To take care of her.
To shut down her brain for blessed moments of time.
While she hoped Axel could be that Sir, she realized now, with the beautifully brutal reality laid out before her, that they were going to have to dive into that pool sooner rather than later.
Before she fell utterly in love with the guy, and him with her, and both their hearts got broken because he couldn’t give her what she needed.
* * * *
After Bob returned a few minutes later, Landry got down to business and quickly outlined to him what they’d already discussed.
“Your thoughts, boy?” Landry asked.
Bob looked at her and nodded. “I’m comfortable with that, Sir, if Skye is.”
The more she observed Bob, the more she realized that, while handsome, she never would be romantically attracted to him. It was painfully obvious to her that he was definitely a slave at heart and only wanted to serve. Maybe in his normal life he was a kick-ass Alpha, but she’d seen flaming train wrecks when submissive women paired up with submissive men and tried to force the men to man up.
It never worked for anyone, and only hurt more feelings.
But friends? That she could definitely do. And she’d done aftercare for friends before, so it wasn’t like it was a totally foreign concept to her. But they’d all been women.
The men staked out a bench in a corner of the living room and set up. Bob stripped and knelt on the floor in his bow pose, waiting. At some point he’d added leather wrist and ankle cuffs to his ensemble.
He did have a nice ass.
Skye sat on the floor, off to the side and out of the way, back leaning against the wall.
Cali stopped by and knelt to whisper to her. “Get ready for a ride. Bob’s not a heavy maso, but his kink is taking it to make the sadist happy. Fucking hot as hell, too. But I’ve also seen Landry play on the light end of the scale.”
“Thanks.”
The men helped Bob to his feet, blindfolded him and buckled a rubber bit gag in his mouth, then bound him to the bench with ropes.
There was no warm-up. Landry started heavy and it went downhill from there for Bob. Cris knelt at the man’s head, one hand fisted in his hair, the other cupped around the back of his neck and holding the collar as Cris whispered in his ear.
From Skye’s angle, she could see despite the way Bob’s fists clenched and his toes curled from the force of some of Landry’s impacts, his cock was hard and dripping pre-cum, which fell on the towel the men had positioned on the floor under that end of the bench before starting.
Occasionally, Cris would say something to Landry that Skye didn’t understand. Then Landry would pause, run his hands up and down Bob’s back and ass, his arms, and lean in to talk to him. It finally hit Skye that Cris and Landry were speaking to each other in another language, maybe French. Bob apparently didn’t understand it, because Landry and Cris spoke to him in English, what little she could hear.
Watching Landry play was horrifically beautiful. Brutal, skillful, sadistic, and finely attuned to Bob’s body language. Whether using a cane, a paddle, or his bare hands, Landry was the gold-standard Dom, in Skye’s book. They could have filmed the scene to use as an instructional video.
She couldn’t wait to be the one on the bench.
Then Landry reached under Bob with one hand, speaking to Cris in French and Cris whispering to Bob. As Landry stroked Bob’s cock, he laid cane strokes across his ass. After the tenth one, Landry barked a command and Bob’s entire body tensed, a low, long moan escaping him as he came in Landry’s fist.
Holy…fuck! That is haaawt.
The scene lasted only thirty minutes, but it’d been hard, brutal, and deep. When Landry released Bob’s cock, Cris stroked Bob’s hair for a moment.
“Good boy,” she distinctly heard.
Her heart—and other places—painfully clenched.
How long since she’d heard words similar to those directed at her?
Too damn long.
She blinked back a prickle of tears.
