I reach up under my hair. “My nape. Right here.”
“Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” Max says. “That is hot.”
Zion’s fingers had wrapped around my neck, long enough to curl over both sides. Hot and possessive. I remember exactly how it felt. Like I was his, somehow, which I knew wasn’t real. All an act.
“I can guess who he pictured in the Hole tonight,” Lamé proclaims, looking smug, as if they’ve already rested their case.
Max snorts. “Absolutely. Shoulda seen him come out, Lamé, holding one sparkly shoe, looking exactly like a boy who’d just lost his favorite new toy. And wow did he lose his absolute shit when I told him said toy went racing outside!”
“He has my shoe?”
“Yes, Cinderella, he does.”
“Oh, glory, glory hallelujah.” Hands steepled under their chin, Lamé smiles, their eyes focused sharply on me. “All righty, then.” They stretch theatrically. “That’s enough action for one night. Let’s get you to bed.”
I look down. “My clothes are in the car.”
“I’ve got you covered, honey. Shower, nightie, new toothbrush. Everything you could need. On your freshly-made bed. I’ll get you water.”
I’m about to refuse their hospitality when my body betrays me by forcing a long, jaw-cracking yawn from my mouth.
Lamé stands and holds out their hand. “Now, how about you get some shut-eye and let your fairy kinkperson take care of everything?”
13
Zion
I’m fucked. And not in a good way. I’m fucked in a can’t-get-my-fake-wife-out-of-my-head-and-get-back-to-life kind of way.
Which is absolutely, definitely fucked.
Because the only thing that’s ever mattered—aside from my career and the few friends here who make up my chosen family—is playing.
Except now, I can’t do it.
I mean, yeah, I can run the flogger over Ponyboy Todd’s pale, freckled back. I can slap his muscular ass with it and appreciate the slight jiggle when he gasps. I can even nudge his buttplug tail with my foot, but the thrill I’d usually get just isn’t there. At all.
And I can’t figure out what to do about it.
It’s not like Todd’s changed from last year, when the way he swayed and bucked and squealed made my cock hard and ready. I’d flogged him and toyed with his tail last year and then pulled the thing out, put a condom on, and fucked his ass until he came in his wife Kim’s mouth.
Today, my cock’s nonresponsive.
It’s not just my cock, though. And it’s not just with Ponyboy and Kim. This morning’s scene with Aretha—one of my most dependable long-time play-partners—left me absolutely cold in a way I can’t get around. Aretha’s Ace. Our scenes aren’t even sexual, dammit. They’re pure, platonic bondage. Easy. A little rope play, suspension, a little degradation thrown in for her nonsexual pleasure. I generally enjoy all of it, but this morning, I went through the motions like a goddamn cyborg while my brain ran itself ragged, wondering where Twyla was and what she was doing and who the hell with.
“Sorry,” I tell Ponyboy, backing up a step.
“It’s all right, man,” he replies, craning his neck to look at me.
“We’re good, Zed.” Kim walks up beside me with a smile. “Happens to everyone.”
I fake a laugh and make some excuse, quickly escaping the big, open hangar space, all the while thinking thatNo. No, this shit doesn’t happen to everyone. Not to me. Not ever. Not once in my life have I left a scene unfinished.
Outside, I barely see the people wandering by or sitting in the grass or playing soccer in way too little protective gear. All I can think about is Twyla.
Is she back in the Hole? Or is she gone? Did she leave camp? Is she with a lawyer, right this second, telling stories about what I get up to here and what a deviant I am and planning to take me for everything? No. That’s not something Twyla would do. Not in a million years.
Then again, I’m pretty sure she didn’t think I’d go out and ruin the marriage thing within two weeks. Hell, even I didn’t think I’d do that. More than anything, I wish I hadn’t. I wish—
