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Summary
“Nate,” Eliot says to the shame-ridden control freak. “Shut the fuck up, put your hands in my hair, and pull.”
“See, Soph,” Eliot says to the professional manipulator with no personal life, “of course you know how to imply what you want. To lead me to it, like a mark. But this isn’t a job. You can just tell me.”
“Parker, look,” Eliot says to the oblivious sadist. “Pain is a…it’s a sensual thing for me, usually. Sexual, even. Neither of us has to do anything about it, but I’ll probably react. And I’m fine with you having that effect on me. I just want to make sure you are.”
“Damn it, Hardison,” Eliot says to the obnoxiously affectionate service dom. “Fine. We’re not completely incompatible, you’re just edgeplay.”
“I don’t go under,” Eliot says to everyone.
Five times Eliot hit the end of his rope with his damn team full of dominants. And one time he didn’t.