The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

His gaze left mine as he searched how to put it into words. “Clay and I both can give you pleasure, but we do it in different ways. He does things you need, things I don’t know if I could do—at least not on my own yet.” His focus returned to me. “And I get how pain can be a release. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy what we do. I love the power exchange when we’re in a scene, but I’m still dealing with my hang-ups when it comes to inflicting pain. Even when it’s clearly what you want.” He adjusted so he stood tall, took another swig of his beer, and his expression clouded over. “I struggle whenever I see suffering.”

I exhaled, feeling ten pounds lighter. It felt so good to talk about it and understand. We spent our whole lives believing in black and white that causing other people pain was bad. Travis still needed to get comfortable in this new gray area, where I liked the pain he caused.

And I understood the struggle with suffering. Knowing I could help ease the discomfort in an animal, when they couldn’t speak for themselves, was the most rewarding part of my job.

“Is that why you became a vet?” I asked.

“It’s a big part of it, yeah.” He softened. “You know how when you’re a kid, you say what you want to be when you grow up? Like, I’m gonna be a fireman, or a football player . . . or a vet.” He shot me a lopsided smile. “I just never grew out of it.” He absentmindedly picked at the label on his beer. “And also, my parents were super anti-pet.”

“Oh, my God, mine too. That’s how I ended up jointly owning a cat with Clay.”

He hesitated. “What?”

“Noir?” That only confused him further. “The tuxedo cat at Clay’s. She’s both of ours.”

I explained the story to him as we watched Cassidy’s friends fall off the mechanical bull one by one. Since I’d just told him how Clay and I had met, I wondered about him.

“Can I ask you something?” I swirled the ice in my empty glass. “Clay said he ‘trained’ you. What was that like?”

When Travis’s eyebrows pulled together, I wondered if I’d overstepped, so I waived a hand like I could brush my prying question away.

“You don’t have to answer,” I said quickly. “Clay’s a private guy, not the most forthcoming, and I’m—”

“He is private, but there’s a reason for that.”

“Yeah.” I dropped my voice low. “He, uh, told me about her.”

Surprise glanced through him. “That’s good, then. I’m glad. He’s never talked about it with me, but I know the situation was really hard on him.”

“Wait.” Curiosity ate at me. “If he’s never talked about it, how do you know?”

“Because I was there the night he had her removed from the club.” His shoulders lifted with a deep breath. “She didn’t go quietly, either. She screamed and caused a huge scene, saying all this personal shit about him like his name, where he lived, where he worked. It was bad.”

“Oh, my God.” That had to be one of Clay’s nightmares fully realized. And to have it done by someone he’d cared about? Awful.

“I didn’t know him back then, but I’d been right there when it all went down. I saw how upset he was and, even though he was a stranger, I wanted to make sure he was . . . I don’t know. Okay.” Because Travis saw Clay was suffering and he couldn’t tolerate it. He had to help. “So, I bought him a drink and we got to talking, and when he found out it was my first time at Eros, he was focused on that. I think he was happy for the distraction, and I was happy to get some advice.”

“Advice?”

“On getting into the lifestyle. I’d been interested in it for a while, but I didn’t know where to start.” He said it straightforward. “I didn’t have friends I was comfortable talking about it with either.”

“So, he offered to take you under his wing and train you?”

“No, not at first. For a while, he was just someone to talk to. We mostly texted. After the night his partner got banned, he was pretty cautious.”

“Understandable,” I said.

“Yeah. After a few months of that, we started coordinating the nights we’d be at the club. If I found a scene partner who was up for it, he’d usually watch, and then we’d discuss afterward.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile. “Like, he’d critique the scene?”

Travis’s lopsided smile was so fucking sexy, I had to grip the rail to stay upright. “He gave me feedback, yeah.” His tone was warm. “I learned a lot from him, and he liked doing it, so when he offered to show me more, it was an easy yes.”

My pulse skipped faster, intrigued. “Hmm,” I purred. “Tell me about this ‘more.’”

He chuckled. “If I’m going to use something in a scene—like, say a flogger,” he paused to give time for the memory of last night’s scene to burn through my mind, “I need to understand the flogger completely. What kind of sensation the ends of the tails create versus the middle. How much force to use and where on the body to strike to create different layers. I have to know what it feels like, so I can give my partner the right sensations at the right pace.”

Holy shit.

My breathing went erratic as I figured out what he was saying. To understand how to use the flogger, he’d had to experience it being used on himself. “You scened with Clay.”

He could see how hot the idea made me because he smiled and shook his head. “Don’t get all excited. It was instructional. I like pleasure, not pain, plus I’m not submissive. I wasn’t sure at the time, thinking maybe I was a switch, but that first session cleared it right up for me.”

Meaning he wasn’t interested in switching roles between being a scene top and bottom.