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One of the Doms hesitated, wax still dripping and the flame sharpening as more wick was exposed. It grew before his eyes as a bit of black soot licked the edges of the brightness.
“Clint?” Maddy’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs, but Clint was already moving, running to the nearest flame and pulling the squat column of wax from the Dom’s hand. Molten wax dripped over the edge, coating his fingers in a film that was ecstasy and agony as the flame seared him.
His mind blanked. He didn’t know the Dom—not in that moment. He’d probably spoken to him dozens of times, but he was a stranger, smashing on territory that didn’t belong to him.
“What the hell?” The Dom took a step back, nearly stumbling as Clint cupped his other hand over the top of the candle, smothering the flame with sheer force. His hands flared from the heat, the little smoke that escaped sinking straight into his lungs. It cut off his air, his nightmare thrumming into existence with the force of a slap.
“Water. I need water.” Clint looked around, but the nearest sink was too far. And where the hell was the fire extinguisher? A bit of wax stuck to his palm as he pulled one hand away, the familiar sensation wisping over his nerves.
Only one reflected candle remained. It was in his hands in seconds, the sting joining that of the first as the flame touched that same spot that blushed red in the center of cooling wax. It was blue, swirling with purple as one drop ran free, spattering onto the ground.
“Um—red?”
That single word had Clint shuddering to a halt, his breath catching in his throat. The sub looked back at him, his skin shiny as he raised himself off the table and turned toward Clint. It was his eyes that really struck Clint—full of such sad confusion that it nearly felt like he’d been slapped.
The sub, he knew. Heath had come to the community nearly broken from a previous relationship where his partner had tried to pass off abuse as kink. He’d just started opening up over the last few months, trying out a few scenes and finding himself a devoted Dom.
Heath had mentioned something about wax play before. Clint couldn’t remember the details, but he recalled revealing a bit of himself—admitting to his past love of fire.
“What’s going on?” Heath looked to his Dom, who was already approaching, wrapping his arms around Heath, despite the wax that was still tacky. The Dom’s gaze wasn’t confused at all. He was pissed.
“It’s okay, darling.” He held Heath to him as the second couple moved away, the suspense broken as everything came hammering down.
Shit. What the fuck am I doing? Clint took a step back, thudding into someone behind him. He whirled on Derreck, whose eyes were unreadably dark.
“You burned your hands,” said Derreck as he reached for the candles, slowly pulling one from Clint’s grasp, then the other. He passed them to Maddy, who had somehow made it down the stairs, even with tears on his cheeks.
There had been very few select times where he’d seen Maddy cry, and each of them had destroyed a small piece of his soul.
“I’m sorry,” said Clint, staring at his palms as his stomach dropped. He’d interrupted a demonstration, but more importantly, a scene. He’d always promised his kinksters a safe place to fulfill their desires, but he’d just freaked out and smashed that all to bits for two couples who were looking less impressed by the minute.
“Shit, I’m so sorry.” He closed his hands, bringing them close to his chest as his own eyes stung and the mirrors began to blur. His hands trembled, his grip weak as he tried to stay on his feet, flinching away from Derreck’s outstretched hand.
“I gotta go.” Turning, he did something he’d promised himself that he would never do again.
He ran.
Chapter Four
Scotland
Leather pants were something that he’d never been able to squeeze his thighs into, but jeans were fucking money. It didn’t seem to matter which brand he tried, his thighs always maxed them out, the muscle straining against the fabric. It made up for his slight lack of ass, at least.
He ran his hands over his thighs one last time, digging his fingertips into the thick material that didn’t have an ounce of wear on them. Most of his things got stained so quickly with ink that they didn’t last long in the closet. It was too bad he looked like shit in black—like an emotional black hole.
It was the same reason he kept his hair colorful. The tips of his black hair were neon blue at the moment, and he liked it better than the previous purple. He tried going blond once, but he was not going down that road again. It wasn’t a good look for him.
None of the colors seemed to catch Clint’s eye, though. He’d tried rainbow shirts, high boots and aviators, and Clint had only asked him what he wanted to drink at the old bar. A getup made of entirely leather straps that showed off his assets a little more than he was comfortable with had had a similar response at the kink house.
So tonight, he’d gone with a salmon shirt and light blue jeans to prowl the halls. He’d already had two conversations and gotten someone’s phone number, but he hadn’t spotted Clint anywhere. Not that I’m looking for him. It was easier to tell himself that than face the inevitable heartbreak.
“Scotland!”
He turned to the voice, grinning at Keady, who was dragging Cutler along with an excessive amount of enthusiasm. Keady had been a completely different person when Scotland had first met him in his tattoo chair, tasked with making swirling designs around a few fresh scars. Cutler had been there, too, and it had been hot as fuck to watch him take control of the scene.
If only. That heady experience was nothing compared to what it would have been like for him to be in the chair with the needle buzzing against his flesh. It was one thing to tattoo someone’s sub, but it would be completely different to be the Dom ordering it done—or the sub whimpering under the needle with a sharp gaze on him.
Puffing out a breath of air, he held his arms wide, pulling Keady into a brief hug when he closed the distance. Cutler grinned at him, all teeth and predatory glee. Scotland had almost fallen for that gaze when he’d been balls-deep in Keady’s ass, but a pair of blue eyes was where his heart really was.
