Trading Tridents by C. M. Taylor

Author:C. M. Taylor [Taylor, C. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64080-303-9
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2017-12-18T05:00:00+00:00

WITH HIS arms above his head, he looked like a new man. I had him standing with his back to the wall, handcuffed wrists hooked on a peg in the trailer’s low ceiling. The suit stretched easily and exposed no midriff.

I could see why he thought of himself as a born submissive. The truth of that seemed written in every line of his body—from the locked muscles of his arms, to his tense buttocks, to the telltale quivering in his eyelids. Above all, it was in his breathing. His chest rose and fell differently now. More ragged, more rough. Prone, he was more alive.

I watched him for a long time, letting the silence settle between us, still feeling exquisite aftershocks pulsing through me, but more aware of the way the simple act of being bound seemed to free him.

The trailer had curtained windows and one-way glass, and the light was very dim in the convention’s parking garage. The only sound was Kitow’s Vader breathing, and the silken sound of a blindfold passing through my fingers. It all added to a strange feeling of being underwater.

“What’s your safeword?” I asked hoarsely. I was way out of my depth and I knew it, so I started by feeling along the edges of the limits he set.

“Curry.”

We had agreed on that. One Arthur Curry to another.

“And your safeaction?”

He brought his hands together as if in prayer or preparation to dive, and jerked the chain that held him.

I didn’t really know what was expected of a Dom, beyond the stereotype of leather and dirty insults. The only other bondage play I had ever done was as a stand-in for a skin flick, but I had only worked with women. Nothing like this.

For a few seconds, I tried to envision myself calling Kitow names and threatening him. But… no. I knew I would never be able to convincingly talk dirty to Derek Kitow. He had told me he preferred silence, anyway, as he explained what he was hoping for with a slightly unnerving, clinical calm. I could only hope that wasn’t just him being polite because all the conversation I could manage now was the sound of our heavy breathing.

I thought about blindfolding him, but no. I wanted his eyes. Brilliant and teasing and now—provocative. So I gagged him with the scrap of silk instead.

His breathing changed then, flaring his nostrils and coming deeper and smoother. As if he were meditating on the act of submission.

His scale armor looked like rust in the dim light as I passed my huge hands over his chest. Lower. His tailored, custom suit opened under my hands.

When I pulled down the green at his groin, I discovered a naughty little secret.

He was not wearing anything under his costume at all. Nothing but bare flesh.

Kinky.

Now I was the one breathing hard. The pulsing aftershocks became something more urgent and demanding, and I was still naked below the waist myself.

In his cupboard I had found condoms, lube, and other paraphernalia, but no riding crop, which was the only toy I would have recognized from my skin-flick stint.

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