1. Zane #2
He laughs and taps my chin. “That was a challenge.”
What would everyone here think if they saw me take my whip to a man? It’s one thing to do it to a woman, especially knowing that my body will inevitably react to the sight of the blood; it’s another entirely to do it to a man.
It’s not as though I’m openly bisexual, and my encounters with men are few and far between because of it.
I can’t have people talking, after all.
I consider him for a moment, taking in the delicate features I can see beyond the confines of the veil. “Would you get on that cross and take what I have to give you, then? Let everyone see you take a whip far, far more beautifully than she did?” If the words come out as a taunt, so be it.
I don’t expect him to agree, after all, challenge or otherwise.
He glances at the cross, currently empty, and the movement draws my attention to the long line of his pale neck.
He’d look better with a ring of red around that skin.
“I could,” he says after a small pause. He looks back to me. “But I don’t think you want me to.”
He’s not wrong.
But I do want to see him bleed for me.
He nods, a small smile gracing his lips. “Right. It was nice talking to you, anyway. I’m going to find somebody who’s willing to make me bleed.”
He takes one step toward the crowded seating area, where the other guests are bragging to each other about their conquests.
I grab his wrist. Now that he’s gotten into my head, I’m not ready to let him go before I see what he can take. “I don’t think so,” I say. “Go down the hall, second door on the right, and wait for me there.”
There’s no room for argument in my voice.
I will get what I want.
I always do.
He licks his lips again and lowers his head submissively. “Of course… Sir.”
The honorific goes straight to my cock, and my fingers tighten around his slender wrist. “Good boy.” It’s all I can do to release him so he can obey my command.
He heads for the designated room with his head held high and his shoulders straight.
I step aside and confer with one of the attendants, directing him to bring the whip to the room I’d sent the mystery man to.
I’ll give it a few minutes before I follow, even though I want to stalk after him right the fuck now.
Patience.
I usually have it in spades, but tonight, the agitation is just beneath my skin; the woman had only stirred it up instead of soothing the beast.
I get a drink, sipping at the expensive liquor as I survey the room. No one is paying attention to me — except Stefan, whose eyes never stray far from me. I gesture to the hallway, and he wordlessly follows me.
“Wait outside,” I tell him.
I don’t wait for a response before giving a cursory knock on the door and stepping inside to see my prize for the evening. I shut the door behind me and lock it.
The only light is from a lamp next to the ornate four-poster bed. One wall has bolts set into it at various heights, perfect for chaining a person to. The others are decorated with scenic, likely locally-sourced paintings of the swamp. The room is only lightly furnished, with a bed and a dresser.
The man sits in the center of this drafty room on a wooden chair, the only other piece of furniture in the room. The blouse is unbuttoned, one sleeve half down his arm to expose beautiful, unmarked skin.
The whip I’d ordered is on his lap. His hands contrast starkly with the black leather.
I lick my lips, drinking in the tableau before me.
I stalk toward him, circling the chair he’s sitting in to inspect him from every angle. “Lose the blouse,” I order when I finally pause in front of him to stare down at him. “And the veil. I want to see everything.”
He nods and shrugs the blouse the rest of the way off. It lands at his bare feet.
I inhale sharply when I see his newly revealed chest.
Both nipples have a small golden ring through them.
My fingers itch to tug at them, to twist them and hear him cry out. In pleasure, or in pain, I can’t say I’d particularly care so long as it elicits some sort of reaction from him.
“Good boy,” I say, stepping in closer so I can run a finger down his chest. “Now the veil.”
“Yes, Sir,” he says obediently. He reaches up with one arm to tug on the veil.
I could have done it myself, but his obedience makes my cock start to take interest.
Ms. Eleven-Strokes hadn’t gotten me this excited, not even with blood trickling down her back.
Even with the veil removed, my prize keeps his gaze lowered, refusing to let me see his eyes.
I don’t enjoy being denied what’s mine.
I grab him by the chin to force his head up so I can lock eyes with him.
They’re the purest silver I’ve ever seen. Not gray-blue, not light green. Completely silver.
I study them, study him, and the desire to make him bleed comes roaring back to the surface.
“Good. Go to the bed and lean over it,” I say, reaching for the whip.
He pulls the whip away and stands up. “I have one request before we start.” His bare feet are silent on the hard wooden floor as he pads over to the bed.
“What’s that?” I ask, watching his perfect ass. I follow him, unwilling to let him stray too far.
He gets onto the bed and kneels at the edge, facing me. The tight leather pants frame everything perfectly, the outline of his cock visible. No wonder he wore a long blouse.
“I want a kiss, Sir.” He gives me a mocking smile.
He expects me to refuse.
I don’t back away from challenges that easily.
Not when the blood is beating in my ears, not when arousal drives me in this private space.
If he wants a kiss, he’ll get one.
I close the rest of the distance between us and grab him by his long hair, twisting it in my grasp until he lets out a soft sound. I lean in and kiss him hard on the mouth, ruthless and demanding.
He gasps, and I use that opportunity to drive my tongue into his mouth, exploring every inch of him like he belongs to me. He moans, and I bite down on his lip, the delicate skin splitting. I lick away those drops of blood and let him taste himself on my tongue.
By the time I pull away, my cock is straining against my pants, desperate to be freed.
I didn’t come here to fuck him, though. Or at least, I didn’t come here solely to fuck him, though that’s far from off the table.
I want more first.
I want to see his back dripping crimson.
“Happy now?” I rumble, releasing his hair.
He licks the cut on his lip. “Yes,” he answers. “Thank you, Zane.”
My eyes widen.
He knows my name.
“How the fuck—”
Before I can finish my question, he loops the whip around my neck and pulls tight.