|Antidote by Jack L. Pyke|
“No head games, no tests. Just us, Jack.”
Videos of Jack having sex with a man who brutally mutilated teenagers for fun should have stayed dead and buried, just like the man who filmed them. So when footage of Jack’s past starts showing up on internet port sites, Jack’s whole world is again turned on its head.
At first, the videos merely unsettle Jack’s fire-and-ice world of Gray Raoul’s BDSM kink and Jan Richards’ gentle, vanilla touch. But when the videos of teenaged Jack get more extreme, even Gray becomes suspicious, leaving Jack isolated from the protection of the Masters’ Circle.
Jack soon finds himself at the mercy of a group of men set on altering Jack’s perceptions of BDSM as brutally as possible. Jack’s sex life is now on camera for a whole new audience, and the only thing he has left to lose is himself. (M/M+)
Something was seriously wrong. Something out of that book had Jack climbing up the walls, enough to tear up over fifteen grand’s worth of art history. Part of me didn’t want to know, another part of me had to know.
Noise came from the living room, the kind of grunts and groans off a TV you’d turn down at night time so no one else would hear you, and I slowed my pace.
Side-on to me, Gray was standing by his laptop with his arms folded, his face giving nothing away. I frowned, but couldn’t quite bring myself to go over. “DVD?” I said quietly, resting against the doorframe, but Gray shook his head.
My heart fell. Amongst the recently posted, there was a screen shot of a painfully young-looking Jack. Gray homed in on the title for a moment, enough for me to read it from here. It was the same intro found on most sites, yet somehow very much in a class of its own.
…love the Cub in slap-kink with Bear.
I rested my head against the frame, just hugging my stomach, and watched as Gray clicked on the play button.
A simple master bedroom came on screen. It allowed room for a bed with a brass frame and headboard, made up with crisp white duvet covers and soft pillows. Each side had a bedside unit, and a lamp was on one, but barely added much light to the cream-coloured room.
Three men heated life up in there. Well, two men and a young boy just touching eighteen. One man sat in the corner, watching what was going on in the bed, a smile plastering his face as he stroked his hard-on. He was naked, but then so were the two people writhing on the bed.
Cutter was an easy spot. Mark Shaw had him bang to rights as a thug who loved to cut up young men: a skinhead, three times bigger than Jack, and most of the muscle looking as hard and as up for it as what went on between his thighs. He had a tattooed scalp, some political racist slur that ran down his neck, and Jack, he was the naked teen struggling underneath him.
Jack’s hair was longer, wilder, his body youthfully thinner, still deeply tanned and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. Cutter had just flipped him onto all fours, his arm snaking roughly around Jack’s neck, his free hand pulling at Jack’s hair to twist his head and get access to his mouth. He kissed hard, rutting just as rough, pausing from his kiss only to grin at the youth he held.
“Want it, boy?”
“Not tonight, luv,” said Jack, smiling, “got a headache.” A growl, Cutter shifted, tossing Jack onto his back, and Jack’s dick came into full view. My heart sank, because for all of the fight Jack offered, he wanted it. He wore nothing but this black rope necklace with a black cross sleeping on a bigger silver one. Tiny sterling-silver balls, three one side, three on the other, gave it that youthful look, a little expensive too. I didn’t look below that necklace again. Jack looked young, way too fucking young for me to focus on anything lower than that necklace.
“Smart-mouth fuck.” Cutter slapped at Jack’s cheek, but Jack only grinned a little more. It won him a harder slap. “What you got for me now, boy?”
Jack nipped at Cutter’s jaw, feeding it.
Another slap, this last one was hard enough to snap Jack’s head to the side and leave a stinging redness to his cheek. “Oooh,” groaned Cutter, “like it, don’t you, boy?” His hand crushed between Jack’s thighs, making him groan. “Yeah, like it rough alright, don’t you, Jack?”
Even his name hadn’t been cut from public viewing.