Page 2 of Hurting Hunter
Behind his fly, Ethan’s dick swelled and throbbed.
Kevin stepped back and gave Ethan a firm nod.
Ethan cracked the whip, pulled back, and let the thong swerve back to woosh and thud against her back. Backing off a little, he let the fall flick against her skin. Finely attuned to the two other people in the scene, Ethan alternated between softer, brushing strokes, increasing the intensity, and letting up again, until Kevin moved forward in his peripheral vision. Breathing heavily, Ethan halted the sway of the whip and stroked sweat from his forehead.
“Eyes on me,” Kevin told his sub. “You did it, Curls. I’m so proud of you." Strong, tattooed arms surrounded her, and Ethan made quick work of the bindings.
Kevin turned her around, so she faced Ethan, who curled his hands around her face. "You have pleased me very much,” he murmured into her ear. "Thank you for your trust."
Kimberly blinked. She reached for his hands and pressed kisses to the knuckles. “Thank you, Master Ethan, for granting my wish.”
Surprised at her forward, but sweet behavior, Ethan allowed a grin to break free from his normally stoic expression. “It was entirely my pleasure.” He nodded respectfully at Kevin, before sauntering away and disappearing in the crowd. His body felt strangely buoyant, a peculiar levity overtaking him as his genuine joy for his friends mingled with an undercurrent of envy. They were so perfectly matched, having weathered countless storms to find solace in each other's arms. Ethan's heart ached with a longing for a similar connection, but with his working hours and personality a bond like that seemed out of his reach.
His eyes roved over the crowd, searching without intent at first. The room was a kaleidoscope of eager faces and shifting bodies, many of them women whose glances lingered on him with an intensity that spoke of more than casual interest. Ethan's reputation as a master of the whips and canes had earned him many admirers, but tonight he wasn’t looking for a pain slut. He needed a distraction, sex, and something—or someone—to divert his thoughts from his own solitude.
His gaze shifted, seeking out a connection in the sea of faces. He was looking for a submissive man, someone willing to take what he wanted to dish out. His search was almost aimless until his eyes caught on a striking figure: a man with a short, neatly trimmed grey beard and a gaze that held an inexplicable familiarity.
Recognition flickered to life, accompanied with a large dose of disbelief. Hunter "Crosscut" Maddox—the name rolled through his mind like distant thunder. What was Crosscut doing here, in Ethan's club?
Chapter 2
Hunter “Crosscut” Maddox lingered near the podium. He kept his posture casual, but his attention unwavering as he observed the performance unfolding before him. The crowd around him buzzed with excitement, their eyes fixed on the trio at the center of the stage—two men and a woman who moved with a fluid, practiced grace that spoke of countless hours perfecting their craft.
This was Hunter's inaugural venture into the dimly lit, pulse-quickening world of a kink club. Thorns & Roses was a realm far removed from the gritty streets and roaring engines of his daily life with the Emerald City Overdrive Motor Club. The air here was charged with a different kind of power, one that hummed along his skin and sent a thrill through his core. The scent of leather mixed with the faint hint of sweat and perfume created a heady atmosphere that made his heart thump faster.
On stage, the dominance of the two men was palpable. They commanded not just the physical space, but the rapt attention and barely contained desire of every onlooker. Hunter's eyes were particularly drawn to the taller of the two—a man with an intense gaze and a commanding presence that made Hunter's breath catch in his throat.
Hunter had always kept this part of himself hidden beneath layers of leather and the tough, unyielding façade of the vice president of the ECO. His brothers knew him as Crosscut; the rugged, tattooed biker who could handle any challenge thrown his way. But here, in the shadowed corners of Thorns & Roses, Hunter allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. The music switched to the haunting melody of Pretty When U Cry by ieuan.
As he watched the dominant men on the stage, a deep, undeniable ache settled within him. His body reacted, tensing and then shivering with a mixture of fear and longing. Hunter had always known about his inclination toward submission—the way it stirred something primal and needy within him. Yet, acknowledging it in the privacy of his own mind was one thing; feeling it so strongly among strangers was another.
His gaze flitted across the crowd, noting the way people were drawn to the scene, their expressions ranging from awe to envy. But Hunter's eyes kept returning to the man on the stage, the way he moved, the confidence that radiated from him. It was like watching a mirror that reflected all the things Hunter craved but had never dared to seek out. There was also something about the way the man moved that stirred a memory in him.
Hunter narrowed his eyes, but between the lighting, the riveting bodies, and the way the man was turned toward the tied woman and totally focused on his whip, there was no way for Hunter to identify him.
His thoughts were a tumultuous blend of apprehension and dark excitement. He was the morally grey peacekeeper of the Seattle underworld. A man who navigated the murky waters of the city’s not so law-abiding citizens with an iron will and a steady hand. Yet, here, surrounded by the echoes of chains and soft moans, his body stirred, and his cock hardened.
The desires he had buried deep beneath his biker persona were suddenly at the forefront, brought out by the potent mix of fear, excitement, and raw sexual energy that filled the club.
He knew the risks, both to his position within the MC and to his own carefully guarded heart. Yet, as he watched the dominant figures on the stage, he couldn't deny the pull, the almost gravitational lure that drew him closer to the flame.
As the performance on the stage ended, the atmosphere shifted palpably. The audience's murmurs transformed into a collective 'oohhh'—a sound that rippled through the crowd like a wave, marking some unseen, but intensely intimate moment that had just unfolded on the podium. Hunter, curious and increasingly drawn in by the charged energy of the room, used his size to his advantage. His broad shoulders and muscular frame made it easy to weave through the throngs of people, edging closer to the podium.
Where most of the attention was on the embracing couple, Hunter’s eyes were fixed on the man who had dominated the stage with such authority only a moment ago. There was something about him, some magnetic pull that had captivated Hunter from the moment he laid eyes on him. As the man stepped back from the intimate tableau he had created with his partners, he turned toward the beam of a spotlight, and the dim, mysterious silhouette Hunter had been admiring came into full, breathtaking focus.
The breath froze in Hunter’s lungs, and a cold shock of recognition struck him like a bolt of lightning—Fucking Ethan Stephenson. The same Ethan Stephenson who walked the streets of Seattle with a badge and an aura of uncompromising morality. The detective was well known in the circles Hunter moved in, albeit for all the wrong reasons. Straight-laced, stone-faced, and by all accounts a thorn in the side of anyone who didn't play by the book. They’d crossed paths several times and Hunter didn’t like the man one bit—even if he’d like to fuck him or get fucked by him in a heartbeat.
But that was beside the point here.
Whereas Thorns & Roses, moments ago, had seemed a Valhalla where Hunter could indulge in his fantasies, it was now overshadowed by a man from his normal life.
A man looking every bit the dominant force he had been on the stage. Blood rushed so fast from his head to his cock he almost staggered. The contrast between the Ethan Stephenson Hunter knew—a man who wore his authority like armor—and this version, who wielded it like a weapon in the shadows of the club, was jarring.
Oh yeah, the man was undeniably gorgeous, with his intense eyes, usually concealed by sunglasses, and that hard, chiseled jaw that could make anyone’s heart beat faster. But he was also the kind of unbending, inflexible prick who’d made life difficult for Hunter and his brothers on more than one occasion.
Time to go!
But before Hunter could process the internal order, before he could turn and retreat into the anonymity of the crowd, Ethan’s eyes met his. It was a collision of worlds, a moment where the air seemed to thicken, and time slowed down. Hunter's heart thudded in his chest, his initial shock mingling with a flare of something else—something like challenge, or maybe desire, crackling between them.
