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  Lance releases me, winding the leash in his hand. I don’t get him. One moment he’s tender as fuck. The next, he’s cold as ice. I can still yell “red”, stop this madness. Clearly, this isn’t a good idea. No Dom affects me the way he does, but with Lance around, my mind doesn’t wander to the past.

  Sleep eludes me. I nod off, nap between half an hour to one, only to wake up, screaming, phantom pain acting up again. Even in my waking moments, I remember them all—my dead brothers, the one mistake that I didn’t anticipate.

  Only crawling after a man capable of making me surrender brings me peace. I’m not sure if that’s fucked-up, but I don’t care.

  Lance leads me past his living room. Like the rest of the apartment, everything’s meticulous, like the place is a cut-out from some interior design magazine. We enter a corridor and Lance walks past a bathroom. I glimpse the master bedroom. Unlike the whites, blacks, and grays of the living room and dining room, this room is blue.

  I know Lance’s story. Duke and Josh told him a little about his background, how Lance lost his mate and was never quite the same man after. We have that in common. We’re both broken men trying to cope with our new reality the only way we know how.

  Chapter Three

  Jax

  Lance stops in front of a locked room at the end of the hallway. I know instantly this is his playroom. On his leash, every one of my senses seems more attuned. I hear the sudden spike of his breathing, the rattling of the doorknob as he turns it open.

  “Stay,” he orders.

  I wait as he enters the dark room and flicks the switch on.

  “Come,” he says as I pad in, still on my hands and knees.

  The room’s not big, but it stocks plenty of equipment. I can’t help but be impressed. Every single thing seems maintained with utmost care—gleaming and newly polished. It says plenty about the man. This lion clearly likes order.

  My breath catches as I spot the desk at the far end for the room. The simple desk, not the impressive steel-made St. Andrew’s cross, the swing in the center, or the multiple fixtures on the wall meant to restrain a sub.

  Lance picks the dangling leash on the floor, but not before grazing his scarred knuckles over my cheek. I lean into his touch, closing my eyes. The gesture seems so intimate. Like before, it’s cut short when he pulls away. This time, I notice that this isn’t some kind of cruel game, that it seems to hurt him, too.

  I want to ask why, but that’s breaking our rule number one.

  No prying or personal questions, just business.

  He stands again, leash in hand, and walks us to the desk.

  “Stand up, hands behind your head and face the desk.”

  I obey, legs shaking a little. It takes me a second to name the emotion. Excitement. I face the desk, staring at the tools there. I’m starting to feel the vibe. Humiliation turns me on. I want Lance to chastise me for being late. He plucks something at the end and shows it to me—clover clamps connected by a single thin chain. I swallow, nodding.

  “Yes.” I say the word like a prayer.

  He applies the first, and I groan as the metal bites into the sensitive skin. Lance adjusts until it pinches, all the while watching for my reaction.

  “How are we doing, boy?”

  “Good.” It’s barely a whisper, but with his supernatural hearing, I doubt he’ll miss anything.

  He clips the second, watches me. The chain is heavier than it looks. I’m aware of the pressure on my nipples. The ache goes right to my pulsing dick. Lance’s gaze dips lower. Seeing my cock, he thins his lips, makes a “tsk-tsk” sound, and shows me the next item he’s about to put on me. Shit. I dislike cock rings.

  Lance gestures at me. I turn my body sideways, exposing my dick. I can feel my face burning, but I’m loving every second of this. He slips the ring and slides it at the base, constricting blood flow. I let out a helpless whimper.

  “You look good, boy.” The satisfaction in his voice fills me with a surge of pride. It’s only then I spot the full length mirror behind his shoulder and see myself.

  Back home, when I look at myself, all I see is a ghost of my former myself—hollow, haunted, and pale. The young man staring back at me looks impossibly alive, like a captive creature eager to embrace his submission. Lance reaches out, tugs at the chain between the clamps, making me grit. He trails his fingers lower, touch so gentle, like the wings of a butterfly. It feels like he’s exploring every inch of me. I tense when he reaches the scars.

  Lance traces each one from tip to end, lowers his head to kiss them. The gesture seems so profound, I hold my breath. I can’t but fall a little in love with this broken lion. He handles my scars like they’re something precious, something I ought to be proud of—not view them with shame.

  “Why did you do that?” I’m aware I don’t have permission to speak, but he doesn’t look angry.

  Lance pulls away. Frustration wells in me. I’m about to say a witty comment, but he cuts me short by tugging off the tight shirt stretching over his impressive frame. My jaw drops, not because of the muscles lining his torso, but the rake marks marring every square inch of him.

  “See?” he says with a grim smile, as if to explain how the two of us are not so different.

  “How?” I falter. Fuck, but my hands shake behind my head. I want to touch them. He looks like some scarred-up warrior.

  “Dominant shifters like to brawl, fight over stupid shit,” he explains. “No personal stories, remember?”

  “But you already started it.”

  “Only to relax you. Let’s resume.”

  I let out a shaky laugh, not wanting to ruin this. “Okay.”

  I face the desk again, and he pushes the tools to one side, leaving space for me, I’m guessing.

  Lance places a hand on the center of my back and bends me over, until my clamped nipples and cock dig into the cool wood. Then he takes my wrists from the back of my head and extends them over the wood.

  “Keep them there,” he warns.

  No restraints, no nothing, as if he expects me to keep still while he dishes out the hurt. This guy knows what he’s doing, because every command that falls from his lips feels like a dare, a challenge I want to overcome.

  “Spread,” Lance orders.

  Apparently, I don’t do it well enough, because he nudges my legs further, until I’m spread out for him. No doubt he can see my pink little hole. I rest my forehead against the wood, savoring every little detail of the scene—me over a desk, cock aching, but no release, not without Lance’s permission.

  I’m turned on as fuck.

  I expect Lance to take an implement on the desk. Instead, he does nothing. I fidget a little. It feels like an eternity, but I eventually feel his hand on the back of my neck. He squeezes and runs his fingers down every knob of my spine. I moan into the desk as he arrives at the cleft between my buttocks. Won’t be hard, to thrust my ass up at him in offering, but I don’t. I wait for what he does next.

  Lance rubs circles over my hole, and I silently will him to push a finger in. Of course, he doesn’t. Lance walks around the desk and shows me the first thing he intends on using.

  “This is a deer-skin flogger. I’m going to warm you up first,” he says, caressing the tips against my shoulder, letting me feel the texture.

  “Please.” The word slips out, unbidden.

  “What exactly are you begging me for, boy?” That mischievous smile is back again.

  I’m not sure what I’m begging for, especially this early in the game.

  I pout, earning myself a sexy laugh from him. Fuck, but that’s a good sound.

  “I thought so,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate.

  He returns to position behind me. The first blow takes me off-guard, but like he says, he’s warming me up. I barely feel the next few, but the ache starts to build up. Lance never hits the same space and focuses on my ass and thighs. He stops and moves onto a paddle. This one’s small, light and flexible. Lance lets me feel it again
, and I know this will pack a punch.

  “Count to twenty.”

  “Twenty?” I manage.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The first hits the back of my thighs, the sting hurting like hell. I bite back a cry.

  “I don’t hear you counting,” he says in that same firm, disapproving voice. “Start over.”

  The next draws a line of fire across my ass, igniting my nerves, making my poor dick harden. “One,” I utter and whimper.

  After five, my head’s all over the place. Each blow further ignites the fire building inside me. Lance is merciless. He doesn’t spare my dick and balls. Each thud reverberates through my body. It’s a struggle to keep still, but stubbornness prevails and I try my best not to move.

  After fifteen, I’m begging, pleading him for mercy.

  “Remember, you have your safeword,” he says.

  “Like hell I’m going to give you that, Sir.”

  He chuckles. “That earns you five more, boy.”

  My ass’s on fire by the time he’s done. He discards the paddle and pinches the welts on my skin. I groan into the wood. The gorgeous bastard reaches between my legs, giving my leaking tip a squeeze.

  “God,” I murmur.

  “Stand up. We’re not done.”

  “Seriously?” For all my complaints, I know I can take more.

  “Stand up,” he repeats.

  I stumble a little, but he wraps those arms around me to steady my balance. The press of his scarred chest against my back feels amazing. What’s more, his skin burns fever hot—a shifter thing, I read that somewhere. Their bodies burn at a higher temperature than humans. I feel the strength in those arms, unravel a little when he kisses the nape of my neck.

  “Good boy. Come with me.” He doesn’t tell me to crawl. Instead, he releases me when I’m able to walk and gestures for me to follow him out of the playroom.

  Chapter Four

  Lance

  Reason eludes me as I bring Jax to my bedroom. No one but Curtis has been here. This is my private space, and yet my lion wants Jax here. I cross the room, sit on the edge of the bed only to find Jax by the doorway. There’s hesitation on his face.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  It only occurs to me that Jax knows about Curtis, that he’s respecting my space. In answer, I pat my lap. “Over here.”

  Jax doesn’t need further persuasion. Shy almost, he approaches me and falls over my lap. Fuck, but the sight of his red ass makes me rock-hard. I run my hands over the marks that lead from the curve of his ass to his thighs. A wave of possessiveness fills me. The urge to put him on his hands and knees, rut him, and place my permanent brand on him overwhelms me for a couple of seconds.

  Jax deserves better than a broken shifter for a Dom, a voice inside me says.

  I clear my throat. “Where are we, boy?”

  “Green,” he answers automatically.

  “We’ll do two sets of ten, and then I’ll allow you to come. You like that, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes. Thank you, Sir,” he adds.

  I smile, unable to help myself. Funny how those are rare these days. I wait until his breathing turns even, and just when Jax starts to relax, I smack his left ass cheek. He jumps, chain between his nipples swaying and brushing against my jeans. Fuck, I want to tell him how fucking gorgeous he is, taking it all for me. The compliments hover on the tip of my tongue, because saying them might open a new dam of emotions. Before this, I told myself to conduct our sessions with clinical indifference, except that’s impossible.

  I can smell his arousal, know he’s probably dying to orgasm about now. Jax mewls as my hand hits more of his welts.

  “Please,” he murmurs, tears beginning to form on the corners of his eyes.

  My brave soldier boy has been doing his best to be good for me. He takes all my punishment with grace—with much as he can muster anyway. It’s about time I give him his reward.

  He squirms at the third slap.

  “Stay still,” I chide.

  “It’s not easy, Sir,” he sasses back, then bites his lip.

  I’ll let that go for now, because he needs to let go all the pain and burden he’s been harboring on his own. We both do. My hand starts to hurt halfway. He’s buckling. Tears are streaming down his face, but still no safeword. I ask again.

  “Where are you, boy?”

  “Green.”

  Stubborn little human. I finish up, spanking with a little less force. At twenty, I reach between his legs, pull the cock ring off, and give his balls a squeeze. He shudders as I pump him, working his dick up and down. My own erection’s swelling, in need of relief, but I need to take care of my boy first.

  My boy.

  Mate.

  I can’t fucking think of Jax in those terms. He’s mine, but only for a month. My lion wants him forever, in death do us part terms, but that can’t happen. Knowing he’s about to blow, I take off one nipple clamp. He swears as blood rushes back to both places. Jax moans as I pluck the second, and then he grows still. He climaxes and screams out my name, the sound music to my ears.

  I growl as he coats my hand with his jizz. Seeing him come apart is mind-blowing. Every muscle in his body and face relaxes. There’s a dreamy look in his eyes. I manage to get him to straddle my lap and allow him to lean his head against my chest, to wrap his arms around my waist.

  “That was out of the world, thank you,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

  I reach out, stroking his sweat-soaked back while murmuring inconsequential words against his ear. I’ll provide the aftercare he needs. That’s all, except I have a feeling this is just the beginning of something serious. A broken lion can’t afford to form attachments, but after this first session I know there’s no going back.

  Jax looks down at my dick later and licks his lips. “Let me take care of you.”

  Seems like a bad idea, but I’m need of relief. Plus, Jax on his knees, my cock down his throat will look fucking amazing. I like how he looks at me for permission. I nod. Jax clambers off my lap, sinking to his knees between my legs. The leash dangles from the collar on his neck to his dick.

  I can wake every morning, to the sight of Jax, my collar around his neck, looking dazed and well-fucked from the night before. I see myself coming home from work to find Jax waiting for me back at my apartment, wearing nothing but a flimsy apron, my mate mark on the side of his neck.

  “You’re so tense,” he observes out loud, placing his hands flat on my calves.

  Fascination and curiosity prevent me from telling him off. Jax moves his hands upwards, undoes the button of my jeans, and unzips me. His actions are fluid, with reverence. Jax pulls my dick out and whistles. I know I’m not exactly small. Some human subs become intimidated, but not Jax.

  If possible, his dick is thickening again.

  Horny cute young sub. I forget how easily excitement takes hold of them.

  That reminds me of our age gap. Jax’s in his early twenties. I’m an old lion reaching forty-five in two months. Another reason why we don’t belong together. I can be his Dom for a month. End of story. We go back to our separate lives, except I can’t think about that now.

  Good thing Jax drags me back to the moment. I spear my fingers into his hair and pull him close. Jax opens his mouth, but I tease him by slapping my heavy cock against his cheeks, coating it with pre-cum. The playful human darts his tongue out to lick at it.

  Fuck, but the sight only fuels my passion. It won’t be long, before I ejaculate and coat his face with my cum, marking him the way a predator marks his territory.

  The image in my head takes root.

  “You want my cock, boy?” I ask.

  “Yes, please.” Jax means it. Some subs like to pretend to love giving blowjobs. Shifters can tell truths from lies, and since our session began, Jax has never lied to me once. Brownie points in his favor.

  “Open up and blow me like you mean it.” I nudge my prick between his lips. Jax
closes those tempting lips around my shaft. He gags at the first try but manages the second time, determination in his eyes.

  Jax’s a tease. Using his tongue, Jax explores every ridge and bump. I tighten my grip in his hair, wanting to capture the moment of my entire dick down his throat. Jax pulls back for air and repeats the motion, bobbing his head up and down.

  “Your mouth feels amazing, boy.”

  Jax withdraws his mouth from my prick to give me a cocky grin. “Glad to be of service, Sir.”

  “Go on.”

  He goes on, but I know I won’t be able to continue this for long. I tug his face gently from my groin.

  “I’m taking over,” I announce, voice harsh with lust.

  He gives a nod, holding his mouth open while I fuck him. I can’t help but imagine burying my cock inside his tight little hole. From the way he reacts to my touch, it’s not hard to imagine it’s been a while for him. That goes for both of us. I thrust in and out, careful not to hurt him. My balls draw in tight against my body.

  I pull my shaft away, and Jax seems to know what’s coming, because he closes his eyes. I spill my jizz all over his face, my inner cat completely sated. Once I recover my breathing, I release him from the collar, signaling the end of our session. I rub at the red marks where the collar has been. Pretty soon, they will fade.

  Not if you mate him, my smug lion reminds me. I ignore the voice and focus on what needs to be done, although part of me loathes to let go of Jax.

  He opens his eyes, blinking, staring at my hand.

  “Let’s clean up,” I suggest.

  Jax scoots a little back, and I offer him a hand up. He looks reluctant, but accepts, and I haul him to his feet.

  “Shower’s over here,” I say, nodding to the bathroom door left of the bed.

  “Are you going to join me?” he has the gall to ask.

  Tempting offer, but I know my dick’s going to get hard again. This time, my lion will want to cross the line. Ignoring his question, I enter the bathroom first, pull out an extra towel from the cabinet. When I turn, he’s looking at the towel, anger back in his eyes.