Make Me Soar (4 page)

Dorian gazed at him thoughtfully. “Remember what I said about wanting to push my boundaries?”

Pietro stared at him, eyes wide. “You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?”

Dorian regarded him for a moment and then nodded. “You remember I went to London in October? Well, I was there for a reason—Fetish Week.”

Pietro smirked. “Well, that’s appropriate, I suppose. I’ve never been. Was it any good?”

He shrugged. “It was all right. Okay, so there were some events that were more extreme than we have here, but mostly I saw the same kind of kink. And then I found something.” He gave Pietro a speculative glance. “What do you know about the BDSM clubs in Berlin?”

Pietro frowned. “Absolutely nothing. Why?”

Dorian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, recalling what he’d read. “It seems they’re more hard-core than over here.” He snorted. “Than anywhere, if it comes to that. Anyway, I saw a poster advertising one of the clubs, Lab.Oratory, or the Lab for short, and I was thinking of going there.” When Pietro said nothing, Dorian looked up. His fellow submissive was staring at him. “What?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Pietro asked in a low voice.

He swallowed.
How the hell do I explain this?
And in that moment he realized this was a bad idea. He couldn’t explain it, nor did he want to. Pietro wouldn’t understand. Why would he? He had a master who adored him. Dorian had only to look at them together to see that. In their scenes, they were a good fit—no, they were an
amazing
fit. Pietro wouldn’t have a
clue
what Dorian was going through. No one did. Not even Thomas, though it had shocked Dorian to know that his lack of scenes had been noticed. He’d been grateful that Thomas hadn’t asked about his scenes with Andrew Barrett, because that was one place Dorian didn’t want to go.

Fuck
.
Why can’t I forget those bloody scenes?
Two fucking months
since Master Andrew had agreed to do that second scene with him, and still he couldn’t get it out of his mind. And it wasn’t Andrew that was the problem. What plagued Dorian was the way he’d responded to something as simple as Shibari. Then again, maybe “plagued” wasn’t quite accurate.

It had scared the hell out of him. Not the scene, but its implications. It had forced him to take a long look at himself, his goals and everything he’d believed until that moment. And the fact that he might have got it all wrong scared the shit out of him.

What worried him was how angry he’d got when he thought about the club. He’d always thought no one had noticed him, that no one truly
saw
him. At least he knew that first part wasn’t true, and he’d given up hoping for someone to see beyond the facade he put up for everyone. Except how could he expect them to see him when he didn’t let anyone get close enough?

He groaned inwardly.

God, I am such a fucking mess
.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Pietro’s voice was soft, his eyes full of concern.

Dorian met Pietro’s gaze and pushed aside his inner turmoil.
Come on, think of the plan
. Because there
was
one, now.

“I need to do this, okay? That’s all you need to know.” Then something occurred to him. He knew how Pietro got when he got his knickers in a twist—he ran straight to Leo Hart. “And you can’t tell
anyone
, you hear me? I’m only telling you because I trust you.” And maybe because he had to tell
someone
.

Pietro bit his lip. “Are you going there on your own?” Dorian nodded, and Pietro’s frown deepened. “I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Dorian retorted, immediately regretting his impulse.
I should have known better than to tell him in the first place.

Pietro’s expression grew stubborn. “No, I don’t. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to make sure you’re safe. How long are you thinking of spending there? And do you even speak German?”

“Maybe a week. And my German is rusty, at best,” he admitted.

Pietro scowled. “A week, on your own, in a country where you don’t speak the language? Okay, it’s official—you’re nuts.”

Dorian chuckled. When Pietro put it like that, he had to agree it sounded like a crazy idea.

Then why was his heart hammering at the mere thought?

“So if you are going to do this, I want some assurances.”

Dorian shook himself. He arched his eyebrows. “Oh, you do?” In spite of Pietro doing his usual mother hen routine, it warmed him that his friend cared enough to look out for him.

“Uh-huh.” Pietro dipped his chin. “One, you text or message me regularly so I know you’re okay. And two, if you get into any trouble
whatsoever
, you call me.”

“And what could you do from here if I was?” Dorian wanted to know, mildly amused.

“If you needed help, I’d bloody well think of something, all right?”

The expression of grim determination on Pietro’s face robbed him of any humor he’d found in the situation. Pietro was deadly serious.

Dorian placed his hand over Pietro’s. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I promise to keep in touch, okay?” It wasn’t a big thing to ask, after all. A quick one-line message via WhatsApp every now and again would suffice, surely.

Pietro studied him, as though trying to see into his head. Finally he nodded. “That’ll have to do, I suppose.” His expression relaxed a little. “I’d better get dressed before Miles comes looking for me.” He winked. “You know what Doms can be like.” Pietro stood, whipped off his towel, and reached into his locker for his clothes. He paused in mid-action. “When are you going?”

Dorian’s heartbeat raced. “Thursday morning, if there’s a flight.”

Pietro stilled. “So soon?”

He shrugged. “Why not? Strike while the iron is hot, and all that.”
And before I lose my nerve
.

Pietro bit his lip. “It just seems like you’re rushing into this.” Then the tension across his shoulders eased. “But if you’re going to keep in touch, then that’s all right.” He squinted at Dorian. “You
are
going to keep in touch, yeah?”

Dorian snickered. “I promised, didn’t I? Now stop worrying and go find Miles before he sends out a search party.”

Pietro smiled and hurriedly finished getting dressed.

Dorian watched him, his mind already going over what he needed to do: book a flight, find a hotel, exchange some money….

He only hoped the Lab lived up to its reputation.

D
ORIAN
LEANED
against the wall of the club and closed his eyes, letting the hard techno beat pulse through his body. He was still weary, despite having slept the day away after falling into his hotel bed at nine thirty that Friday morning. Thursday night had been amazing.

His first look at the abandoned power station that housed Lab.Oratory had been disappointing. The whole neighborhood was bleak, the club sitting on a street containing many warehouses, some of which were clearly still in use. That initial walk from the Berlin Ostbahnhof railway station up to the main door of the club, passing between chain-link fencing, had almost convinced Dorian to change his mind. Looking at the stark exterior of the building, with its concrete facade and tall windows, it was difficult to believe it contained Europe’s top techno club, Berghain, not that he had any intention of dancing the night away in there. Dorian had other fish to fry.

The entrance to the Lab was via a side door located to the left of the main building, and once inside, the visuals didn’t improve. The sex club had maintained its industrial architecture, designed with high-voltage power-line insulators, steam pipes, and pressure gauges set within a steel and concrete interior.

Certainly nothing like Collars & Cuffs
. And the differences didn’t stop there.

On an average night, Collars & Cuffs would have maybe forty to fifty members present. Dorian estimated there had to have been upward of three hundred men in the Lab the night before, naked and half-naked, in all shapes and sizes, young and old. The air was rich with the scent of men, raw and sweaty, and the heady mix of testosterone and desire. Dorian had removed all his clothing except his boots and had deposited them in the sack provided, along with his money. The number written on his shoulder got him his drinks—and Crisco—at the bar. Having taken the advice he’d found on the Internet, he’d tucked condoms into his boot. Apparently they ran out on occasions, and Dorian didn’t want to be caught short.

At midnight on Thursday the doors had been locked, and Dorian had simply let himself
go
. He’d paid a visit to the glory holes, gotten some group action by the graffiti-covered stalls, and had watched any number of guys getting fisted, fucked, pissed on—and it had been glorious. Anything that could happen, did, and Dorian had loved every minute of it.

And now he was ready for more.
Bring it on
.

“You are English?”

Dorian opened his eyes to see a thin man, maybe in his early thirties, wearing leather trousers and boots. He was tall, with a shaved head and blue eyes.

Dorian smiled. “Is it that obvious?”

The stranger grinned. “Not really. I was here last night. Hearing you demanding to be fucked by those men was a bit of a giveaway.” His eyes gleamed. “You looked like you were having a good time.”

Dorian matched his grin. “Oh, I was.” He peered around the interior of the club. “Maybe you can answer a question for me. I go to a BDSM club in Manchester, and there are mirrors everywhere so the guys can watch themselves and their scene partners. Yet I haven’t seen one mirror here—or any reflective surfaces, if it comes to that. And there are no clocks either.”

The man laughed. “They are not stupid. No clocks so you have no idea of time. No mirrors so you are not concerned with how you look. All things devised to keep you raving away here as long as possible, blissfully ignorant of the outside world.” He gestured around the club. “Here you are only aware of your body’s demands, the pleasures of the flesh and the music.” He regarded Dorian. “I am Karl, by the way.”

“Dorian.” He accepted Karl’s kisses to his cheeks. “Your English is excellent.”

Karl waved his hand. “You are too kind. I lived for a year in London during my studies. I found Soho to be a most fascinating place.”

Dorian snorted. “Soho doesn’t compare to this,” he said, sweeping his arm in a wide arc. And yet….

Karl tilted his head. “Something concerns you?”

Dorian sighed. “I had a great time last night, but that was only a warm-up. I came here tonight ready for something more, but the atmosphere seems….” He couldn’t put his finger on it. Fewer men, less kink, maybe.

“Ahhh.” Karl gave him a knowing nod. “Fridays here are different. Tonight is the time for Friday Fuck two for one. As the revelers get more drunk, you will see more acts taking place, but there are no themed nights. Plus there are two-for-one drinks all night. It is a lot more tame.” He smiled. “You will still be able to get fisted or participate in some water sports if you so wish. Especially as more men get drunk.”

Dorian pulled a face. “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirts.” The puzzled expression on Karl’s face told him he’d found a limit to his new friend’s English skills. “I could have stayed in Manchester and done any of those activities.” That went equally for the events of the previous night, if it came to that. The surreal quality of the club had worn off, and now Dorian was ready to push his boundaries.

Karl gave him a speculative glance. “Perhaps I might be able to suggest an alternative?”

There was something about his demeanor that piqued Dorian’s interest. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

Karl studied him carefully for a moment and then removed a phone which had been tucked into the front of his leather trousers. He scrolled through and then had a hushed conversation in rapid German. Dorian’s limited knowledge of the language was not enough to allow him to keep up with the quick-fire patter. The call went on for about a minute, and then Karl disconnected, meeting Dorian’s gaze.

“I was going to meet some friends for a party tonight,” he said slowly. “A sex party.” He didn’t break eye contact once. “We tend to play a little harder on such nights, and it is not for the fainthearted.” Karl’s eyes sparkled. “Would that be of interest to you?”

Dorian’s heart pounded, and he grinned. “Now you’re talking
my
language.”

Karl glanced around. “They have not locked the doors yet, but it must be nearly midnight. If we are going to leave, it should be now.”

“Lead the way.” Dorian followed Karl through the throngs of seminaked men, his pulse racing. He thought briefly of texting Pietro to inform him of the development but then dismissed it.