Chapter 3

CRACK!

The whip cut through the air. Well outside the eight-foot radius of the four-foot bullwhip, Dallas Stephens tipped his water to his lips, taking in the angle of Lawson’s wrist and arm. Every movement, his stance and grip, translated to precise flicks, the tail dissecting a sheet of tissue paper strung up with clothespins on the bondage frame.

A sexy son of a bitch in a suit, but in full leathers throwing a whip like this? Damn, Lawson was one mouthwatering motherfucker. Dark hair slicked back, olive-toned skin sheened with sweat, his broad shoulders and trim hips slid in a sinuous display of power. Unselfconscious and focused, as tuned in to the paper as any to sub he’d ever had under his lash.

If the man wasn’t my oldest friend, I’d be half in love with him already.

During the first few weeks, Dallas had expected Lawson to get fed up. Tell him he was better off on the other end of the whip. Instead, he’d waited with seemingly limitless patience for Dallas to get in the right headspace.

And stay there.

The way the man reads people is downright scary sometimes.

“If you want to go for extra points—” The whip flicked out again as Lawson began taking long, thin strips of tissue from the bottom, up, in rapid swipes. His tone told Dallas he’d sensed his momentary distraction, but chose to ignore it. For now. “—remove the clothespins one-by-one at the end. Play with it.”

For some reason, the thought of play brought to mind the man Dallas hadn’t seen since he’d sat by his bedside last week. Most of that day was still a blur, but he still remembered every detail of Keiran’s face. The relief at seeing those soft golden-brown eyes open. Hearing Keiran’s voice. Knowing he was alive.

An interview in Philly had kept Dallas from sticking around as much as he’d wanted to. Worst thing was, it had turned out to be another bust. Not that he’d been all that motivated to land the job—he had zero desire to leave Anniston Falls and The Asylum. Hadn’t helped that he couldn’t get Keiran out of his head, but for all he knew that was some savior shit messing with him.

Either way, he’d have to get serious about finding new employment soon. His landlord didn’t much care how much he impressed people here. Earning his leathers wasn’t going to pay the rent.

Unless I want to start begging my buddy Lawson for a spot on his couch.

The man would probably say yes, but Dallas wasn’t that desperate.

Yet.

Tone casual, he jutted his chin in the general direction of the galley downstairs. “How’s Keiran? Did Noah decide to hire him?”

Coiling the whip, Lawson nodded. “We did.”

“Sorry.” Dallas grinned, shaking his head. “The man has a way. You three doing better?”

Dark green eyes narrowed slightly as Lawson ran his tongue over his teeth. “We take it day-by-day.”

That sounded...less than promising. To say the club leadership had experienced some growing pains with Noah Leonov’s return from prison would be putting it lightly. Dallas took the whip Lawson handed to him. “I imagine it’s like any relationship. Has some good days and bad.”

Giving him a look, Lawson gathered the clothespins and put up another sheet of paper. “If you’d ever taken the same sub to the dungeon more than one night in a row, I’d find that bit of ‘relationship’ insight more useful.”

“Touché.” Two fingers to his forehead, Dallas saluted the man. “If there was a sub around here worth romancing who you haven’t already claimed, I might.”

Lawson pointed at the target. “Shut up and start.”

Straightening the cuff on his left wrist, Dallas flexed his arm and began shredding the paper as Lawson had shown him. He hit too high, his first cut on an angle, and gave himself less target to work with. “Fuck.”

“Mhm.” Lawson nodded. “Focus. Now you’ve got to strip them both before you’re done.”

Cursing again, Dallas threw his arm into the next few practice strikes, enjoying the way the whip cracked, the energy vibrating up his arm. He imagined a supple, naked form, strung up on that bondage rack in front of him. Smooth, pale golden-brown skin glistening with sweat, Keiran’s head bowed between his outstretched arms as Dallas walked him to the brink of the kind of bliss only complete surrender to the most intense sensations could offer, then...

Tipped him over the edge.

Breathing hard, he stopped, taking a moment to realize he’d obliterated the paper. Tiny bits floated around him and Lawson like a snow globe.

Lawson’s gaze darkened with interest. “Whoever you were picturing is a lucky bastard. But make sure you remain present enough to observe the reactions of your sub. The control, the exchange of power, can bring you to another place, but you have to keep in mind that you’re being given a tremendous amount of trust in taking this level of surrender.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dallas’s abilities weren’t a problem, he developed skills fast. Finding the right connection, however? Yeah… But he’d get there. He glanced at his watch. “I’m on duty in five minutes. Who’s with me tonight?”

“Curtis. Keiran’s already set up and working on prep.” Flicking his attention to Dallas’s left wrist, Lawson frowned, expression drawn with concern. “I wouldn’t normally ask this, but…”

Holding up his wrist, Dallas unfastened the strip of leather and buckled it on his right. “We’re good. I get it.”

First night working in the bar, while Keiran was close by in the kitchen, would’ve been perfect if Dallas could’ve stayed in a Dom headspace, but he couldn’t deny Lawson’s request after all the man had done for him. Curtis had stepped up on shifts to avoid Lawson overworking inside as well as outside The Asylum. Only problem? The therapist Curtis was seeing—thankfully, a kink-friendly one—advised against him getting in the ring or doing a scene in the dungeon. His tendency to snap after living through some fucked up shit made anything hardcore a bad idea.