This excerpt is from Splendid Isolation (Suncoast Society 45). I had fun writing this particular mindfuck. One of the great things about BDSM is using the brain–the body’s biggest sex organ–to create all sorts of set-ups.
(Contemporary BDSM, MM, fish-out-of-water, geek hero, HEA)
Following a humiliating breakup with his abusive ex and business partner, Wylie sells his software company and moves to Florida. He’s determined to be self-sufficient and turn his rundown homestead around.
One slight problem—he has absolutely no clue what he’s doing. He’s in way over his head.
Everett’s a skilled artisan metalworker exploring his kinky side. He never went to college, but he’s good at what he does, even if he doesn’t earn much working ren fair circuits. Enter a job offer from Leo, which solves one of his problems.
When the Viking blacksmith and the computer geek meet over a welding job, sparks fly. Literally. Egos clash between the two fish out of water while their intense chemistry draws them together. With love and sex as hot as Everett’s forge, the two men fall hard.
Then Wylie’s ex tries to blackmail him back to California. Is Wylie’s spine tempered steel? Or will Everett lose his first true love?
Related Books: Fire in the Hole (Suncoast Society 48, MF) is a direct sequel to Splendid Isolation.
Wylie wasn’t back yet when, a little after eight o’clock, Everett hit a stopping point where he could grab something to eat. Walking back to the house, he carved off a few pieces from the pork tenderloin from the previous evening’s dinner, added some leftover veggies, and nuked it. Instead of eating there, he took it out to the workshop, along with a large cup full of ice water.
In the shop, he quickly got sidetracked and his plate sat there on the rolling metal cart, the meal mostly uneaten, as he tried not to think about the bigger picture.
That he was letting his own insecurities get to him. Of course he trusted Wylie. He knew more than enough about Ralph and what he’d put Wylie through that he logically understood damn good and well Wylie wasn’t about to go back to the fucker.
What if he takes Ralph up on the money?
No. He couldn’t—wouldn’t believe it about his guy.
Hell, the rewiring and AC system installs had happened and Wylie hadn’t fretted once about the money during the whole process. He’d insisted Everett order everything he wanted for the shop.
That was not a man concerned about money. And those were likely the three biggest one-time expenditures they’d need to make for a while on heavy-duty maintenance around there.
He saw the headlights of Wylie’s truck and didn’t stop what he was doing. In fact, he noticed a few minutes later that Wylie stood in the workshop doorway and waited until he had the knife in the small quench before he stormed inside.
He stopped in front of him. “You need to talk to me, Sir.”
That’s exactly what Everett had wanted and planned to do, until he saw the anger painted across Wylie’s face and heard it in his tone, pulling him up short. “What?”
“I’m done with you pushing me off, Sir. You need to talk to me, dammit, and tell me what I’ve done wrong. Not to mention you haven’t touched me in like two weeks, like you’re ashamed of me. If I’ve made you mad, tell me what the hell I did so I can apologize and make it up to you. If it’s the Ralph shit, talk to me, please? If you’re rethinking us because of what he said to you, then don’t leave me twisting in the breeze, and just get it over with already because I feel like you’ve put up a wall around yourself and you’re not letting me in. It feels like you don’t even want to own me anymore.”
At war within Everett, the urge to pull his guy into his arms and assure him no, nothing was wrong, it was him. He didn’t want to hurt his boy when he’d been through so much already, and it wasn’t like Wylie had pushed him for sex. Hell, he hadn’t even asked for permission to masturbate. He didn’t want to risk forcing his boy to do anything. That was the loving man who wanted to wrap Wylie in a plastic bubble and protect him from the world.
Then, there was the sadist.
* * * *
Wylie hoped he wasn’t making a horrible mistake by challenging Everett like this, but he felt like he was running out of options.
Everett reached out and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him close and forcing him to dip his knees. “What was that, boy?”
He wasn’t going to back down, even as part of his soul jumped up and screamed with joy and struggled to tug him down into subspace. “Y-you heard me, Sir.”
Everett didn’t let go of him as he dragged him over to a workbench, grabbed a small coil of rope off the wall, and then back to his anvil stand. He bent Wylie over it, and before Wylie could react, he found his wrists tied together and the rope looped around the base, holding his ankles spread apart.
Wylie tried to look up and saw Everett put a length of metal bar in the gas forge. “You really want me to own you, boy?”
He’d be lying if he said his cock wasn’t hard, because it was. A thin tendril of fear curled through him. “Y-yes, Sir.”
Everett walked back to Wylie, reaching under him and unfastening his jeans and belt and shoving them and his briefs down, exposing his ass. Wylie’s cock immediately throbbed as he anticipated a fucking. Especially since he wasn’t allowed to masturbate without permission, and Everett had been so busy lately…he hadn’t felt right asking for permission to do that when his Sir obviously hadn’t been in the mood.
Except…Everett didn’t fuck him. He stroked Wylie’s ass, squeezing both his cheeks so much it made him groan, then zeroing in on a point on his right ass cheek. Everett flicked it, hard enough to make Wylie wince.
“Right there, boy.” He walked back to the forge. “That’s where it’s going to go.”
“You said the night we met my parents that you wanted me to mark you. Well, obviously, you need me to take you in hand.” He worked the metal bar. “Going to brand you.” Everett cast a glance over his shoulder. “Unless you want to safeword.”
Like fucking hell would he safeword. Part of him couldn’t process what Everett was saying. No way would his Sir do something like that to him…
He trusted Everett. If this was some sort of loyalty test because he was afraid Wylie might walk on him based on the shit Ralph had said in the yard that day?
Well, game fucking match. He trusted Everett with his life.
He could—and would—take anything his Sir dished out.
* * * *
Everett had honestly expected Wylie to safeword. He walked over to the bench and grabbed a bottle of lube from where it’d been forgotten from a fucking session a couple of weeks earlier when they’d christened the workshop.
Stepping into position behind Wylie…
Okay, yeah, he really did want to fuck the man’s ass.
He applied a huge dollop of lube to his finger and started working it into Wylie’s hole. The man couldn’t flex and move very well being bent over the anvil like that, and it had to be uncomfortable as hell for him, but bless his heart he was trying to go with it.
And his cock was hard and even dripping pre-cum. As Everett did the math and tried to remember the last time they’d made love…
Fuck. Even more Domfail on his part. No wonder his poor boy felt unwanted. Time had kind of gotten away from him, in addition to the stress.
On the rolling cart where his unfinished dinner and cup of ice sat, he had a metal punch lying there, one of his touchmarks, one he used to stamp his logo on smaller items, like knives. Grabbing the punch, he dropped it into the cup of ice and returned to the forge, deliberately making noise with the metal as he turned it, pulling it out to show Wylie how it glowed before sticking it in again.
“That’s what’s been missing, isn’t it?” Everett asked. Now that Wylie was meeting him in this game, he’d see how far his boy would let him take it. “A nice, big brand on my boy’s ass to show everyone he’s owned by me.”
He turned and saw Wylie watching him.
Walking over, he squatted next to Wylie and grabbed his chin, hard. “Once I brand you, you’re mine. Only mine.”
“I’m already yours, Sir. You can put whatever marks you want on me. I belong to you.”
Everett wasn’t sure if he should be turned on or horrified, and right now he was a mixture of both, so he tabled that decision until later. He walked behind Wylie, positioning the metal cart so it’d easily be within reach. Then he returned to the forge and, with a pair of sturdy tongs, he picked up the bar. With the other end of it glowing bright red, he walked over to Wylie and showed it to him.
Wylie swallowed hard. “Green, Sir,” he whispered.
* * * *
Wylie closed his eyes. He’d prove to Everett, if this was what it took, that he was here for life. Nothing Everett did could scare him off. No way could he have misjudged the man so horribly.
He refused to believe it.
He deliberately chose to trust.
Heat from the glowing metal washed against his face.
“Don’t move a muscle,” Everett said. “Don’t move, but you can scream and cry. And you have permission to come, if you’re able to.”
He sensed and heard Everett rise, but unless his Sir ordered him to, he would not open his eyes.
He’d prefer not to.
Everett stepped behind him and raised his kilt, sliding his hard cock inside Wylie’s ass. Wylie couldn’t even move to fuck him back, and the anvil dug into his chest from the position he was in.
“Who do you belong to, boy?” Everett hoarsely asked.
“I belong to you, Sir. Completely. Green,” he added before Everett could ask.
Everett stopped fucking him and shifted position a little, pulling his kilt out of the way. “Then get ready, boy.”
He heard the sizzle and smelled flesh burning a millisecond before he felt the brand touch his ass. Maybe a trick of the pain, it felt smaller than the rod had looked and the scream escaped him even though he’d been determined to hold it back and take it like a good boy. Tears rolled down his face as he kept his eyes closed, his head up even as he sobbed and cried through the pain.
“Goood boy,” Everett cooed, pulling it away.
A metallic clang, then Everett grabbed Wylie’s cock. His skilled, callused hands knew exactly how to stroke him and Wylie couldn’t have held back if he’d wanted to as Everett pulled an orgasm out of him in three quick pumps. As soon as Wylie came, Everett released Wylie’s cock and grabbed his hips, fucking him hard and deep and furiously.
Pain and pleasure created a thick slurry in Wylie’s brain, a light-speed dump into subspace he hadn’t been anticipating while Everett’s cock brushed across his gland with every hard stroke. It was still trying to settle in his brain that Everett had just branded his ass when the man thrust one last time, climaxing inside him, filling his ass and marking him with his cum.
He didn’t realize he was sobbing until Everett untied him and lifted him, holding him, sinking to the floor with him, cradling him in his arms.
Wylie clung to him. “I love you, Sir. Is that enough? I’ll do any—”
“Shh, it’s all right. I love you, too, boy. I love you so fucking much. I’m so sorry. I’ve been an asshole. You didn’t do anything wrong, baby.”
The hard one-eighty confused Wylie, and he assumed he’d misheard Everett, a trick of the endorphin dump or something. “Am I your good boy again? Did I do good, Sir? Do you want me now?”
Everett held him tightly against him there on the workshop floor. “You’re my very good boy, and I love you so fucking much and I’ll always want you, baby. Always.”
Relief filled him. It sounded like his Sir was back, the loving, protective Viking who’d been missing for the past couple of weeks.
“We…we need to take care of the brand, sir. I don’t want to get it dirty.” He could feel the brand in his flesh, although the pain had disappeared and it wasn’t hurting again yet. He’d proudly wear his Sir’s mark, too, no matter how crazy that sounded. He knew more pain would set in later, once his body processed it. Right now, nerves were seared, and—
Everett chuckled, kissing him. “I didn’t brand you, baby.”
He finally opened his eyes and saw Everett’s smile. “Uh, I can feel it in my ass, Sir.”
Everett arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh, can you?”