"They know I'm in the market for a few new models, fresh faces for my side business. They said you fit the bill and might ultimately be interested."
Tad stiffened. "Side business?" He frowned. And why the fuck would he be interested? Those guys were nut jobs on top of everything else.
"I make instructional videos. For weight training and … stuff."
"And stuff?" Tad rasped, growing increasingly wary.
"Relax," Scott chuckled. "No one's gonna put a gun to your head." His fingers massaged those curves in Tad's hips; moving in firm little circles, driving Tad insane.
He undulated, then jerked when Scott dipped lower, getting way too close to his groin. "Shit!" he barked, now completely erect. "I … I'm really fucking ticklish." In truth, he'd needed to stop Scott before he slid a few inches over. The guy didn't need to know he was sporting major wood.
Scott stilled, his hot breath tantalizing Tad's nape. Tad shivered despite himself. But then all contact abruptly ceased … until a hard palm came down on his ass. Tad jumped with a start.
"Shy and ungrateful," Scott mused, mirth lacing his tone.
Tad scowled. "That was inappropriate."
Scott laughed. "Hey, I was just trying to help you relax. And just so you know, a lot of what I'll be doing tonight you'll consider inappropriate."
Ice doused Tad's veins. But since he was facing away from the door, only the retreating soft slap of feet told him he'd been left alone. He exhaled with a groan. Maybe he could get his cock to stand down. Unfortunately, Scott was back in a snap, bringing along with him the scent of more leather.
Tad stilled.
Flogging time.
The music bumped up a bit louder, but he could still hear Scott speak. "For times such as these..."
Tad wanted to snap back with some snarky retort, but truth be told, he actually loved this band, too. Saliva. Rough, raw and aggressive. He could see how it might inspire someone who'd just picked up a whip.
His hips rolled absently into the warm, taut leather. Geez, even with a beating on the horizon, his dick was still ridiculously hard. And apparently wanting more friction. Again, his pelvis did another grind.
A soft growl emanated behind him. "Damn, shy boy. You're one hell of a sight." A soft whap resounded. Flogger tassels hitting the guy's palm?
Tad stiffened-from the sound and Scott's remark. Not to mention his gaze, which was downright palpable. Tad could feel him staring. The dude was obviously gay. Hell, by the way he'd just had his hands on Tad, he had to at least be bi. No hetero man would ever touch another guy like that. Still, Tad's dick just kept on throbbing. Guess it didn't care what Scott's orientation was. But did Tad?
He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the padding. He wasn't a homophobe and never had been. In truth, he never understood all the anti-gay, brimstone hoopla. But he wasn't gay himself. And he'd never been in a situation like this; helplessly bound by a guy into guys. He shifted awkwardly, inadvertently rubbing his cock yet again. He shuddered and absently repeated it.
Another soft rumble at his back. Tad froze. Did Scott just see his little grind? Figure out that he's sporting a boner? Oh, God. Tad had never been so humiliated. Cheeks flaming, he blurted out, "You gonna stand there all fucking night or are we gonna get this over with?"
"Suddenly so impatient," Scott chuckled. "Nice. But just so you know; this ain't gonna be "over with" any time soon."
A spray of leather whistled through the air, hitting its mark on Tad's back. He gasped, arching in surprise. Another of Scott's soft, husky laughs. And then another firm whap of his whip. Instinctively, Tad went rigid and clenched his teeth.
"Ten sets of ten reps," Scott stated. "Don't forget to breathe." Promptly, he implemented a smooth and steady rhythm. Like his arm was moving in a sideways crazy eight. But considering the size of said arm, and its contradicting mild delivery, Scott obviously was going easy. Because, seriously, it barely stung.
In no time, Scott finished the first set of ten, paused, then started again.
One, two, three, four … seven, eight, nine, ten.
Tad inhaled slowly. This wasn't too bad. He'd get through it, no problem.
One, two, three, four … seven, eight, nine, ten.
Each hit was landing perfectly in time with the music.
Again. And again. And again.
One, two, three, four … seven, eight, nine, ten.
Tad winced. Tiny wisps of dread were beginning to form in his gut-because his back was really starting to burn. By the time the remaining sets concluded, his shoulders were all but screaming. He exhaled on a shuddering gust.