Page 23 of Hurting Hunter
Hunter forced a half-smile, his gaze finally focusing on something other than the betrayals of his past. "Just thinking about some stuff. Tough day," he managed to say, his voice lower than he intended.
“Tough how?”
Hunter shrugged, and his shoulders protested the movement. "Just club business, you know how it is," he muttered, evasively. His gaze drifted back to the crowd. He hoped Ethan would catch on and keep the conversation light.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
Hunter shook his head, a quick, dismissive gesture. "Nah, it’s just the usual shit going on," he responded, keeping his voice deliberately light. He took a sip of his whiskey, letting the burn of the alcohol momentarily distract him from the weight of his real concerns.
Ethan remained silent.
Fuck!
He stole a glance at the detective Dom and stilled.
“The usual?” Ethan’s voice carried the firm, yet gentle tone of a concerned Dominant, probing deeper despite Hunter’s dismissive front.
“Nothing worth digging into,” Hunter insisted.
Ethan didn’t move, and his face stayed impassive. A stranger might peg him as cold and unmoved, but Hunter knew him better—the stonier his expression, the bigger his inner turmoil.
The club’s lively atmosphere dimmed around them, and Hunter had to fight against fidgeting.
“Hunter, if there’s something bothering you, you know it’s better to talk about it. What’s really going on?”
Hunter shook his head, a quick, dismissive gesture that failed to deter Ethan. “Really, it’s nothing, Ethan. Just tired, that’s all,” he muttered, knowing full well that his Dominant wouldn’t be easily misled.
Ethan unfolded his arms and slowly raised his hand to lower his sunglasses, a calculated gesture. Sliding the glasses down just enough to fix Hunter with a stern look, his sharp and discerning eyes offered the first real glimpse into his concern... and his growing irritation. The intensity of his stare made it clear: he wasn’t buying the evasiveness, and he was far from pleased.
The weight of Ethan’s gaze felt like a physical force pressing down on Hunter, reminding him of the depth of their connection and the expectations that came with it. There was no more room for pretense—not with Ethan, not about this. The man was his Dominant, and his patience for Hunter’s deflections was wearing thin.
Ethan locked his gaze onto Hunter, blinking less frequently, not willing to miss even the slightest cue that could reveal what was truly going on.
His stomach churned, and a dryness clung stubbornly to his throat, making him clear it to ease the discomfort.
His mind was a whirlwind of worry and doubt, racing through scenarios of what might be troubling Hunter, each thought tinged with a protective urgency that refused to subside.
As Hunter shifted uneasily, Ethan's concern deepened, his own body mirroring that restlessness.
Despite his outward appearance of calm authority, Ethan was grappling with a profound sense of unease, his typically decisive nature clouded by the uncertainty of the situation. His protectiveness over Hunter was roaring inside like a wildfire as he struggled to keep his composure.
Concern brewed in his gut.
This wasn't normal behavior for Hunter. Yeah, the man was stoic at times and tough as the denim and leather he wore, but he also was a straight shooter.
Time to switch things up.
Ethan leaned close, his voice calm but authoritative, "What’s your safeword?" The question cut through the noise of the club, demanding Hunter's focus.
Hunter straightened and responded with a clarity that seemed to ground him. "Red for stop, yellow to slow down, Sir." As he recited the words, his posture visibly relaxed, the act of declaring them seeming to lessen his burden.
"Good boy," Ethan approved. "We’re adding green today, for when you're okay. I'm ready to push you a bit tonight." His hand clamped on the back of Hunter’s neck. The touch conveyed both possession and protection.
With a controlled strength, Ethan pulled Hunter from the stool and guided him with undeniable purpose toward the stairs leading to the dungeon. Each step was a deliberate move deeper into their shared space of trust and power dynamics. The grip on Hunter’s neck was meant as a guide and a reassurance. Ethan was now leading them both into a realm where he would take full command.
His eyes scanned the dungeon, taking in the array of scenes unfolding before him. His gaze lingered for a moment on Mistress Melissa, who was wielding a flogger against the back of a pot-bellied man. Both of them were sweat-streaked but going by the blissful expression and straining erection on the man and the wide grin on Melissa’s face, they were both having a great time. The sharp cracks echoed in the cavernous space.
As he steered Hunter past the scene, Ethan noticed the subtle reaction in his sub—the slight raise of hair on his arms, and the faint appearance of goosebumps. Hunter had responded well to the flogger. However, tonight, Ethan’s plans veered in a different direction.
