Page 25 of Saint
“See you there.” I end the call, quickly lock the takings in the safe for tonight, then turn off the office light and leave. The fifty or so steps it takes me to get to my door, I ponder on whether I need a scene more than a workout. I haven’t had a sub under me for too long. Tate doesn’t count. That was a punishment and not sexually gratifying. Maybe I’ll go later.
The gym is its usual busy self. I check out the weights bay as I walk towards Knox’s office. Noah isn’t here yet. But as I get closer to the office, I can hear talking. “Hi,” I greet my brothers as I walk through the door.
“I was just telling Knox that we both need to blow of some steam. You look like a tightly coiled spring. What’s happened? Or is it the usual denying yourself of your perfect sub?”
“Fuck off,” I reply, but I’m smiling. He knows me too damn well.
Knox laughs. “You’re an idiot, Saint. He’s virtually on his knees for you.”
Again, for about the gazillionth time, I picture him doing just that. Only in my imagination, he has my cock deep in his throat. I push it away, straighten my shoulders and stare at them both. “He may think he wants what I give, but I’d put money on him being a virgin and not just to the scene. I don’t want to train a newbie. I want to fist, fuck, or flog a boy that wants it the same way I do. That craves it like I do. I don’t want some kid that wants to do it because he thinks it’s the only way to be with me.”
Royal looks at me, he’s biting his lip, suppressing a laugh. Until it bursts out of him. “Yep, he needs it too.”
“I’m going to hit the weights,” I snarl, making them laugh again.
“Warm up first, Saint. You know the drill,” Knox calls out to me as I walk out of the office and straight into someone.
“Omph!” says the kid.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” I blurt out, automatically reach out and clasp the shoulders of my unintended victim, and look down. Shit! It’s not a kid, it’s Noah. And by the stricken look and tear-stained cheeks, I guess he just heard my rant.
“So now you’re telling everybody?” His words are a painful whisper.
“I’m sorry, Noah. They were goading me.” Mine are as quiet as his. I can hear the regret, but I doubt he does.
“Why are you here? Checking up on me? Or maybe to flaunt your muscles, showing off what I can’t have? Whatever, Saint. Just go do what you do.” He twists his body out of my grasp and darts away into the hallway.
I deflate, every muscle sags as I stare at the empty doorway.
“You’re a fucking idiot.” Royal bumps my shoulder with his as he passes me, heading into the busy room.
Without replying, I follow him to the treadmills, leaving the weights for now. I power the machine up, raising the incline to a punishing level and start to run. I’m usually able to zone out the world once my music starts to play and my feet find their rhythm, but tonight, Noah is in my head. He shouldn’t have been upset by what he overheard, it’s nothing I haven’t said to him before. Maybe not quite so specifically, but he knows what I’m into.
Is it me that’s scared to try? Scared it will be perfect? That I’ll find everything I’ve been searching for in him.
Fuck!
I stalk into the club, on a mission to fuck Noah out of my system. I need a willing, skilled sub to get me off. I look around the room, realising there aren’t many subs to choose. “Where is everyone?” I ask at the bar.
“Observation room. There’s a new sub with Oscar.”
“Ouch! Was that wise? He’s pretty brutal.”
“Seems that’s what the boy was asking for.”
Alarm bells start to ring in my head. He wouldn’t be so stupid, would he? Have I pushed him too far, does he think this is how to get experience, to get my attention.
I storm to the back corridor without a care what I look like. When I reach the window, whatever vibes I’m giving off has the group parting, letting me get to the window.
“Fuck!” I shout out and rush to the door. “Open this fucking door right fucking now!” I holler and thump the door.
Oscar opens the door, looking at me with fury in his eyes and a wicked snarl on his mouth. “Fuck off.”
I push him out of my way and stomp into the room to Noah, his back a criss-cross of welts, his hands and feet bound tightly to the St Andrew’s cross. His eyes are screwed up tight while his cheeks are streaked with tears. Immediately, I unclip the ball gag and pull it free from his mouth. He gags and spits on the floor as I free his wrists. I catch him as he falls back, carefulnot to press into his back, the welts aren’t about to bleed, but they’re going to sting like fuck.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I tell him as I lower him to the ground, keeping him close to the cross so I can release his ankles.
“Go away,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, painful after the gag stretched his jaw.
