CHAPTER 6
Zeke
It took nearly half an hour to get the contractor to finally shut up and listen.
While he was making my ears bleed with his incessant chatter, I made a mental note to never agree to fill in for Ben again.
Not when it came to shit like this. It might’ve helped if I had cared even a little about this endeavor of theirs, but I didn’t.
I wasn’t an uptight hipster foodie. I tended to cook at home, and from time to time I would splurge on pizza or a good burger.
Sautéing up sauces and herbs that appealed to the palate was lost on me.
Fortunately for everyone involved, the contractor finally took the hint, although it was obvious he wasn’t happy with me.
No, I didn’t know where they wanted the dining room or what the layout of the kitchen should be.
I didn’t give a flying fuck where the water or gas lines came into the building, and I had told him so repeatedly.
In fact, we had accomplished exactly nothing by being there.
I’d wanted to give the contractor a piece of my mind. To let him know that it was rude to waste other people’s time. He’d had no real purpose for this visit, and that irritated the shit out of me. I did not like wasting time. It was too precious to begin with.
“If I’m not working with Mr. McBride, who will be my point of contact?” the contractor asked. “Will you be running point?”
“Fuck no,” I mumbled. “I think it’s best you contact Ben. He’ll be able to give you more direction. I’m merely filling in for him.”
The man nodded while his eyes were glued to me. In fact, I wasn’t sure he’d looked away once since I interrupted his conversation with the cowboy. I could practically smell his fear, and while it usually amused me, I was growing more irritated by the second.
“Well, then. I guess that’s all for now. I’ll call Ben.”
“Good idea.” To ensure Ben was aware, I pulled out my phone and shot him a quick text. I didn’t go into detail, simply let him know he should expect a call.
Once the contractor finally left, I locked the door behind me and went in search of the cowboy and the pretty boy. I’d asked that they take Tank and wait in the lobby.
I found them sitting against the wall, the cowboy on one of the cherrywood benches while the pretty boy was on the marble floor, back to the wall with Tank between his spread legs. He was absently rubbing Tank’s fur while staring off into space.
The scene had me pausing in my tracks. The pretty boy looked quite content to be sitting with my dog. All three of them were silent while the cowboy was skimming something on his phone.
Tank heard me first, because his head turned, a wide smile forming on his face. And yes, dogs fucking smiled. Mine did.
When I approached, the pretty boy pushed to his feet, then passed Tank’s leash over to me.
“I’m sorry about that, Zeke,” the cowboy said when he stood. “I wasn’t sure what it was he needed from me.”
“I don’t think he knew,” I assured him. “I told him to get with Ben.”
I turned my attention back to the pretty boy. “You good?”
“Yep. Much better now.”
He was lying, I could tell.
I should’ve turned and walked out of the building, but something kept me rooted there.
Ever since I saw the pretty boy’s pale face outside the building a short time ago, I’d been worried about him.
Not that I was prone to worrying. Nor was I condoning my behavior.
Whatever he was dealing with wasn’t my business.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
The cowboy tucked his phone into his pocket and sighed. “I don’t know yet.”
“We’re going back up to the apartment,” the pretty boy stated, as though it was obvious. “I’ll be fine. I just have to—”
I cut him off by motioning toward the elevator. “Come on then.”
Neither of them moved.
“It wasn’t a request,” I said, casting my voice lower than before.
The pretty boy’s eyes widened, but his legs started working. If nothing else, he was relatively good at following instructions.
“Where are we going?” the cowboy asked as he fell into step with me.
“Up to the apartment.” I wanted to see the pretty boy’s reaction for myself.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Case needs—”
“I didn’t ask for your input,” I told him, catching and holding his stare. “Now, let’s go.”
The cowboy was obviously confused, perhaps even a little pissed—it was written all over his face—but when the pretty boy started walking, we followed.
It wasn’t like I was going to toss them in the apartment and force the pretty boy to suffer.
I had an idea, something that would potentially take the pretty boy’s mind off whatever had triggered his panic attack.
Not only would it benefit him if I could get him distracted, it would benefit me.
I needed to assess this situation. Considering what I had in store for these two, it was imperative that I knew what I was up against.
I needed to determine whether or not the pretty boy was capable of scening with me or not.
I’d seen him restrained before, and at the time, I hadn’t gotten any indication that he had a problem with it.
So, perhaps the restraints weren’t the issue.
However, the idea of being boxed in could be, as well as the amount of space he had around him.
I wouldn’t know until I saw it for myself.
Once inside the elevator, I kept an eye on the pretty boy as he leaned against the wall. He was trying to appear unaffected, but the color was already draining from his face.
“Do you have an issue with elevators?” I asked.
“Not a huge fan, no.”
“The confinement?”
He shook his head. “More so, the lack of air.”
I glanced up at the ceiling. There was plenty of air, but I understood what he meant. His brain wasn’t registering the ventilation.
When we stepped out of the elevator, he stumbled once but managed to catch himself. With Tank beside me, we followed them down the hallway. The cowboy unlocked their door and then stepped inside. I was right behind them.
The door shut, and the pretty boy flinched.
“Go open all the blinds, cowboy.”
The cowboy nodded and headed toward the windows.
It was a nice-sized apartment. One bedroom, probably nine hundred square feet.
Plenty of space, although, thanks to all the window coverings, it was rather dark.
Considering the clouds were choking out the sun, there wasn’t a whole lot of light to begin with.
I unhooked Tank’s leash from his collar so he could sniff at his leisure, then turned to stand directly in front of the pretty boy.
“Look at me,” I demanded.
Light green eyes snapped up to mine. His chest was expanding rapidly, his eyes a little wild.
“Breathe. Slowly in. Then out. Focus on that.” I watched him. “In.” I paused. “Out. Now I want you to repeat after me. Eight, four, two, nine, seven.”
Confusion contorted his features, but he managed to repeat the numbers.
“Again.”
Once more, he ran through them.
“Now backward.”
I wasn’t a therapist, and I didn’t know whether or not the method would work for his situation, but it had worked for my mother that day.
I’d done it a time or two in the club since then.
When an overeager submissive found themselves in a compromising position, it wasn’t all that uncommon for them to panic.
Being a Dom, it was my responsibility to guide them through it, to ensure their well-being, whether I played with them or not.
Some people accused me of lacking empathy, but that was simply their way of trying to explain away my sadistic tendencies.
The fact that I took extreme pleasure in a masochist’s pain had to be wrong in some way because it didn’t make sense to everyone.
Why in the hell would someone want you to spank them, pull their hair, whip them, chain them up, lock them in a cage, or hold them down while you fucked them?
More importantly, why would someone want to do those things to someone else? It was barbaric.
Yeah. I’d heard it all. After all, ignorance made for the best tirades.
I’d long ago stopped making excuses for my desires. I didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought about me or those I chose to engage with. As long as the submissive was willing and truthful, I didn’t give a shit about the condemnation that came from the outside.
“Come here, cowboy.”
He strolled over after he’d opened all the blinds in the apartment.
It wasn’t a big difference, but it allowed the outside in just a little.
I removed the hat from his head and set it on the counter.
He ran a hand through his golden-brown hair.
I briefly imagined myself pulling it while I fucked him hard.
I took a deep breath and composed myself. I needed to focus.
“I want you to stand behind this pretty boy.” I purposely used more condescension on the term than normal.
The cowboy got into position.
“Take off his shirt.”
The cowboy lifted the hem, and the pretty boy raised his arms, allowing him to remove it. I watched the pretty boy’s face for any sign of displeasure, but I didn’t find anything except genuine curiosity. He wanted to know what I was up to.
“Now your shirt.”
The cowboy stripped his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the counter with the other.
“Now, place your arms under his. Curl them over his shoulders like you’re restraining him.”
He did.
“Pull his arms back wide.” I kept my eyes locked with the pretty boy’s while I gave the cowboy instructions. “Not enough to hurt. Just enough to open his chest. And you, pretty boy, I want you focused on my face and my voice. Nothing else. Understand me?”
“Yes, Zeke.” Those bright green eyes glittered, but his breaths were still choppy, labored.
“What are you feeling right now?”
“Like it’s hard to breathe.”
“Pull back on his arms a little more. Take a deep breath, pretty boy. Your airway’s open. You’re not suffocating.”
He gave a jerky nod.