Page 30 of Naughty November
After I’d dropped Alex off at his moms’ place, I came home to an empty condo that’d started suffocating me. My son wasn’t here to keep the darkness at bay anymore, so I aimed for the living room and the liquor cabinet.
I didn’t bother turning on the lights. The walls were too empty, not counting the space the entertainment unit occupied. That was where my mother had put all the family pictures. Alex had his video games there too.
I went to get ice, and then I sat down on the couch with a bottle of vodka and a glass.
I contemplated putting on a movie, but in the end, I texted Reid.
Did you pack?
I was gonna do that before bed. Or in the morning. I hadn’t decided.
Rather than texting back, he called me.
“I packed yesterday,” he yawned.
Well, good for him.
I dug out my earbuds, not liking the sound of someone on speaker.
“Did you drop off Alex?”
“Yeah.” I poured a glass and took that first burning swig. “Did you get the final head count for the trip?”
He hummed, and I heard him rummaging around for something in the background. “Printed the list and everythin’.” That was so him. He’d never liked to keep things on his phone. Instead, he had an impressive collection of Post-its and printouts. “Uh, let’s see… We got the Chicago crew, the Clara Hill triad, Sam, Carl, Garrick, and…right, LC and Joey—they confirmed this mornin’. Eight Tops, including you and me, and six bottoms.”
Good mix.
It was too easy to fall down a rabbit hole of memories with Reid.This would be our seventh trip with our buddies, and a lot had happened. Some had left when relationships had ended; some had joined when new ones had formed. I’d say we were closest with Sam, who was flying out from Portland, and Rome, Trey, and Cas from Clara Hill, a community in Pennsylvania.
By my third drink, life looked all right again, and Reid and I were chuckling our way through a memory from two years ago. When that sadistic bastard demonstrated how kinksters could safely use zip ties—otherwise, a restraint we didn’t recommend. They cut off the blood flow. But if you were a rough player who knew the risks and eliminated most of them, yeah, that’d been a hot night. A painful, hot night. Reid, Sam, me, and two subs who’d recently moved to Germany with their Owner.
“How come we always end up in an orgy down there?” I mused.
Reid chuckled. “Because you get drunk and very affectionate.”
Fuck.
I swallowed a mouthful of vodka and felt the heat of embarrassment rise within me.
Maybe half the blame was placed with me, but not fucking all of it. Reid changed when we traveled together too. For some reason, he thought our annual trips were an invitation for him to direct his sadism atme.
Not that he ever got sexual with me. At most,at best, we’d co-topped together—perhaps gotten a little grabby with each other, but I couldn’t recall us ever crossing a line. No kissing or anything. Plenty of hot moments, just…always with someone between us.
I kept convincing myself that was for the best. Because, aside from my son, Reid was…fuck, my whole world. And the thought of making shit awkward when things didn’t work out…? No. No way. Not happening. We wouldn’t be a good fit. He was into vanilla people on the submissive side of things, or straight-up bottoms, and I didn’t know what the fuck I wanted. Definitely not a sadistic Top.
No.
I refilled my drink and let out a breath.
My only frustration with this whole thing—with full-blown Sadists and primal Tops—was that I had a curiosity or two, and it bothered meto be drawn to a flame that would burn me too much. Considering I couldn’t actually call myself a masochist. Sadomasochist, possibly. When I was fighting my prey, I wanted him to fight back. I wanted to feel his resistance for days. Marks, bruises, cuts, and scrapes. I wanted all that. But in the end, I’d seen so many of the men Reid played with. Eventually, they surrendered and submitted. I couldn’t do that.
There wasn’t a submissive bone in my body.
“You okay, Max? Honestly.”
Honestly?
I laughed under my breath.