Sequins.
Why sequins?
Scott swallowed, eyes growing wider as a memory sparked in the back of his head.
The low purr by his ear. That voice telling him he looked good in sequins.
Scott had been wearing a thin silver sequin scarf at the time. It had complemented his skin tone, and he’d worn it loosely around his neck.
The sequins had cut into the corners of his mouth when he’d agreed to be gagged with it.
“No,” he said, flicking the sequin away. “It’s nothim.”
It was shy, wide-eyed Anthony, who was no doubt downing shots of an alcoholic beverage of his choice to build up the courage to see Scott naked.
There was no way it washim. Scott took precautions. His clients had to give him their ID, FaceTime him so he could confirm it, then meet him in a public place so they were seen together and Scott could see they’d come alone.
A door closed downstairs, and Scott frowned, wondering whether Anthony had locked himself away in the living room, but the bottom step of the stairs creaked, followed by the next one up.
Scott went to unhook the catch of his trousers before remembering the necklace and reaching for that first.
Pain snapped his fingers, and he crashed backwards into the towel rail.
“What the hell…” he breathed, looking at his fingers, then the necklace.
It had hurt him.
The briefest touch of his fingers against the metal, and it felt like it had leapt up and bit him. For a few seconds, he stared at it in shock.
The necklace with the silver circles that would’ve been in contact with his skin.
The necklace that had given him a vicious shock.
The necklace that wasn’t a necklace at all but ashockcollar.
His fingers continued to sting as his breaths came harder and faster.
Anthony had put that around his neck. Scott had been wearing it for hours, and he’d only just armed it when Scott was seemingly vulnerable on the bed.
There were no more footsteps on the stairs.
Scott gripped the bathroom door, shutting it as quietly as he could, but there was no lock.
There had been one, but it had been removed, unscrewed.
“Shit,” he hissed, before giving up on being quiet and going for the window.
He knocked everything from the windowsill and shoved it as wide as he could before climbing up and over the sink.
The door burst open, and fingers wrapped around his ankle, but he kicked, hauling himself out and onto the roof of the adjoining garage. The slate tiles slipped; Scott managed to slow his fall, hooking his fingers into the gutter, but the plastic creaked, threatening to snap, and he let go.
He landed with bent knees on the hood of Anthony’s car, and through the windscreen, he could see a wide-eyed Anthony behind the wheel, picking his lip. Their eyes locked for a moment, then Anthony screwed up his face, dropping his head into his hands.
Scott jumped down from the car and took off running, not looking back once.
He knew who that had been in the bathroom.
He knew those menacing steps on the staircase, and that oppressive silence, and that hand that had cuffed his ankle.
