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After stepping through the doors of an unexpected elevator, Clint leaned against the wall, eyeing up the array of buttons. Scotland swiped a card through a slot before pressing the button marked only as ‘B’.
“How big is this place?” It appeared to be maybe three floors from the outside, but there were a hell of a lot more than three buttons.
“I’ve met a lot of different people on my table,” said Scotland, skimming his hand over one of his tattoos. Had he done the art himself? Or had someone else carved the marks into his skin? Clint’s hands twitched as he tried to rid himself of the image of someone else’s hands piercing Scotland’s flesh.
“Jealous?” said Scotland, quirking his lips. “My needle gave a woman an orgasm once. I was doing a small piece on her inner thigh and bam.”
Clint narrowed his eyes before crossing his arms. “Definitely not jealous, Sir. I love watching women, but I don’t want to make one come. I think we’re in the same boat on that front. Besides, if you would have tattooed my thigh, I would have come, too. All the cock rings in the world wouldn’t have stopped me.”
Of that, he was absolutely certain.
The after-effects of the invisible tattoo he’d received had been slightly less pleasant. He’d itched up a storm for a few days, and there was a small red area left behind that was dry and scabby. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he wouldn’t have noticed it.
Scotland’s hands were on him in a moment, one wrapped around his throat as he pressed Clint into the wall, and the other at his chest. The elevator dinged as it slid to a halt, the doors sliding wide to reveal a dark room. Clint couldn’t budge an inch with Scotland pinning him, the weight of his body like a drug.
“I would put a needle on you again in a heartbeat,” said Scotland, dragging his lips over Clint’s ear. “But first I would light a candle, and hold it close enough that you could feel the heat of it, dripping wax on your skin until you would be blushed bright red. I’d have so much fun scraping the wax from your skin, bringing the flame closer and closer until all you could do was feel the burn. After you started whimpering, I would put a needle on that same spot. You’d scream for me.”
His throat clicked as Clint swallowed, his cock instantly hard in the track pants that Scotland had insisted he wear. The doors creaked, sliding shut and locking them tight in a small room with only their breaths.
“Please, Sir.” Clint wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it. It had been days of edging, and even more before that when Scotland had taunted him, following him around the club until he’d haunted Clint’s dreams.
Scotland shrugged, pulling away all at once and pressing the button to open the doors again. He held his hand over the gap so they didn’t slide shut, looking over his shoulder, as if he were confused that Clint hadn’t moved. He didn’t seem to notice the flush on Clint’s cheeks or the way his cock was attempting to poke its way right through his pants.
“You coming?” asked Scotland, his voice way too loud in the small space.
Clint gritted his teeth, doing his best to tuck his cock so he didn’t get it caught in something at the gym. “I fucking hope so, Sir.”
Chapter Nineteen
Scotland
How could a forty-something-year-old man be so incredibly cute? Clint’s blush hadn’t faded since they’d stepped off the elevator, his eyes wide and his thoughts hopefully calm.
From the upstairs, no one expected what was in the basement. Hell, Scotland hadn’t expected it that first time, either. It was a high-end establishment with a bit of a front. No judgment here.
The smell of sweat was thick, despite the air circulation, the sound of fists hitting padding and flesh like an unstoppable rhythm. There were few actual fighters who trained in the two rings or on the bags, but there were many others who had no business being in a legitimate establishment.
“Maxim,” said Scotland, reclining his head at the enforcer who almost had more tattoos than he did. Scotland had done a few of them himself, including the manacles that wrapped around Maxim’s identical twin brother’s wrists. That had been well before he’d been part of Unkinked’s community.
Maxim inclined his head before nodding at Clint. Clint returned the gesture, not looking nearly as nervous as he should have. Maxim was a wild card who had only seemed to calm once he’d found his sub, Copley. He was still a dangerous sonovabitch.
“Haven’t seen you in here in a while,” said Maxim, grabbing his towel that he’d left on the bench before slinging it over the back of his neck. He was shirtless and dripping with sweat, his chest heaving.
“I’ve had a guest.”
“Hey, Maxim,” said Clint, circling around Scotland before touching the bag that was still swaying a bit from Maxim’s hits. “Good seeing you again. Are you taking care of Nikita for me?”
Maxim scoffed, wiping his face with the towel and tossing it to the side. “Copley takes care of him for me. Domestic bliss, baby.” His grin was enough to put Scotland on edge. He wasn’t exactly sure how a sweet guy like Copley managed to handle both of them.
“It’s good to see another kinky fucker here, though,” said Clint, pushing the punching bag. It wobbled with a clank of chains as Clint grunted, throwing his shoulder into it. “This thing is way heavier than I thought.”
Scotland covered his mouth with the back of his hand as Maxim raised one brow at Clint’s display.
“This isn’t some kinky gym,” said Maxim, stalling the punching bag with one hand.
“He’s right.” Scotland reached out, dragging a finger down Clint’s spine. He was already sweating, his shirt clinging to his back. “Besides Maxim and me, I’m pretty sure everyone on this level is straight and vanilla.”
“Then why did you bring me here?” asked Clint, panting as he tried to land a hit on the bag. When he failed to move it much, he put his shoulder to it again, seeming to attempt to pull it from Maxim’s grip. His voice was playful, as he let out a soft little growl, but Maxim looked anything but amused.
