Marshall’s jaw tightens, and his eyes darken. “While Hunter doesn’t have a policy against coworkers dating, I wouldn’t recommend picking the guy you’ll be working with for the next few months. If things go south, it might be hard for you to do scenes with him.”
“Dating? Who the fuck said anything about dating?”
“You said…” He stops talking, shifting a little in his seat, his eyes still dark and cloudy, and my temper flares up.
“I said getting to know him better, not dating. Not jumping into bed with him, though why you’d have an issue with that, I honestly don’t know. Hell, he’ll be fucking me by next week anyway, so what the hell is the problem?”
Marshall’s jaw ticks, but he stays silent, which I count as a victory. After staring at him for a few seconds, keeping my expression as stern as I can, I turn my attention back to the papers and check off boxes. “There, done.” I hand them over to him.
He glances at it. “You have a lot of soft limits.”
I shrug. “Until I know exactly what everything entails—pun intended because the tails are actually fine with me—I’m not gonna embrace a damn thing.”
He looks at me for a few beats, his expression unreadable. “I’m not comfortable letting you start when you don’t know what you agree to. You and I are gonna go on a little field trip.”
A field trip with bossy Marshall? That should be fun. Yay. Note the sarcasm.
3
Marshall
A field trip. If I’d considered my words before they left my mouth, I might not have suggested it. Obviously, I find Byron attractive, and I can’t imagine taking him for his first taste of a kink club is going to convince my dick that getting involved with him is a bad idea. And not only because he’s a Kinky Boy. That’s only one of the many, many reasons I don’t need to do what I always do: getting all heart-eyed over a sub who isn’t meant for me.
On the other hand, I am the kink consultant for the studio, and the way Byron was studying the list of kinks with wide-eyed innocence and a hint of fear, I would be remiss in sending him into the lion’s den without at least a hint of what to expect.
As I get out of my car at the studio, I pull out my phone and type out a quick message.
Marshall: Wear something comfortable. Don’t worry about looking sexy. We’re just going to observe. I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes.
I press Send and cringe as I reread my words. They’re entirely too bossy. My fingers hover over the keyboard. Should I send a second softer message? Then again, part of me is eagerly waiting to see how Byron might respond to the tone.
Byron: yes, Daddy
Byron: or is it yes, Sir? Lol
Byron: yes, Master?
Byron: omg, I can’t believe I just said that. Please delete those messages without reading them. I’ll be ready when you get here.
The messages come through in a rapid flurry, and the grin plastered on my lips grows wider with each one. I can imagine the blush that must be staining his cheeks right now. I stand next to my car and reread the messages a couple of times, trying to decide why I like them so much. Obviously, they’re adorable, but it’s more than that. I picture him standing in front of me, the awkward babble spilling from his lips before he giggles at himself.
Then it hits me. The messages aren’t shy like he usually is with me. They’re funny with that combination of awkward and confident he seems to have around everyone else.
I don’t bother typing a reply but shove my phone into my pocket, satisfied I cracked that mystery, and I head inside.
An hour ago, I called Hunter to ask if I could talk to him, and he told me he’d be at the studio for a bit, organizing the lighting and everything for Byron and Harley’s first shoot, which is only a couple of days away. I’m sure everything has been set and ready to go for days or more already, but I don’t blame him for being a perfectionist when it comes to launching a business like this.
I step inside the dark studio, listening cautiously for any sexy sounds that might suggest that Hunter and his boy, Joey, are testing out the lighting and equipment in the most fun way possible. When I don’t hear anything but footsteps, I figure I’m safe.
I find the two of them plus Silas, the other cameraman, who’s looking rather put out as he hauls a large, presumably heavy light across the sound stage.
“Hey,” I greet them.
Hunter glances up and grunts in acknowledgment, then turns his attention back to the set.
“Do you have a minute?”
“Sure, what’s up?” He waves me over, still clearly distracted.
“I was hoping you could tell me what Ziggy’s deal is.”
He finally gives me his full attention, his eyebrows raised. “Care to clarify?”
Not particularly, no. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. Maybe it’s better to drop the subject. It’s nothing more than errant curiosity, really, not worth making Hunter think I’m trying to mess with one of his boys. His dating policy states that he’d be okay with relationships within the studio. Not that I’m looking for a relationship with Byron, but I’m in a bit of a power position, so I need to be careful about how things might be perceived.
“He seems pretty vanilla, is all. I was curious about why he’d want to work for a kink studio.”
“He needed money fast, and he’s a friend of Rebel’s. I didn’t ask any questions beyond that because frankly, it’s not our business,” he answers pointedly.
Money fast. The phrase deflates me. He must be one of those subs. Not that he’s truly a sub outside of the scenes he’s going to be paid for. I’ve known too many just like him, though, in desperate need of someone to put their lives back together for them. I’m not judging. I get that not everyone is well suited to responsibility, just like not everyone is suited for dominance or submission or anything else. But being a white knight kind of Dom has never been my kink.
“Hmm.” I make a noise of acknowledgment and angle myself slightly away from Hunter, the conversation having lost all its appeal.
“There a problem?” Hunter is perceptive as ever.
“No, I was curious. Now I understand.”
He frowns. “When I was hiring these guys, I promised myself I wouldn’t take on any boys who were only here for money. I don’t know his full story, but he’s a good kid, and his intentions aren’t bad.”
“I wasn’t questioning your integrity.” He nods, and then Joey approaches. The perfect time to escape the conversation before I dig myself an even deeper hole.
I leave the studio, and within fifteen minutes, I’m pulling up at the address Byron gave me. He lives in a decent part of town, and the building doesn’t look particularly sketchy, which is good news if he is, in fact, down on his luck financially. He’s already waiting on the sidewalk. I park, hop out, and hustle around the car to open the door for him.
“Thank you,” he says primly, slipping into the car and buckling himself in. I’m pleased to see he followed my instructions and didn’t try to guess what one might wear to a kink club. He’s dressed in a plain blue T-shirt and a pair of jeans.