Finding Eden (7 page)

A business associate of Tony’s, if one would call what Tony did business, Arty was a man who didn’t mind advertising his unique tastes, especially to Tony, who was gay, and, in turn, to Danny, who was fucking him. Apparently liking cock made them fellow sexual deviants.

The stuff Arty talked about made Danny blush, and there wasn’t much that got under his skin and made him flustered. The idea of Paul going to a known member of the mafia’s house for bondage and leather get-togethers was ludicrous. Danny wouldn’t even be considering it if Tony’s claims hadn’t planted the seeds of doubt in his mind. Even then he might have let it go, thinking there was some other golden god getting freaky with high-class pussy if it weren’t for Paul’s strange behavior of late.

Danny was tired of feeling powerless. He couldn’t protect Melissa and Denise from a world that wanted to hurt them just for falling in love, but he could sure as shit figure out what was going on with Paul—because not knowing was killing him.

He put out his cigarette, still staring at the invitation. Danny was going to end up at a BDSM party he’d never planned on attending when the envelope had been handed to him. Finally making the decision didn’t give him peace of mind and he gave up on the notion of sleep as he sat there in the orange-tinted darkness of his closet, hoping his suspicions were wrong.

 Chapter Three

“You want to safe word, don’t you, handsome?”

Paul blinked, seeing dark eyeliner and sexy red lipstick, his mind fuzzy to the point he could almost envision Eve in his mind’s eye. The woman in front of him had inky-black hair, but at this point in the evening it started to look red to him.

They all looked like Eve when he hit this place, the wall where pain and pleasure blended perfectly, making him completely euphoric. He closed his eyes, feeling himself sink deeper into the headspace, the fantasy etching itself more clearly in his mind.

If only he had known how much he enjoyed leather and high heels before Eve left. He was certain she would have worn them for him. God, the thought made him harder and he moaned audibly.

“Safe word for me,” she coaxed, the sear of pain tearing over Paul’s shoulder as she whispered in his ear. “You know you want to.”

“No.” Paul groaned, wishing for just a moment his hands weren’t cuffed behind his back because he’d really like to be jerking off right now. “God no,” he whispered, the unwanted image of his childhood popping up without his permission. Eighteen years of pretending and groveling to be released from pain just to please a father who would never be happy with him.

He opened his eyes, seeing Eve again, speaking to her with the voice of a man who trusted and loved her completely. “Please don’t make me safe word. I hate it. I hate it more than anything.”

“What do you want, baby?” Her dark eyes glazed over as she studied him. Crimson lips glistened under the flicker of candlelight as she licked them. Her breath was raspy with desire when she whispered, “You tell me and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Hurt me,” he pleaded, staring at her in desperation, knowing the lust and pleasure were shining in his eyes, as was the promise that he would do anything to please her if she just played along. “Go to the edge.”

She laughed, the sound a little manic. “We’re already at the edge. We go any further and we’ll fall off it.”

“Let’s do that then.” He licked his lips, making his voice seductive on purpose. His gaze was soft, submissive, which appealed to any Domme as aggressive as the one in front of him. “Go over the edge with me. Please, I’m begging you.”

She glanced toward the open door, hesitance showing on her face. “I dunno, I cut you any deeper and—”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I’m tough, a lot tougher than all those other pussies out there.”

“Yeah, you are,” she said breathily as her gaze ran over him once more. “You are so sexy, do you know that? So fucking sexy. I get wet just thinking about playing with you.”

“I’ll be sexy for you.” He started to reach for her when the sharp stab between his shoulders reminded Paul his hands were bound behind his back. “Please.”

“Okay,” she said, her smile bright, her eyes heavy with lust as she turned to go close the door.

Paul dropped his head when she came back to him, staring down at the expensive Italian tile in one of Arty’s many guest rooms. It was hard enough to sink in past the leather pants he was wearing and he loved it for the unforgiving impressions it dug into his knees.

He loved the fiery sear of pain even more and he dropped his head lower, his chin touching his chest in a show of deep submission. His groan was guttural when she started hurting him in earnest, the cool, smooth feeling of steel mixing with the warm slide of blood as she cut him. He waited all week for this. He was responsible and worked hard with the promise of an escape, something to ease the tension and stress his life heaped on him. Starting lineup was a huge accomplishment, mix that with steady straight A’s and he deserved the indulgence.

He didn’t give a shit about hiding wounds. He’d been doing that his entire life. He didn’t even care that Danny was starting to suspect something. The subspace claimed every worry, every fear. It let him exist on a plain where it was okay to enjoy the pain. He didn’t have to hide a pain tolerance that had yet to be pushed to its limit. In this world he could be himself and not only be accepted, but admired for it. There was a side of Paul that truly wished he could abandon real life and just be a professional submissive.

If only he weren’t living a life for a father who would never be satisfied, because Paul could pretend to hate the pain, but he couldn’t pretend enduring it made him mean or vicious. As it was, he put off joining the Marines for football, but that excuse was only going to last so long. At some point he was going to have to figure out how to pretend to be a killer when he wasn’t even a fighter.

“Bitch, you better drop that knife and back the fuck up!”

Paul lifted his head, the sharp, furious voice cutting through the haze. He frowned at the tall, imposing figure in the doorway. He opened his mouth, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.

“Fuck you.” Her voice was overly defiant as she growled, “He’s mine tonight. Stand in line.”

Another sharp sear of pain ran down Paul’s back to the point that he dropped his head and groaned once more.

“You cunt!”

Danny rushed at them fast enough that the Domme fell back, dropping the knife with a loud clatter. Fear flashed in her eyes when Danny grabbed her arm, dragging her to her feet.

“Listen to me very closely,” Danny whispered, his voice cutting, demanding attention. “You even
think
about touching him again and I will get scary in a way you can’t even imagine. I want you to forget you ever met him.”

“Danny Boy,” Paul said, realizing this wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him at all. Danny really was here and the shock of it, mixed with the fear and defiance in the Domme’s eyes, had him coming back to reality. Danny looked very dangerous at the moment. “It’s just a game. You’re overreacting.”

“I don’t wanna hear shit out of you,” Danny snapped at Paul. “Your girlfriend is gonna unlock those cuffs and then we’re leaving.”

“But—”

“Don’t.” Danny shook his head as he glared. “There is nothing you can say that will justify this.”

“Shit,” Paul groaned, falling back on his haunches, staring toward the ceiling. “What’re you doing here anyway?”

“I was invited.” Danny shoved the Domme none too gently back toward Paul. “I’m a business associate of Arty’s.”

“A business—” Paul started, his eyes widening as he looked toward the open door. Arty was standing there, along with a group of other curious bystanders, which meant Danny made a scene before he found Paul. “This is not happening.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” Danny’s gaze ran over Paul, the shock and horror evident in his dark eyes. Then his attention darted to the Domme. “Unlock him. Now. Don’t make me ask again.”

“Is he your Master?” she asked Paul, looking unsure.

Paul was silent, not knowing how to answer that question, and still fighting off the shock of Danny being there. Paul’s shoulders ached when she used a key to open the padlock holding his leather cuffs together. He usually loved that feeling, the surge of sensation that ran up his arms once he was freed, but this time he didn’t have time to savor it.

The Domme glared petulantly once Paul was freed, but obviously felt too intimidated to argue now that Danny had announced he was a business associate of Arty’s. None of them said it out loud, but they all knew what Arty’s business was. It was why his parties were ideal for people like Paul, who needed someone who wasn’t too concerned about legalities.

“You didn’t tell me you belonged to someone,” she went on, something in Danny’s look and presence answering the question for her.

“Slipped my mind,” Paul said, his eyes on Danny, whose mood was unpredictable at best. He got to his feet, feeling a wave of dizziness he ignored as he tilted his head toward the door. “I guess you wanna take off.”

“You think?” Danny asked curtly then started unbuttoning his white shirt that looked very out of place amongst all the dark clothing and leather. He slipped out of it and handed it to Paul. “Put it on.”

Paul took it, slipping into the shirt rather than argue, feeling the silk material stick to his bleeding back. It was too small on him to button, so he didn’t bother. He turned to leave, knowing he needed to get Danny out of Arty’s as quickly as possible. He was thankful the subspace and adrenaline rush from the pain was letting him ignore the horror of knowing what Danny had seen. It was a small blessing right then, but a blessing nonetheless, as he made his way past the group of people gathered around the door.

“I told ya he was a freak.”

Paul frowned, seeing Tony for the first time. Having only met him once, Paul wouldn’t have recognized him in the leather pants and long-sleeve black shirt if he hadn’t called attention to himself. At least now he knew where Danny found out about everything. Paul was kicking himself because he knew Tony was shady. It made sense he knew Arty.

“Don’t start,” Danny said with a glare at Tony. “Really, I’m in no mood for your shit.”

“You’re not even gonna let me tell ya I told ya so?” Tony asked, his eyebrows lifting in amusement. “You owe me that.”

In the blink of an eye Danny was on him, slamming Tony against the wall hard enough to leave him winded. Everyone else gasped and backed up, but Paul jumped forward, grabbing Danny’s arm before he could punch Tony.

Tony gave a wheezing laugh, gripping his side as his eyes danced in amusement. “All for love. You stupid asshole, I’ve seen arrows more bent than him.”

“I will fuck you up, Ton,” Danny growled, his voice low in warning. “I’m not kidding.”

“Relax.” Another bark of laughter slipped out of Tony. “I ain’t no snitch.”

Danny’s breathing was labored as if he were silently debating with himself. A considerable crowd had gathered and there was a pulse of excitement in the air that told Paul many were disappointed he had stopped Danny from laying into Tony.

“Come on.” Paul tugged on his arm, desperate to distract Danny, not knowing what Tony was really capable of. “I’m dizzy. Gimme a ride.”

Danny turned, his eyes still narrowed, but some of the tension seemed to slip out of his shoulders as he studied him. Paul breathed a sigh of relief when Danny left Tony leaning against the wall, a grin of amusement plastered on his tan face as if the spectacle Paul and Danny had created was the most amusing thing he’d come across in a long time.

“I quit,” Danny said, his voice still low and furious as if he were barely containing his temper.

Tony snorted. “Sure you do.”

* * * * *

His worlds had collided in a spectacular explosion of fury and disappointment and Paul was floundering in the aftermath. The shock of Danny showing up unexpectedly allowed him to make it out of there with some dignity, but now that he was crashing from a truly spectacular adrenaline rush, he was battling to stay clear-minded past the haze of sexual longing and pain. The subspace didn’t want to ebb just because his best friend’s vanilla freak-out ruined an awesome evening.

Never let it be said Danny couldn’t cause a scene, couldn’t make an entire room of people shiver in fear when he was raging. Paul was still shivering, perhaps more so now that the reality of what Danny saw started to sink in. His best friend would never see him the same way again. The embarrassment was enough to make his cheeks burn. The fear made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

If only Paul didn’t get off on that rush quite so intensely. He’d be okay if his back wasn’t rippling with the most intoxicating pain he’d felt in weeks. If he could find the friend Danny knew, he could fight this, he could think of an excuse.

It’d all be okay. If only Danny would shut the fuck up.

“Blood all over my fucking car!” Danny raged, his knuckles white from where they gripped the steering wheel. His dark eyes blazed, his foot was leaden as he wove in and out of traffic recklessly. “What the fuck do you have to say about that?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, really longing to tell Danny he wasn’t doing anything but crossing the wires in Paul’s brain to the point he was hard and aching. He tried to focus on something sensible rather than have to tell Danny he was feeding his fetish like oxygen feeds fire. “Y-You don’t wanna get pulled over. Cops aren’t exactly
understanding
when it comes to BDSM.”

“
I’m
not understanding,” Danny said, his hand flying against his chest as he turned to glare at Paul. “Make me understand! Help me to fucking understand why you would let anyone do that to you. Explain it to me!”

Paul tilted his head, looking at Danny beneath his lashes. Danny’s voice, cold enough to cut glass, caused white-hot desire to roll over him. For just a moment Paul allowed himself the luxury of remembering Danny back at Arty’s, eyes dark as sin glowing in fury, the dim lighting casting shadows over his face that had always been enigmatically beautiful.