Page 15 of After Hours

Zachary had spent a lot of time over the last decade or so learning how to keep himself fully contained within the boundaries he’d decided would keep him safe once he left prison. No gluttony. No bingeing of any kind. No overindulging in the kinds of things that could wreck a man, if he wasn’t careful.

That didn’t necessarily mean substances, though he was a controlling fuck when it came to his own body, too. Thing was, he knew from experience that emotion was twice as deadly as cocaine, could get a man a lot higher, and didn’t take any prisoners when it got toxic.

Zachary wasn’t about to lose his shit again.

He’d already paid that price.

These days he kept his indulgences on a strict schedule. He allowed himself to long for more at times, because he thought it was healthy to partake in the equivalent of a glass of the hard stuff without downing the whole bottle. But he never actually broke the promises he’d made to himself.

It was about discipline.

It was about control.

He excelled at both.

The Club was a perfect example. His friend Frederick was building the brick-and-mortar version of the place not far from here, the one they’d all wanted for years but only Frederick had the vision, capabilities, and funding to actually make happen. That was why he was called Master Frederick by everyone, even those outside the scene. He exuded what and who he was from every pore and never pretended to hide it. He was the perfect person to make and lead the Club.

But to Zachary and all the other existing members, the Club was already real. And had been for years now.

After all, this was the Bay Area—though the app was used all over the globe. Kinky people of all stripes could find their own wherever they happened to be. The Club was already a community, where weekly health tests through pre-approved clinics allowed access to the otherwise private profiles of the members so that only certified clean individuals could play the dominance and submission games that all the Club members preferred.

The vetting process to join was stringent and uncompromising, requiring just enough personal information and double-checking for users to risk breaking any rules. In the years it had been operational, Zachary had heard of very few violations.

He liked it because it was easy, convenient, and meant he didn’t have to play games with vanilla girls in dark bars who onlywishedthey wanted the things he did. It was how he’d hooked up with Daniela earlier tonight.

Zachary only allowed himself to play once a week if it was an intricate scene. Twice a week if it was quicker, but never with the same partner.

No messes. He outlined his expectations in advance. He saw to his partners’ needs. They always parted amicably.

No messeswas his watchword.It was who he was.

He hadn’t permitted himself a blank slate like Romily in a long time. A blank and yet clearly messy slate, if his reaction to her was anything to go by. She was here in front of him, kneeling before him without any clothes on, working on his cock with true dedication even though he was wearing jeans. And he was fully aware that it skated perilously close to the kind of indulgences he hadn’t parceled out to himself in a long, long time.

Then again, Romily was the exception, not the rule. Because he had denied himself for the past six months. He had seen her,been aware of her, even protected her from time to time, but he’d left it alone.

He’d leftheralone.

Because Zachary didn’t do the hard shit any longer.

Shewas the one who’d changed everything by showing up at his gym door tonight. She was the one who’d looked in that window.And critically—hadn’t looked away.

Had, in fact, looked again instead.

This time it hadn’t been Zachary chasing the buzz of another lost soul that needed the kind of saving only he could provide. Another lost cause that he’d try to solve, giving up pieces of himself along the way. He already knew how that went.

She could have walked away from him tonight.

But she hadn’t.

She hadn’t.

Romily was the kind of temptation he’d been avoiding for a long time, but she’d come for him anyway. And he couldn’t decide if he was better off avoiding that temptation entirely — which was wildly unappealing, obviously— or drowning in it so that it held no power over him, like some kind of aversion therapy.

He supposed that tonight was his chance to see.

Or see if she was something else entirely. Something he didn’t want to name, even in the privacy of his own head.

She tipped her head back after moving her mouth all over him and the fly of his jeans. Her gold gaze met his and he found himself stroking her face.

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