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Layers of black and gray were smeared beneath his eyes in a shadow that was so permanent he wondered if he’d ever looked any different. His eyes were bloodshot from what he could tell, with a touch too much scruff on his chin, as usual. Handsome devil.
Ross had called him that every day, no matter what role they had been in. Two switches, living in a twenty-four-seven, should have been a fucking disaster, but for them, it had worked. There had never been another man like Ross. There never will be.
He’d had his show, his high, and he’d lived that part of his life. Sure, he dabbled with his Dominant side sometimes, especially when he was figuring other people’s shit out, or looking after the godforsaken bills, but his submissive side was buried so deep that he was never letting it out again.
Cutler had tried…
Clint shivered, sliding his hand up his chest to the hardness of his sternum. His heart beat slow and steady, a simple thump beneath his hand that gave no indication as to how important it was. The last time it had raced had been with Cutler, but he hadn’t let go. There was no way he could with Ross’ memory just as fresh as it had been the day he’d passed.
He moved his hand lower, settling his fingers by his belly button. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was someone else wrapping their hand around his waist, ready to tug him back into their chest. The embrace would be warm and strong, their scent calming his racing nerves as his mouth went dry.
But no.
Those days were over.
Not bothering with a towel, he made his way to the closet, rifling through the drawers until he found something comfortable. Most of his things had holes in them now from too many washes in the crappy machine he’d had at the club. His new washer was a highly efficient beast that only used a tablespoon of soap.
Sticking his fingers through one of the holes in a shirt, he grumbled under his breath. His pointer finger went straight through without much fuss, and that was the smallest of the few spots. His pants were in a similar state, but he couldn’t exactly go without those.
Before seven in the morning rolled around, he headed out of his part of the house into the area where his real home was. When he’d hired Shelvin to build him a kink haven, he hadn’t really expected it to turn out so well. And Elliot, Shelvin’s sub, had kept Shelvin’s feet on the ground through the project so it hadn’t gone too far out of scope.
They’d been so worried about the money.
Clint scoffed, running his hand along one of the gray walls as he headed to the open play area. He didn’t give a shit about the money. When someone got enough zeros to their name, the value of those zeros truly stopped mattering.
He used to be the kind of person who would do anything for an extra shot of cash. Funnily enough, it had been the reason he’d approached Ross in the first place. The man had been a known playboy, with a bank account that was the talk of the town. If only they had known.
Clint had hoped that maybe he could be a sugar baby for Ross, back when he’d had a look that had been closer to that of a twink than the muscle mass he had now. That hope had lasted until the first time he’d dominated Ross, and the real rush had begun. He hadn’t exactly known he was a switch—just that he wasn’t exactly a sub. Ross hadn’t known either, but fuck, it had been magical.
Until it hadn’t been anymore.
Scrubbing at his face, Clint flicked the lights on for the open play area, pausing for a moment to take in the sight. It would never get old—the room, the implements or the memories of screams and moans. To some, it probably looked like a torture chamber, but it was a playground for kinksters of every kind.
Some preferred the cross as the perfect tool of restraint, while others steered closer to the impact tools on the wall. The couches had been an excellent idea that Maddy had thrown in during the build. What better way is there to watch someone get their ass beaten than reclined on a La-Z-Boy?
They’d settled on a waterproof material that didn’t recline, but it was close enough. The lack of a bar was the only thing that unsettled him about the place. But the bar had been Ross’. It hadn’t been right to just move on and replace it.
Ross had built the bar top at the old club, spending days sanding and staining it until it had been perfect. Clint had never expected someone like him to be so good with a hammer, but maybe it had made sense. Those same fingers could wield a whip, knife or flame with equal determination.
Fuck. Staggering, he grasped the edge of the nearest couch as his eyes prickled. Strength drained from his limbs in an instant, and his knees hit the floor, bile burning in his throat as his chest went tight. Fuck. Fuck.
He couldn’t do it. Not on his own. The walls were empty, the heat an echo of what he’d built with Ross.
“Clint!”
He turned to the sound, flinching when he saw Maddy standing at the entrance of the room. His eyes were wide as he rushed across the room, his feet pattering on the floor.
Double fuck. He had all of two seconds before Maddy knelt next to him, his eyes searching for some kind of wound. The way he settled on Clint’s scars with longing, even if only for a moment, made it so much worse.
“S’okay, kid. I just tripped and banged my knee is all. I was just feeling sorry for myself,” said Clint. His words were slow before he forced in a deep breath. The smile was harder, barely touching his lips before it slipped away again. It seemed to fool Maddy, though, who instantly relaxed.
He was a sweet kid, but naïve as all hell. As far as Clint knew, he’d been a forty-year-old virgin before he’d met Derreck and that ship had sailed in a burst of pure sadistic drama.
“Don’t call me kid,” said Maddy, a pout touching his lips before he stood, fiddling with his hands. “I’m probably older than you, you know.”
Nope. “Only in your looks,” said Clint. The grin came easier as Maddy sent him a glare. Tugging at the couch, he tested out his legs, only making it halfway before his knees started to tremble.
“Do you need help or something?” asked Maddy, taking a step back, despite his words. A snuggly guy, he was not. And although he did get close to Derreck, his touches were often more exploratory than affectionate. Almost like a cat’s.
