Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“I’m changing the topic,” he said. “Are you seeing anyone?”
I’d rather go back to the previous topic.
“Not really. I have that arrangement starting next week. That’s it.”
I was actually looking forward to it. Corey was a sweet kid in my kink community. Part Little, part feisty brat with masochistic needs. He was on the high-functioning end of the autism spectrum and struggled to handle his emotions sometimes. More precisely, he usually needed pain in order to cry and find an emotional release. But since his Daddy Dom was uncomfortable with pain, he helped Corey find Sadists for nonsexual pain sessions.
Corey’s arrangement with a Dom in another community had ended for some reason, so they’d come to me.
Given it was going to be nonsexual, I didn’t have to worry about him being only twenty-three or twenty-four. The younger subbies were hot for brief scenes here and there, but it felt too strange for relationships and long-term arrangements.
I had fuck-all in common with a guy half my age, and I wasn’t a Daddy by lifestyle. These days, I didn’t consider dating anyone under thirty-five.
“I guess I don’t have to ask you the same question,” I said.
Sloan chuckled. “No, definitely not. Who the fuck has the time for dating and kink?”
I did. Because I didn’t have a family to come home to.
The grass was always greener on the other side, wasn’t it?
“You gotta make time, buddy.” I meant it. BDSM wasn’t just for shits and giggles. It was part of who we were. “You’re gonna wreck yourself if you continue to see every hour away from the kids as work time. You gotta let yourself breathe.”
He smiled, though it held little to no humor. “Too expensive.”
Goddammit. He frustrated me to no fucking end.
Before I got heated, I decided to bargain with him. For as long as I’d known Sloan—and we’d met at a kink party fifteen years ago—he’d gone out of his way to make sure we didn’t end up in the same venue. Actually, that was wrong. We’d attended parties together—while playing separately—before he’d met Carol. Then he’d stepped away from the scene altogether. But once the divorce was final, he’d declined my invitation to join my community, opting for one in the city, and it bugged the shit out of me.
Doms were a pain in my fucking ass. They didn’t obey.
“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll stop hounding you to move in with me if you join Mclean House and attend one event every month. I’ll even pick you up at home and return you safely at the end of the night.”
The fucker rolled his eyes at me. “I can put up with your hounding, Shep. At some point, you’re gonna realize you can’t make me do shit.”
Today was not that day.
I sucked my teeth and leaned back in my seat. “If you were a sub itching for a ride on my cock, you’d be a lot easier to persuade.”
“Well, I’m not a sub,” he chuckled tiredly. “But that’s how you know my love for you is genuine. I’m here even though you’re using your dominant powers for evil.”
Very funny. “You clearly don’t love me enough,” I stated.
That angle didn’t work on him either.
“Did you borrow your mother’s Catholic guilt card, or do you have your own?” he retorted.
“Oh, get fucked. You exhaust me.” I folded my arms over my chest and looked out over the backyard.
That made him laugh.
CHAPTER 2
On Sunday, Sloan became an official member of my kink community and didn’t even know about it.
By Wednesday, I still hadn’t told him, but I was seeing him tonight for dinner in the city. Carol’s parents were watching the kids, and Sloan hadn’t been able to book a client at the tattoo place on such short notice. Praise Jesus or something. My buddy had the whole evening off.
But before then, I had a playdate with a brat.
I texted Corey at work as I changed into my regular clothes.
On my way to the house. I’ve reserved a playroom for us, but you can wait for me on the front porch. –Greer
As an homage to our heritage, when my brothers and I started our business, we decided to use utility kilts as our standard work attire when the weather allowed it. I wasn’t gonna lie, they felt fucking great in the summer.
Wearing a kilt had also gotten me plenty of action from subbie boys when I’d come to an event straight from work. But it was October now, and I had no desire to wear two sets of boxer briefs just so I wouldn’t freeze my balls off. This week had to be the last for the season. I was switching to utility pants once Ben had dug them out from storage.
Corey texted back while I zipped up my jeans.
Will do, Sir! I’m already here. So we’re not playing in your cabin?