18. Cameron

Idropped down into the booth on the bar level just off the dance floor with a huff, immediately crossing my arms and glaring at Tristan. He knew I didn't want to be here, but he just slid in next to me with a smirk and turned to our friends. We were secluded enough that he could have a conversation with Ethan, Nate, and Anson—I'd heard Zander and Joey had a demonstration tonight so they must've been in the back getting ready—but close enough to the action to see what was going on.

Tristan, of course, ignored my childish tantrum, choosing instead to chat with Anson about who knows what, because I wasn't listening. As soon as he'd made it clear he didn't care that I was shooting daggers at him with my eyes, I'd started scanning the room, taking in all the men dressed as probable Daddies around here, finding I had a ton of eye candy to choose from. Most wore leather that highlighted all their muscles and lickable skin.

Yeah, after yoga with Sam, the lickable thing had definitely become one of my kinks.

I sighed, the thought of Sam sending a sword through my chest. After S.M.C.'s—sorry, Sam's—untimely email and his earth-shattering confessions, ones I still didn't know what to do with, I'd been a mess. I wanted to be angry, wanted to be ecstatic, wanted to tear him in two, wanted to fuck the shit out of him, wanted to . . . I didn't know. I just wanted to decide how I felt about it all.

I'd never admit it, but Tristan had been right. I'd needed to get out of the house and out of my head. Because my brain kept trying to reconcile the two men I'd nearly fallen for—I kept the "nearly" there for my sanity, but it was getting harder and harder to lie to myself—but it couldn't quite get there.

I wanted to be angry at Sam, at S.M.C., but I found I couldn't, even after all the anger I'd directed his way when I'd seen him those few times in person. I couldn't deny that something had kept throwing us together, begging me to listen, to pay attention.

Ironically, the second I'd given up on men, on dating, on love, Sam had whisked his way into my life and taken my breath away. I'd only met him in person three times, but each time I had, I liked him more. Sure, he wasn't who I'd always pictured myself with, but that was probably a good thing. Especially when the types of guys I picked were usually assholes.

Sam wasn't an asshole. Not even close.

I was.

The thought hit me out of nowhere. Shit. I'd been an absolute jerk to him, hadn't I? I'd accused him of stalking me more than once, yelled at him in this very club. He hadn't deserved any of that.

After processing Sam's multiple confessions in that email—one of which being that he was in love with me, and what the fuck did I do to deserve that?—I'd found myself more intrigued than upset. And yet, I couldn't muster the courage to email, message, or call him back.

He deserved better than that, too.

God, I'd fucked this all up. At the very least, I owed him a huge apology. If he'd even accept it.

Tears burned at the back of my eyes at the thought. Sam was too good for me, too patient. I didn't deserve him. He needed someone less unhinged. He deserved so much better than me.

"Cameron?"

I blinked away the tears before they fell and turned to Tris. "Hm?"

He took one look at my expression and shifted to face me directly. "Okay, it's time for you to talk."

I opened my mouth to make an excuse, but my best friend put his hand in the air between us to stop me.

"Nope. Spill. Now."

I sighed. "Sam deserves better than me."

Tristan's mouth fell open. "Okay, where the hell did that come from? Last I heard, Sam emailed you to tell you he was S.M.C. I thought you were upset about that all this time—how did you get here from there?"

I swiped at my stuffy nose with the back of my hand. I was losing the battle against my tears. "Every time we met, I tore into him for no reason. I yelled at him more than once, Tris. He didn't deserve that."

Tristan was quiet for a moment as his eyes appraised me. I fidgeted in my seat when he stared too long, saw too much. "Probably not. But I think you're selling yourself short, Cammy."

I frowned. "How?"

"Okay, pay attention." He turned even more in his seat, settling in with a leg bent in front of him so he could face me head-on. "First, Sam is so into you, it's not even funny. The man admitted to being in love with you when there was a very real chance you'd never want to speak to him again." I hadn't let Tris read the email because it was so personal, but I'd given him the highlights. "Second, you two have mad chemistry. Remember the coffee shop? And I saw you at the club meeting—you could barely keep your hands off each other."

I opened my mouth to protest, but again, he cut me off.

"It wasn't anything inappropriate, of course. But you were drawn to each other like magnets. One of you always had to be touching the other all night."

He fell silent so I could process his words. We had done that, hadn't we?

Tristan grinned. "So now you're getting it."

I gaped. "I . . . uh, I'm . . ."

He nodded, his smile widening. "Exactly. Think of it from his perspective: He was enamored of you before you even met. So much so that he emailed you to tell you how much your books meant to him. Then the universe kept pushing you two together. He must've thought all his dreams were coming true."

"Exactly," I interjected, "and then I yelled at him. Repeatedly."

Tristan rolled his eyes. "You think he cares about that? I saw the sheer joy on that man's face when you introduced him to us. He wouldn't have sent that email confessing everything if he didn't want you." He took a breath. "Look, the man loves you. You may not be there yet, and that's fine. But don't let him get away because you're scared."

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are, Camster. I love you, but you can be a little thick-headed sometimes and let your fear call the shots. You need to get out of your own way. If we're lucky, we only get a chance at true, all-encompassing love once in our lives—maybe a couple of times, if we're really lucky. Don't let this one pass you by because you think he deserves better. He probably thinks the same about you."

I sucked in a breath, his words hitting me between the eyes. Most of us struggled with feeling good enough; that was just human nature. God knew, no one was perfect. But we could love each other in spite of—or because of—our imperfections. That's what real love was.

I wasn't in love with Sam yet, but I'd been close with S.M.C. He'd been the perfect Daddy for me, the best friend I could ask for, and I'd wished for him to be just as perfect in real life.

But S.M.C. was Sam. And I suspected Sam was just as perfect in real life as he'd been online. It wouldn't take much for me to fall in love with him completely.

Shit. Despite my best intentions, maybe he had stolen my heart without me realizing it.

My pulse started racing. I needed to tell Sam all of this. I needed to apologize, put everything out there, tell him I wasn't upset about anything he'd confessed, that I was elated that the two men I'd developed strong feelings for over the past several months were the same person. Then hope he'd be willing to give me another chance.

Tristan had turned back to the table and was talking to Ethan, and my skin started crawling like I needed to get out of this booth and take action. So I nudged him until he let me up.

I could at least get a refill on my drink. Maybe that would help this antsy feeling go away.

***

I took my time working my way toward the bar, stopping to watch the shibari session happening on the far wall with vague interest for a few moments. I'd never been much for being tied up. After months of playing with my Daddy online, I could definitively say pain was more my thing. Pain slut, party of one.

After that demonstration wrapped up, they announced that the next one was set to start in fifteen minutes, which meant I had time to refresh my drink and get back to the booth in time. So I made my way toward the bar in earnest. I'd eyed some stagehands setting up the spanking bench in the shadows, and I was nearly squirming in anticipation. They didn't announce their demos beforehand, but I just knew this one would feature impact play. I couldn't wait.

"Another rum and coke, please," I called to Henry, who looked over at me and nodded. "Short-staffed tonight?"

He poured some beer from the draft for another customer; his cuffs were rolled up, showing off his bulging forearms. I probably would've been desperate to lick those if he was my type, but he wasn't lean muscle and only a few inches taller than me. Basically, he wasn't Sam. "Yup. New kid called out already." He sighed, and I offered a sympathetic smile as he looked me over. "You look nice."

I glanced down at the outfit Tristan had forced me into. He'd paired the tiniest T-shirt I could wear without being laughed out of my own life with skintight jeans and a pair of my most stylish, most expensive, and most comfortable brown boots. I supposed he knew what he was doing—even I had to admit I looked damn good. "Thanks."

Henry started making my drink, and I turned to survey the dance floor. Almost instantly, I spotted the most perfect ass I'd ever seen, attached to a man currently facing away from me on the edge of the dance floor, swaying to the music. My eyes got wide as I stared—I couldn't help it. The man had the world's best butt, and I was so into it. My dick perked up, and I interlaced my fingers in front of me to palm it discreetly through my skintight jeans. God, to feel those cheeks in my hands . . .

My eyes slid up his back slowly to the bottom of his dark long-sleeved top that sparkled under the muted lights as he moved. Then he bent forward slightly—why, I didn't know, but I sure as hell wasn't complaining—and yup, I died. This must have been heaven. Ass heaven. The man must have been an angel. An angel with a heavenly ass.

I forced my eyes away, swallowing hard and wishing my drink was ready. I was parched. Was the furnace cranked on high? I couldn't cool down.

My eyes found the man again because I just couldn't help myself, and I rejoiced that his back was still turned to me. I could totally channel my inner voyeur and let my eyes take their fill.

His shoulders were perfectly outlined in the skintight black top, and yeah, I definitely wanted to lick him. And the world's sexiest pants weren't leaving anything to the imagination, praise all that was holy. I followed the line of his body upward as he turned slightly, and though I couldn't make out any features of his shrouded face, he felt familiar. Almost like . . . Sam.

My shoulders fell with my mood. I'd just been thinking about Sam and how much I wished he was here so we could talk. My mind was probably simply looking for what it wanted to see.

But then the man smiled.

My heart stuttered.

"Cameron, you okay?"

I whipped back around to Henry much too quickly, making my head spin.

"Whoa, sit down, man." Henry reached his arms toward me, but even his tall frame couldn't reach all the way across the wide bar. I slid onto a barstool as he'd requested, though, then took the water he slid in front of me and downed half of it.

"Everything okay?" Henry asked once I'd stopped shaking.

I nodded slowly. "Yes, I just . . . I saw someone I know."

Henry's lips curled in a smirk. "Someone you like?"

I couldn't hide my own smile, feeling much more calm after resting for a few seconds. "Maybe."

Henry winked at me as he poured a beer from the tap for someone else a few seats down. I finished up the water as he did. "Good luck with that, man. You deserve it." Then he slid my rum and coke in front of me, removing the empty water glass. "You good?"

I nodded, grabbing the drink and stepping away while calling out my thanks.

When I turned back around, my eyes fell on Sam once again. This time, he was out on the floor, dancing with a taller man. Someone who looked oddly familiar . . . fuck. That couldn't be Jason, right? The universe would not be this cruel.

But as I inched forward, circumventing the dance floor again to get back to my table and consequently get a better look, my stomach dropped. That definitely was Jason, my transphobic date from almost a year ago. Dancing with Sam.

I saw red. Clenching my fist at my side while reminding myself to hold my drink gingerly so I didn't crush it like a seventies TV show superhero, I tried to manage my breathing. Why the fuck was I getting so angry?

I supposed I was a superhero from the seventies. Because I was about to lose my shit.

Standing on the edge of the dance floor, I gulped the rum and coke, guzzling half of it in one go, and just watched Sam like the stalker I'd accused him of being. Creepy? Possibly. Did I care? Not in the slightest.

Besides, other people here were just chilling beside the dance floor, like me. Like Sam had been. I swayed to the music like they did. I was blending in, right? This was me blending.

Jason leaned forward, inches away from Sam, and I noticed Sam's shoulders tense as he swayed backward, just slightly.

That body language was super fucking clear.

I was nanoseconds away from throwing my drink on the ground and shoving through the crowd to rescue the man. If he hadn't been taller and larger than me, I might've considered the fireman's carry.

Okay, I was totally considering the fireman's carry.

Jason stumbled into Sam this time, and Sam's hands reflexively shot out to catch him. I was too far away to know if Jason had said anything, but it was clear he was totally drunk. On second thought, he must have said something completely inappropriate, because Sam's entire body jumped to attention this time, freezing in place.

I had to do something now.

Setting my rum and coke none too gently on the closest surface then pushing through the crowd, I quickly reached Jason and Sam. The latter was still trying to keep the former on his feet, kind man that he was. Jason deserved to be trampled under all these dancers for how he was treating Sam right now. And how he treated me.

Before Sam even saw me, I heard Jason yell above the noise of the crowd, his words all mushed together. "Heeey, 'ake your top off, baby! I wah-nuh ssssee those tits."

My body flew into action before I gave it a conscious command. My hand grasped Jason's bicep, locking on tight and yanking him from Sam's grasp. "Back the fuck off, Jason. Take your shit somewhere else."

I knew the second Sam's gaze landed on me. I could feel his brown eyes staring, digging below the surface, opening me up and laying me out for all to see. It was both unsettling and unbelievably sexy.

Jason's slurred words proved I was right—he was well beyond buzzed and had moved into wasted. "You'll beeeee ssssorry, man." He shoved at Sam as he pushed himself up then stumbled away.

I slowly turned to face Sam, and we just stared at each other for a moment as bodies danced and gyrated around us. I wasn't sure what song they were playing; even standing in the middle of the dance floor, the world had narrowed to just me and Sam.

"You're here," Sam breathed, his words a whisper I heard in my soul.

"I am," I sent back, hoping he could hear me amidst the revelry.

Sam smirked, raising his voice to be heard above the crowd. "And you're not punching me in the face."

I smiled, tears swimming in my eyes. "Never."

His smile softened and widened at the same time. Then he leaned forward, putting his lips to my ear. "Can we talk?"

Nodding, I grabbed his hand and led him back toward the table where I'd set my drink, somehow still miraculously unoccupied.

We took a seat, I flagged down a server to bring us two glasses of water and whatever Sam wanted to drink—a dark lager, as it turned out—then I faced him.

But before I could speak, Sam jumped in. "First, I just wanted to say thank you, Cameron. Guess I needed rescuing. I really appreciate it."

I simply nodded. "You're very welcome. Jason's a complete and total asshole, so putting him in his place wasn't exactly a hardship."

Sam tilted his head to one side, and I found it utterly adorable. "You know him?"

"Knew, past tense." I flicked some hair off my forehead. "Bad date last year."

His eyes softened. "I'm so sorry, Cameron."

God, that man could say my name anytime. I squirmed in my seat before changing the subject. I wasn't ready to dive into my revelations just yet, so I picked what I hoped would be an easy topic. Ease us into things. "So what do you do, Sam? Besides substitute-teach yoga?"

He smiled, his body relaxing, telling me I made the right choice. "I work at a marketing agency. We basically create press releases, proposals, marketing collateral, anything our clients need to get the word out about their business or themselves."

I could tell he loved it by the way his eyes were sparkling. "That sounds fun."

"It is, most days." He grinned. "How about you? Besides the writing, I mean."

I smiled gently, reminded again of how much he knew about me. Hopefully we'd correct some of that imbalance soon. "I have some bookkeeping clients on the side, but I've been upping my marketing efforts, ads and stuff, and building out my backlist. I think I'll be able to do it full-time soon."

His entire face lit up, and I felt like I was being warmed by the sun. "That's amazing, Cameron! I'm so excited for you. You deserve it."

I blushed, but hopefully he missed it in the semi-darkness. "Thank you."

He took a sip of his lager and surveyed the scene in front of us before turning to me. "You must come here often."

I nodded, my fingers playing around the base of my glass. "Yeah, mostly because our club meets here every other week." Thoughts of S.M.C., of Sam, of our encounter at said club meeting swirled into a garbled mess in my head. "But you already knew that."

He nodded, the mood between us changing instantly. "Yes. About the email . . ."

I lifted a hand between us, wanting to clear the air right away. "Sam, it's okay. I promise."

He stared at me for a moment. "It . . . it is? Then why didn't you reply?"

I glanced down at where I was wringing my hands in my lap. "I . . ." I exhaled. "First, I was angry. Of course. But I've been angry for a while, so that's not exactly news."

I took a chance and glanced at Sam, whose lips twitched as if he was fighting a smile. But he didn't say anything, so I kept going.

"Then I realized—tonight, actually—that I owe you both an apology and an explanation."

His mouth dropped open. "An apology for what? I'm the one who lied to you."

I shook my head. "You never lied, Sam. You were open with me from the beginning about not being able to share things about yourself. You shared what you could at the time, and I completely understand why."

Sam's eyes glistened in the undulating multicolored lights. "I suppose you're right."

"I mean, of course I am." I flipped imaginary hair over my shoulder, making him laugh. Then I sobered. "But I am sorry, Sam, for treating you the way I did. For accusing you of stalking me, for yelling at you. You didn't deserve any of that."

He smiled again. "Thanks for saying that, Cameron. I know all those coincidences could've felt deliberate. You were just trying to protect yourself."

I nodded once. "That's exactly it. I was trying to protect myself from men, from a relationship, from you. I wanted you after I'd sworn off love completely. And that terrified me."

"Why?"

My heartbeat thumped in time with the driving beat of the dance music pulsing around us. "I've been hurt. A lot. It felt like too much to put myself out there again. To risk my heart."

His face softened again, and the love in his eyes took my breath away. He reached for my hand, still in my lap, and I let him take it. He held it between us. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, and I can understand that. I haven't exactly had the best relationship history myself."

I nodded, remembering the things S.M.C. had confessed to me. "I know. I'm sorry, too."

He smiled tenderly, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. My breath caught, and my heart beat faster as my skin tingled at his touch.

"As for the explanation . . . Sam, I do want you. I actually love that you're S.M.C., too. Because I . . ."

Was this too much to confess? I stared into his gorgeous eyes, ones I couldn't see well in the flashing lights but that held me in place so completely that I knew I'd found my soul's match. And I resolved right then to go all in.

"Because I've been falling for both of you all this time. I wanted you both. I want you both." I took a deep breath then laid it all on the line. "If you'll have imperfect me?"

Sam's beautiful eyes teared up, and his free hand came up to cup my cheek. "You're perfect for me, baby. And there isn't a scenario that could ever exist in which I wouldn't want you."

My cheeks were wet before I realized I'd started crying, and I launched myself into his arms, straddling his lap and pulling him into me. I could feel him shaking beneath me, and I wondered if he'd started crying, too.

We pulled back after a few long, beautiful moments where our souls connected, and I opened my mouth to say something. But I didn't get to, because the emcee came on stage just then as the music faded. The crowd dispersed, clearing the dance floor until we had one of the best views in the house.

"For our next demonstration, Zander and Joey will be showing us how to use the spanking bench."

I glanced down at Sam, desperate to see his reaction. His gaze found mine and held it. His pupils were dilated, and I could feel his pulse speeding up, his chest start heaving. Now that I knew he was S.M.C., I was absolutely certain he would love this show.

The emcee continued with the speech he gave before every demonstration. "As a reminder, we ensure everyone practices risk-aware consensual kink, or RACK, here. None of our participants are under the influence of drugs or alcohol tonight, and in the case of the gentlemen behind me, they are in a committed relationship. Everyone is required to have, communicate, and honor safewords with absolutely no exceptions." He glanced back at the men standing near the spanking bench. At a nod from the taller of the two, Zander, the emcee turned back to the crowd and smirked, exclaiming with a flourish of his arm, "Enjoy!"

The two men picked up the spanking bench and pulled it forward, into the spotlight in the middle of the stage. I'd seen scenes like this before, and these men had been my friends for years, but I'd never seen them do an impact scene. I wiggled in Sam's lap, just a little, both because I was excited for what was coming next and because I wanted Sam to know how much this was turning me on. I would not be opposed to this night ending with him in my bed. In real life this time.

This night was already amazing because Sam was here, and I could tell it was about to get even better.

The shorter one, Joey, a beautiful man with a slight build and dark-brown wavy hair that just barely curled around his ears, crawled atop the cushioned bench as soon as it was in place. He kneeled on the leg rests, leaned his elbows on the soft armrests, and stretched out across the bench's center, lying face down on the headrest. He wore no shirt, and his thin gray joggers stretched across his ass, showing every single line.

I had to have been dreaming. This was already so fucking hot.

The taller man was Zander, dressed in a leather harness that displayed his ample muscles with matching pants. He tsked at the sight. He must've been wired with a mic, because his voice carried loud and clear throughout the silent club. "Naughty boy, Joey. You know better than to present with pants on. I think that earns you an extra twenty swats."

I heard the boy whimper as he scrambled to his feet, standing in place facing the audience, his body vibrating, palms on his thighs facing outward, dick hard and tenting his pants. Waiting for instructions.

Those glorious gray sweatpants didn't hide a fucking thing.

The taller man crossed his arms, eyeing his sub pointedly. As soon as Joey caught on, he called out, "Yes, Master!"

A single nod showed the crowd the larger man had gotten the response he desired, but his face was stern. "And another ten for forgetting to address me properly."

"Yes, Master," Joey replied instantly, eyes downcast, voice small.

Since we were good friends, I knew they were acting. Joey would never call Zander "Master." Zander had been his Daddy—and his husband—for eight years now.

But they were putting on a damn good show. They certainly knew how to play up their roles.

Zander inched closer to Joey, starting to circle him. The larger man trailed his fingers up one arm as he pressed against the smaller man's side. "Do you know why I'm punishing you tonight?"

The sub nodded.

"Use your words."

Joey swallowed hard. "I broke the rules."

"Which ones?"

Joey's eyes flicked to his Master's for a split second, but his head never moved. I could see the manufactured fear in them from here.

"Which ones?" Zander growled again, leaning in closer, his mouth nearly to the shorter man's ear.

"Please don't make me say it here, Master."

"Oh, no," Master breathed, chuckling wickedly. "You're not getting out of this one. Everyone here needs to hear what you did."

Joey's face got red. Was he actually embarrassed to confess his crimes? That was . . . so fucking hot.

Yup, I definitely had a humiliation kink.

I kept my eyes fixed on the scene playing out before us, but I swore I could feel Sam's eyes on me from inches away. Was he sensing how turned on this was making me? Could he feel how hot I was getting against his chest?

Then Joey spoke. "I came without permission."

"How?"

"Master, please . . ." He was nearly begging now.

"Answer me, boy, or you won't be able to sit down for a week. Scratch that—you already won't be doing that. But I can keep going until your ass is purple, if you'd like."

Joey whimpered again, and I almost came in my pants. This was like the best porn imaginable, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was made all the better knowing Sam was right beneath me. Who was I kidding—Sam's lap was the best possible place to be for this.

"I . . ." He hesitated a bit, then the sub's confession came tumbling out. "I was sucking you off and snuck my hands down my pants without permission. I rubbed myself until I came in them. You gave me ten swats on my bare ass and made me stand in the corner all wet with my red bottom facing you then promised thirty more swats for that tonight."

"And?"

There was more? Holy shit, I was so into this.

Joey's face darkened further. "Then I had to edge myself for thirty minutes for forgetting to eat lunch. You told me not to come, and I didn't—"

"Stop lying, boy."

"I swear, I didn't! I lasted the whole thirty minutes with a vibrator in my ass and my hand stroking my dick. But . . ." He trailed off.

"Keep going," Zander growled, and my body jerked. I was so close to coming, I could taste it.

"But then you made me wear the nipple clamps. When you put them on me, you told me not to come because it was all part of my punishment. But I couldn't help it, Master! You know how horny I get when you put the clamps on me."

Master smirked. "I do."

Holy fucking shit. I leaned back, shifting my groin away from Sam's stomach to avoid rubbing up against him. Even the smallest bit of friction would make me come in my pants at that reminder of my first night with S.M.C., with Daddy, with Sam.

So. Goddamn. Hot.

"So I came again, spurting all over you. You told me to clean it all up with my tongue, to not miss a drop unless I didn't want to come for two weeks. I cleaned it up so good, Master! I promise!"

Zander stroked his lover's hair tenderly. The sweetness in the middle of such an emotionally intense scene made my heart swell. "I know you did, sweet boy." He smiled down at him. "And how many swats did I promise you for that infraction?"

Joey's head tipped down again. "Forty."

"Because . . . ?"

"Because when naughty boys don't learn, their punishment is more severe."

"That's right, boy." Zander threaded his fingers through Joey's hair then yanked his head backward with it so Joey could look him in the eye. "Do you know how many swats you get tonight then, boy?"

"No, Master."

I couldn't see his face from here, but I just knew Zander's smile turned evil. "I count one hundred."

He gasped. "Master!"

"Are you angling for more? Because I could oblige."

"No, Master!"

Zander chuckled.

"Okay, then let's begin. First, you know the drill, but since you seem to have forgotten, I'll remind you. Strip."

Joey gripped the waist of his joggers and shoved them to the floor, peeling them off and revealing a light purple jockstrap.

"Beautiful," Master murmured, seemingly without meaning to, as he stroked his boy's hip. "Excellent."

"Thank you, Master."

Zander straightened his stance, pulling away from Joey. "Oh, you will be thanking me tonight. You earned every single one of these swats, and I intend for you to show me how grateful you are for them when I'm done."

"Yes, Master."

Zander nodded toward the bench. "Now get on. Ass up. Don't make me wait a second longer."

Joey scrambled to comply, nearly leaping into position. His creamy white ass shone in the spotlight, enticing as fuck.

Master chuckled as he pressed his hand at the base of the boy's spine, ensuring he was in position. "Eager, boy?"

"Oh, please, Master. Please. I just want this to be over."

He was lying. His Master knew he was lying. We all knew he was lying. But somehow, his pleading made this even hotter.

"It will be soon enough, boy, but remember, I make the rules, and I punish you how I see fit. Do you understand?"

Joey's voice was muffled by the headrest. "Yes, Master."

"Color?"

"Green, Master. Please."

"Are you begging me to start?"

"Oh yes, Master."

I heard a smattering of soft chuckles around me. Joey was a pain slut, just like me.

To build the anticipation, Zander circled the bench, casually assessing his sub. He lightly trailed his fingers across Joey's light skin until the smaller man shivered. Zander smiled sweetly.

By the time he was back in position behind his lover, I could feel the crowd buzzing. Zander sure knew how to work the crowd. He started massaging his boy's ass, warming it up. I squirmed in my seat.

Then he raised his hand.

I jolted at the first smack, but I couldn't look away. This. This was what I wanted from a Daddy. Someone to scold me, take care of my needs, punish me for breaking the rules, hold me when I cried, humiliate me in all the best ways, and give me both the pain and the love that I craved.

And the man beneath me was offering all of that and more.

Joey was whimpering loudly by the tenth swat, and I assumed he was somehow miked as well. Hearing his responses amped up the sexy factor tenfold.

At thirty, Zander paused, his hand stroking the reddened flesh of his boy's ass. "Color, boy?"

"Still green, Master. Please."

But instead of resuming his swats with his hand, Master leaned down to pick something up from behind the bench. I strained to see it, but I was careful not to move too much against Sam. It would be embarrassing if I came in Sam's lap in the middle of the bar.

Zander pulled out a wide wooden paddle, one with rounded edges and a contoured handle. The paddle appeared to be about an inch thick at its widest part.

The thudding sound—and the cries it pulled out of Joey—was glorious. I was vibrating in my seat by the fiftieth swing, and by the time Zander paused again at sixty, Joey's ass and thighs were a bright red, and I was ready to burst.

I stole a glance at Sam as Joey caught his breath on the stage. Sam was staring at me, his pupils blown wide. Arousal was rolling off him in waves, threatening to pull me under. His body vibrated beneath me.

He swallowed but held my gaze, and even after the erotic spanking on stage had resumed—probably with a cane, given the sharp snaps I heard—I couldn't look away. Time lengthened, but we just stared.

Until he broke the silence with a whisper. "Cameron . . ."

The pure need in his voice undid me. I jumped up, reaching for his hand and pulling him to his feet. I stalked past my friends, catching Tristan's gaze for a brief moment to acknowledge my exit, and he nodded his understanding with a knowing smirk. Bastard.

I weaved Sam through the crowd of voyeurs paying absolutely no attention to us, loving the feel of his hand in mine, until we reached a side exit. We stepped out into the chilly but clear night, heading up the alley toward the entrance of the hotel next door. But before we went inside, I jolted to a stop.

As much as I wanted Sam as soon as possible, like now, I wanted him in my space. I wanted to wake up to him in my bed, see him all sleep-rumpled and adorable, make him breakfast in the morning. I wanted him beside me all night. I wanted his scent to permeate every inch of my home so I'd remember him long after he left.

I spun to face him. He was breathing as heavily as I was, his chest heaving. I swallowed hard once, trying to catch my breath enough to speak. "Okay, so I was all set to take you into this hotel and do all kinds of filthy things to you for the rest of the night."

Sam's eyes widened, and I couldn't help my smirk.

I reached for his hand and held it between us. "But I really want to take you home with me."

It was Sam's turn to swallow, and I saw him weighing the pros and cons in his eyes. But after only a second's deliberation, he spoke, and my entire being swooned. "I'd love to come home with you, Cameron."

I just nodded, switching directions and heading for the nearest bus stop. But Sam tugged at my hand before we got far.

"Uh, Cameron, baby? My SUV's parked this way." I turned to see him cock his head to the left.

A wide grin split my face in two until it almost hurt. "Then lead the way."