“What’s in it for me?” Zeke asked, steepling his hands as he leaned back in his chair. It was a wonder the damn thing didn’t snap in two from the sheer weight of him alone. I’d venture to guess the man weighed somewhere between two sixty and two eighty. At six eight, he was a monster. Which had me curious as to the size of his dick.
No. Nix that. I wasn’t curious. I was here to get the keys. Then, if I couldn’t catch some Z’s, maybe I’d find some coffee and I could get on with my day.
“What would you like?” Case asked.
Christ Almighty. That was not a question you asked Zeke Lautner. The gleam in his eyes alone said he was thinking all sorts of things and I doubted a single one of them didn’t involve some sort of humiliation.
Strangely, that made my cock harder.
Zeke motioned across the room. “Have a seat.”
It wasn’t a request, it was a command. One that had Case and me moving across the room even as I wondered why the rush.
I’d long ago stopped questioning the perversion I had when it came to Domination and submission. It wasn’t something I’d experienced until after I came to work for Trent. Oh, sure, I’d gotten off a few times to an ex-boyfriend wanting to pull my hair or nail me to the wall. Aggressive sex had always turned me on. But it wasn’t until I’d witnessed a scene at Dichotomy between a Sadist and a masochist that I’d truly understood some of the darkness that fueled me. It was then that I’d realized I hadn’t even scratched the surface of the true depth of my depravity.
However, my desire to explore Zeke’s particular brand of Sadism had been cemented the night I watched as Zeke took over a scene with Case. Another Dom had offered to flog Case in an effort to get him off. It was the very reason we went to Dichotomy. We sought the release that came with scenes of that nature.
Case and I had come to the understanding back in the beginning that we needed to experiment to see how to sate some of the deeper urges we had. And we’d agreed to do it together. So, as long as we were at the club, we rode the wave where it took us. We’d scened numerous times with various Doms, and our limits were minimal. The only rule we had was that we discussed the scenes afterward, in depth. It was important to us that we kept each other in the loop as to which direction our desires were headed.
I’d known from the beginning that I could never give Case everything he truly needed when it came to sex. While my kink leaned toward the humiliation department, Case was into serious pain. The sort I couldn’t inflict even on my worst day. I was sure a therapist would’ve had a field day outlining the cause of Case’s obsession. Surely there was something in his past—abusive parents, neglectful family, inappropriate contact with someone in his life—that had molded him into what he was today.
While I got the feeling something had caused Case to seek the pain, he insisted otherwise. Aside from having sex at an early age—he’d lost his virginity at the ripe young age of fifteen—Case insisted he’d had a normal upbringing. Nothing that would trigger a need to be beaten. I knew in my soul that when Case told me he was mentally intact that he wasn’t lying. His parents were still married and we’d spent quite a bit of time with them over the course of our relationship. They didn’t have an issue with Case being gay or even that he had a fondness for kink clubs. They were actually more tolerant than most people I knew.
Sometimes, people just needed things they couldn’t explain.
I agreed with that sentiment; however, I still believed there was something in Case’s past that had him seeking someone to deliver pain that most people purposely ran from.
After we had taken a seat on the couch, Zeke continued to stare at us without saying a word. I didn’t look him in the eye, even as I admired the hard lines of his face, the angle of his nose, the aggressive slant of his eyebrows. The man scared me, had from the moment I met him. But it was the sort of fear that made me feel alive, made me crave the darkness I could see in his aura.
“I can only assume I didn’t scare you off completely,” he finally said, pivoting his chair so that he was facing us.
The office was large, with a wall of windows that offered a shitty view of another building. Granted, it allowed sunlight to filter in, which was a good thing. Aside from the monstrous desk, there was the black leather couch we were currently seated on, two chairs facing Zeke’s desk, a four-drawer black metal file cabinet, and an overstuffed, navy-blue dog bed in the far corner, where Tank had retreated. There weren’t any pictures on the wall, no diplomas or other certificates. Nothing personal, either. On the desk was a laptop computer, a banker’s lamp and the keys I assumed were for our apartment.
