Page 19 of Their Ruthless Sadist

However, my desire to explore Zeke’s particular brand of Sadism had been cemented the night I watched as Zeke took over a scene with Case. Another Dom had offered to flog Case in an effort to get him off. It was the very reason we went to Dichotomy. We sought the release that came with scenes of that nature.

Case and I had come to the understanding back in the beginning that we needed to experiment to see how to sate some of the deeper urges we had. And we’d agreed to do it together. So, as long as we were at the club, we rode the wave where it took us. We’d scened numerous times with various Doms, and our limits were minimal. The only rule we had was that we discussed the scenes afterward, in depth. It was important to us that we kept each other in the loop as to which direction our desires were headed.

I’d known from the beginning that I could never give Case everything he truly needed when it came to sex. While my kink leaned toward the humiliation department, Case was into serious pain. The sort I couldn’t inflict even on my worst day. I was sure a therapist would’ve had a field day outlining the cause of Case’s obsession. Surely there was something in his past—abusive parents, neglectful family, inappropriate contact with someone in his life—that had molded him into what he was today.

While I got the feeling something had caused Case to seek the pain, he insisted otherwise. Aside from having sex at an early age—he’d lost his virginity at the ripe young age of fifteen—Case insisted he’d had a normal upbringing. Nothing that would trigger a need to be beaten. I knew in my soul that when Case told me he was mentally intact, he wasn’t lying. His parents were still married, and we’d spent quite a bit of time with them over the course of our relationship. They didn’t have an issue with Case being gay or even that he had a fondness for kink clubs. They were actually more tolerant than most people I knew.

Sometimes, people just needed things they couldn’t explain.

I agreed with that sentiment; however, I still believed there was something in Case’s past that had him seeking someone to deliver pain that most people purposely ran from.

After we had taken a seat on the couch, Zeke continued to stare at us without saying a word. I didn’t look him in the eye, even as I admired the hard lines of his face, the angle of his nose, the aggressive slant of his eyebrows. The man scared me, had from the moment I met him. But it was the sort of fear that made me feel alive, made me crave the darkness I could see in his aura.

“I can only assume I didn’t scare you off completely,” he finally said, pivoting his chair so that he was facing us.

The office was large, with a wall of windows that offered a shitty view of another building. Granted, it allowed sunlight to filter in, which was a good thing. Aside from the monstrous desk, there was the black leather couch we were currently seated on, two chairs facing Zeke’s desk, a four-drawer black metal file cabinet, and an overstuffed, navy-blue dog bed in the far corner, where Tank had retreated. There weren’t any pictures on the wall, no diplomas or other certificates. Nothing personal, either. On the desk was a laptop computer, a banker’s lamp, and the keys I assumed were for our apartment.

In a word, the office was bare. Almost minimalistic in nature. As though Zeke didn’t spend any time in here, and when he did, it was simply to work and nothing else.

“You didn’t scare us off, Zeke,” I said when it was obvious Case wasn’t going to respond.

“Yet.” He sounded as though he truly believed we might be gone on the next strong breeze. In fact, I got the feeling Zeke did his best to get people to run far and fast away from him.

Despite my curiosity about the man, I hadn’t asked around the club for fear word would get back to him. I couldn’t imagine it would go over well if Zeke found out we were trying to get the lowdown on him. When most people said his name, it was either in awe or pure terror.

Personally, I felt a significant amount of both when I was this close to him.

Yet I couldn’t even fathom walking away.

CHAPTER 4

Zeke

I should’ve tossed them the keys when they appeared in the doorway. In mere seconds, they could’ve been on their way, and I could get back to doing the shit I needed to be doing. It would’ve been the smart thing to do.

Despite my college degree and my rather high IQ, no one had ever accused me of being smart. Most of the adjectives associated with me were in line with enormous, mean, sadistic, and intolerant.

Enormous and sadistic, sure. I would admit to those. Mean and intolerant … no. I didn’t see it. Nor was I a glutton for punishment.

Which begged the question: what the hell was I doing entertaining the notion of fucking these boys’ lives up by getting involved with them?

Unfortunately for all three of us, I didn’t have an answer.

I could only think it had everything to do with that scene I’d interrupted at Dichotomy. When I’d whipped the pretty boy until he was flying so fucking high I feared for a moment he would never come back down, a strange obsession had followed. Watching him mutter and moan as the tails did all but split his skin wide open had fueled me in a way I hadn’t experienced in quite some time. Seeing my stripes on his back had stirred the beast within, and now he was taking over.

I’d dreamed about it since. Strapping the pretty boy’s beautiful naked ass up and beating him black and blue, pushing him harder until he whimpered and cried, pleading for me to stop. Only then would I give him enough to send him over the edge. Admittedly, I’d been surprised by his pain threshold. Once I’d witnessed it for myself, I had wondered whether anyone before me had ever given him what he needed.

As for the cowboy … I’d had some rather interesting thoughts about him, too. Most of them consisted of me laying him out, burying my fingers in his ass, and fucking him so goddamn hard he was crying out with the need to come. My cock always followed my fingers as I chased my release, brutally nailing him as hard and as deep as I could. And every damn time, they were both begging me to never stop.

It wasn’t until I’d found them fucking in the shower that I realized the two of them had a relationship. Not that I cared. As long as they were willing, I didn’t give a fuck what they did in their spare time. I didn’t give a shit who their parents were, whether they had a good relationship with their siblings. It didn’t matter to me if they’d graduated from high school with honors or by the skin of their teeth. I couldn’t care less if they called their mommas every damn day or hadn’t spoken in ten years. I didn’t need to know anything about them personally, and that was the way I liked it.

Entertaining the idea of dominating them made sense. I needed it. They needed it. Being on a first-name basis with them was not on the table.

I could see the fear in their eyes, the terror warring with excitement. I knew they wanted the unique brand of pain I could give them, which had me curious as to how two masochists—one with a ridiculously high threshold for pain—had ended up together. It was a question I would ponder but never ask. I had no desire to get to know them. I wasn’t here to be their friend or their lover.

I could offer only one thing: to make their deepest, darkest fantasies come true. In return, they would offer me one thing: complete and total surrender.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” I said when the silence had beat on for a few minutes. “The wheels in your heads are spinning. You’re curious as to why you’re sitting there silently while I stare at you. It doesn’t make sense, does it? This strange hold I have over you?”