The two men—he wasn’t sure who was Jeremiah and who was Carson—took him down a long hallway to a room. When the taller one opened the door, bright white light spilled into the darkened corridor.

“This is our room. First we talk then we play. Do you think you’re able to keep up with us?” The shorter of the two men leveled his gaze at Rocke. He stood only about an inch shorter than Rocke’s six foot frame. His jaw flexed as he stared at Rocke, and a tiny bit of scruff glimmered on his cheeks.

At this point, Rocke didn’t have anything to lose. He’d been pushed away by all but the last two Doms in the building. Rocke sighed and dipped his head. “I’d like to play.”

“Very well.” The taller one ushered him into the room. Unlike the other rooms, this particular room more resembled a bedroom. No BDSM bed or bar contraptions. There was just a plain bed with white sheets. Thick carpet muffled their footsteps as the Doms led him to a leather couch and armchair. The room reminded him more of an apartment than a play place.

“Before we get down to business, my name is Carson.” The taller one extended his hand. “This is my partner, Jeremiah. We’ve been together for eight years. We don’t take many subs, and when we do, it’s only one at a time. You are Rocke Houseman, correct? Sit.”

Something in Carson’s voice made Rocke want to comply. He debated sitting on the chair but only for a moment. This was a test—had to be. He knelt on the floor at their feet and bowed his head. Fuck. His knee screamed with pain, but he ignored the hurt. He’d never get better if he kept giving in to his injury.

“Very good but we don’t want you on the floor. Sit in the chair.” Carson perched on the edge of the sofa, and Jeremiah stood behind him with his arms folded. Where Jeremiah seemed to be covered in sleeves of tattoos, Carson was all pristine muscle. Carson leaned forward. “We could read the tablet and find out what your boundaries are, but we’d rather hear them from you.”

Rocke’s gaze vacillated between the two men. Most Doms didn’t want to talk. They read the dossier and went right into play. Rocke wobbled to his feet, careful not to wrench his knee, then sat on the armchair. The shards of pain subsided, and he laced his fingers together. Hopefully, Carson and Jeremiah hadn’t seen him wince.

“Go on,” Jeremiah prompted. The harness he wore bit into his muscled chest.

“I’m not a heavy player in the BDSM world. I’ve never tried most things. No inclination to.” Rocke shrugged. “My biggest kink is threesomes. I like a dick in my mouth and one in my ass. You can use a cock ring, cock cage, handcuff me, nipple clips or spank my ass red…I’m game. But no permanent marks. I can’t have anything that’ll show in the locker room.”

“Why?” Carson prompted.

Rocke shifted in his seat. The leather creaked beneath him. They’d find out sooner or later—don’t leave marks if you don’t want to have to explain them to everyone in detail. The locker room was worse than a newsroom. They had to know everything. But he needed to trust Carson and Jeremiah. Something about the pair made him want to take a chance. They didn’t seem like others in his past who’d wanted to exploit his waning celebrity status.

“I’m a professional baseball player. I’m the shortstop for the Falcons. Eight years with a .285 batting average—well, until I blew out my knee. ACL injury three games from the playoffs and we’re in first place in our division. Sucked.” Rocke groaned. He’d given away a lot of info.

“We saw that play. You’re lucky to be standing without crutches.” Jeremiah rounded the sofa and sat beside his partner. “And you still got the double play.”

“I did.” The tips of his ears burned. They’d seen him on the field? “I have to ask—who’s your favorite team?”

“Grizzlies,” Carson replied. “The team that took you out.”

“Ah.” Maybe, this wasn’t such a good idea. Rocke sank down in his seat. “They’re a formidable team. I wish I hadn’t gotten cocky.”

“You had to. It’s who you are.” Carson rubbed his chin with his index finger and thumb. “Who was your Dom before? We noticed you took a shine to Zane.”

“Everyone here.” Rocke snorted. The harder he’d tried to please a Dom, the faster he pushed them away. “You’ve probably heard all about me. I’m difficult.”

“How so?” Jeremiah reclined on the sofa and draped his arms across the back. “Details.”

Did they want to shame him? Jesus. “I like to talk. I don’t want to be demeaned. I’m not wild about wax and shit on my body.” His voice cracked, and the fury deep within him came to a head. “I want to be tied up and fucked. Use me like the God damn media does.”

He’d lost his temper. Fuck.

He couldn’t breathe. Rocke rested his head in his hands. “Sorry. I’m good at following orders, but I tend to top from the bottom. I’m hard to control, I guess.” They’d boot him just like the others. He might as well get up and leave…once his knee decided to cooperate. He closed his eyes and focused on controlling the pain in his soul. If he pushed the searing hurt deep, it wouldn’t bother him.

“Hard to control is in the eye of the beholder.” Carson placed his hand on Rocke’s thigh. “You may be one of the more challenging subs, but it’s not a death sentence. It simply means you haven’t found the right Doms—until now.”