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“No clue,” Jackson said. A quick glance of the man’s form didn’t show any signs of him being in any immediate distress, though… stepping forward, Jackson reached up and slipped his hand beneath the man’s. “Squeeze my hand.”
“What?”
“Squeeze my fingers,” Jackson repeated.
“Why?”
Giving a heavy sigh, Jackson had to resist the urge to reach out and swat the bare ass displayed so beautifully before him. “First, because I said so, and secondly, I need to check your circulation.”
“Oh.”
The man managed to give Jackson’s fingers a light squeeze, but as he’d thought, the cuff was so tight around his wrist that it was in danger of seriously affecting his circulation. That, and the fact this Max person had evidently left the scene, had every dominant cell in Jackson’s body itching to smack more than one backside.
“Care to explain why you thought allowing Max to string you up like some kind of trophy was a good idea?” Jackson asked as he slid his hand free.
“Um, we were just seeing if the view was as good as we thought it would be,” the young man said.
Jackson shook his head as he glanced at the window where the twinkling of lights in downtown Houston competed with those shining in the night sky. His right eyebrow quirked as he returned his attention to the man. “Son, that is not only the most ridiculous reason I’ve ever heard, but exactly how much of the so-called view are you seeing behind that blindfold?”
“I didn’t want to see anyone looking back at me.”
“This is a BDSM club. The windows are treated to ensure no peeping Toms are going to get their jollies. The only voyeurs are members playing inside,” Jackson said not buying his story. “And with your present location and the fact you’re leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, I find it hard to believe you’re the shy type. Wanna try that again?”
“Um, it’s kinda embarrassing.”
“You’re joking, right?” Jackson said, scanning the man’s naked body from head to toe yet again.
“Well, it is,” the young man insisted. His deep sigh filled the silence when his confession garnered not a single sound from Jackson. “Fine. I’m kinda scared of heights, okay?” the man said as if that explained everything.
It didn’t as far as Jackson was concerned. Not by a long shot, but he’d address that in a bit. First things first. “Let’s get you down,” Jackson said, moving to squat at the base of the cross. He added another dozen strokes to the count in his head as he saw the restraints around the man’s ankles were also way too tight. The reason became apparent when instead of Max properly adjusting the cuff, the straps had been cinched to the last hole before using a small lock to hold the cuff to the eye-bolt on the floor.
“Where’s the key?” he asked. Looking up, his subconscious mind took in the slim form, the muscles in the man’s thighs, and the round firm buttocks that, upon closer inspection, did seem to offer some actual physical evidence this Max had hung around long enough to land at least one swat before turning into a ghost when the shit hit the fan… or, in this case, the wood hit the floor. A blush of red was fading from what appeared to be a handprint placed in the center of his right buttock. No way had this guy managed to slap his own ass.
“I-I guess Max has it?” the man replied, the cuff jingling a bit as he attempted to pull his leg free.
Jackson had reached his breaking point. He was all for play and was definitely a supporter of spanking both when desired and most especially when earned, but anyone who would string up a partner and then abandon him deserved to have his own butt blistered for ignoring his responsibilities and then given a few strokes with a belt or a cane for good measure. Pulling his knife from his pocket, he flicked it open, the soft click barely audible but evidently not silent enough.
“What was that?” the man asked, his head turning from side to side as if trying to discern the unfamiliar noise.
“Never mind, what’s your name?”
“Why?”
“Look, enough with the twenty questions. Unless you want me to finish the spanking this Max guy started, and I assure you, I’m not known to have a light hand when I find it necessary to spank naughty Little boys, I suggest you concentrate on answering instead of asking from now on. Understood?”
“You spank?”
“You bet your sweet ass I do,” Jackson said firmly.
“Does that mean you’re a real Daddy?”
Well, that certainly threw another kink into the equation, didn’t it? And throwing out yet another question showed that this Little one didn’t know how to follow instructions.
“I suppose I can just call you Reckless,” Jackson said. “Now hold very still. I don’t want to nick you.”
“What? No! Wait!”
Ignoring the command, Jackson wrapped one hand around the man’s calf above the restraint before slipping the blade of the knife between his skin and the cuff. The leather parted like butter beneath the razor-honed edge of the blade. The second cuff followed and a soft groan was heard when Jackson gave both ankles and feet a quick massage to check for any possible damage before he allowed them to settle on the floor.
