28. ORLANDO, FLORIDA
ORLANDO, FLORIDA
Now playing: Luther - Kendrick Lamar, SZA
The next several hours rolled by in a tense, vibrating lull.
On the surface, the United Wrestling Federation was moving forward with its programming, but beneath the surface, Jim and Tate were operating like a pair of high-stakes black-ops directors.
Jim meticulously documented the targeted corporate harassment, collecting copies of the separate locker room schedules, the written ring bans, and the explicit HR meeting requests Presley’s sycophants had tried to use to trap us.
The next show on the loop was in the birthplace of our modern careers. And Jim and Tate had quietly, flawlessly coordinated with the real Chairman himself, Mark Murran, to be present at the arena for a private, off-the-books meeting.
Silas had slipped into a vacant zombie mode.
He sat in the passenger seat of the rental car as I navigated the familiar highways of Orlando, his head resting against the glass of the window, his brown eyes fixed on the passing neon signs of International Drive.
He looked smaller than his six-foot-three frame allowed, his shoulders slightly hunched beneath his hoodie.
The weight was suffocating him, the knowledge that he was scripted to lose his championship to Rico next week draining the very life out of his bones.
The humid Florida night air rolled through the cracked windows. As we turned onto the palm-tree-lined avenue that led toward our hotel, Si finally shifted, his eyes tracking the old apartment complexes that lined the edge of the downtown district.
“You know,” Silas murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sounded entirely worn out. “Every time I used to drive through this section of the city when we were rookies, I always wondered what your old apartment looked like.”
I let out a soft, sudden laugh to myself, the irony of the memory cutting through the thick dread. I shook my head, keeping my eyes fixed on the taillights ahead of us. “My old apartment? Baby, you didn’t see it because it didn’t exist.”
He blinked, his head snapping over to look at me, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean it didn’t exist? You lived here when we were on Aftershock.”
“I was couch surfing, Si, I spent the first several months in this city sleeping in the performance center parking lot or crashing on the sofa at a buddy’s place when his girlfriend wasn’t there.
I didn’t actually have a lease on a real apartment until after you and I finished our very first main-roster tour together, and I finally got that first real paycheck. ”
Si’s face contorted into a look of absolute, defensive indignation.
He sat up straight in his seat, his voice pitching up with a protective, fierce heat that made my heart swell.
“What the hell, Cal? Why didn’t you ever tell me that back then?
We were together every single day! I had an apartment! You could have stayed with me!”
“Well, yeah, of course I didn’t tell you, you jackass.
” I glanced g over at him behind my glasses.
“I was completely, utterly head-over-heels in love with you. You were the golden boy, the legacy prince. I was terrified that if you realized I was a homeless, broke-ass fucking loser who couldn’t even afford a security deposit, you’d wake up and realize you were completely out of my league. ”
“Don’t you dare call yourself a loser,” Silas snapped, his voice vibrating with an angry protectiveness.
“You were never a loser. Never. You were working, bleeding on the canvas, and surviving a hell I didn’t even understand yet.
You were the toughest, most incredible thing in this city, and I would have slept in that car with you if you’d just asked me.
Don’t you ever talk down on yourself like that in front of me again. ”
The sheer, unconditional ferocity of his defense completely broke through my icy exterior. “Alright,” I whispered, “I hear you, husband.”
The second the hotel room went quiet, I felt a massive, instantaneous shift in my own energy.
The protective, careful machine I’d been playing all day fractured, replaced by a dark and entirely primal hunger.
I looked at Silas. He was standing near the edge of the king-size bed, looking lost in his own head, the invisible weight of Presley’s changes pressing down on him until he looked entirely disconnected from his own skin.
He was drowning, and I knew exactly what we both needed to survive the next twelve hours.
He needed to surrender. He needed to completely yield his body and his mind until the noise vanished. And me? I needed to be in total, unyielding, and absolute control.
I didn’t say a single word as I unzipped my leather jacket, letting it drop to the carpet. I walked over to my master travel bag, unzipped the hidden side compartment, and retrieved a small, flat box I had bought and hidden away specifically for a moment like this.
“Sit on the bed,” I commanded, my voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that left absolutely zero room for argument.
He blinked, his eyes wide and slightly confused through the dim light of the hotel room.
He looked at the box in my hand, his posture hesitant, but the sheer authority in my tone rooted him to the floor before he took a seat on the edge of the mattress.
“Cal? What is that? We’re supposed to be reviewing the training block for tomorrow—”
“I told you to sit,” I interrupted, stepping into his personal space, my shadow falling completely over his frame. I opened the flat box.
It wasn’t like the simpler pieces of lingerie Si had worn for me before.
It was an intricate, highly structured, and violently sexy set.
It was crafted from a stark, pristine white lace, a strappy thong that cut into sharp, geometric lines, accompanied by a matching set of white satin garters.
And to top the entire visual off, tucked into the bottom of the box, was a pair of matching, white thigh-high fishnet stockings.
Si stared at the lace in my hands, his mouth opening slightly as he went utterly speechless. His face turned a burning shade of pink, his pupils dilating instantly as his breath caught in his throat.
A dark smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. I stepped back, leaning my weight against the wooden dresser, crossing my arms over my chest as I looked down at him.
“Put it on,” I ordered flatly.
He swallowed hard as he reached out to take the white lace from my hands. He stood up and started making a defensive move toward the privacy of the bathroom door.
“Not a chance, champion,” I snapped, my voice a blade that stopped his boots dead in their tracks. I walked back over to the bed, climbing onto the mattress and leaning back on my forearms, “You aren’t hiding behind a door tonight. Strip right here. In front of me.”
Silas’s chest was heaving, his breathing turning into a shallow, frantic rhythm as the sheer, submissive thrill of the command hit his system.
He reached down, pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor.
He unbuckled his jeans, stepping out of the denim and kicking his boxers aside until he was standing completely bare in the center of the hotel room.
His large, thick cock was already twitching to life, a drop of pre-cum weeping from the crown, begging for contact.
He stepped into the white lace thong, pulling the thin, elastic straps up over his high-cut hip bones, the white fabric cupping his thick length and pinning it tightly against his lower abs.
Silas sat back down on the edge of the mattress, his massive, heavily muscled thighs flexing as he carefully, painstakingly rolled the white thigh-highs up his legs.
The wide bands at the top cut into his upper thighs, the intricate diamond pattern of the mesh tracing over the golden, bronzed skin of his calves and knees.
It was the most provocative, dirty, and beautiful thing I had ever witnessed in my entire life. I had to grip the sheets just to keep from lunging forward, fighting the feral urge to throw him onto the floor and fuck him with merciless brutality right then and there.
“Spin around for me,” I commanded. “Slowly.”
Standing with his hands flat against his hips, he turned his body in a slow circle. The white lace and fishnets highlighted every single coiled muscle of his athletic frame.
“Stop,” I snapped the second his back was facing me. I let my eyes track down the wide expanse of his shoulders, down the curve of his spine, to where the thin white string of the lace thong disappeared into the crease of his ass. “Bend over. Let me see what I own.”
Silas let out a soft whimper, but he obeyed instantly, arching his spine and pushing his ass directly out toward me, the white fishnets straining against the muscles of his thighs. My cock throbbed painfully against the denim of my jeans.
“Turn back around,” I ordered, sliding off the bed and standing.
He righted himself, turning to face me. I reached back into my travel bag, pulling out the final, definitive surprise of the evening. In my hands was a sleek, thick black leather collar, lined with soft red velvet on the interior, accompanied by a four-foot, steel-link leash.
Silas’s eyes went impossibly wide. I capitalized on his submission instantly.
I stepped into his space, wrapped the black collar around his throat, and pulled the silver buckle tight until it was secure against his skin.
I clipped the heavy metal latch of the leash to the collar with a sharp, definitive CLICK that echoed like a death sentence.
Without a single second of hesitation, I jerked the chain downward.
“Down on your knees, baby,” I growled.