**Wet Leather and Whiskey – A Night at the Dungeon Club**

I’d seen him the moment I walked into *Iron & Silk*, the kind of underground club where the lights were dim enough to hide the sweat but bright enough to show off the ropes. And fuck, was he worth looking at—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair just long enough to tug, wearing a black leather harness that hugged his chest like it was made for him. He was leaning against the bar, sipping whiskey like he wasn’t the hottest goddamn thing in the room, like he wasn’t already imagining someone on their knees for him.

I didn’t waste time. I sidled up next to him, close enough that my arm brushed against his, just to see if he’d pull away. He didn’t. Instead, he turned his head, slow, deliberate, and those dark eyes raked over me like he was already deciding where to put his hands.

“You look like a man who knows how to tie a knot,” I said, letting my voice drop, rough from the whiskey I’d already downed.

His mouth curled at the corner. “You look like a man who wants to find out.”

Fuck. That did things to me. My cock twitched in my jeans, already half-hard just from that low, confident fucking voice. I could smell him this close—leather, whiskey, something musky underneath. I wanted to press my face into his neck and breathe him in.

“Yeah,” I admitted, shifting so my thigh bumped against his. “I do.”

He finished his drink in one smooth tilt of his head, then set the glass down hard. “Come with me.”

No hesitation. No bullshit. I followed him through the crowd, past the dancers and the groaning sounds of flesh meeting flesh in the shadows, toward the back where the private rooms were. The moment the door shut behind us, his hands were on me—one gripping the back of my neck, the other sliding down my chest, over my belt, palming my cock through my jeans. I groaned, rocking into his touch.

“You ever been tied up before?” he asked, biting my earlobe hard enough to make me shiver.

“Yeah, but—” His hand squeezed, and I hissed. “—but not by you.”

He chuckled, low and dirty, and then he was pushing me back onto the narrow bed, stripping my shirt off with rough efficiency. His fingers traced the lines of my chest, my stomach, pausing to twist my nipple until I arched off the bed with a curse.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now stay still.”

I watched as he pulled rope from a bag by the bed, thick and sturdy, the kind that would leave marks if he wanted it to. My pulse kicked up, my cock straining against my zipper. He looped the rope around my wrist, pulling tight—just enough to bite, just enough to remind me who was in charge.

“Fuck,” I muttered as he secured my other wrist, yanking my arms above my head, tying me to the bedframe. The stretch burned, but it was the good kind, the kind that made my skin prickle with anticipation.

“Better,” he said, running a hand down my chest, over my abs, stopping just above my belt. “You gonna behave?”

I grinned up at him, reckless. “Make me.”

He slapped me—open-handed, sharp—and my head rocked to the side. The sting bloomed hot across my cheek, and my cock throbbed.

“I will.”

His fingers made quick work of my belt, my jeans, yanking them down just enough to free my cock. I was already leaking, my dick hard and curving up toward my stomach. He wrapped his hand around me, squeezing, and I groaned, rocking up into his grip.

“Desperate,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on me, hot and wet, swallowing me down like he’d been waiting for it.

My hips jerked, but the rope held me in place. “Fuck—!”

He sucked me deep, tongue pressing along the underside of my cock, fingers digging into my thighs. I could feel the scrape of his stubble, the way his throat flexed around me, and it was too much, too fast. His free hand slid under me, fingers pressing against my hole through my briefs—just enough pressure to make me gasp.

“You want more?” he asked, pulling off just long enough to watch me squirm.

“Yes—”

He shoved my briefs down, spat into his hand, and pressed a finger inside me.

I swore, arching off the bed as he worked me open, his mouth back on my cock, sucking hard. The stretch burned, but fuck, it felt good—his finger crooked just right, and my legs trembled.

“Another,” I gritted out.

He obeyed, adding a second finger, scissoring them until I was panting, sweat slicking my skin.

“You gonna come like this?” he taunted, twisting his fingers.

“Close—fuck—”

He pulled back, leaving me empty and aching. “Not yet.”

Before I could protest, he climbed over me, his own cock—hard and thick—pressed against mine. He rocked his hips, grinding us together, the friction almost unbearable.

“Come for me,” he growled, biting my shoulder.

That was all it took. My back arched, my cock pulsing between us as I came hard, ropes of cum spilling over both of us. He stroked himself fast, rough, and then he was coming too, hot stripes painting my stomach.

He collapsed next to me, breathing hard, his fingers tracing the marks the ropes had left on my wrists.

“Still want me to untie you?” he asked, amused.

I grinned. “Depends. You got another round in you?”

His laugh was dark. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”