Page 5 of Destined By Dragonblood
“I dropped my drink by the window, and the glass shattered.” I explained the reason for my summons, leaving out the part where I’d broken the tumbler in anger.
They took care of the mess I’d made while I finished with my injury before glancing up at the mirror. The ten years since Caroline left hadn’t exactly been kind. At forty-two, I grayed at the temples, but I kept my dark hair on the longer side and over my ears, which hid evidence of my aging from sight. Slight lines marred the skin at the corners of my eyes, but there was no sagging on my face or the rest of my body, for that matter.
Having lost my wife to another man, I’d focused on bettering myself in every way. My darker desires had led to my marriage’s ruination, but I no longer had to restrain myself or give up my need to dominate. I sought out knowledge and mastership of the kinks that had turned her off. I’d also honed myself into a machine built of muscle and sinew by cleaning up my eating, hitting the gym every day, and treating my body like the gift it was.
Depression had threatened initially after the betrayal, but I’d strived to keep my mind off Caroline’s infidelity, going so far as to seek out therapy for the grief. She’d wanted a side dish, and because I adored my wife, I had invited Jackson, a gentle soul, to join us to fulfill her fantasy of a threesome. He had been the one man I’d trusted, the best friend I had made my first million with. I’d bought him out of the software company after catching him and Caroline fucking, without my knowledge or consent, two weeks after he and I had shared my wife. He’d agreed to less than half of the company’s worth. Out of guilt, I expected, and we hadn’t spoken since.
Over ten fucking years, and no matter the hours I’d spent chatting with a shrink, the sting of betrayal still struck whenever I came across either of their names anywhere online.
Left alone in my office once more, I wiped off my shoe and settled into my chair, eyeing my cell phone where it lay, its screen dark.
Swiping would only keep me rooted in the past, a painful void I hated to revisit. And while I feared vulnerability, living in emotional isolation would never give me what I truly wished for.
I desired a love I could trust to remain faithful. A partner who accepted every part of me, kinks included. While I’d become confident in the aspects of my life I could control, the absence of someone to share it with continued to nag at me like my mom did to my dad.
A shudder rippled through my spine, and I grimaced. Pulling open the bottom drawer of my desk, I blamed my parents for being the final trigger to make me go for what I’d wanted earlier rather than that damned tonic.
The welcomed burn of whiskey coated my throat, and I put the flask back where it belonged, closing the drawer. Liquor had no place in my club or inside what I considered my temple, which housed my liver. But once in a while, shit happened, and the thoughts of my parent’s marriage of convenience atop Caroline made for a good reason to enjoy one shot.
I pushed aside my cell and opened my schedule for the night ahead, ready to turn my focus elsewhere.
Eight months earlier, I’d sold off my company for twice what it was worth, leaving me with nothing to occupy my mind but my money, the sex club, and fanciful dreams of finding contentment with a submissive who would match perfectly with my strengths and weaknesses. I’d since seemed to flounder, a sense of…something hovering on the horizon, but what it might be, I had no clue. Itchiness lay beneath my skin, making me restless, and more often than not, I yearned to take out my aggression on a willing body.
While I rarely allowed people in the lifestyle to drop in without a membership, a man with deep pockets had inquired about a caning from the most sadistic dominant on staff.
That person would be me.
According to the paperwork he’d filled out and returned in a matter of hours, he was desperate for pain—my kryptonite and exactly what I needed tonight. Even better, he had very few limits, penetration being one I myself held when it came to men. While I enjoyed anal sex, no man’s asshole, or body for that matter, had ever tempted me to question my sexuality.
According to this man’s file, his second hard limit was skin-on-skin contact, same as my favorite little submissive I would be sceneing with again next Friday night.
Ashley had witnessed countless club members on spanking benches getting their asses handed to them while moving through the lounge the previous five evenings she’d come to my club, but I never allowed myself the hope of seeing her give herself to me in that way. So far, she’d asked to be tied down spread-eagle on a bed, behind closed doors where I could use toys to give her what she wanted, but never touched in the way I desired.
Timid and shy, kind and sweet, she submitted beautifully to the pain she required in order to feel arousal and eventually find release. I hadn’t been informed, nor was it my place to ask about her past or what had led to her need to be dominated, but I knew it stemmed from far more than mere kink.
Ashley had been referred to me by Doc Hasslet, a sex therapist and good friend of mine who hadn’t told me more than the fact she had major PTSD triggers she wished to overcome, including no skin contact. While I knew she dealt with trauma from years earlier, I honored her privacy and never asked—merely gave her what she required to get off.
I rarely scened with a person more than once unless they signed forms clearly outlining my own hard limits of getting emotionally involved and dating. But something about the woman roused my protective instincts, and I had agreed to Doctor Hasslet’s suggestion of meeting with Ashley on a monthly basis. She had stolen my breath at first sight and part of my heart the Friday before. She had finally allowed aftercare, so I burrito-wrapped her body to keep her skin safe from touching mine and cuddled her tight against my chest.
Holding her had been heaven, far more fulfilling than I even remembered my ex-wife feeling in my arms.
I wanted more with Ashley, even though I feared lowering my walls would lead to heartache and humiliation. Had I been able to trust a person with my heart and thoughts, she would be the woman I would choose.
Heaving a heavy exhale, I focused on the computer screen in front of me rather than continuing to linger on wishes and dreams I longed to see fulfilled yet feared to the point my stomach tightened. Triggered by my own past trauma I had sought out help for years earlier, I was more than in the mood to have someone submit to my hand. Beg for release while crying for mercy.
A sense of power rose up inside me, a desperate craving to dominate and relieve that itch I’d been craving to satisfy.
I eyed the man’s name.
Dolyn.
Warmth I hadn’t felt since sceneing with Ashley infiltrated my body, heightening my pulse.
Never had a man physically turned me on, but I reasoned my arousal away due to my intense desire to dominate after the shit day I’d had.
Hopefully, this Dolyn guy and I would be able to fulfill each other’s needs tonight without issue, and we would both leave my club satisfied.
The sight awaiting me in my private play room pulled me up short inside the door.
