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Lucas West

T his was…new.

I cleared my throat and looked around the club, a stark contrast to any of the kink events I’d visited so far.

This was so underground . Literally. A massive basement designed to keep screams contained.

A proper BDSM club with a bar at the center and the walls lined with stalls and furniture I’d never seen in real life.

Baltimore had a wild kink scene, that was for sure.

I’d wanted to see pain-play, and it looked like I was going to experience a whole lot of it.

I was still figuring out how to get a bit of that pain for myself without making people think I was submissive. Or a masochist who wanted to get beatings. I just wanted to get fucked roughly when I bottomed.

I approached the bar, hoping I came off as assertive enough, and remembered the advice I’d seen online. Walk with purpose. So much advice. Do this, do that, act that way, “look Daddy-like.” It was dizzying.

What was Daddy-like anyway?

Christ, I wasn’t sure I fit in here. If the industrial music pounding its heavy bass through me wasn’t enough, the specific trend in clothes did it.

I wasn’t part of leather culture, nor could I pull off latex, piercings, or harnesses.

Moreover, I didn’t fucking want to. So…so be it.

I’d be the odd man out in jeans and a shirt.

I walked past a big man holding his boy on a leash, both wearing leather, and the sub barked playfully at me.

I felt my mouth twist. He was cute. He reminded me of Joey. We’d made no sense together, but he’d introduced me to Daddykink last year. Something had just clicked, more so than when I’d backpacked in Amsterdam and stumbled into a BDSM club.

Ever since, I’d been on a quest. I wanted to find a Little and start exploring relationships.

I could admit I was hungry for something deeper than casual hookups, at the same time as I wasn’t particularly interested in settling down anytime soon.

Part of me was still hoping I’d wake up and discover I was a switch.

It would be so much easier to find a Top who could rail me mercilessly if I also submitted.

But it did nothing for me—except irritate me.

When a Dom tried to get bossy, I automatically pushed back in annoyance.

When I got to the bar, I ordered a beer, and the bartender actually stamped the top of my hand.

What the fuck?

I eyed the smeared ink.

No play without supervision.

Because of one beer?

Oh, whatever. Safety was important, of course. Drinking and playing didn’t go hand in hand, in my experience. But one beer… If I could drive, I could play.

…without supervision.

Way to make me feel like a child. I might be dreading turning thirty, which was still a few years away, but I wasn’t a damn kid.

Sitting down on a stool, I glanced around the club and the mostly occupied scening stalls. It was only nine o’clock, but it seemed everyone had arrived already.

As I sipped my beer, I tried to estimate who was new and who was an established member of this community. This entire evening was supposed to be a “get to know us” kind of event, where everyone was welcome to join.

A handful of shy guys lingered along the walls, a sight that always struck something in me.

But it would feel weird if I, as the newbie in this case, walked over in an attempt to make them feel welcome and included.

I didn’t know anyone here. I’d talked to two members in the chat room, merely to confirm my attendance, and that was all.

Someone came up next to me and ordered a drink, and I turned my head to see a very handsome guy my age.

Maybe a few years older. Cutting features, one of those bad-boy-looking guys.

He looked the way I’d felt when he received a stamp on his hand.

He studied the ink with a frown on his face, and his forehead wrinkled.

“What the ever-lovin’ fuck,” he muttered, the music almost drowning out his voice.

He must’ve sensed my attention on him, because he turned to me and smashed his lips together.

He wasn’t happy. “First they tell you rubbers are mandatory even if you’re in an established relationship, then they throw the no-asphyxiation rule in your face, and now I can’t have a drink without a babysitter if I wanna play? ”

I smirked. “I take it you’re as new to this community as I am.”

He lifted his brows, one of which had a scar that looked fresh. “New and not stickin’ around. What bullshit is this?”

Oh, it wasn’t that bad. They were just…covering their asses, I supposed. I’d attended events where certain types of play were prohibited due to the risks.

“I wouldn’t know,” I replied. “A discussion thread led me to a chat room, and suddenly, I was signing up for an event in Baltimore.”

He hmpf’d and accepted his drink, then promptly paid with a crumpled ten-dollar bill.

“I can start a tab if you want,” the bartender said over the music.

“Yeah, no thanks—I’m good.” The guy took a sip of his drink, and he wasn’t impressed by that either. “How difficult can it be to find a kink community that doesn’t suffocate you with rules? And while we’re at it—safe, sane, and consensual? One person’s sane is another’s fuckin’ bonkers.”

I chuckled. Maybe he had a point.

“Anyway.” He wiped his hand on his jeans before extending it to me. “I’m Reese.”

I shook his hand. “Lucas West.”

“Good to meet you, Lucas West,” he said. “You enjoy your night. If we get on the road now, I reckon my brother and I can make it back to DC and the sadomaso event in Logan before they stop lettin’ people in.”

Whoa, what? I perked up. “There’s an event for sadomasochists in DC tonight? I thought I looked all over.” DC could be a frustrating jungle, because I heard of so many places, but they were difficult to find if you didn’t know where to look.

Reese nodded with a dip of his chin. “First and third Saturday of every month at a gay club.”

Please take me with you! I wanted to shout.

“Would you mind giving me the name of the place?” I asked instead. The prospect of finding something so much closer to where I lived was almost too good to be true.

Reese quirked a faint smirk and gave me a brief once-over. “You into pain?”

Oh hell. I hoped he wasn’t eyeing me as a potential masochist—or Sadist, for that matter.

“I’m not a Sadist, nor a masochist,” I replied firmly. “It’s just been a while since I bottomed, and I prefer rough play. My hope is to make friends and maybe find play partners—but when push comes to shove, my core kink, I think , is Daddy/Little Boy. I haven’t explored much, to be honest.”

He nodded slowly, then finished his drink in one gulp. “Well, you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

Was he…

Did he think I was a sub?

Did he mean anything by that invitation, or was he just offering for me to tag along?

Oh, screw it. I wanted to make more friends. I needed that. I only knew three fellow kinksters, and two of them were moving to Boston soon. I was itching to be a part of a community.

“I’d love to,” I said. “I drove here, but I wouldn’t mind following you and your brother.”

It was interesting to me that Reese went to kink events with his brother. Unless it was another type of dynamic.

“Cool. I’ll just go drag River away from that scene over there.” He pointed toward a few stalls, and I immediately did a double take. No need to ask any questions about their relation, because that guy was a carbon copy of Reese. They were twins. “See you out front in five?” Reese asked.

I nodded dumbly. I needed to process what was happening. So I was going back to DC with two complete strangers, after I’d committed to being here and seeing what Baltimore had to offer.

All right, then.

* * *

Reese’s brother left an impression without saying a word to me. The briefest of introductions had been handled by Reese, and River had nodded once, eyed me quickly, then headed for their car.

I had the name and address of the club we were going to, and maybe that was a good thing. Being able to go there by myself, in the safety of my own vehicle, and not be locked down by a pair of twin brothers who screamed trouble.

For one, Reese’s scar. For two, Reese drove like a maniac. For three, River was sporting a black eye and a busted lip.

If that was the result of their pain-play, I was going to arrive at this club and immediately find new people to get to know.

The drive gave me roughly an hour to think things through, but I wasn’t too worried. I’d heard of the club before; I just had no idea they hosted BDSM crowds too. Either way, it was bound to be packed, so I was sure I could lose the twins if they struck me as unsafe.

* * *

Perhaps I wouldn’t have to lose the twins. Halfway to DC, they lost me. Reese drove way too fast, so that was that.

By the time I arrived in Logan—and found parking three blocks away—I was cutting it close to not being allowed in. Reese had said something about them closing the doors at eleven.

I blew out a breath and wiped my forehead, and I spotted the twins’ car near the club entrance. A black sedan with tinted windows in the back.

It was a nice car.

“Lucas West!”

Oh. I looked up and spotted Reese at the door.

He smirked and jerked his chin, signaling for me to step on it.

I was going to be smooth and subtly let him know I was a Dom. Just in case he had plans to beat the crap out of me.

On the other hand, if he wanted the rough part of just topping me…I would probably not say no… Maybe. I hadn’t decided. He was awfully hot, despite not being my type.

Reese said something to the bouncer, who nodded and stepped aside so I could enter.

“It’s on the third floor,” Reese told me. “What took you so long?”

“The speed limit,” I answered on autopilot.

He laughed. “You’re funny, Lucas West.”

I suppressed a chuckle as he placed a hand on my back. “Why do you feel the need to say my last name?”