CHAPTER 10 #2
My fuck toys—referring to them that way kept things less complicated for me—came down a few minutes later, looking exactly as they had when they went upstairs. There was still a gleam in the pretty boy’s eyes, as though he hadn’t quite come down from his high.
“It’s late,” I told them. “And I’m sure you’re exhausted; however, I’m not sure when you last ate. Are you hungry?”
Both men looked at me and nodded. Now that I thought about it, until a few minutes ago, I wasn’t sure either of them had said anything—except to answer my questions—since they emerged from the aftercare rooms.
“Good. So am I.” I looked at the cowboy. “Since you’re the chef, you have free rein of my kitchen.”
His eyes widened as they should. My home had top-of-the-line everything, including a chef’s kitchen.
I wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, but I could hold my own.
Plus, my baby sister loved spending time in there, making a mess while she worked to concoct something amazing.
I would admit, her cooking skills weren’t any better than mine, but I generally suffered through simply because it put a smile on her face.
“The fridge is stocked, so make whatever sounds appealing. I prefer meat over vegetables and keep the carbs to a minimum. If there’s anything you need for future meals, jot it down and I’ll have it delivered.”
“Yes, Zeke. Thank you,” the cowboy said.
I stepped back out of the way, signaling for him to get started. While he took care of dinner, I had plans for the pretty boy. Plans that included him taking care of me.
“You. Back upstairs. I need to shower.”
A smile formed on his lips as he said, “Yes, Zeke.”
Case (the pretty boy)
I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Zeke Lautner lived in a fucking mansion. In fact, the long, winding road up to the place had me feeling as though I was about to greet royalty.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t a traditional mansion, but it was ridiculously nice. Honestly, I’d expected him to live in a loft warehouse of some sort. The type with concrete floors, exposed brick, and pipes running along the ceiling joists. This was … not that.
In the living room, which appeared to be the focal point of the downstairs, there were two oversized black leather sofas with an iron coffee table between them.
If I wasn’t mistaken, that coffee table doubled as a cage.
Whether it was for Tank (I somehow doubted that) or for his human fuck toys, I wasn’t sure.
The hardwood floors were sleek and dark, the walls gleamed white, and the fixtures appeared to be black iron.
A couple of splatter-paint art pieces—black, white, and red—decorated the one wall that didn’t contain floor-to-ceiling windows.
Based on what little I’d seen, I would venture a guess that it came in close to four thousand square feet with wide-open spaces and a monochromatic theme.
I’d noticed two additional bedrooms upstairs when we headed down the hallway to the two guest bedrooms. One looked to be the master bedroom, the other very feminine, as though a woman lived there.
However, there was no one else in the house. Not that I could tell, anyway.
I followed Zeke back up the stairs, admiring the impressive staircase as I went. The floating knotted-wood planks stained the same color as the hardwood, and the decorative wrought iron railing was unique by design. Very impressive.
I had a weird desire to snoop around, to see if I could find what made this guy tick. And maybe I would have, except once we reached the top landing, my body hardened at the thought of what was going to come next.
Honestly, I didn’t care what he intended to do to me. After that scene at the club, I was ready and willing to bow at the man’s feet. No one had ever made me feel what he’d made me feel. The pain, the pleasure. The intensity of it all still lingered even a couple of hours later.
Zeke stepped into the room I’d pegged as the master bedroom. The space was enormous, as was the furniture. Plush gray carpet covered the floor, a huge bed sat on one side of the room, several rectangular windows high up on the wall above it.
I noticed instantly that the bed was constructed of thick, black iron with posts that rose up from the corners and bars across the top.
The headboard consisted of several rows of squares—capable of having chains hooked through them, which explained the huge cage beneath the bed, likely built to shelter one of his fuck toys, if I had to guess.
It wasn’t the sort of bed you found in a regular home, that was for damn sure.
On the opposite side was a full wall of windows with thick black curtains that were currently pulled back to reveal a sliding glass door. I couldn’t tell what was outside, but I figured it had to be impressive for a room to be set up to overlook it.
There was a matching black dresser, two nightstands, a large armoire, and what appeared to be some sort of chest on the same wall as the dresser. Very modern, very open. Very unexpected.
I didn’t know how I’d envisioned Zeke Lautner designing his personal space, but it wasn’t like this.
“This way, pretty boy,” he said, motioning toward the bathroom.
I turned and followed him through a set of double doors.
On the other side of those doors was a huge open space.
I was equally enthralled with the decor in here, noticing there were very few walls aside from the four that confined it.
The double sinks were black—appeared to be quartz—sitting atop gleaming black cabinets.
No hardware, just sleek lines. There was a Jacuzzi tub that looked like it would hold three people—or maybe just one Zeke—a single door that I suspected was the water closet, and a shower that took up almost half the space.
No enclosure on it, simply gray, slate-tiled walls and floor.
“Undress,” he said as he pulled his T-shirt off over his head before walking to the back of the room.
The way he moved captured my attention. All those hard muscles flexing, even though he appeared relaxed. Zeke disappeared, and I realized there was another door on the far end of the room, likely a closet.
Since he’d given me a command, I didn’t hesitate, stripping off my T-shirt first, my shoes and socks next, then finally my jeans.
The floors were warmer than I expected, and I had to wonder whether he had radiant heat beneath the tile.
I’d heard that was a thing in the northern states.
Having grown up in Oklahoma and Texas, that was a luxury we hadn’t needed.
When Zeke returned, the man was wearing only his jeans, his giant boots discarded in the room he’d emerged from. He moved with purpose, his long legs devouring the space on his way to the shower.
I waited, curious as to what he would do next.
The water came on, and then he was stripping those jeans over his powerful legs. All corded muscles covered by smooth skin. His ass was a masterpiece, just like the rest of him.
“Over here.” He pointed toward the shower floor. “Kneel by the wall. Facing me.”
Swallowing hard, I did as he instructed, doing my best not to appear overeager. I was, but I damn sure didn’t want Zeke to know that.
The wet slate floor dug into my knees, but I welcomed the pain.
It blended with the delicious sensations still coursing through my body.
While I had anticipated having open wounds on my back from our scene, I’d been surprised when Mistress D informed me there were only a few large welts that would likely disappear by morning.
She had applied some soothing oil over my skin, outlining the huge dragon that covered my back.
Admittedly, I’d been a little disappointed when I learned the marks would go away so quickly. I had wanted to wear them for a little while longer. Perhaps fall asleep with them, feeling the sting as I settled into bed. It would’ve been a nice reminder of the scene from earlier.
While I kneeled obediently, Zeke stepped beneath the water, which was coming at him from multiple angles—a rain shower head above him and several others lining the wall at his back.
I probably should’ve tilted my head down in submission, but I was entranced by the man’s body.
He was one of the biggest men I’d ever seen, and I’d been around plenty, myself included.
The gyms were full of powerful males and some females, all looking to enhance their physiques to push their bodies to the limit.
There was no way Zeke didn’t work out with a body as honed as his. That wasn’t natural muscle tone, but it was admirable, regardless. His chest was broad and covered with various tattoos, but even from the front, you could see his lats. They flared out from his back, wider than his chest.
I tried to admire all the sleek lines and thick muscle, but my gaze inadvertently lowered, taking in his cock.
He was hard as steel, the skin over the thick head glossy.
I’d seen men with arms smaller than that man’s cock.
It wasn’t just the length that was impressive; it was the girth.
My ass clenched at the thought of him fucking me into oblivion.
That damn plug he’d used today had absolutely nothing on him.
Soap suds began drifting down his body, gliding over his impressive dick before slipping farther until they washed down the drain. I had the strange urge to wash him, to let my hands roam over him, memorizing every inch to lock away for later.
“You didn’t come tonight,” he said, drawing my attention up his body.
His head was tilted back, his hands washing the soap from his bald head.
“No, Zeke.”
Black eyes leveled on my face a second later. “Is that normal for you?”
“If I can reach subspace, I tend to hold off.”
“That’s your drug? Subspace?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “But it’s rare that a Dom can get me there.”
“Your pain threshold is high.”