Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Clint

Oh God. Clint shuddered, leaning his back against the nearest locker and sliding slowly to the ground. He’d never been so turned on in his life. Sore muscles and aching knees just added to the warmth in his gut and the thrumming through his veins. So good.

He couldn’t wait to get Scotland back to the farm and push him against the nearest surface. He didn’t care if he was the one getting fucked or if it was his turn to rail Scotland’s ass, but he was coming. There was no cock ring in the world that was going to stop him.

Dragging himself to his feet, he stumbled across the locker area around the corner where he presumed the showers would be. There were three of them, made up of nothing more than a tiled strip with drains carved into the floor and three spouts protruding from above.

With no walls or even curtains, it was like a dream. Even if he had to keep his hands to himself, he was certainly letting his gaze stray. Scotland had an amazing physique, but it would only be better soaking wet and with a bit of soap spiraling down his leg to the drain below.

Fuck, keeping it clean. Clint reached for himself, pressing the heel of his hand to his groin to try to ease the ache. Anticipation would only make it better. Plus, he could plan a surprise for Scotland and pounce on him as soon as they got to the lane at the farm. Clint could easily maneuver over the center console, straddle Scotland’s cock right there and let the bounce of the first pothole grind their cocks together.

He shucked off his track pants and T-shirt, tossing them on a bench outside the tiled area before toeing his shoes off and stepping into the shower. The first jet of water that hit him was freezing cold, pushing a gasp through his lips. It was probably for the best. Anything warm on him right now might just make him come.

His teeth chattered as the stream warmed to something much more reasonable, the water stripping the sweat from his skin as steam started to rise. He ducked his head under the water, turning toward the wall as he caught the sound of the shower room door opening and closing.

It wasn’t that he had any modesty to speak of—quite the opposite, really—but the worst of his scars were on his front. His back was still marked extensively, the skin shiny and tight, even beneath the warmth, but people were much less likely to ask him about them if he was looking away.

Facing them, he could see the pity in their eyes—the sadness. “That must have hurt so much.” Or, his personal favorite, “You poor thing.”

That was one thing about kinksters. They all had scars—some more visible than others. It was rare to see someone without a mark from a past scene or even a bit of red skin on their ass or bruises on their knees from kneeling. Some, like Shelvin and Elliot, had their scars buried well beneath their skin, but they were still there. Clint could see them in the way Elliot would flinch from the sound of a belt or the way Shelvin had fainted from lack of food.

He flinched when he felt warm hands on his shoulders, pulling him from his thoughts.

“If your name isn’t Scotland, be prepared to have your ass kicked,” said Clint, shivering as those hands went from his shoulders to his wrists, pinning him in the same way he’d been in the ring. A cock pushed against his ass at the same time he was shoved into the tiled wall, his cheek pressing against the limescale-covered squares.

Closing his eyes against the water spray, he sucked a breath through his mouth, choking on a bit of water that managed to seep through his lips. The hands never let up, not even as the person ground against him, their cock coming dangerously close to penetrating him.

“Water doesn’t make good lube,” Clint choked out, turning his face into the tile so he could breathe better. Lips against his neck were his only answer, then teeth dragging over his skin. The grip on his wrists tightened, two hands becoming one and holding him with utmost strength.

“I thought you said we had to keep things from getting dirty,” said Clint, flinching as that cock breached him the barest amount. It fucking stung, dragging against him in a way that he absolutely loved and hated at the same time. He was persistent, too, returning with even pressure as he tried to squirm away.

“Scotland?”

Teeth snagged his ear, dragging the same spot that he’d pieced years ago. He rarely wore piercings anymore, but the skin was still extra sensitive, the bit of scar tissue, making him shiver.

“Not even going to ask me my color?” asked Clint, tugging at his wrists. The grip was too steady and completely unbreakable. He hadn’t realized Scotland was that strong.

Unless.His heart pounded as he twisted, the ruthless cock coming way too close to penetrating him again. Scotland had planned to talk to Maxim about something. Maybe it wasn’t him at all, but someone else who had slipped in, hoping for a quickie after the show. There had been a lot of guys bigger than Clint with rippling muscles, and Clint had made it very clear he was looking for cock.

“Lube or I safeword,” said Clint, hissing as his hips were forced into the tile, water momentarily slamming into his face as it pounded down on them. He spluttered, struggling to turn his face away and choking as some made it into his nose.

With a squeak of a nob, the water disappeared, a single drip echoing in the room. His breath was loud in his ears, water sliding down his chin to his throat.

He blinked his eyes open, squinting against the water that instantly stung. The sound of Scotland spitting had him instantly on guard. And it was Scotland. Without the water he could catch the scent of his body wash and that clinging bit of donkey that never faded.

“Close enough,” said Clint, relaxing against the wall and spreading his legs. “So much for keeping out of trouble.” His cock throbbed, scraping against the wall in an aching dance. It was more friction than he’d had in a while and he bucked into it, seeking the way the rough wall scratched against his sensitive skin.

“Baby, you’re so fucking dirty that I never stood a chance,” said Scotland, his voice rumbling next to his ear.

Fuck, he sounded good. It was strange to think that it hadn’t been that long since Clint refused to even think of Scotland as anything more than a pest. Attractive hadn’t even been on his radar. God, I want to come.

But someone walking in on them was a distinct possibility. In theory, it was fun, but Scotland seemed to like this gym. He didn’t want to get him kicked out. That, and Maxim had made it pretty clear on the no fucking part. This was the gangster’s territory, not Clint’s.

“Did you lock the door?” asked Clint, tugging against the grip on his wrists. Scotland was digging bruises into his wrists, and he trembled at the possibilities. One look, and everyone would know exactly how rough he’d been fucked. Their minds would race, picturing every scenario, but none of them would get it right. The real thing was just for him.

He could already picture himself staring at the bruises and poking them once he crashed in his cottage for the night, Scotland only a few steps or a text away. Or maybe Scotland would take him back to the house and let Clint toss and turn in the bed as he stood guard on the couch outside.

“I’ll be quick,” said Scotland. “I’m close already. Tossing you around is like fucking foreplay.”

“Yeah, but.” Clint tried to look over his shoulder, but his neck couldn’t twist that far in his position, especially when Scotland scraped his teeth over him. “Maxim…”

“Will probably kick my ass, yeah. But not before I get some ass myself. Relax, baby, or this is gonna hurt.”

He didn’t get more warning than that before Scotland slicked up his cock with another layer of spit, slowly pressing inside. Clint cried out, slamming his mouth shut when his voice echoed off the walls. They could definitely hear him in the gym, if they hadn’t heard him on another floor already. Nothing carried farther than the sound of something explicit.

“Fuck.” Clint scrambled against the tile, trying to find purchase. “They probably heard that. If you pull out now, we could play it off that I slipped in the shower.”

Scotland chuckled, not stopping until his groin was settled against Clint’s ass and sticking together from the dampness between them. “I’m sure you heard that all the time when you were a nurse. How many people slipped in the shower and managed to accidentally get a shampoo bottle jammed up their ass?”

Squirming, Clint tried to angle away so Scotland’s cock would slip free. He only managed halfway before Scotland caught him by the hips, easing home again with a sharp thrust. It pushed more than one of his buttons, filling him to the brim.

“But no one is going to mistake that gape, even if you tell them that. You’re so beautiful all fucked open. I love it.”

Fuck.Clint bit his lip to stifle his moans, but when Scotland picked up the pace, there was no mistaking the sound of skin slapping skin, the dampness from the shower making it so much worse.

A tap at the door made his heart nearly stop. It was a quiet rap, nothing more than a quick blow of knuckles, but he heard it clearly. Scotland seemed none the wiser, even as it came a second time.

Reaching back, he grabbed Scotland by the hip to try to still him, digging his fingertips in when he didn’t immediately stop. Scotland let out a groan against Clint’s ear, picking up his pace.

Someone was knocking on the goddam locker-room door. Do I care anymore? What little pain there had been had faded to pure pleasure, Scotland’s cock like a wet dream as it carved a spot inside him.

He would never forget that cock. Every ridge, every vein, was engraved on his memory. And the way Scotland throbbed when he was all the way in, made his own cock leak and pulse. He was so fucking close.

“Did you lock the door?” asked Clint, gasping out a breath when Scotland changed the angle and slipped that much deeper. Clint dug his nails in, forcing Scotland to stop. It was the best when he paused all the way inside, filling him up in a way only a cock could. Toys were never the same. Even the most realistic one out there could never replicate it.

“No,” said Scotland. “I don’t think the door has a lock.”

He felt Scotland freeze as the knock came again, so much louder this time. “Scotland, you in there?”

Fuck. It was Maxim. He was probably pissed, and that was one person in the world who Clint had no desire to piss off. He didn’t need to be on the Bratva’s bad side for any reason, even if Niki had helped him out of a bind or two in the past.

“Yeah, come on in,” Scotland shouted back.

Clint jerked, a flash of cold and hot shock running through him. Was Scotland insane? He was eight inches deep at the moment with no room to spare.

The grip on his wrists tightened as it tried to wiggle away—anything he could do to salvage the situation. The door clicked open a second later and he froze, the sound of footsteps getting closer.

“What should we tell him?” asked Scotland, grinding his hips until he dragged against Clint’s prostate. His eyes watered, a whimper on his lips that he tried and failed to bite back. His heart pounded as he flexed his fingers, but he was caught.

How am I supposed to survive this?

“You better think of an excuse really quick,” said Scotland, dragging his teeth over Clint’s ear. His nerve endings prickled, everything on high alert. It sounded as if Maxim would be rounding the corner in just a moment. Any second and he would see them.

An excuse…an excuse.Clint’s mind went blank as those footsteps shuddered to a halt. Scotland kept going, though, moving his hips in a steady motion.

“What’s going on in here?” asked Maxim, the darkness in his voice leaving no room for rebuke.

Oh God, I’m going to die. Maxim was going to toss them in an alley behind the gym and leave them to rot in a dumpster. Maddy would take over the club and put candles in every room before the first flies found Clint’s body.

“I slipped in the shower and fell,” Clint blurted out, closing his eyes as he flushed with humiliation. Maybe it was even better that he was facing the wall. Really? That’s all I could think of? “Scotland was helping me up, but then he slipped, too.”

Maxim snorted as Scotland trembled against him, stilling his hips for a moment. It took Clint a moment to realize that Scotland was laughing. Bastard.

“Scotland, I wanted to talk to you about that schedule,” said Maxim. “Is now a good time?” He moved until he was just at the edge of the tile and within Clint’s range of view. His arms were crossed, his lips set in a line. He looked fucking terrifying, his muscles still bulging from his workout.

“Yeah, sure,” said Scotland, sneaking a free hand around Clint until he met his nipple. He pulled Clint against him to give himself room, immediately clamping his fingers down and twisting. His fingers were slippery and cool, the heat at Clint’s back a stark contrast. “You know me. I’m just getting my cardio in.”

Are you fucking kidding me?When Scotland pulled out an inch, only to slide back inside, Clint realized that he wasn’t kidding at all. It was worse than anything to have his cock throbbing but neglected, one of his members standing next to him chatting with his Dom about some kind of game night get together that didn’t even sound real. Scotland didn’t seem like the type to watch hockey.

“That would work,” said Scotland, picking up the pace as he released Clint’s hands, pressing against the back of his head instead. With his other hand, he grabbed Clint’s hip, pulling him into the next thrust. “Just a second.”

A few staccato beats later, Scotland let out a groan, settling all the way inside as his cock pulsed. Clint panted, his eyes closed and his breath buzzing against his ears. A drain dripped in the distance, echoing as Maxim let out an annoyed-sounding sigh.

“Thursday?” asked Scotland, his voice frustratingly steady. “I’ll bring my homemade salsa.”

“You don’t have to bring anything,” said Maxim, rubbing his hands together as Clint panted against the wall.

His legs were weak, his will to keep standing only holding on because of Scotland’s hands on him. His cock was so hard it hurt, but the way Scotland was starting to pull away, it looked like he wasn’t going to get to come…again.

Maxim’s goodbye was lost as Scotland kissed the back of his neck, sucking the damp skin into his mouth. He must’ve been more sweaty than damp right now, shuddering from the fight of hot and cold along his skin. Scotland dragged his teeth over the same spot, adding the edge of agony to it.

“Please.” Clint whimpered, sliding his palms over the surface of the wall. He was hovering in the best place, subspace descending like that warm blanket that he missed so much. “Please.”

He hadn’t thought he would ever beg again. He hadn’t expected to find anyone who was worthy of it.

“Do you know how fucking good you are?” asked Scotland, moving his hands along Clint’s skin. His sides, pecs, ass—he didn’t miss a single spot, even sliding between his cheeks and playing with the slickness there that belonged to him.

“Yes,” said Clint, tears prickling against his eyelids. He let them fall, too far gone to hold back. He never wanted to hold back again. The truth of it hit him straight in the chest.

Scotland was perfect and sweet, giving him everything he needed even when Clint had denied him over and over. “I’m good. Please.”

“That’s my boy,” said Scotland, moving one hand to Clint’s cock.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. One sweep from base to tip and Clint curled his toes, aching against the tile. The second jerk of Scotland’s hand had a moan pushing through his lips as heat burst at the base of his cock, flowing from his balls all the way to the tip. By the third he was shooting against the wall, his breath gone as his heart pounded.

“My sweet boy. Let it all out. Your cum, your tears—I want it all.”