Page 13 of Wild Fire

“Maybe I can help with that,” se offers, his voice smooth. Warm. Familiar. I look at him; his bright green eyes and shiny black hair catching the neon light. He’s dressed in his usual attire—tight black leather shorts that do absolutely nothing to hide the outline of his cock, and his spiked collar and boots. But his body is thicker now. More built. He’s put on more muscle in the last couple years.

Good for him. It’s just… not what I prefer. I like my men to be leaner. A bit awkward, and shy; demure, as one might say. Fragile, like glass; waiting to be broken by the right hand.

Unable to fight me or challenge me.

I used to feel guilty about the things that turn me on. I know most men like it rough, but rough isn’t enough for me. I need a fight. I need my subs to beg and plead and tell me to stop, even though we both agreed I won’t.

Not until I destroy them and they beg me not to stop. To go harder, faster. Make them come. Which I always do. I’m not a selfish asshole like some of the doms that come here.

Dominating men who are more fragile than me—in all ways—and breaking them makes me feel like I have control. Like everything is okay, because this is the one thing in life I can control.

I wonder what JJ would say about all of this. He’s one of the few men who know about my kinks and my fucked up daddy issues, and he’s also one of the only people in my life not afraid to call me out on my bullshit. Which I respect the hell out of.

Would he give me shit about my return to the dark side, or tell me not to overthink things so much?

“Unless, of course, you’re just here to watch.” Jackson pouts, pulling my attention once more and dispelling my thoughts.

I could say no. If I do, he’d leave me alone and find someone else to play with, and I wouldn’t even be mad about that. But there’s also a sense of familiarity that we know each other’s limits and preferences, and we’ve worked together before. I can check if anything has changed regarding those things, of course, before we get into a scene, but like me, Jackson’s been in this lifestyle long enough that he’s pretty set in his kinks, so I’m not that worried much has changed.

I just need to treat this like I would one of my demos. Stay focused and everything should be fine. Better than fine.

I’ll be able to breathe, and if I’m lucky, I won’t have to come back here for a while.

That’s enough of a reason for me to answer him. To go through with this.

“I think you can, actually,” I say, the words strange but familiar. Jackson nods, as if understanding. His gaze flashes to mine as he steps closer to me. He settles his hand on my hip, leaning closer. His cologne is thick, and it’s impossible to ignore. I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it, either. His lips brush my neck as he whispers, “Your old room is open right now. Or we can—”

“No,” I say definitively, old habits returning along with old memories. “You’ll take me to yours.”

I don’t know if I can go there yet, to my old room. Technically, it’s not my room, just the one I frequented the most—the Shibari room. Cal wasn’t a rope guy, unfortunately, which is a shame. He had a fair complexion that would have pinked up beautifully after being restrained. I’m pretty sure my parents didn’t think their boy scout son would end up using his knot knowledge to tie people up in his spare time, but that’s what I love about rope. There’s so many possibilities, so many things you can do with it. It can be painful, but it can also be cathartic. Letting go isn’t just a metaphor for some people. It’s what they need, and the only way they can do it is through restraint and release. It’s a submission that can’t be explained as much as it can be felt, and only those who know what it feels like can truly understand it.

Jackson doesn’t question me about my order because he knows better, though I’m sure he’s curious as to why I’m requesting to go to his room. Space is personal. Controlling my environment is half the battle; because in order to exact my very niche form of therapy, everything has to be just right. The right space, the right lighting, the right smells. The right person. Submission is about trust, and domination is no different. Jackson isn’t necessarily the right person, but he’s probably as close as I’m going to get tonight on such short notice. So that will have to be right enough, at least for now. He nods, squeezing my hip.

“Whatever you say, Daddy,” he mutters against my skin. His breath is hot, and I want to push him away, but my mind and my cock are remembering exactly why we are here, and it’s been too long since anyone’s touched me like this, and between that and this fucked up day, I’m too weak to not give in to it. I close my eyes for a moment as Jackson’s fingers trail down my chest, over my waist to my semi-hard cock, and all I can see in my mind are bright blue-green irises staring at me—no, into me like I’m a ghost they can see right through. My eyes flash open only to dispel the sudden image, and I grab Jackson’s wrist without a second thought. Usually when I am channeling my dom, nothing else can penetrate my mind. It’s the one time, aside from fighting fires, when my mind is totally clear.

So I shouldn’t be thinking about Nate. Not now, not here. I shouldn’t be thinking at all.

I let out a deep growl as I tighten my grip, grinding my teeth to fight to push out the unsettling distraction. Jackson whimpers in my grasp, and I don’t hate the sound, but my mind wants to keep wandering down roads it shouldn’t, wants to keep chasing things we should leave alone.

“Not yet, you little slut. You need to earn this cock,” I bite, forcing the words out like a weapon. Jackson smiles as he lets out another whimper before kissing my throat.

It feels good, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t feel right. Probably because it’s been too long since I’ve done this. But it’s like riding a bike, I guess. I just have to get back on the bike and everything will be fine.

Everything’s going to be okay…

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” Jackson purrs, his voice full of familiar lust; this script second nature to both of us. A lot of people like variety in their scenes, but there’s something to be said for consistency, too. Every sub is different and therefore they will all react differently, so it hardly feels like the same scenario every time. Masters and subs may change, but the scripts hardly ever do. Because deep down, we all want the same thing.

Submission.

Control.

Release.

To be accepted for who we are behind the curtains where we hide.

“Show me how good you can be,” I order him, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. He grabs my hand and leads me across the floor to the elevators. My heart is in my throat the entire way there. It feels like an eternity until the doors open on the top floor. I pull my phone out to scan my membership, and Jackson stops me, lightly pushing my hand away. I meet his gaze, which looks oddly warm, maybe even a little soft. It’s not a look that’s familiar, not on him.

“Consider it two friends catching up,” he says carefully, and I don’t miss the inflection on that one word. Friend.