Ben stood, went to his closet and got a change of clothes. Night approached and with it the call of sin. The smell of sex, and the sound of leather against skin. Cries that would attempt to block out the noise in his head.

It never worked. Not fully, but he would continue to try.

CHAPTER TWO

Ben let the whip fly through the air, flinched at the sound of its slap against eager skin. The man cried out, screamed, begged for more and Ben gave it to him.

He swung his arm again, watched the thin strip of leather smack against the dark-haired man’s ass. Watched a new red welt swell his skin. More begging. More crying. More screaming.

“More! Please. Give me more. Let me come!”

Ben let it fly again, and again, waiting, wondering why his own cock still remained flaccid in his pants. There was sex all around him—soft sex, hard sex, painful sex. Men who all wanted the same thing he did. Sex.

The man waiting for Ben to hit him again was gorgeous—tight ass, taut skin. Muscles twisted and flexed under the pale white flesh yet his dick didn’t stir. Didn’t move.

It wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working any more?

Ben dropped the whip, strode over to tonight’s toy, pleading for his erection to swell the whole time.

Fucking was all he had left.

Ben wrapped his arms around the man’s body from behind. He rubbed his jean-clad crotch against the man’s bare ass. It had to hurt; the wounds were fresh but the man only pleaded for more.

He gripped his partner’s throbbing erection, squeezed hard and stroked while he continued to rub against his ass.

Pain had never really been Ben’s thing. He and Tristan had played around—ropes and bondage mostly. Domination when Tristan had been in the mood but that was as far as it had gone.

Now things were different. If someone wanted to be whipped, he would whip them. And he’d gotten hard from it plenty of times before, so why the fuck couldn’t he tonight?

“Hurt me....please...” the man begged.

Ben almost pulled back at that. There was a heavy rock in his gut, a constant ache and weight that never went away. It plagued him all the time now.

“Quiet.” He didn’t let himself retreat. Instead he squeezed harder, jerked harder, rubbed harder. With his other hand he tugged the man’s balls. “You may come,” Ben whispered in his ear.

The ass against him thrust backward, the body tensed. Hot, sticky come shot from the dick in his hands, running between his fingers.

Still nothing but the heavy weight. His prick didn’t move. Didn’t fill with blood. Nothing.

Walk away. Leave. It’s not working anymore. Yet he knew he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t right, so Ben pulled the man into his arms, and walked away with him. He cleaned him up, his wounds and semen because that’s what a good Dom did. He took care of the men who submitted to him. He should like this part of it as well, but he didn’t.

Ben bit back the urge to vomit. His hands shook. Why in the fuck were his hands shaking?

“Thank you.” The man’s voice was soft, gone, blissed out in a way that Ben longed for.

“Don’t thank me.” The man rubbed against him, needing the care he deserved after their play, and Ben did it. He ran his fingers through the dark hair that was the wrong texture. Ben didn’t give him eye contact though, instead looking out through the dark club at all the play around him.

His body tensed when he saw a man watching him. He didn’t look away so Ben didn’t either. This stranger wasn’t playing with anyone, just leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and his eyes on Ben.

Short, dark hair. The length was closer to what he liked than the guy in his arms right now. He had a goatee. Not a full one, just a short patch of hair on his chin, also dark, and even from the distance, Ben knew his eyes had to be black as well. The man wore black jeans and a dark T-shirt. His skin a creamy light brown. Not African American—Hispanic or Italian, maybe.

The moment played like a bad, clichéd movie, a man watching him from across a club. Was this someone who wanted him? Someone his father had sent to watch him? It shouldn’t but that thought made his heart speed up in excitement. What would it do to Benjamin Worthington Senior if his only child, his son, was caught in a sex club with another man? A man he’d whipped and bruised and jerked off in front of hundreds of people?

Would it hurt him the way his father had hurt their family? The way he’d let Bonnie get hurt?

He shifted slightly. When he did the man shook his head, in frustration maybe, then turned and walked out.

CHAPTER THREE