Page 11 of For the Love of Kink (It's a Kink Thing)

Chapter Eleven

Clint

Clint took another sip of his coffee, letting the bitterness wash over his tongue and settle there like it did every morning. A second later the sweetness flooded in, and he quirked his lips. He usually took it straight black and dark, tired and in too much of a rush to add anything to the steaming brew except for a shot of tap water to cool it enough to drink.

“What are you doing?” he asked, peering over his cup at Scotland, who was peeling his shirt from his body. It was chilly in the morning air, with dew still clinging to the grass that shone as the first bit of sunlight hit it. It was a good thing he’d cleaned off his blanket and pulled it over his shorts and T-shirt, otherwise, he would have been freezing.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tried to sleep at such an early hour, staring into the darkness on Scotland’s bed with his knees scrunched up at the level of his waist. It hadn’t been dawn when he’d first peeked outside, giving up on the elusive dreams he craved and hated. Scotland had slept on the couch like a gentleman, his soft snores more relaxing than Clint cared to admit.

The only bad thing was that his topless streak was officially over. The air had simply been too chilly.

Scotland looked over his shoulder, his back rippling as he grabbed the closest log from the heaping pile. He’d convinced Clint to stay close to the house after he’d brewed a fresh pot of coffee, introducing him to the much larger fire pit at his own place.

The metal ring decorated with silhouettes of pine trees was a few feet across and heaped with ash and burned-out logs. There was also a pile of thick tree trunks that was haphazardly stacked a few paces away. A much larger log was sitting close by, an ax dug deep into the wood.

“Making breakfast,” said Scotland, grasping the ax handle and tugging it free. His biceps strained, his shoulders going taut. He didn’t seem to feel the chill of the air, his movements steady and liquid.

Clint had never realized quite how built Scotland was. He didn’t look like much with a shirt on, his tattoos peeking out from every which way. Even with his sleeves rolled up, his forearms seemed thick, but nothing to get excited about. I grossly underestimated him.

With everything on display, it was hard not to get a little lost. His tattoos were beautiful—alive, even—as Scotland moved, stacking a log atop the thick base and taking the first swing. The ax struck the wood with a harsh thunk, the metal sinking a few inches in but not splitting it.

Does that hurt his hands?Clint could wield a whip the same as some experts, but he couldn’t imagine the impact a swing like that would have on his hands. The thud and vibration would make his fingers tingle and ache.

“How did you sleep?” asked Scotland, freeing the ax with a jerk before he took another swing. On the down stroke, every muscle went tight, his pecs bulging with strength as he seemed to put every bit of effort into it.

Who chops their own wood?Clint glanced at the forest, the fog still clinging to the edges of it. Scotland had probably chopped it down himself, like some sort of beaver on steroids or something. But did he have to do it shirtless? Every ripple was distracting, and when the wood split into three pieces on the next strike, flying wide in every direction, Clint’s cock twitched.

He was not getting hard again. He pointedly looked away at the next grunt, biting his lip as another piece of wood flew wide in his periphery. The amount of force that would take made him shudder just thinking about it. And those hands… Those hands.

His balls were so blue at this point that they were practically bruised. Jerking off in the shower that morning hadn’t even felt like an option. But perhaps it was time to reconsider. He was never going to make it the whole day like this.

“Clint?”

Clint shook his head, dragging his gaze back. There was sweat beaded on Scotland’s chest, his nipples tight and dark against his paler skin. The rose tattoo on his pec seemed to glisten, looking so real that it could have its own scent and life force.

“Clint.”

“What?” He blinked, forcing his gaze back to his coffee. Coffee was safe, even if Scotland had made it perfectly for him. “I hear you, Sir. You want to make breakfast like some sort of caveman. I’m kinda pumped about it. You’re a really good cook.”

That didn’t cover it. Scotland’s skills in the kitchen so far were wasted in a tattoo parlor.

Scotland chuckled, wiping the back of his arm across his forehead. “I asked you how you slept.”

Clint’s face burned as he pursed his lips. So much for not being affected. “I didn’t, Sir.”

Between the strange room and the shifting shadows of evening and night, he hadn’t slept a wink. He hadn’t really slept since he’d been away from Unkinked. At least there he was usually so exhausted that he nearly collapsed onto his couch at the end of the night.

It was hard not to be worried about Unkinked while he was sitting here on vacation doing virtually nothing. He’d barely heard a word from Maddy, and knowing him, he was probably burning more candles or rearranging the office. He shuddered.

“Was it the pillows or the room?” asked Scotland, kneeling next to the wood block before grabbing one of the smallest pieces. With utmost precision, he lifted a smaller version of the ax, shaving tiny slices from the edge of the wood. They peeled away like a corn husk, one thin layer at a time.

“The bed,” said Clint, pulling the blanket tighter. It was early, but the crickets were out in full force, the air almost vibrating with them. They never seemed to go silent here, no matter what time it was. “I don’t sleep well in a big bed alone. I haven’t since Ross passed.”

To his credit, Scotland didn’t look surprised…or even guilty. He just gathered the little shavings of wood, stacking them log cabin style in the fire pit. “Would you prefer the couch next time instead?”

Clint shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I can sleep pretty much anywhere as long as it’s not a bed. Most chairs are good, and the floor will suffice in a pinch.” The recovery room at the club had been his go-to on a few restless nights, the soothing peppermint whispering against his senses.

“We can work on that, too, then,” said Scotland, grabbing a few of the larger logs and stacking them atop the shavings. “For now, pull your cock out and get yourself hard.”

He didn’t even look up. The bastard just kept on stacking neatly until the logs were a few layers deep.

Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about being worked on. “It’s too cold.” He motioned to the blanket as if to prove a point. The thermometer couldn’t have been much above freezing, and he could see his breath during each deep exhale.

Scotland paused, his hand still hovering over the edge of the fire pit. “I didn’t catch that. Care to repeat it?”

Pursing his lips, Clint fought down his instant retort. How could he have forgotten how much Doms were assholes? He was a Dom, too, but that didn’t count. He’d made peace with his asshole side.

“It’s too cold, Sir.”

“Ah, I thought that was what I heard,” said Scotland, wiping his hands on his legs. “Would you prefer the hard way or the easy way?”

It was way too early with no rest for this shit. Clint scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes. Scotland had been trying to work him over since he’d arrived, but they were starting to get a little too close to the line for his own comfort.

“How about we talk limits,” said Clint, rubbing at one eye where an eyelash tickled him. “We never did get there.”

The next time he saw a couch, he was climbing right in and not moving for eight hours.

“The hard way, then,” said Scotland. He nodded, his face never changing as he brushed a small pile of ash from the ring of the pit. “Go on, then. What are your limits?”

He supposed the ‘no sex’ limit was out, seeing as he’d recently had his ass fucked. The rest were still up for debate, though. He wasn’t like Keady, who thought he could throw away his limits to spice things up. That shit was serious.

“No blood play or any bodily fluids other than cum,” said Clint, reciting everything from memory. Usually, cum was on that list, but that ship had sailed. “Keep impact to a minimum because I’m not that kind of pain slut. When it comes to any devices or tools, check in first.”

“Sounds good,” said Scotland, wiping his hand on the grass. The blades came away streaked with black, his fingers still smudged from the deadened ash. “How are you on humiliation?”

Probably my favorite thing in the world.“Green on that front, Sir. If you want me to crawl naked down main street, I’m game.”

Clint bit his tongue, his face flushing. Maybe he would have been fine with that with Ross, but Scotland? How was he supposed to know that Scotland would be there for him after that one-man parade—hopefully with bail money for when he was arrested? Not letting that happen again.

“Perfect. I have something in mind that will suit for your punishment.” Scotland turned back to the fire pit, adjusting a few of the larger logs. “Now, I believe I asked you to get your cock out.”

P-punishment?Oh shit. Besides being a switch, there was one thing that really set Clint apart from other kinksters. He craved punishment, thrived on it, even. Ross had taken him in hand so many times that a proper beating became part of their routine. The relief it brought was better than any drug that Clint had seen someone high on during his nursing days.

But if he pushed too far with someone he barely knew, he would have no idea what he was in for, which was why he had his impact limit. There was no way that Scotland could know what he craved. And there was also no way in hell that Clint was ever going to tell him. He was a brat for a reason.

“I should give you fair warning that I’m not very patient,” said Scotland, pulling a lighter from his pocket and setting it on the edge of the pit. “Usually I am, but not when it comes to you. You’ve kept me waiting for a bit.” He quirked his lips.

“Neither am I,” said Clint, pulling the bottom corner of the blanket free to expose his legs. His track pants weren’t nearly thick enough and gave everything away. All these threats had him hot and bothered. With one tug of fabric, he sprang free, hitting the cool air like an electric shock.

“You have a nice cock,” said Scotland, staring unashamedly, the vibrant tips of his hair catching the light. “Too bad it’s only for show.”

Clint bit his lip, tucking his balls carefully under the band of his pants and settling the blanket back over his belly. He almost felt normal all wrapped up, with no scars on display at all. “Only part of me that the fire didn’t ruin.”

He tried to flash a smile, but his lips dragged down, a swallow stuck in his throat. Even the word fire felt wrong in his mouth, like something potent that could poison him.

“Clint?” called Scotland softly, moving to touch Clint’s knee. His eyes were warm and open, despite the set of his jaw. “What’s your color right now?”

Clearing his throat, Clint shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m green. Just forget I said anything.”

“No can do.” Scotland pursed his lips. “There are two things I won’t tolerate in a dynamic—disrespect and lies. I’ll give you one chance.”

“Without respect and honesty, kink can turn into abuse,” said Clint, holding Scotland’s gaze steady. He could almost feel the little bits of his submission slipping away, leaving only an exhausted shell behind. “I’m sorry. I can’t count how many times I’ve preached that very thing, but I just— Well, fuck.”

Tugging his pants back over his wilting cock, he let out a shaky breath, pulling the blanket tight. “You’re right— I’m not green. I don’t know if I can do this, Scotland. Ross was my everything. He could read my mind without even trying, and I loved him more than anything in the world. I can’t just move on from that. It’s too soon.”

“Okay,” said Scotland, his face carefully blank. “But I’m not asking you to move on, Clint.”

“Yes, you are. Fuck.” Clint got to his feet, shoving his chair back so he didn’t have to get any closer to Scotland. “I can’t, okay? I can’t with you. This whole thing—the vacation, being away from the bar, the new place and whatever you want to call what’s between us—I’m not ready.”

His eyes stung, and he pinched the base of his nose, fighting his hurt off as his shoulders shook. He hated crying, and he hadn’t come close in so long. He took a shuddering breath, but the threatening tears refused to disappear.

“Okay.” Scotland stood, holding his hands out on either side of him. “It’s okay, Clint. You know you’re good, right? You are strong and beautiful, and if you aren’t ready, I completely respect that.”

He’s so beautiful. Clint tore his gaze away.

“Don’t you get it? I’m never going to be fucking ready.” Clint rocked back, covering his face with one hand as the first few tears broke loose. A headache immediately overwhelmed him, his entire face feeling like it was about to smother him. “Never. Ross was my one and only. Nothing you say or do is going to change that.”

“That’s okay,” said Scotland, his words sideswiping Clint and hitting him straight in the chest.

No one had ever told him it was okay. No one had said that he didn’t have to move on.

“Ross sounded like he was a wonderful person,” said Scotland. “I can’t imagine losing someone so dear.”

“Fuck.” Clint couldn’t hold back any longer. Scotland caught him as he went to his knees, and Clint buried his head into his chest as the first sobs broke loose. It was like a wild animal had released itself from his lungs, his wails all but silencing the crickets around them.

“Let it out,” said Scotland, hugging him close.

Clint could have stopped if he’d tried. He was terrible at crying, which was why he rarely indulged in it. A headache that lasted two days was a guarantee, and once the tears started, there was no way of stopping them until he ran dry.

How long has it been since I’ve had something like this?There had been tears over the years, but never someone for them to land on.

Scotland moved them back to one of the chairs as Clint’s sobs slowed, holding Clint in his lap with his shoulder to Scotland’s chest. It was comfort and warmth and that same strength that had pulverized a piece of wood and split it apart.

Clint’s arms were sore from clutching Scotland tight for so long, his face throbbing with itchy cheeks. His lungs were airless as he curled his fingers against Scotland’s chest, the only way to keep from reaching out and touching.

“Could you tell me about him?” asked Scotland, running one hand through Clint’s hair soothingly. The touch vibrated over his skin, sending a rush of calm along his aching nerves. It did nothing for the pain. It did help, though.

“Why?” Why the hell would Scotland—with his little crush—want to know about his dead husband?

“People talk about him all the time at Unkinked,” said Scotland, never ceasing his movements as he dragged his nails against Clint’s scalp. “He’s a bit of a mystery, to be honest. Some people said he was exclusively your sub, a few others mentioned he was a Dom. Everyone agrees he was a good guy, though.”

A chuckle escaped his throat, and Clint smiled through his tears. Yeah, that sounds about right. “He was an asshole.”

Scotland jerked beneath him, his gaze meeting Clint’s. They were close—too close, their lips nearly touching. Scotland was the first to look away, staring at the stacked wood of the unlit fire. “Why would you call him an asshole?”

Clint let out a small puff of air that could have been a laugh if his heart hadn’t hurt so badly. He turned in Scotland’s arms so his back was to Scotland’s chest, resting his head back. Memories rushed over him in an instant, with phantom limbs matching Scotland’s touch.

“When I first met him, he was with another guy but looking for a third,” said Clint. He could remember it clearly, as if he could close his eyes and slip back to that day when he’d set his sights on Ross. His first look at his eyes, and he’d known that Ross was a dangerous man. Dangerous for me.

“I heard that from Keady,” said Scotland, smoothing his hands along Clint’s arms before settling at his wrists. He didn’t feel like the shackles Clint’s imagined he would, his touch light and soft. “He said that guy got Ross kicked out of his kink community, so you kicked his ass and married Ross.”

Bunch of gossips. “That’s the short version, yeah.” Clint wiped his face, grimacing at what came away on his sleeve. He was an absolute mess, despite the early morning shower in Scotland’s home. “Keady skipped the part about me going after Ross strictly for his money, but the asshole made me fall in love with him instead.”

Scotland tightened his arms, his low laugh shivering against Clint’s ear. “Just money?”

“No.” Clint bit his lip. “He was gorgeous.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His headache throbbed, but the memories burned brighter. “And rich. So rich. I was a step above living on the streets at that point, and I still had a year left of nursing school. I was also cute as hell and kinky. He was the perfect target for a sugar baby like me, but one scene and my ultimate plan fell apart.”

“What happened?” Scotland moved his hands to Clint’s hips, staying clear of the exposed strip of skin where his shirt had ridden up. The scars were bared to the light. The same thing that had put them there had stripped him of his love.

“The scene started, and he went to his knees first. That’s when I figured out that I wasn’t just a bratty sub.” Clint shook his head. He’d been so na?ve at that time of his life. “He flipped my world upside down and changed everything I knew about myself.”

Everything.

“So you guys got together pretty quick,” said Scotland, nodding against Clint’s neck. His breath was warm and smelled of coffee and something sweet. “Love at first scene, so to speak.”

“Nope,” said Clint, his smile going wider as he reached back, patting Scotland on the head. “He was too good for me, and I agreed with that. So he went back to his partner, and I kept looking. I found myself a Daddy who was nearly as good looking and wasn’t afraid to throw his money at me.”

He let out a sigh, shifting to get comfortable. Scotland was all rugged muscle but very little squish, so he didn’t make the most comfortable chair. “But it’s hard to be a good boy when you’re watching another man across the club. Every time Ross was there, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He’d catch me looking, and he’d give me this little glare like he was worried that I was going to stroll across the club and rip his clothes off. Turns out he was right.”

The wind picked up, a few stale ashes swirling around the firepit. It was well used, with the scorched remnants of a few logs within. Warmth had started to creep across the dew-soaked ground as the sun rose, the slight wind dying down to stifling.

“He wasn’t just a Dom. He was a sub, too, just like me. He had his partner and a sub he frequented with at a place the community would meet up. His partner must’ve seen me watching. He was a jealous thing who was so insecure it was sad. He called red right as they started a scene and claimed he was being forced and hadn’t consented to anything.”

It still made him angry. Safewords were sacred. Sometimes they were the only thing to tell you that your partner was still on board and not having second thoughts. He’d seen couples tip over the edge of uncertainty before, and it had shattered them.

“Ross was crushed,” said Clint, swiping at his cheeks as a few tears slipped out. “That fire and life I loved to watch was destroyed in an instant.”

Dull eyes, pressed lips and that way his face pinched when he was trying not to cry.

“I found him that night.” His heart picked up, his gut pulling tight at the memory. He’d been brimming with determination so strong that nothing could have stopped him. “I was obsessed with him. Where he worked, where he lived—I knew it all. I knew his favorite restaurants that he’d take his partner to and the things he would post about online.”

“Wow,” said Scotland, letting out a soft breath. “Stalker alert.”

“Pretty much.” Clint shrugged. He’d long since come to terms with how much of an idiot he’d been when he was younger. “So, I went to his house, and I let myself in when he didn’t answer. I found him standing in front of his bathroom sink looking so lost that it broke my heart.”

The house had been dark, his heart beating fast as he’d looked at Ross’ face, surprise etched in every feature at seeing Clint standing there.

“I asked him to punish me and beat me until I cried. I told him he was beautiful as he hurt me and how much I wanted him.”

Shuddering at the memory, he licked his lips. He’d been so brave that night. He hadn’t known that it was love—only an obsession that claimed every waking thought. He’d been furious at Ross, trying to rid his thoughts of the man who haunted him at all hours.

“Shit.” Scotland shifted, clenching his hands on Clint’s hips.

“The next day when we left the house, I told him I would take care of him. At home I belonged to him and would submit to anything he asked. But outside he was mine to cherish, protect and dominate. It was good—heady. What we had was perfect.”

“Until the fire,” said Scotland, his words like the dull blade of a knife dragging over a bruised wound before the point set deep.

“It was my fault,” said Clint, shaking his head as he let out a shuddering breath. “I’ve never told anyone about what happened—even the insurance company and the police. They would never understand.”

He could imagine their looks of horror and confusion if he’d even told them about one moment between himself and Ross. He had his kinksters and the ones who understood, but there were so many others who wouldn’t.

“Cutler told me you like to play with fire,” said Scotland, his voice low. He moved his hand, skimming along the edge of Clint’s belly before he moved away. The scars tingled from the touch. “It’s beautiful but dangerous.”

“That’s what everyone thinks,” said Clint, squeezing his eyes shut as tears tried to escape. His heart was racing, his chest tight. He’d broken a piece of himself so he never corrected them. It wasn’t worth it.

“I know what people say,” said Clint. He’d heard the whispers, even from his own friends. “They think one of us was strapped to a cross getting fire flogged—or maybe having cigarettes burned into our skin. I think that’s what the cops wondered once they saw what was left of the bedroom and found out about the club we’d started together.”

Another sob crept from his throat, the grief crashing into his tenfold as he struggled to keep talking.

“I-I asked him for something different during aftercare. ‘Light me a scented candle. I love the way they smell’.” His legs trembled. It had played over in his mind a thousand times.

He’d never asked for that before. Why the hell did I that time? He should have kept to their usual routine.

“We fell asleep with the candle still burning beside the bed. A box of tissues was too close, and the flame caught…”

He’d set the tissues there, too. The feeling of cum seeping from his ass was hot as hell until it started to cool and get sticky. He always kept something close to wipe clean and had been too blissed out to ask for a cloth.

“Did you know you can’t smell in your sleep?” asked Clint, his voice going high as he trembled. “The fire alarm woke us, but the bed had already caught fire. I thought it was a dream I was lost in. I stumbled through the smoke looking for him, only to realize he was still in bed. There was fire everywhere. I tried.”

“You did everything you could, Clint.” Scotland’s grip was fierce. “It’s not your fault.”

Does Scotland know I’ve never told another soul about this?He trembled, his skin vibrating with the force of it as his nausea peaked.

“You know the worst part?” Clint sniffed, rubbing his face in an attempt to dry his tears. They were coming too quickly for it to make any difference. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to get them to stop. “I got what I wanted in the end…every fucking dime.”