Page 44 of Their Ruthless Sadist

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.”

Although it wasn’t a question, I answered anyway. “Yes. And it seems the more I play, the higher it gets.”

“At what point did you realize you needed the pain?”

I hadn’t expected the questions. “I was … a … uh … teenager.” I didn’t want to go into all the reasons with him. I didn’t like talking about my childhood. While I wasn’t abused or mistreated in any way by my parents, there were some things that had molded me into the man I am today.

“How long have you been in the scene?”

“A while. I went to my first club when I was twenty-two.”

“And you’re twenty-eight?”

He obviously remembered from the time he’d asked on the plane. “Yeah. I’ll be twenty-nine in December.”

The room was filling with steam from the heat of the water, holding back the chill from the air. But it wasn’t the steam that had me warming. No, that was the way Zeke’s hand drifted down to his cock, his big fist encompassing the thick shaft as he stroked slowly, leisurely. I was entranced by the damn thing, wondering briefly if he would split me open if he fucked my ass. While Brax’s cock filled me completely, it wasn’t as long or thick.

However, I got the feeling Zeke wasn’t going to take my ass tonight. The way his eyes continued to linger on my face, I knew he was thinking about my mouth. I was almost disappointed when he didn’t move toward me once he had rinsed off completely. Instead, he took a step back and sat on the wide tiled bench in the corner.

“Your turn.” He motioned for me to get up.

My legs were trembling from anticipation, but I managed to remain steady as I got up and closed the distance between us. The water was hot but not scalding.

“Wash,” he ordered.

I’d showered with plenty of men before—some intimately, some not—but never had I felt as exposed as I did when I stood before Zeke. His eyes were merciless, roaming over every inch of me, sometimes lingering for several seconds before moving on. I worked my soapy hands over my skin, trying to focus on breathing. My cock was so hard I hurt. My balls, still sensitive from the earlier torment, felt as though they were going to explode.

It wasn’t until I was rinsed clean that Zeke spoke again.

“Over here, pretty boy. Kneel in front of me.”

Again, there was that hint of condescension when he said pretty boy. As though he was making fun of me. The humiliation only added to my desire.

I eased down between his splayed thighs, not touching him as I did. I wanted to feel his skin, curious as to whether it was as tough as the rest of him, but I knew better than to touch without permission.

He stroked his cock several times before reaching out and cupping the back of my head, drawing me closer.

“Open your mouth, pretty boy. I want those lips on my dick.”

He wasn’t gentle as he guided me forward, but I hadn’t expected him to be. I was still shocked that I was in Zeke’s house, in his shower, about to devour his cock. My thoughts briefly drifted to Brax, who was downstairs cooking. I wondered whether he wished he’d come with us. If for no other reason than to watch.