Page 37 of Whirlwind

Eric realized then that the uneven walk must be painful. The boy’s arms were probably sore too from supporting his body weight with the crutch.

His thoughts immediately filled with massage oils and glistening skin, muscles relaxing under his fingers.

He would work every knot and ache out of that gorgeous body, until the boy was a puddle of jelly. Then he would start kissing him gently, awakening every nerve until his body sang.

The image, so vivid and sensual, gave him pause. He was here for a fun time, a way to unwind. Sometimes a scene, sometimes a tumble in the group room.

While he liked shepherding the new subs into the scene, he wasn’t interested in getting attached and took pains to clarify that.

He also wasn’t usually a sensualist. If a sub wanted to be tied up and teased, he’d usually use something more interesting—and perhaps a bit less intimate—like a feather or an ice cube. Sure, he’d given some long massages, but that wasn’t usually his style. Especially at the club. Massages were more like boyfriend territory.

Well, that was interesting. Especially after his chat with Charlie today.

He kept watching the boy, who was now using the mirror to look around with interest.

He watched as fear turned into curiosity, perhaps even a bit of awe. He figured that it was one thing to hear about some place like this, or watch it in some clearly staged porn, but quite another thing to see it in person.

Then their eyes met in the mirror. A jolt ran through Eric’s body, stronger than anything he’d expected.

The boy quickly turned away, but that look had been enough. Courage and fear. Insecurity and desire. Strength and neediness. And of course, chemistry. God, what chemistry.

That was enough for Eric. He stood up and crossed the room in a few short strides.

He wanted to keep it casual, chat for a while. But once he was sitting there, with those electric brown eyes watching him in the mirror or hiding below those messy bangs that he wanted to tug, he had to lean in closer.

The boy’s cleanly washed skin was intoxicating. His neck was begging to be kissed. He found himself whispering in the boy’s ear, eager to see that shiver sneak down his body and the flush spread down his chest.

It was so clear the boy was expecting rejection, which only made Eric throw himself further into the role. He wanted the boy to know he was desired. Sexy. Just the way he was.

The boy’s delighted surprise when he’d taken the CP announcement in a stride was a reward in itself. He’d played with other subs with disabilities, and mostly what he’d learned was that they were better than most people at telling you exactly what their bodies’ limits were and exactly what they needed.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice things like this, because of course he did, but he could recognize it as an important part of someone’s identity without having it impact what they did together. What he was looking for was submission, and this boy seemed eager.

He was proud of the way the boy answered his questions, too—clearly and confidently despite his worries. He had a pure, melodic voice, too. Deeper than Eric had expected and a little breathy in his excitement.

Now that the boy was his—for the evening, he reminded himself—he wanted to get to know him somewhere a bit quieter.

Knowing it would take the boy a bit longer to cross the room, he told him to go back to the chair he’d claimed earlier. He wanted the boy to realize that he wasn’t going to coddle him because of his condition. And this way he’d get to watch his ass.

He’d just gotten their glasses when he saw the boy tense. Was he worried about people watching him? Afraid that Eric wasn’t following? Or had someone given him a malicious look while Eric was distracted?

Dammit. He should have made the boy wait with him for the drinks so they could walk over together.

The boy looked over his shoulder. Eric tried to put all his desire and command into the answering look, telling the boy with his body, I want you and I’m going to have you.

He saw the answering jolt of desire in the boy, followed quickly by fear.

He ate up the distance between them in quick strides, ignoring the splash of liquid that spilled over his fingers. Something wasn’t right.

He watched, as if in slow motion, as the boy’s stronger leg, the right one, spasmed and kicked against the nearby table. The boy jerked back from the pain, seemed to right himself, but then overbalanced on the crutch and went careening into a chair.

Eric would have dropped the glasses if he hadn’t been afraid of hurting the boy’s feet with the broken shards. Instead, he set them down quickly to catch the boy in his arms.

The boy’s heart fluttered like a rabbit’s, and he felt his own heart hammering in the same frantic rhythm. Fortunately, the boy didn’t pull away.

He liked the feel of him in his arms. The boy was just below Eric’s height, but slender. He could feel the tremor in his leg from the strain of walking, or perhaps in reaction to the stubbed toe. He tried subtly to take more of his weight.

He was immediately aware of his skin, warm and soft under his hands. He wanted to start caressing him right there, but first he had to know what was wrong. The last thing he wanted was to force himself on an unwilling partner.