Page 3 of Never Forget

“Not usually?”

He shrugs. “I’m more of a casual observer. Curious. Like you.”

My brow furrows. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“Oh, honey,” he says in a way that is both patronizing and endearing. “It would be impossible to mistake a sweet thing like yourself.” He winks.

“I told you–” I cut myself off and clear my throat, forcing myself not to take the bait. A quick glance at the smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I’m Scott,” he says, holding out his hand. I stare at it for longer than is polite before reluctantly accepting the handshake. His hand is warm, grip strong but not at all crushing.

I wonder how much he has to hold back to keep his size and strength in check? I’m over six feet and pretty fit, but my musculature is lean like a swimmer rather than bulky like the brick shithouse practically towering over me. Still, despite his size, he doesn’t have an intimidating presence. His smile and soft eyes are kind even in the ominous shadows of this room.

Scott is waiting expectantly, and I realize I haven’t told him my name. I don’t want to. Instead, I change the subject.

“So you work here and then stay for the show?” I ask tilting my head towards the leather bench where the blond sub is now being held down and spread apart by two men while his master puts his already massive cock into some kind of terrifying studded sleeve contraption that looks like it would tear up somebody’s insides. Christ. Did I walk in on some kind of torture scene tonight? I thought I’d seen it all, but this is a whole different level of pain kink than I’ve seen before.

My face must betray my feelings, because Scott laughs. The deep, warm chuckle sinks into my nerve endings, making me feel warm and tingly. It pulls my attention back to him. Is he really this happy, or is it for show?

He’s probably a serial killer.

I notice his raised eyebrow. “What? I’m not judging or anything, it’s just too much for me.”

“That’s the cool thing I’ve noticed about this kind of thing,” Scott says, returning his attention to the show, where a fourth man is pushing his cock into the sub’s mouth while the dom rubs his now studded dick up and down the sub’s crack. “There are all levels of kink and control, and it’s flexible. The thing that matters most is the trust and understanding between the dominant and the submissive. These guys, for example, they’re pretty hardcore into the kink, but they’re also fully immersed in the lifestyle. Others just like to play on occasion, and you can pick and choose what you’re into and avoid what you’re not."

“What do you mean, lifestyle?”

“BDSM is more than just kinky sex. It actually doesn’t have to be sexual at all. It’s about the consensual, safe exchange of power.”

Huh. Interesting.

“So where do you fit into all this?” I ask.

Scott shrugs. “Like I said, I’m mostly a casual observer. I’ve played a little here and there, but nothing very advanced or serious.”

“I bet you’re good at it.”

My lips press together. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Scott chuckles again, and it turns into a warm tingly feeling that trickles down from the base of my neck and down my spine.

“Would you like to find out?”

I sputter. “Uh– I’m sorry, what?”

“You seem curious. What’s had you coming back so many times?”

My lungs expand with a slow, controlled breath that I let out quietly, taking the moment to steel my nerves. I don’t need this man noticing how off-kilter he’s making me feel, how much he’s actually making me consider putting action behind all the thoughts and fantasies that have been plaguing me since the first time I walked in on a scene like this.

“I like watching the sub let go,” I admit, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance. “It’s… fascinating.”

Scott nods. “Makes sense. You seem kind of wound tight.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He smiles widely. “I bet you have some kind of high-powered, stressful job where you have to be on all the time. Am I right?”

“What makes you think that?”