Luke's a top who loves to dance on the edge of safety with hot men who crave knives and cutting with their kinky sex. Playing such potentially risky games, Luke's control needs to be as steely as his handcuffs, as honed as his blades. Adorable, inexperienced Ethan tests all Luke's self-restraint—but Ethan is more than he appears, and Luke may be the one who's being tested.
“My name is Evan and I hear,” the younger man said to Luke, just loud enough to be heard over the club’s pulsing industrial music, “that you’re into blood sports.” It was said in much the same tone you’d use to say, “I hear you’re a huge football fan” or “I hear you do web design,” and it froze Luke to the spot, unable to breathe through the rush of arousal.
Luke was accustomed to men approaching him—he was big, handsome, cultivated a dangerous velvet-and-leather look that appealed to both Goths and the BDSM crowd—but this one surprised him. Evan, young, clean-cut, and pretty as an Abercrombie and Fitch model, was not the type who usually frequented this club, let alone expressed an interest in his more extreme kinks. He was torn between lust fierce enough to harden him on the spot and fear that Evan was either toying with him or didn’t really know what he was talking about.
Only one way to find out. “It depends on what you mean. I don’t like the fights better than the hockey game. And I don’t hunt…deer.” He smiled slowly, letting the desire and the blood-lust show in his expression.
Then he took a deep breath and settled into the almost innocent pleasure of observing his potential prey process this answer.
Delicious. Evan had the kind of skin that Luke liked best: the kind so pale that you could see the blue tracery of veins, as if you could see the spirit living within. The kind that marked so easily and showed cuts so vividly. Red on white in the most primal fashion. It didn’t hurt that he was model-handsome, but his skin was what really got to Luke. It just cried out to be marked lovingly and viciously. Evan had the air of toughness that Luke also required. He was slight, perhaps five-seven, but broad-shouldered for his size. Even from across the room, before he’d approached, Luke had noticed he moved like a martial artist. Based on years of experience, Luke judged he’d know how to ride an endorphin rush, how to open up to pain and transmute it to pleasure, how to surrender to the knife. He’d be able to take a lot before he cracked open and begged for mercy.
If he really wanted to take it. It still seemed too good to be true.