Revived (The Dungeon Black Duology 2)

Thing was, deep down, he’d always just assumed that Sean was only really interested in being his sub.

Talk about arrogant.

And really fucking stupid.

He exhaled and closed his eyes. Pinched the bridge of his nose. How quickly things had just gone from bad to fucking worse. Had he really thought the hardest part was behind him? He knew better. He did. Life didn’t work that way. Life was one great big wooly mammoth dick up his fucking ass.

Glowering, he dropped his hand and picked up his phone. Then got busy dialing up Kai’s number. The guy answered in two rings, and five minutes later, all plans for Tuesday night had been set. Max thumbed that piece in his other hand faster, staring once again at Sean’s email. He didn’t want to reply. Didn’t want Sean with Kai. Just the thought of them together made him nauseous. Which was just about as morbidly fucking ironic as things could get. Queasy at the prospect of taking Sean as his, yet just as queasy at relinquishing him to another.

He groaned and set down the small token in his hand, then forced his fingers to get typing.

Max Kelley 9:18 PM

to Sean

Hello, Sean.

I’m glad you’ve decided to continue subbing. To give up the lifestyle unnecessarily would be unfortunate. I’ve contacted Kai. He looks forward to seeing you this Tuesday at 9 PM. Don’t bother bringing the collar or cuffs. Kai will outfit you with items of his choice.

Max

Max paused a split second before hitting send, pursed his lips, then grumbled and added a postscript.

Ps. If, for any reason, you need to cancel, no worries. We can try again at a later date.

Grating a soft curse, Max forced himself to send it, his heart all but hammering out of his chest. Maybe, for once, luck would be on his side, and Sean was just calling his bluff. He chuckled sardonically. Who the hell was he kidding? Luck was just as much of a bitch as life. The two must be fucking related.

Swiping up the item he’d ditched to type Sean’s email, he got back to furiously rubbing. It was Friday night, so he had time to prepare. Four days to fortify his walls even stronger. Shutting down his laptop, he dragged a hand down his face.

Please don’t fucking do this, Sean. Please, God. Just let it go.

* * * * *

His walls weren’t holding.

Not like they needed to be.

Max splashed his face with water, once, twice, three times, its frigid temperature doing little to snap him out of it. Out of the spiking anxiety building in his chest. Fraying the edges of his mind.

Sean would be there soon, and Max couldn’t be more unprepared. The battlements he’d been trying to erect for days just would not fucking cooperate. And make no mistake, this would be a battle. One between Max and himself. Or rather, between his head and his stupid heart. Between what he wanted so desperately and what he needed.

And what he needed right now was for this thing with Sean and Kai to go away and never take place.

He splashed his face again, then braced his hands on his sink and stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes, framed by lashes all wet and spiky, looked agitated, restless, stressed. His features, tight and dripping, from his brow to his jaw, gave the vibe of being seconds away from snapping.

He closed his eyes and drew in deeply, then let it out slow and toweled his face. At this point, it didn’t matter if he thought he could pull this shit off tonight or not. He didn’t have a choice either way. The last thing in the world that he wanted to happen was about to, in less than an hour. Under his roof.

Goddamn it. He didn’t want to fucking do this.

His new motto these days, it felt like.

Constantly forced to do shit he didn’t want to. Because he no longer had control over the situation. Something that infuriated him. He always had control. But Sean had stripped that all away.

Max glowered at his reflection, irate at everything, then snarled and punched the mirror. Glass splintered on contact, cracking in every direction. Only when pain speared through his knuckles and past his wrist did he realize what he’d even fucking done.

“Fuck,” he grated, shaking out his hand, blood rising quickly to the surface. Just a few small cuts, but enough to fan the fire, keep his anger pulsing hot through his veins.

He snatched up his hand towel and applied pressure to his knuckles. Looked like the battle wounds were coming earlier than expected. If only they’d stay just skin deep.

Max stalked from his bathroom, still decked out in leather, his last appointment having ended just recently. Randy and Connor. One of their final sessions, actually. They’d come a long way, and as of late, had shown all the signs of being ready. Ready to go it the rest of the way on their own. To fine tune their dynamic with just the two of them. Soon it’d be time to bid them farewell and pluck another person from the waiting list.