his shoulder, which sent it skittering across the marble floor and under a bench. “Shit.” Making himself focus on the task at hand and on the possibility that his mother finally saw reason and the truth about the boy she’d harbored for so long, he crouched down on all fours and felt around under the heavy bench for the device. A high-heeled shoe on a familiar foot attached to a familiar leg appeared in front of him. He ground his teeth, holding back the very real and alarming impulse to lick his way up. Saving him from an embarrassing misstep, Sophie crouched down, handed him his phone, and stared at him.
“When you’re done scrabbling around on the floor like a rat, please grace us with your presence at the office, Adams. We have two long reports to file.” She patted his head, making him flush deep red and want to call her a rude name. But as she stood, a piece of paper, slightly larger than a business card, fluttered to the floor at her feet. He reached for it, thinking she’d dropped it and he could redeem himself somewhat by giving it back to her. But the sharp point of her heel landed on his hand as he touched it.
He saw it then: the bright red sole of her shoe – like Felicia’s, the woman who’d taught him so much about himself – imprinted on his retinas. She pressed down hard, replacing the surge of lust with a bite of pain. He let his gaze travel upwards, coming to rest when it met hers. “That’s yours, I think,” she said simply before removing her heel from his hand and walking away, chattering into her phone.
Evan sat, leaned back against the bench, no longer caring how goofy he must look. The piece of paper was thick, cream colored, and had an address and three words.
Be there tonight
. Sighing, he put the invite in his shirt pocket, gathered all the papers, and made his way back to the office. Before he entered and get reamed for making a personal call during work, he placed another call to his mother.
“Evan, I’ve tried the last two places he worked. Nobody seems to know where he is anymore.”
“Not even the L.A. firm?” Damian had graduated from Michigan Law School top of his class and took a lucrative entertainment law job on the west coast, according to Evan’s parents who remained in denial about his role in Olivia’s death for so long Evan had ceased communicating with either of them.
“The secretary there would only say that ‘Mr. Slate no longer practices law at this office,’ no matter how many times I asked her if she knew where he went. Oh God, what a mess.”
“Okay, Mom, do me a favor and email me the firm’s information. I’ll call and see what I can get out of them.” His head pounded. If he got his hands around Damian Slate’s neck he would kill the man, of that he was certain. But his slippery disappearing act told Evan one thing – he’d probably pulled a rough act on a client, or someone, and had to fade or get caught. “That ass-wipe is gonna slip up one time too many, I just know it.”
“Evan, honey… can you ever forgive me?”
He sighed and hung up, unwilling to answer. Even pondering that made him exhausted. His feelings about his mother were complex, but forgiveness did not seem possible. He sent a quick text to Jack, who was working across town at a title company.
Looks like I’ll be joining you sooner than I thought.
Jack:
Oh? Where?
Evan:
The Suite
.
Jack:
About damn time
.
Evan:
I guess. But I can’t tell you who just dropped an invite into my lap
.
Jack:
Dude, what is it with you and the hot Dommes? That smoking babe you work for finally did it, didn’t she?
Evan:
Maybe. Anyway, I’m going. Why the hell not?
Jack:
I’d say so, Saint Adams. You will finally break that embarrassingly long streak of celibacy.
Evan:
Yeah, but her signals are very mixed. Not sure what it is she wants
.
Jack:
There is only one very pleasant way to find out. Pick you up at nine.
Evan put his phone in his pocket, pushed open the double wood doors to the inner sanctum of the law firm, and set about spending the second half of his day daydreaming about throttling Damian Slate … and fucking Sophie Harrison so hard she’d beg him for more. She barely paid attention to him the rest of the afternoon, other than to drop more papers on his desk and curse at him for being late with her latest filing.
* * * *
“Jesus H. Christ, could I have picked a more boring law than patents?”
“Yeah. It’s called title law. I am dying over there. Thought it would make sense, given my background in construction and development, but seems like all I do is answer questions about suburban fences and mediate tree line disputes. Oh, and sign giant checks for real estate agents.”
The two men sat at Evan’s table, dressed in their best all the way down to French cuffs. Two small glasses of bourbon sat in front of them, a tradition they’d started while attending the first club in Chicago. One quick jolt of brown liquor to ease their neural pathways before jumping into the alcohol-free zone of a true BDSM scene. “Yeah.” Evan twirled the glass around a few times. “Hey, you ever hear of something call a micro-brewery?”
“Aren’t there are a couple in Grand Rapids? I know Rob is sort of into it lately. Don’t know what they do, though – make micro-kegs?”
“No, no, it’s where brewers use traditional ingredients and recipes and sometimes add funky stuff to hand craft new sorts of brews in smaller batches.” He sipped. “There’s one over on the west side of town, near Dexter Road. A small place, but cool as hell, and the beer is incredible.”
“Huh.” Jack downed his bourbon, then stood, shooting his cuffs and straightening his tie. “I’ll check it out. Let me know the next time you go.”
“Yeah, sure. The guy there says he’s really struggling, but I think he’s just not trying hard enough.”
“Is he looking for investors?”
Evan stayed seated while Jack stuck his arms in the suit coat.
“I don’t know. Probably not. I’m just sustaining a fantasy about it, I guess.”
“My man, ‘fantasy’ is what we are all about, last time I checked. Let’s go get our respective worlds rocked tonight. I know you need it. Then we’ll talk about beer. I’m more about pussy tonight, if you know what I’m saying.” Jack’s grin was contagious.
Evan stood, put his coat on, and downed the liquor letting it burn a trail down to his gut and light a small flame in his brain like it always did. His skin crawled as he acknowledged how much he needed a good hard playtime followed by a satisfying fuck. “Me too. Let’s go.”
The drive into the depths of Detroit was silent but comfortable. Jack parked underground, and they took a rickety elevator up to the top floor. Evan was about to comment he thought the place was a dump when the door opened and revealed a sumptuous foyer, outfitted in thick Turkish carpets, huge bouquets of fresh flowers, and expensive-looking artwork.
A huge, dark-skinned man in a blue suit walked up and shook his hand before turning to Jack. “Gordon, good to see you again. Is this the guy you told me about?”
“I’m Evan Adams,” Evan said, noting the look of mild surprise that flickered across the other man’s face. “And I am a big fan of yours.”
Kyle Summerlin, one time NFL tailback, broke into a bellowing laugh. “Well, Mr. Adams, it seems as though I may become a big fan of yours.” He put his arms around the two men and guided them further into the club. Barely-dressed women in flowing, gauzy dresses floated around with trays of water and juice. Evan watched a few of them, as he exerted control over his neglected libido.
“How’s that?” Evan asked as he took a glass of water from one of the lovely servers. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and the collar around her neck said why.
“Well, your tab to my pretty expensive evening of fun has been covered already,” Kyle stated, making Evan’s skin flush red.
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, by none other than my very best Mistress. She says for you to enjoy yourselves and not worry about making a choice, this time.” The huge club owner kept talking.
“Adams, you slay me,” Jack said, laughing with Kyle. “I am not worthy. But you gotta tell me now – which way are you gonna go?”
Evan was suddenly uncomfortable and had an urge to bolt out the door. It had been a while since he’d had sex, much less engaged in the sort of hardcore play they were bantering about. His gut churned, and he broke out in a cold sweat. The last time he had allowed himself any enjoyment this way, he’d been fucking around while his sister was horribly abused and starving herself to death.
Jack tugged him to the side. Evan’s eyes tried to take it all in – the subtle classiness of the room, the well-dressed women and men, and no sign of Sophie anywhere. “You all right?” his friend asked. “We can go, I mean, if it’s too soon.”
Evan clamped down on the urge to flee. “No, no, I’m fine.” He squared his shoulders. “I need this. But I need to… I mean, I don’t think I can…”
“You need to control, to be in control. My advice is take her up on her offer and make your choice – the one you want, and stop worrying about what she wants from you.”
Evan nodded, took a deep breath, and followed Jack into a small velvet and silk draped auditorium. The stage held the usual props, but was devoid of people. The men sat in large leather chairs. Evan attempted not to give in to a rising tide of panic.
“It’s all good, man. Relax. You know what to do.”
He nodded at Jack’s voice but kept his eyes trained ahead as a line of people were lead out on collars and leashes, all with eyes cast down. The tension in the room crackled around him. He felt his heart beating faster and his face flushing as his body tensed with long-repressed urges. The subs were arrayed across the stage. At a silent signal, the men rose and walked to them, single file.
Evan stopped in front of two different women, each of them desirable and both sending off clear signals that his innate Dom read loud and clear. As their eyes stayed downcast, the subs were required to memorize the shoes of a particular Dom, the one they wanted for the night. When they were released they were to crawl forward and find those shoes. If there were one Dom with more than one request, he could choose to have them both. That was something that happened to Jack a lot, but had never happened to Evan. He always managed to be chosen by one, usually the one he’d identified as a possible partner.
The Doms backed against the velvet-covered wall and stood, watching. The subs’ handlers unbound their wrists and the women began crawling towards them. Evan nearly came apart at the seams as memories of similar scenes flooded through him. But his brain cleared as he watched the two women he’d admired both make straight for him. They sat back on their heels, eyes downcast.
He looked out into the gloom and saw her then – Sophie Harrison, dressed in black leather pants and a bra, her hair spilling down over her shoulders. She sat in the front row, smiling at him, nodding nearly imperceptibly. He put his hands down on the heads of his subs for the night. Guilt disappeared, pain dispersed. All he knew were the two women at his feet awaiting his command and a goddess sitting in a leather chair watching them.
The couples left the stage, but he remained. The lights dimmed and rock music started blaring into the room, making him grin and reach down to tug the two women to their feet. Nine Inch Nails had been, at one time, his very favorite mood music when he was feeling a need to play. And tonight promised to be one of the better times. He ran his hand down the face, breasts, waist, and ass of one sub, then the other, taking the mental measure of their needs. The second one bit her lip as he passed his palm across her leather-skirted ass.
Holy hell, this is gonna be fun
.
He glanced around and one of the gossamer-gowned women appeared with a tray full of toys. He chose two ball gags, leather bindings, a strap-on dildo, and a flogger before sending her away. He beckoned the first girl closer, leaned in to taste her lips just briefly, making her whimper when he broke away.
“Lovely,” he said, running his hand down her long red hair. “Turn around.” She did, and he fastened the gag around her head and yanked her filmy shirt off before wrapping her torso with the leather strips, leaving her arms free.
He motioned, and a spanking bench appeared. He shoved her down onto it, parted her thighs, and licked his way along the insides, teasing, sucking, biting some, and loving the way she responded, how her sex flushed pinker as he worked her. But just as he could sense her orgasm, he stopped and stood, wiping his mouth. He nodded, and the other sub stepped into his space, kissing him, sucking his lips and tasting the other girl’s essence. He held onto her, ran his hands up and down her curves, then stepped away.