Chapter Two
Nolan floated.
He hadn’t sunk into subspace like that in years. Pain was the one thing that dragged him in deep, and James delivered like no one else. No fancy tricks, gadgets, or flourishes. Just a thick rawhide flogger and pure physicality.
“Come on.” James’s voice registered distantly. “Let’s get you down from here.”
“Mmm,” Nolan murmured, not quite a response but unable to make his mouth say more.
The cuffs around his wrists were undone, but instead of sagging forward, strong, capable hands pulled him upright.
James lifted him with ease, scooping him off the ground into his arms. Nolan nestled against the warmth of a solid chest, the steady thump, thump, thump only helping him drift more.
His ass and thighs stung something fierce, and tomorrow, there would be the deep ache and bruises that made sitting tough.
He relished the pain that centered him and calmed his mind.
They came to an abrupt stop, and James lowered him onto a bench.
Nolan’s brows drew together as the area registered for him. Aftercare Corner.
“I’ll be right back,” James promised, resting a palm on his shoulder before stepping off.
Nolan wasn’t sure if minutes or seconds passed as he stared at the ground, his mind coated in cotton balls.
“Here, drink,” James said, kneeling before him.
Nolan nodded and accepted the water bottle. He hadn’t gone this hard into subspace in a long, long while. The words wouldn’t bubble up as he coasted on the happy endorphins keeping him suspended in that cozy place. He took a few sips of water, the cool liquid bliss against his parched throat.
James sank beside him, then wound his arm around Nolan’s shoulders, drawing him into his side.
The man was warm—so damn warm—and Nolan melted into the solidity.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed while they sat here next to each other, settling in the aftermath of the scene.
He’d think of it for a long time to come.
Rarely had he found someone whose sadism matched his masochism, and though he’d been in a toppy streak for awhile, lately he’d just wanted to be flogged hard enough to feel the effects for a week.
“How are you doing?” James asked, carding fingers through his hair. This man was perfection—competent, caring, and attentive, all immaculate traits for a Dom. Anyone Meg trusted like James was good in Nolan’s book. His boss was a ringer at gauging people, and her intuition was always on the mark.
Nolan opened his mouth to check if the words had returned. “Good,” he murmured. “So good.”
“Can you stand for me?” James asked. “I snagged some cream from the station to apply to your legs and ass.”
Nolan bit his lip and tried to push himself up, but a dizzying rush swirled in his head.
He slowed his breaths, drawing in one deep breath after another until he settled.
James stood and offered his hand. Nolan accepted, and James hoisted him up, then placed his hands on Nolan’s hips, the warmth in those palms grounding him.
James reached past Nolan and grabbed the cream, and then a second later, coolness burst on the tender skin of his ass and thighs as James applied the cream.
His large palms cupping Nolan’s ass sent a shudder through him.
Fuck, he was so horny he could scream. And James could probably split him in two, fuck him until he sobbed, and keep going.
The man had stamina. A single flogging scene with him made that clear enough.
It had been too long since he’d gotten dicked down real good, and damn, if he wanted anyone to slide right into him, it was the big, sturdy man who was taking care of him.
James methodically applied the cream on his thighs next, the strokes strong and sure, and another shiver ran through Nolan. His cock protruded from his jock, needy as hell, but he was still too spacey from the scene to acknowledge that right now.
“Here’s your kilt,” James said, bringing it to his waist. “Want me to buckle it back on?”
Nolan nodded. After the adrenaline bursts from each strike of the flogger, his body was beyond exhausted.
Everything took too much effort. James slipped the kilt on with ease, the buckle’s click echoing with finality.
Neediness rose inside him. He didn’t want the scene to end or the aftercare to cease, but he was settling enough that he could handle the rest on his own.
James sat on the bench, patting the space beside him. “Let’s rest for a few more minutes.”
Relief fluttered through Nolan, and he resumed his spot beside James, who brought his arm around Nolan’s shoulders again. A shuddering sigh escaped him.
“God, I needed that,” James said.
“You’re telling me,” Nolan responded, his head starting to clear a little more. “My body’s still humming.”
“You handled my strikes beautifully,” James said, and the compliment flushed through Nolan.
Despite his close-knit group of friends he played with, he’d recently craved a little more attention.
Probably due to the timing. Every year, when it got close to this date, he grew more on edge, and his tendencies ramped up.
James’s fingers brushed against his forehead, moving several strands out of the way. “Thank you.”
The words held weight, a seemingly resonant thing, even though Nolan couldn’t fathom why. The man could have his pick of any sub any night of the week.
“I should be the one thanking you,” Nolan said, nuzzling into that warm chest. Fuck, he was so turned on.
His cock positively ached. “I haven’t gotten a beating that good in ages.
” He blinked again, then ran his palm over his face to try to clear his headspace a little more.
“Though, I think it took me out of commission for any more scenes tonight.”
“That’s my one and done too,” James said. “It was a good way to enter the scene again though.”
Curiosity percolated through Nolan, but he didn’t pry. People guarded their secrets for their own reasons.
“Did you drive or take public here?” James asked, breaking through Nolan’s thoughts.
“Public,” he said, “though I’ll toss a shirt back on for that.”
“I drove,” James said. “Want a ride back?”
And spend more time with this gorgeous man?
Nolan couldn’t find it in him to say no.
He’d first met James when Whipped’s staff was dealing with their Rick problem—Sloan’s abusive ex-boyfriend and Ezra’s shitty brother.
James had done light hacking for them while he was in the area, and Nolan was smitten.
However, he’d gotten called back to Sacramento before Nolan could even shoot his shot.
Granted, he wasn’t even sure if James was single, only that he was open to playing with others—which could be said of a lot of kinksters in the scene.
“Yeah,” Nolan answered. “I’d love that.”
He’d also love a different sort of ride, and the urge to offer himself up reared in a big way.
Those big palms on him, keeping him steady without feeling constrained, would be perfection.
He was as vers and switchy as they came but lately craved being blanketed by a big body and fucked until all his worries were banished.
“Come on then,” James said, pushing up from the seat. He offered a hand, and Nolan took it, eager for any contact he could get. After standing, James let go but placed a palm on his lower back, the subtle pressure sending a burst of lust through his body.
They navigated the dungeon with ease, snagging James’s go-bag and surprisingly not getting stopped on the way out.
However, Nolan had caught glimpses, and most of his coworkers were either in the middle of scenes or on platforms for demonstrations.
Parker was showing off Micah tonight at the spanking bench, and Micah’s pretty cries echoed through the room, alternated with curses as he lashed out at his Daddy.
Meg stood on a different platform, tying Tristan in a complicated rope rigging, and more power to them.
Nolan hated rope. Fin and Ollie were on another platform, and Fin was dangling…
a cat toy in front of Ollie? Who the fuck knew what they were getting up to.
Nolan shook his head, amusement filtering through him as they headed for the front.
“Let me grab my stuff from the coat check,” Nolan said, and he made quick work of collecting his bag and his shirt, which he slipped on. James’s hand slid to his low back again as they headed out the door. The steady contact made his pulse quicken in the best way.
They stepped outside, and the brisk San Francisco air swept in, crisp and strong.
The whirr of traffic, of cars in constant motion, thrummed around them, and the streetlights cast yellowed rays onto the split concrete.
It was noisy, chaotic, and full of neon lights, even at the late hours, and Nolan wouldn’t have it any other way.
San Francisco was, and would always be, home.
Even after his parents moved to Colorado, he stayed and bought their house from them.
Some days he regretted the choice—not because of the location but the place was huge, empty, and overwhelming.
Some days, the loneliness threatened to swallow him whole.
“I managed to snag street parking up here,” James said, guiding him down the street. He still hadn’t removed his hand from Nolan’s lower back, and for that he was grateful. The touch provided such an anchor right now.
James’s red Mazda had a nice body. Nolan might not be talented under the hood with cars, but he appreciated the aesthetics. Came with the territory, since he’d been working in marketing and graphic design his entire adult life.
“Probably shouldn’t be getting into strange cars with stranger boys,” he teased.
James arched a brow, the wicked curve devastatingly attractive.
The man had a sensual mouth, a strong nose, and expressive dark eyes.
He was so hot that the sight of him spurred a reaction, and that was before Nolan had experienced his competence, his skill with the flogger.
Nolan found he liked the precision to his movements, to his words.
“What part about me is strange?” James responded as he clicked the car open. “Clearly I’m an ordinary sort.” His lips twitched.
Nolan crossed his arms. “Right, because harness-wearing hotties are a dime a dozen.”
James flashed him a full smile, showcasing his gorgeous, even teeth, so different from Nolan’s crooked ones. “If you saw me in my normal life, I look like your average businessman. Exceptional at blending in.”
“Mmm, don’t plant those images in my head,” Nolan teased back as he settled into the passenger’s seat while James sank into the driver’s side. “You in a suit? Total spank bank fodder.”
James’s smile didn’t falter, even as he hummed rather than responding. His car roared to life, and he popped the GPS open and handed it over. “Put your address in. I’ll get you home.”
Nolan typed his address and chewed his lips.
Would James be amenable to more tonight?
His house wasn’t exactly prepared for visitors, but he didn’t want to pass up on the chance to get James into his bed.
After James had gone back to Sacramento, he’d assumed he lost his chance and wouldn’t see the guy again.
Running into him at the club here? It felt a little like fate was giving him the nudge.
James set off, and the lights flickered by as they raced down street after street.
Nolan lived within walking distance from Whipped, while Ouroboros was farther, on the edge of the Mission District.
He loved his childhood home, but tonight, the thought of returning to the creaky three-story building, all the empty rooms inside it, sank deeper into his bones.
He was ready to pull the trigger on what he’d discussed with Meg, despite the idea giving him the jitters.
Yet if he could have James warming his bed, it wouldn’t feel so lonely.
“How are you feeling?” James checked in again. “Coming out of subspace okay?”
“Mmm,” Nolan hummed. “A little floaty still, a little bit of cotton-brain, but I’m not experiencing any drops.”
“I’ll give you my number in case you do,” James said. He rattled off the digits, and Nolan was quick to enter them into his phone. “I’m up late most nights, so it won’t be a bother if you text at an odd time.”
“Won’t be bothering anyone else?” Nolan fished a little, unable to help himself.
James’s brows drew together, and silence lingered in the car like an approaching storm cloud, then he let out a heavy breath. “I’m by myself.”
That didn’t bring the relief he hoped for, despite giving him the information he’d been seeking. Nolan wrinkled his nose. They were almost at his house, meaning decision time. Either he shot his shot or the opportunity would vanish.
James slowed along the side of the road near his place, and Nolan’s pulse sped.
This was it.
“Will you be okay getting there from here?” James asked. “I’m happy to walk you to the door if you need it.”
Nolan licked his lips. “If you want to join me inside, I wouldn’t be sad. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready for the night to end.”
James’s gaze rolled over him, a heated sweep that set Nolan on fire. His palms sweated, and he resisted the urge to wipe them on his kilt. However, James’s eyes darkened, his expression shuttering like he closed up shop.
“Fuck, I wish,” James said, lips twisted bitterly. “You’re gorgeous, Nolan, and at a different time, in a different life…I’m sorry.”
Nolan’s brows drew together as the rejection slammed into him.
It wasn’t clear, more elusive, which was the opposite of how James had communicated in all their interactions, but Nolan could read between the lines.
He pressed his lips tightly together and bobbed his head. “Thanks for the ride. And the scene.”
With that, he pushed the passenger’s door open and exited.
Brisk winds swirled around him, the iciness biting through his skin.
Disappointment threatened to drag him to the ground, but he forced each step forward, one by one, walking over the cracks in the sidewalk as he reached the familiar steps of his house.
The three-story attached Victorian had a butter yellow exterior that looked paler against the ensuing darkness at this time of night.
His footsteps echoed as he scaled the steps alone.
Nolan slid his key in the slot and slipped into the house.
He locked the door, once, twice, three times, and headed straight for the steps leading up to the second floor, where his bedroom and shower were.
The sweat pasted on his skin made him want to scratch it off.
The echoing quiet of the house compounded those sensations, amplified them.
Time to turn the water to scalding and shower off the remnants of the night.