3

Slouched back on one of the large, circular leather sofas at prime voyeur spots around the club, Raif observed the scenes around him, taking a long swig from the icy bottle of water he’d had a waitress fetch from the bar. An unfamiliar song pounded through the room, giving all those using floggers and canes and whips a rhythm to play by. The sound alone relaxed Raif. He’d come here several times over the last month, but rarely played. He caught many hope-filled glances from both male and female subs, but only one person held his attention for very long.

And that man was most definitely not a sub.

Lips slanting slightly, Raif watched Zach bind his wife, Rebecca, to a wide rope swing, admiring the way Zach teased his woman as he positioned her, leaving her helplessly bound and whimpering for his touch. The couple must have gotten a sitter—perhaps the child staying up late had left Rebecca with the need to unwind? Raif had no idea what the routine of a couple in the lifestyle, one who had a child, would be like. Or sex for any couple, to be honest. Zach had never been a quiet lover, but having a child in the house might have changed that. Clearly the man didn’t need to go to bed early to get up in the morning with his daughter, as Demyan had implied. But Raif had a feeling the dilemma had been brought up for his benefit. He couldn’t imagine Zach falling for a woman who would neglect her child.

He’d always thought Zach would end up with a man, but his love for this woman was clear. In a way, it made sense that Zach would need the softness of a woman. And yet, still crave the touch of a man. Knowing Zach, Raif suspected that he’d tried to be a “one woman man,” but why had he given in to the temptation? Yes, Raif wouldn’t deny that Scott Demyan was appealing. Physically anyway. And yet, the man had none of the qualities Zach looked for in a lover.

You don’t know him, Zovko. Your reputation isn’t much better than his.

Perhaps, but the very reason Raif and Zach hadn’t lasted was because their opinion of what a relationship consisted of was very different. Or had been at the time. As Raif watched Zach with his wife, as he thought about the woman’s child, one Zach, by all accounts, treated as his own…how could one not want a future like that? Raif’s jaw hardened as he watched Demyan move up behind Zach and kiss Zach’s bare shoulder.

Raif wasn’t the type of man to deny what he felt. He still loved Zach. He’d loved him when he’d been young and stupid, but he hadn’t realized it then. It had taken seeing Zach again, facing that those feelings remained, to admit he had to earn the love Zach had once given him. He had no doubt he could do so, but he had to be patient.

Rebecca wouldn’t be a problem. Zach was serious about her and Raif accepted that. He would treat her well, show her he could be the man her husband needed. Being a father wasn’t in Raif’s plans, but he smiled as he envisioned himself sitting at a table with the man he loved and his wife and that cute kid. He’d kept the one picture he’d found of Zach with his new daughter. She was the team’s little princess. Plans changed, and it would be no hardship to become a family man for Zach.

Only, Zach smiled when Demyan pressed against him. Drew Demyan into the scene, tenderness in his eyes as Demyan cupped Rebecca’s breasts and buried his face between them. Being patient was putting it mildly. Demyan belonged to both Zach and Rebecca. He would have to royally fuck up for them to see how much better Raif would fit into their lives.

Until that happened, he would need a distraction. The years he and Zach had spent apart meant they’d both changed. He could see them becoming close again fairly easily, but they’d been friends before lovers the first time around. Taking the same approach, making sure they had a solid base to build on, would be best. Raif had no intention of ruining Zach’s relationship with Demyan—Demyan could do that all on his own.

But Raif could not appear to be waiting for that eventuality. He tore his gaze from the trio, taking a slow drink of water as he watched the Delgado boy being chained to a bondage frame. Ford, yes, that was his name. A Dom who got off on pain. Not quite a novelty, but it was fascinating to watch him offer up one wrist to Callahan, and the other to his best friend, Cort. His sub was on her knees before him, an impish smile on her lips as she unlaced his leathers. Raif’s angle was perfect to see her lick her Master’s cock before opening her mouth wide to swallow him whole.

Lovely. Raif admired the peaceful expression on her face as she slowly bobbed her head, her gaze never leaving Ford’s face. There was something beautiful about seeing a sub worshipping the one they’d given themselves to. More so when that worship had been earned.

The scene brought a rare sense of longing to Raif. Casual play didn’t encourage that kind of intimacy. He glanced over at Mason, who was working as a dungeon monitor tonight, and considered how the man had passed some time caring for the very sub servicing Ford. From what he’d heard, Mason had taken on the task because his heart had been broken.

Perhaps Raif could take on a sub to train because his heart was already taken.

“Coach—I mean, Sir?”

A familiar voice, the voice of a man-child with a face many compared to an angel—Raif smirked at that, fallen angel, maybe—brought his attention back to Ford’s scene. Tyler Vanek knelt at the very edge of the scene, his cheeks red, his head bowed. He still wore the jeans and T-shirt he’d left the locker room in. The hard set to his jaw was anything but submissive.

“Vanek, go away.” Callahan didn’t even look at the boy. He made an irritated gesture in Tyler’s general direction before handing a short whip to Cort. “We’ve practiced this. You know how it feels. You’ve got good aim. Go for it.”

“Please, Sir.” Tyler slammed his fist into his thigh when Callahan continued to ignore him. “Coach, I need your help!”

“What the fuck, Vanek? I’m not your coach here.” Callahan moved away from Cort and wrapped his hand around Tyler’s arm, yanking him up to his feet. “I’m training someone. You know better than to interrupt.”

Tyler stared at the floor. “I know, but I really fucked up.”

“You’re fucking up now.”

“Just punish me. Please?” Tyler finally lifted his head. His shoulders dropped. “She won’t take me back until someone punishes me, and if it’s you—”

“What the hell are you taking about?” Callahan pulled Tyler out of the sceneing area. Lowered his voice, but Raif still heard him because he’d stood and moved toward them without even realizing he was doing so. “You just got here. What did you do?”

The look Tyler gave Callahan was pitiful. He jabbed his teeth into his bottom lip. “See, you know I must have done something. Chicklet’s mad at me, and I know why, and I’ve got to make this right.”

“Whatever you did, boy, your Domme needs to punish you.” Callahan laughed, but, surprisingly, it wasn’t a cruel laugh—more indulgent than anything. He patted Tyler’s arm. “You don’t want me to do it.”

“Yeah, I do. Because that’s my punishment. She told me to find someone since I think I need to be punished.”

Callahan blinked. “That don’t make no fucking sense.”

“Just do it! I’m begging you!” Tyler tried to drop to his knees again, but Callahan stopped him with a hand under his arm. And Tyler’s eyes went cold. “You owe me.”

“Do I?” Callahan’s tone sharpened. “How do you figure?”

“I let her go. I didn’t have to.” He shoved Callahan, which wasn’t very effective because the bigger man hardly moved. “I have to watch you hurt her here all the time. You like it and it makes me sick. Why don’t you hurt me? Because I’m not a woman and you can’t make me cry?”

Shit. Raif stepped forward, but didn’t reach them in time to stop Callahan from latching on to the front of Tyler’s shirt and lifting him right off his feet.

“You think I can’t make you cry?”

“Sloan!” Mason strode up to Callahan and grabbed his wrist. “Let him go.”

Callahan laughed as he released Tyler. “We’re negotiating, Dominik. Don’t worry.”

“Negotiating what? Chicklet would have told me if he was sceneing with someone else.” Mason put his hand on Tyler’s shoulder, pulling him back closer to where Raif stood. “You’re angry, Sloan. Walk it off or get the fuck out.”

“He was asked to find someone to punish him. By his Mistress.” Callahan bared his teeth. “And I’m fucking tempted to do it.”

And Raif could tell by the way Tyler smirked at their coach that he’d keep pushing until he was taken in hand or shown the door himself. He caught Tyler with an arm around his throat before he could speak again and add being punched in the face to the possible outcome.

“Silence, boy. Your attitude only proves my point.” He tightened his grip on Tyler’s throat as the young man tensed and let out a low, angry sound. It reminded Raif of the Alaskan Malamute he’d had as a boy. One of the hardest breeds to train, and Oluja had been intelligent and headstrong, ready to pull him off his feet at the slightest sign of weakness. But loyal and loving once she saw he was strong enough to lead her.

He’d learned to exert his control as she’d grown, to set the boundaries and maintain them. He loosened his grip on Tyler’s throat as he recalled the first stages of training with his beautiful dog. Holding her down on her back to rub her belly and enforce his dominance as a positive thing.

Raif smiled when Tyler didn’t try to move away. “What you’re asking for is good. I appreciate that you know what you need.”

Tyler stiffened. Mason met Raif’s eyes, then inclined his head and pulled Sloan aside. Cort smoothly took over the scene, using a flogger—which he had more experience with—rather than the whip. The interruption hadn’t done any real damage, so Raif was able to shift his focus away from everyone besides the young man whose throat worked against Raif’s arm as he swallowed hard.

“I don’t need you. This is weird, Raif.” A shallow laugh escaped Tyler, but he cut it off as though he knew he’d reached the end of his rope and didn’t need it to choke him to stop pulling. “You’re my friend. You can’t punish me.”

“And our coach—he’s not your friend?” Raif knew very well friendship wasn’t the issue. Callahan had been an easy target. Tyler wanted to be punished in a quick, uncomplicated way, but it wouldn’t satisfy him. And if he’d gotten what he’d asked for from Callahan, his performance would suffer. Which would turn penance into regret.

You will learn from this, Ty. Raif led Tyler back to the round sofa, a calming levelness settling over him even though he knew this boy would fight to keep him off-balance. Without even realizing he was doing so. But there was no reason to give him the opportunity.

Tyler scuffed his sneakers on the hard wood floor beside the couch. “He’s not my friend, he’s—”

“It doesn’t matter, Ty. I will be the one punishing you.” Raif gave Tyler a stiff smile. This still had to be Tyler’s decision—the boy didn’t belong to him. “If you’d rather I don’t, feel free to leave.”

“I’m not leaving.” Tyler’s brow furrowed, as though he was unsure of his next move. “You can’t make me leave.”

Raif inclined his head. “No, I can’t. But Mason will if this behavior continues and we both know that. Enough with the games. You’ve asked for the punishment, but I’m starting to wonder if that was simply a cry for attention.”

“I don’t need—”

“What do you need, Ty? Tell me that instead.”

Tyler groaned and grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt. Jerking it off, he tossed it aside and glared at Raif. “Just fucking do it, all right? I don’t care what you use, just make sure I’ll be fit to play on Monday.”

“Of course.” Raif folded his arms over his chest, his lips thinning as he observed the young man, looking for the slightest chink in his armor, a place where Raif could reach the submissive soul hidden behind layers of steel. For one who’d spent years in the lifestyle, the boy buried his natural urges rather deep.

Unless they weren’t natural at all. Maybe Raif had read him all wrong. Tyler could be a man willing to do anything for the woman he loved. Even if that meant being a virtual doormat for her to trample on with her sharp stiletto boot heels.

But the longer Raif watched him, the more nervous Tyler seemed to become. He licked his lips and went from glaring to staring at the floor. His fisted hands opened and his breaths turned quick and shallow.

“Raif?” Tyler shifted and swallowed hard. “Please?”

Well now…this was much better. He would love to know what was going on in Tyler’s head, but discussion appeared to be the very thing that brought up Tyler’s walls. The “Please” was consent. Raif could take it from here.

“Remove your shoes, socks, and jeans—you may leave your boxers on.” Raif’s lips quirked at the sound of protest Tyler made before he added the last. But then he put his hand under Tyler’s chin to ask him one very important question. “Do you trust me, Ty?”

“Yeah, I trust you…” Tyler inhaled roughly. Then grinned. “Sir.”

The boy was a bit of a brat, but Raif found it endearing. He could see why Chicklet would let Tyler run a little wild—he must be fun to play with. Settling down on the sofa, Raif folded his arms behind his head, pleased that Tyler kicked off his shoes and removed his jeans without any fuss. He rolled his eyes when Raif glanced pointedly at his socks, but toed them off and then simply stood there and waited for the next command.

Raif took his time enjoying the sight of the toned body before him, muscles not large, but well-defined. Pale skin flush with the excitement and energy of youth, only the slightest brush of golden curls on his chest and stomach. Dark blue silk boxers, not as snug as briefs, yet still short enough to show off most of his legs and the swell of his slack dick. Raif didn’t let his gaze linger there for long; he didn’t play with straight virgin boys.

A wicked part of his mind wondered how quickly he could get Tyler hard if he used the right tone. The right touch. He looked at Tyler’s face and knew those soft lips would feel like heaven sliding down his cock.

Punishment, Zovko. You have him for punishment.

With a firm nod, both to his own thoughts, and to let Tyler know he was ready to begin, Raif held his hand out, motioning to the floor. “I want you in plank position. Hold it as long as possible, then lower to your knees when your arms become sore. I expect you to tell me if you are in pain, but you know how to use your safeword, yes?”

“Yeah, but what are you gonna use?” Tyler glanced to either side of Raif as though he expected some tool of torture to be laying on the sofa cushion. Perhaps tucked away out of sight. “I need to know because I hate the cane, and I gotta brace myself for—”

“No cane. No pain at all other than that of holding yourself in place.” Raif shook his head slowly when Tyler opened his mouth. “You will not speak again aside from what we’ve discussed. And no one will speak to you. You are nothing but an object now, boy. A footstool, to be exact.”

A dark red blush spread across Tyler’s cheeks. He chewed hard on his bottom lip, then dropped to his knees. The thick muscles in his back and his calves hardened as he put himself in plank position, arms and legs perfectly straight.

Raif waited a few moments before taking the punishment a step further. He lifted his booted feet and set them on the center of Tyler’s back. Watched Tyler’s expression go from utter humiliation to calm acceptance. He smiled as Tyler adjusted himself, moving a little closer so Raif could get comfortable.

There it was. Raif gestured for the waitress to bring him two bottles of water. And spoke quietly.

“Don’t move. And don’t speak.” He let his tone drop into the smooth, lulling one he used for his lovers. And his subs. “But I want you to know, I am very pleased with you, Ty.”

Tyler didn’t lift his head, but Raif saw his lips curve up just a bit. That was exactly what he’d needed to hear.

* * * *

A dull ache in Tyler’s arms had him lowering to his knees without even caring that it might make him look weak. The hard-core music in the club faded away. So did all the people. He sensed them moving around him, but he felt so far removed from everything, they didn’t matter. The solid weight on his back kept him grounded, kept his head where it needed to be.

He was doing this for Chicklet. And it was a good punishment. He’d gone into the scene room not really thinking about what she might be doing. He and Laura might not always get along, but that didn’t make what he’d done okay. He’d pretty much demanded his Mistress’s attention. Then he’d demanded Callahan’s. He wasn’t more important than them—didn’t want to be.

And now he was proving that he got that. He’d become nothing. Just an object.

Part of his brain wanted to shout and swear and tell Raif that this was bullshit. He wasn’t a fucking piece of furniture. He should be able to talk. Taking the pain Callahan would have dished out would have been easier.

But it wasn’t supposed to be easy. Wouldn’t count for anything if it was easy.

That part of his brain sank deeper and deeper until he couldn’t hear it anymore. The ache in his arms was getting worse. He tensed and relaxed his muscles. Focused on breathing. His face got real hot as Raif’s boots moved, like he was changing position. He wanted to look at Raif, see the pleasure he’d heard in Raif’s tone. But that would screw up all the good Tyler had done. Raif was happy because he’d done what he was told.

So he’d keep doing it. Seemed like he’d become the thing he was pretending to be as the minutes passed, like he could stay there forever and not budge when the cleaning lady came around. Like she wouldn’t realize he was a person and she’d dust him off and then walk away.

A lot of people were walking away. There were familiar voices above him. People speaking to Raif. They didn’t see Tyler. And everyone always saw Tyler. Fans, coaches, his friends. His mom.

He pressed his eyes shut. He couldn’t think about her now. Not here. Never here.

But all he had were his own thoughts to keep him company. And it was getting harder to see himself as a plain, polished wooden footstool. His mom was dating again. She’d stopped for so long and she’d seemed so much stronger. All those years of saying she couldn’t be alone—he knew she could do it. She didn’t have to work because he made enough to support her, but she loved her job at the library.

She’d met the man there. He might be a decent guy; she thought he was amazing. They all were at first though. The emotionally abusive ones were the hardest to spot, and she’d had a few of those. Tyler had learned how to spot them when he was a teen. They didn’t scare him as much because his mom had her church and her therapist that helped her get away from them.

The physically abusive ones though…they were a real problem. His mom had dated three of them. Including Tyler’s father. And every time she became a different person. She’d stay away from everyone if there were bruises people could see. And hide those they couldn’t when she did go out. Those were her longest relationships. It was almost like she could deal with getting hit better than being told she was worthless.

She shouldn’t have to deal with either. But Tyler didn’t know how to help her. He winced as a woman’s cry broke through his haze. His mother never cried out when a man hit her. Tyler used to lie in bed at night and listen to the sound of his mother being slapped, wishing he was big enough to go out there and stop it. But after getting punched a few times, he’d been too afraid to leave his bed.

Tim…the Cobras’ coach, a man they’d all loved who’d been killed months earlier in a car crash—he’d talked Tyler into going to the team therapist. And spilling everything to the shrink had made Tyler realize that as a kid he couldn’t have helped him mom. All he could do was be there for her now.

I’m a footstool. A fucking footstool. I don’t gotta think about this stuff.

A man’s laughter. The sloppy wet sound of fucking.

The soft gasp of a woman, more from pain than pleasure. Whoever she was, she didn’t make another sound.

Tyler pressed his eyes shut.

“Ty, speak to me.”

Raif sounded worried. Tyler opened his eyes and shook his head. A cool sense of calm spread through his veins as he let himself feel the pain in his arms and the weight of Raif’s boots. “I’m all right.”

“Are you? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Deeper and deeper. He wasn’t sure he could answer, because he let himself be the thing he’d been asked to be. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. “I don’t need to speak. I’m here. I’m a good footstool.”

“You are.” Raif’s soft voice with his lulling accent, the weight of his boots leaving, then his hand on Tyler’s cheek. A water bottle against Tyler’s lips. And sweet, cool liquid filling his mouth. “A quality piece to be cherished.”

Tyler didn’t see a cleaner dusting him off anymore. He could see Raif, rubbing him down with oil and using that voice to tell him how solid he was. How good and strong he was. Chicklet made him feel good and strong, but then Laura needed her. Laura needed her a lot.

A footstool.

“Tyler? Hey, you okay, man?”

A foot—that was Luke. Luke couldn’t see him like this. Luke wouldn’t get it and he talked to Luke about everything, and the worst thing would be to have something he couldn’t talk to his best friend about.

“I—”

Raif cut Tyler off. His tone was hard. “Ramos, if you please?”

“Niño, not now.”

That was Ramos. The team was here. What the fuck was he doing becoming a thing where people could see him and wonder what the fuck was wrong with him?

Luke let out an angry sound. “Sir, this isn’t—”

“This is a scene you are not part of. Come.”

Tyler turned his head a little and saw Luke moving away slowly. Then there was someone else.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Zovko? This ain’t right.”

Scott. Tyler’s two closest friends had seen him now. And they didn’t get it. Not that they should have to. Tyler was being punished because he’d fucked up, and they’d never fuck up like this. He didn’t want his friends worrying about him. But he wanted to show Raif he could do this.

But he couldn’t do both.

“Demyan, stay out of it.” Now it was Mason talking. The whole team seemed to be there. And Tyler wasn’t a sub in front of the whole team. He only did this around the ones who understood and they didn’t and how the fuck was he supposed to deal with that?

“Not fucking happening, Mason. How about you do your fucking job?” Scott sounded like he wanted to hit someone. “Does he look like he’s okay? This asshole just gets to grab random subs because he got more points than the rest of us? Is that how we’re playing now?”

Their voices faded. Raif pulled Tyler to his feet and standing felt wrong. He wasn’t ready to stand. To have to be real again.

“Let us go see your Mistress. She will be impressed at how well you’ve done.”

Words. Raif was saying shit, but they were only words. Chicklet was with Laura and she’d forgotten him. And Raif had just made him look pathetic in front of everyone.

But Tyler had asked for it, so he’d be good. He lifted his head to meet Raif’s eyes. “I think I want to go home.” All right, just kinda good. “And I think you need to stop fucking touching me.”

Raif’s eyes hardened. His gaze dropped to the front of Tyler’s boxers. “Do I? Because I think you needed exactly what I gave you. A little discipline, perhaps?”

Okay, yeah, his dick was fucking rock hard. But it wasn’t because of Raif. Couldn’t be, no matter what his voice did to Tyler’s senses. No matter how much he’d wanted to please the asshole during those few minutes that had seemed so perfect. He was hard because…well, because the punishment almost hadn’t been one. He’d accepted that he was a sub a couple years back, and the weird-ass scene had triggered that part of his brain.

Which he’d shut down now, thank you very fucking much. And he wouldn’t make the mistake of interrupting Chicklet again. He kept his eyes locked with Raif’s. “Thanks for your help. See you Monday.”

“If you’re determined to leave, you will at least have one of your friends drive you. Practice tomorrow—optional, but you will be there. And you will call me when you get home.” Raif glanced over to where Scott was still talking to Mason. “Mr. Demyan doesn’t appear to be busy.”

Tyler gritted his teeth as he followed Raif’s gaze away from Scott, to the dance floor. Pearce and Becky were dancing to a slow rock song, surrounded by other couples who’d finished playing for the night. He let the bitterness he couldn’t help feeling practically drip off his tongue. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d love Scott to drive me home. Get him out of your way.”