Out of the Ashes (The Game 5)

Seated next to each other, Kingsley and his friend were night and day in appearances. One who leaned back casually, upper body exposed, jeans riding low, and the other who looked as if he’d just spent a day in a courtroom. The latter set a leather-bound notebook on the table before he locked eyes with me.

Hell.

“This is my friend KC,” Kingsley revealed. “You’ll address him as Sir. You may call me the same—or Handler.”

I nodded nervously. “Yes, Handler.” Handler felt more…personal and inhuman. As if I were a dog.

A forty-seven-year-old dog.

“If we ask a question you genuinely don’t want to answer, use the safeword purple. We will simply choose another question.” Kingsley proceeded. “If you find yourself doubting our motives or intentions, say yellow. It means we’ll back away or slow things down. Think of it as a pause button. And red means full stop.” He waited for my acknowledgment before he continued. “Safewording is never wrong, Franklin, and it will never result in any ramifications—it won’t be held against you at any point. We only ask that you don’t abuse your safewords.”

“I understand, Handler.” Purple. I was going to remember purple. Not that I believed they would ask anything I wasn’t willing to answer, but I had so far only memorized red, yellow, green.

“You understand the purpose of this scene is partly to humiliate you?” he asked next.

“Yes, Handler.”

“And you understand that what we say to you, how we behave around you, has everything to do with the fetish and nothing whatsoever to do with what we really think or feel?”

“Yes, Handler,” I repeated. I appreciated they covered all this, but I was beyond ready to get started. They didn’t have to worry about me. I was a grown man. How bad could it be? My mind was by no means weak. I knew what I wanted and could take a hit or two.

“Good.” Kingsley leaned forward and cracked his knuckles absently, but I certainly caught the act. And it was official. I found everything he did ridiculously sexy. “Unless you have any questions, we’ll begin.”

Finally.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Franklin Townsend

Kingsley’s friend KC cleared his throat and opened the notebook. “Whores tend to become regulars at STI screenings to uphold their safety. When was your last screening?”

Oh, he didn’t beat around the bush, did he? The accusation was embedded in his no-nonsense tone.

“Well, I donate bl—”

“I don’t need to know the fucking reason.” He cut me off, looking bored out of his mind. “Tell me when.”

Why was he bored with me? Yet his eyes looked like they were ready to strike me down where I stood. Or sat.

“Earlier this year,” I amended. “April, I believe.”

He hummed and wrote something down. “You test yourself so frequently that you can barely recall the month—understood.”

Wait—

“How old were you the first time you dreamed about a cock up your ass?” Kingsley asked.

My goodness! “I-I don’t know,” I stammered. “Maybe sixteen or seventeen, but I chalked it up to a nightmare.”

Both men reeled back at that, causing me to fret. Could I change my response? Could I explain further? I didn’t want them to misinterpret.

“Write down that he thinks it would be a nightmare if I fucked him,” Kingsley told his friend.

“No!” I balked at that, and I had to say something—goddamn it all. “Please don’t write that. It couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s all I want!”

“All you want?” Kingsley lifted a brow at me, visibly skeptical. “That’s literally all you want, Franklin? For me to fuck you?”

“Not literally—”

Kingsley interrupted me again. “Add liar to the list.”

KC nodded thoughtfully and wrote it down.

Frustration surged forward, as did annoyance, though I had a feeling it wouldn’t do me any good to display either of those emotions.

Kingsley was about to speak when the door to the alleged storage room opened, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. A young man, a very young man, came out dressed as… What was he? A dog? He was almost naked, aside from tight briefs, from which a rubber tail stuck out, and he wore a leather harness and collar. He had dog ears that matched his tail. He wore a name tag too, shaped like a dog bone, attached to his collar. It read Noa.

His presence rattled me fiercely. The man was so adorable—in the most erotic way.

“What’s up, freckles?” KC asked.

“I gotta tell you something, Daddy.”

Daddy.

I watched him trail over to KC, and he didn’t stop there. He crawled up on the man’s lap, folded his legs underneath him, and whispered something in KC’s ear.

The only word I could decipher in the hushed conversation was “meanie.”

I loosened my tie, feeling uncomfortably hot. KC’s hand brushed over his partner’s perfect little bottom. Fuck me. I stopped breathing as KC’s fingers disappeared between Noa’s ass cheeks; his briefs must have an opening at the center of the back. Much like most men’s underwear had discreet openings in the front.