Chapter 17

Hunter leaned against the dark, polished bar at Thorns & Roses, a tumbler of whiskey untouched in front of him. The club's usual allure, with its pulsing lights and the laughter mingling with the music, couldn't lift his mood. The current situation held too many parallels with an episode from his past he'd rather forget. He was physically present but mentally adrift, trapped in a tumult of thoughts that spiraled back to a haunting memory from high school—the sting of betrayal by his then best friend.

Around him, life at the club went on. People flirted, danced, and indulged in their escapes from reality, but Hunter was ensnared in his past. The clues pointing to a leak within his trusted circle gnawed at him, picking at the scabbed-over wound. There was a tightness in his chest and a sharp pain as if his heart was being squeezed in a vice. His palms itched to do something, to act, but like years ago, he was momentarily powerless.

Hunter held himself rigid, his back straight as a board. Every so often, he rotated his neck slowly, trying to ease the stiffness that clamped down like a vise. Every few minutes, he ground his teeth back and forth, as the turmoil boiling inside him.

The club's vibrant atmosphere clashed with the storm inside him. Hunter caught himself clenching his jaw so tightly it ached, releasing it only to take a long, measured breath to calm the rising storm within. He was so lost in his brooding that he didn't notice Ethan approaching until he was almost beside him.

He inclined his head.

Ethan slowed his steps and crossed his arms in from of his chest, as he observed Hunter. "You look like you're a million miles away."

Hunter forced a half-smile, his gaze finally focusing on something other than the betrayals of his past. "Just thinking about some stuff. Tough day," he managed to say, his voice lower than he intended.

"Tough how?"

Hunter shrugged, and his shoulders protested the movement. "Just club business, you know how it is," he muttered, evasively. His gaze drifted back to the crowd. He hoped Ethan would catch on and keep the conversation light.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Hunter shook his head, a quick, dismissive gesture. "Nah, it's just the usual shit going on," he responded, keeping his voice deliberately light. He took a sip of his whiskey, letting the burn of the alcohol momentarily distract him from the weight of his real concerns.

Ethan remained silent.

Fuck!

He stole a glance at the detective Dom and stilled.

"The usual?" Ethan's voice carried the firm, yet gentle tone of a concerned Dominant, probing deeper despite Hunter's dismissive front.

"Nothing worth digging into," Hunter insisted.

Ethan didn't move, and his face stayed impassive. A stranger might peg him as cold and unmoved, but Hunter knew him better—the stonier his expression, the bigger his inner turmoil.

The club's lively atmosphere dimmed around them, and Hunter had to fight against fidgeting.

"Hunter, if there's something bothering you, you know it's better to talk about it. What's really going on?"

Hunter shook his head, a quick, dismissive gesture that failed to deter Ethan. "Really, it's nothing, Ethan. Just tired, that's all," he muttered, knowing full well that his Dominant wouldn't be easily misled.

Ethan unfolded his arms and slowly raised his hand to lower his sunglasses, a calculated gesture. Sliding the glasses down just enough to fix Hunter with a stern look, his sharp and discerning eyes offered the first real glimpse into his concern... and his growing irritation. The intensity of his stare made it clear: he wasn't buying the evasiveness, and he was far from pleased.

The weight of Ethan's gaze felt like a physical force pressing down on Hunter, reminding him of the depth of their connection and the expectations that came with it. There was no more room for pretense—not with Ethan, not about this. The man was his Dominant, and his patience for Hunter's deflections was wearing thin.

Ethan locked his gaze onto Hunter, blinking less frequently, not willing to miss even the slightest cue that could reveal what was truly going on.

His stomach churned, and a dryness clung stubbornly to his throat, making him clear it to ease the discomfort.

His mind was a whirlwind of worry and doubt, racing through scenarios of what might be troubling Hunter, each thought tinged with a protective urgency that refused to subside.

As Hunter shifted uneasily, Ethan's concern deepened, his own body mirroring that restlessness.

Despite his outward appearance of calm authority, Ethan was grappling with a profound sense of unease, his typically decisive nature clouded by the uncertainty of the situation. His protectiveness over Hunter was roaring inside like a wildfire as he struggled to keep his composure.

Concern brewed in his gut.

This wasn't normal behavior for Hunter. Yeah, the man was stoic at times and tough as the denim and leather he wore, but he also was a straight shooter.

Time to switch things up.

Ethan leaned close, his voice calm but authoritative, "What's your safeword?" The question cut through the noise of the club, demanding Hunter's focus.

Hunter straightened and responded with a clarity that seemed to ground him. "Red for stop, yellow to slow down, Sir." As he recited the words, his posture visibly relaxed, the act of declaring them seeming to lessen his burden.

"Good boy," Ethan approved. "We're adding green today, for when you're okay. I'm ready to push you a bit tonight." His hand clamped on the back of Hunter's neck. The touch conveyed both possession and protection.

With a controlled strength, Ethan pulled Hunter from the stool and guided him with undeniable purpose toward the stairs leading to the dungeon. Each step was a deliberate move deeper into their shared space of trust and power dynamics. The grip on Hunter's neck was meant as a guide and a reassurance. Ethan was now leading them both into a realm where he would take full command.

His eyes scanned the dungeon, taking in the array of scenes unfolding before him. His gaze lingered for a moment on Mistress Melissa, who was wielding a flogger against the back of a pot-bellied man. Both of them were sweat-streaked but going by the blissful expression and straining erection on the man and the wide grin on Melissa's face, they were both having a great time. The sharp cracks echoed in the cavernous space.

As he steered Hunter past the scene, Ethan noticed the subtle reaction in his sub—the slight raise of hair on his arms, and the faint appearance of goosebumps. Hunter had responded well to the flogger. However, tonight, Ethan's plans veered in a different direction.

His gaze settled on a vacant massage table set away from the more intense play areas. It was secluded enough to provide privacy yet still part of the dungeon atmosphere. The table would serve perfectly for what he had in mind—a session focused more on sensual deprivation and exploration rather than the sharp sting of a flogger.

Guiding Hunter with a firm hand, Ethan maneuvered them toward the spot.

It was time for a different kind of intensity, one that would demand trust and surrender of a different sort from Hunter, aligning with the deeper, more nuanced control Ethan planned to exert tonight, before he would pull the information he wanted from the submissive.

"Tonight, I want your total trust and total submission."

Hunter pressed his lips together before he gave a curt nod.

"Yeah, I'm gonna need that verbally, boy."

Hunter's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Yes, Sir."

"Strip," Ethan ordered, turning to put a plastic covering on the table before going to the cabinet beside it that held torches, oils, cupping sets, chemicals, candles, and more. Ethan considered the options.

Next to him, Hunter appeared, gloriously naked.

Ethan's gaze dropped to his flaccid cock. "Well, that's plain insulting."

Hunter gasped when Ethan slapped the limp dick—left, right, left—and the appendix swelled to full capacity in nanoseconds.

"Now that's better!" Ethan leaned in for a rewarding kiss. When he pulled back, he asked, "Total trust?"

Despite Hunter's somewhat dazed expression, his voice was firm. "Absolutely, Sir. I trust you with my life."

"Ah. But do you trust me with your troubles and worries?"

Hunter stilled.

Ethan's mouth tipped up at the corner and he gave his submissive a pat on the cheek. "Don't fret, boy. You will."

Pointing to the table, Ethan ordered, "I want you up there, on your back with your hands over your head. As he circled the table and cuffed Hunter's limbs, so his arms were stretched out straight above him and his legs were bound in a wide V, he informed his sub, "I want access to you, boy. But not just now, I want to know about your past, and I want a spot in your future."

With a strap around Hunter's chest and just above his hips, Ethan further immobilized him. He wanted Hunter to be completely helpless and vulnerable to be able to penetrate that mental barrier.

Lastly, he used a forehead strap to restrict Hunter's movements even more. Making another round, Ethan checked every restraint. "Any pain or discomfort?"

"I like pain."

Ethan grinned, and cupped Hunter's dick and balls, squeezing them. "I know."

Hunter groaned.

Keeping his grip firm, Ethan leaned forward and whispered like he was telling a secret. "Guess what? I like giving you pain. But I'm looking for the right kind of pain. If you experience cramps, numbness, or tingling I want you to use yellow. I don't want any nerve damage. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry."

"Oh no, you're not. Not really, and not yet." Ethan leaned his forearm on the table and brought his face close enough to Hunter's to feel his breath. "Don't worry, boy. You'll get there. Eventually."

Ethan let go of Hunter's cock and straightened. With a last glance over Hunter's magnificent prone form, he strolled to the cabinet to get his toys.

He signaled Cole, who was acting as a Dungeon Monitor. "I'm planning a wax scene. Can you arrange a cool cloth, a first aid kit, a fire extinguisher, and a water bucket?"

"Sure thing."

The smooth floor beneath them was ideal, free from any carpet that could complicate clean-up later. Ethan selected candles specifically designed for wax play, massage oil, aloe crème and everything else he needed. He knew that these specialty candles would provide a pleasurable sensation without adhering too stubbornly to the skin, which was particularly important given the sensitive areas they would be exploring tonight.

As Hunter lay expectantly on the massage table, Ethan prepped his skin with a thin layer of oil to enhance the sensation and to aid later wax removal.

Ethan lit the first candle. The flame flickered, casting dancing shadows over Hunter's toned body, heightening the anticipation.

Holding out his arm with the vulnerable inside up, Ethan held the candle aloft, allowing the molten wax to pool at the tip and to drop, just as Cole's submissive appeared with the requested items.

"Here you go, Sir." Her eyes widened. "Ooh, wax play." She clapped her hands. "I hope my Daddy lets me watch!"

"Thank you, Daphne." Ethan inclined his head, but the bubbly, hyperactive Little was already bouncing away. Ethan shook his head. That little bundle of chaos and mischief would drive him bonkers, but she was the perfect partner for Cole, who had needed the lightness and color she brought into his life.

Using a scraper, Ethan removed the blob of wax and check the pinkened skin underneath. Turning to Hunter, he murmured, "Ready?"

Hunter gave a nod. "Yes, Sir. Green, Sir."

Carefully, Ethan tilted the candle, a single drop of hot wax falling and landing on Hunter's chest. The wax spread upon contact, and Hunter's sharp intake of breath was fun to watch.

"Still green?"

Hunter's pupils dilated and his features relaxed. "Green, Sir."

Ethan continued the play, methodically dripping wax along Hunter's shoulders and down his arms.

Hunter's body responded not just to the heat, but to the anticipation of each touch. The drops grew into patterns, forming trails that mapped out areas of Hunter's body that Ethan knew were particularly sensitive: the insides of Hunter's arms, across the collarbone, down the sternum.

As he worked, Ethan maintained a rhythm, the wax becoming a medium through which he communicated his dominance and care. Every so often, he'd pause to check in with Hunter, seeking confirmation of his comfort and enjoyment, and Hunter's steady, "Green, Sir," kept the scene flowing.

He increased the heat by lowering the candle and splashing more wax on the same spot, until Hunter was quivering and flinching with each drop.

Hunter's muscles bunched and rippled, and his breathing was ragged. Colorful lines of wax crossed his torso and lower abdomen. It was a sight to behold, and for a moment he wished cameras were allowed in the dungeon.

Sporting a thick erection, Ethan checked the bindings and slightly loosened the one around Hunter's arms as his fingers felt rather cold.

He leaned over Hunter and smiled into his dazed eyes. "How are you doing, boy?"

"Wonderful, Sir."

"Now tell me. What is bothering you?"

"Nothing, Sir. I'm green."

All right. He is too much in his head still.

Ethan took the scraper and started to peel off layers of hardened wax, sending Hunter back into subspace. After cleaning the skin and conditioning it with the aloe crème, Ethan questioned Hunter again.

"Bothering?" Hunter's forehead furrowed.

Ethan hummed, and stroked with long, firm strokes over Hunter's upper body, arms and shoulders. He grinned when Hunter strained against the straps around his waist as he tried to lift his pelvis into the touch.

Ethan bit down on the junction between Hunter's neck and shoulder, then laved the indent of his teeth with the tip of his tongue. "Hmm, hmm. You have something bugging you."

"Oh yeah. Yeah." Hunter sighed and shuddered. "Michael betrayed me. I didn't steal the exam papers."

Ethan blinked. Hunter's voice was higher—more vulnerable.

"Michael?"

"Yeah. Best friend. Since second grade. Some friend. Asshole."

Hunter tried to make sense of the words, but his brain had taken up residence somewhere else.

But with the question, a darkness slid into him, like a rain cloud over the sun. Betrayal. "Tuesday, I found…" His lips had trouble forming the words. Everything was so fuzzy in his head. "I didn't cheat on the exams."

Tears formed in his eyes. He wanted to wipe them away, but his arms wouldn't move.

A harsh sob escaped.

"Fuck. Hang in there, boy."

Hands released the straps holding him and a hard hand cupped his face.

When he blinked open his eyelids, he stared into orbs the color of a winter sky but there was nothing cold in Ethan's expression. "I have you."

Ethan helped him to sit up and he leaned heavily on him, as someone wrapped a soft and warm blanket around his shoulders.

"Can you walk?"

"Where?"

"Just over there to the couch."

"Sure."

Using Ethan as a crutch, he stumbled on wobbly legs toward the brown leather sofa.

As they settled side by side, Ethan leaned into Hunter. The warmth of his body and his proximity offered a comfort Hunter didn't know he needed.

"When I was seventeen, just after graduation, I came out to my family." Ethan's voice was low, and Hunter needed to strain his hearing.

"It didn't go well. My father exploded, refused to share the table with a faggot. Told my mom and sisters to stay clear from me." As he recounted the painful memories, Ethan's hand ran through his hair.

"That summer I stayed away from the house," he continued, his voice growing firmer. "Took every odd job I could find and saved as much of the money I earned. I was planning on going to the university. Instead, I signed up for the police academy." A bitter laugh escaped him. "By pushing me out of the family, my dad pushed me into following his footsteps. Until he died, he resented that I did and that I outshone him. He never made it past the lowest ranks, you know."

Hunter listened intently, his hand tightening on Ethan's arm. "I'm sorry your family reacted that badly," he murmured, his heart aching for Ethan's lost ties. "Are you in contact with them now?"

Shaking his head slightly, Ethan's gaze turned distant. "My mom died a couple of months after my dad. She just seemed to have given up," he admitted, the sadness palpable in his voice. "As for my sisters, three of them, all older... I talk to them, but we aren't close. They never really got over that summer."

Feeling a connection through their shared experiences of isolation, Hunter felt compelled to open up about his own struggles. "I haven't come out to my brothers at the club," he confessed, his voice low. "And I never really had a family—my mom was a crack junkie, sold her body to pay for her habits."

Ethan's hard, angular face softened, and he squeezed Hunter's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Hunter. That's a lot to carry alone."

For a couple of moments, they just sat there as the activities in the dungeon around them continued.

Ethan sighed and turned to face Hunter fully. His protective instincts clearly visible on his face. "You talked about Michael in the context of high school, but you also said something about last Tuesday. What's that about?"

Hunter exhaled. "Actually, yeah," he began, deciding to share the burden. "I think there's a leak. Information that only someone close could know is getting out, and it's helping the traffickers stay one step ahead."

Ethan's brow furrowed. "That's rough. It's like you're being stabbed in the back all over again, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Hunter agreed, the past and present betrayals blending into a sharp sting. "Just like back in high school."

Ethan's hand remained firm on Hunter's shoulder. "We'll figure this out," he said with conviction. " This time, you're not alone."

Meeting Ethan's gaze, Hunter found a sliver of hope in the promise of partnership. While the path forward was uncertain, the solidarity in Ethan's words offered a guide through the shared darkness of their pasts and the murky waters of their current mess.