Velvet Memories Violet Summers Published 2011 ISBN 978-1-59578-871-9 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2011, Violet Summers. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://LSbooks.com Email:
[email protected] Editor Terri Schaefer Cover Artist April Martinez This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Blurb Their senior year Rob broke Michael’s heart when a moment of passion led to months of panic and denial that ended their friendship. Ten years later, Rob has come to accept what he couldn’t back then: he’s gay, he’s a sexual Dominant, and he wants Michael now more than ever. When Rob walks into a wax-play workshop at Velvet Ice, the club where Michael works as a submissive, it brings back memories of pain and rejection, but it also brings back memories of a passion Michael has never found the equal of. Can a Dom with an agenda and a sub with a healthy fear for his heart move beyond their past and find the courage to face the future…together? This title contains unrequited love, emotional baggage, molten hot wax, molten hot boy-sex, Bondage, Domination, submission, and awesome techno club-mixes.
Dedication To Sierra, who indulged me, and to Tender Dom (www.BDSMwaxplay.com), for the information, the kindness, and the offer. Reformed rakes are always the best men. And, finally, to Terri, because I love how our relationship is growing, but I’ll still miss the way it was… if that makes any sense. XO-VJ
Prologue Workshop Title: Creative Wax Play Presenter(s):Master Sin and Kendra Fire and Ice, Heaven and Hell…Experience sensation play at its most fundamental level. See your submissive melt under the slow, sensual slide of hot wax, only to shudder in delicious agony under the bite of ice skillfully plied by your expert hand. Workshop covers basic safety issues, but is focused on sensation and edge play and the use of wax as a tool in helping your submissive find their headspace and complete surrender. Seats: 5 seats available for Velvet Ice members attending with a partner 3 seats available for Velvet Ice members attending solo 1 seat available for non-member attending with a partner 1 seat available for non-member attending solo Non-members are subject to background check and interview. * Club Velvet Ice. Mysterious, alluring and notorious—particularly in certain circles—the club was the holy grail of playgrounds to both Dominants and submissives in the Metro-Detroit area. Membership was limited and the vetting process, Rob had discovered, was brutal, beginning with sponsorship by a member in good standing, including an extensive, intrusive background and financial check, and ending with an interview he’d heard was on par with his most intense cross examination. Rob, with no member contacts, hadn’t even made it to the background check. That was until Derek Thomas, a partner at his law firm, pulled a gold coin out of his pocket while digging for change for the parking meter. Derek’s patronage had been enough to get Rob in the door for the Wax Play Workshop, and he had no intention of squandering the opportunity. The club was dimly lit as a tall, attractive blonde led him to the third floor and into an open sitting area. The rich interior was sensual and erotic. Scattered about were several velvet couches, mixed in with various BDSM equipment. A St. Andrew’s Cross dominated one corner. Several special play chairs and tables waited with delicious menace. It was a cornucopia of dark pleasure. “Welcome.” A deep male voice drew his attention to the small staging area set up in the center of the space. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Master Sin. This afternoon we’ll be reviewing the basics of wax play, but focusing on the sensory
elements of scenes involving hot wax.” Master Sin was hot as hell with his long hair and bronze skin. He extended his hand, and a lush, lovely woman joined him on stage. Rob recognized the expensive jewelry wrapped around her neck as a collar. Rob felt a slight sting; it had been way too long since he’d had a steady submissive in his life. Longer still since he’d partnered with someone who meant anything to him. And if he were going to be honest with himself, which he’d vowed to do once he’d recognized his Dominant cravings for what they were, he had to admit that even in the few longer-term relationships he’d had there’d always been something lacking. Such ruthless honesty had first led him to the acceptance that nine times out of ten, he preferred his play partners to be male, an admission ten years too late to do him much good. Then he’d had to work out that he was looking for a special sort of submissive. One who could be topped, but who could also challenge him and hold his attention. Someone smart and confident. Someone secure in who he was, comfortable in his own body. Rob gave a little internal sigh. He was beginning to wonder if such a submissive even existed. Master Sin sat in a chair facing them, and his sub moved gracefully around the semicircle of chairs, handing out slender pamphlets to the participants. “As you know, BDSM play is all about being safe, sane and consensual. There is no room for maybe—especially when we are talking about edge play. Because of the possibility of serious burns, wax play definitely falls into the edge play category.” The Master was undeniably gorgeous, but somehow he didn’t arouse anything more than surface appreciation. When his submissive sat on a cushion at his feet and Master Sin began to play absently with her hair, the envy Rob felt wasn’t sexual, it was entirely for the intimacy which so clearly existed between them. “My wife Kendra and I have experimented with wax play and have both found it very enjoyable.” The woman gave Master Sin a melting smile, and the man’s piercing eyes softened for a moment. “One of the things that makes it possible for us to experiment with this sort of scene is the fact we have complete trust in each other.” The Master lit a candle and held it up as the group contemplated his words. Complete trust. What a novel idea. Did anyone really have anyone’s complete trust anymore? Rob watched the flame reflected in Sin’s dark eyes, and found his mind wandering. Unbidden, he pictured a lean male body stretched across a weight bench. Blue eyes glowing as intensely as the candle flame that seemed to almost hypnotize him. The first, tentative moments of trust, crushed by fear and insecurity. Rob sighed again and forced his attention back to the presentation, quickly
becoming caught up in the low timbre of Master Sin’s smoky voice. “Waxing is a total experience. It doesn’t start or stop with the application of the wax. When playing out a full scene there is usually an intense build-up before one drop is ever spilled. It also doesn’t end after the wax has set. Taking it off can be as erotic as the application.” Rob’s attention never wavered as he listened to the other Dom talk about using paraffin wax, dropping it at varying heights over various parts of the body. This seemingly simple form of play was actually quite complicated, and there were a lot of things to keep track of. The longer the lecture continued the more excited he became. Rob’s cock gave a throb when Master Sin discussed the various methods of removing the cooled wax from a willing body. The list was long and varied but a secret thrill moved up his spine when the discussion moved to blades. While they weren’t the only implement one could use, they were the one that played to Rob’s personal fantasy. He pictured a short sword, ancient and deadly, stroking over smooth, golden skin. No blood, no pain, but the delicious threat of both holding him and his submissive on the edge of ecstasy. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever play with someone who would trust him enough to go there. Master Sin stood, offering his hand to help his submissive to her feet, and yanked Rob’s attention back to the present. “Since we’ve covered the basics, my beautiful submissive has volunteered to allow me to demonstrate on her just how fucking incredible a scene using wax can be.” **** Michael swallowed back a sigh as Kendra dropped her white silk robe and slid onto the table her Master had prepared, settling comfortably on her back. Her skin glowed pale against the black plastic tablecloth and her auburn hair burned like a flame. He’d played with Master Sin and Kendra on occasion and, though he preferred male partners, he’d found Kendra’s mixture of sweet innocence and carnal flame made partner play both fun and scorching hot. Master Sin began by massaging a light coat of baby oil over Kendra’s body. She arched and wriggled under his touch, and Michael wriggled a bit himself, knowing exactly how Master Sin’s hands felt on slick, warm skin. Sinclair was speaking as he prepared Kendra, explaining the types of candles he’d prepared, and the different methods of applying the wax. Since this was all old information to Michael, he took a moment to look over the group gathered in a semicircle around the staging area. He recognized several Doms, some by sight, some by
name. Many had brought their own submissives to practice on, like Master Sin and Kendra. He felt a brief pang at the sight of Kendra’s jeweled collar. It had been almost a year since his last monogamous contract had ended, and even that had been more a matter of convenience than an emotional match. Looking for a distraction, he turned his attention to the workshop attendees, and found his gaze caught by one of the non-members. The man was exactly Michael’s type. Wide shoulders filled out an obviously expensive black silk shirt, and black leather pants wrapped snugly around thick, muscular thighs. The unknown Dom had dark brown hair, cut short and tight, and a strong jaw rough with dark stubble. The urge to wriggle came back with a vengeance; the man was Michael’s every wet dream come to life. Then, as if he could feel Michael’s eyes, the man turned his head and looked straight at him. Michael caught his breath in a rush as dark eyes locked on him. From a distance they could be brown or even black, but Michael knew they were green; a green so dark it only showed in the sunlight. A green that lightened to emerald when the man was with any strong emotion. Of course the man was his type. Hell, he was the basis of the type, the original model that had infiltrated every one of Michael’s fantasies and overshadowed every one of his lovers for the last ten years. Robert Hilton. Whoever would have guessed?
Chapter One Ten Years Ago Michael was freaking freezing. Detention had let out fifteen minutes earlier and he, along with his fellow felons, had been booted out of the school to await their rides in the December chill. No late buses—oh, no, not for detainees. Michael snorted derisively, watching his breath plume in the air. All the other kids had been picked up promptly at five thirty. Of course none of them were friends of his, so none bothered to offer him a ride. Mom wasn’t answering her cell phone, which meant she was probably pulling an extra shift at the restaurant, and that meant Michael needed to head for the city bus stop. Dammit. To add insult to injury, he’d been set up. As much as he’d wanted to draw a caricature of Mr. Butler, he hadn’t done it. Hell, if he’d done it, it would have been a lot better quality. He was probably lucky all he’d gotten was detention, though. A suspension would look way bad on his record, and he wasn’t going to let anything mess with his scholarship to the Detroit Art Institute. Not even asshole World Geography teachers. Michael sighed and started down the concrete steps to the path leading around the building. Might as well get walking. At least there was a shelter at the bus stop. He was heading down the driveway when three cars whipped past him, honking and revving their engines. Perfect. Wrestling practice was letting out. Michael moved to the side of the driveway, getting as close to the edge as he could without actually stepping into the snow. He didn’t actually think any of the wrestlers would run him down, but it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to put to the test. A car pulled up next to him and slowed, and Michael felt his shoulders tense up. He’d never really been bullied, but he’d never been caught alone like this either. So when the window rolled down, he was ready for pretty much anything. “Hey, Mikey.” Rob Hilton was the captain of the wrestling team, the captain of the football team, and starting pitcher on the baseball team. He was also six feet two inches of hard muscle, with a smile that could melt ice and a dimple that made Michael want to lick chocolate out of it. “Hey, Robbie,” he answered with an irritated smirk. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he and Rob were friends. They lived down the street from each other, had been in the same classes for their entire school careers and with last names both ending in “H,” they’d been seated close to each other for-practically-ever, but Rob was a jock, a popular kid, practically king of the school, and Michael was just … just another student. “Right, right,” Rob smirked back at him. “Sorry, Michael.” Rob had given him grief about his name for as long as Michael could remember, and he figured the jackass probably always would. “Anyway, you wanna ride? I’m heading straight home.”
“Oh hell yes!” Any irritation melted at the thought of the heater in Rob’s Explorer. Home was a twenty-minute drive in traffic, so Michael settled in, heat vents aimed directly at his face. “So,” Rob cast a wicked smile in his direction, and Michael reminded himself that, unlike him, Rob liked girls. “I hear you shared your vision of Mr. Butt-head with the senior class.” “Nope. Wasn’t me.” Michael rolled his eyes at Rob’s disbelieving snort. “Seriously, dude. Did you see it? I could do ten times better with my left hand.” Rob laughed a little. “Yeah, I guess so. You always were into the Play Doh and finger paints.” “Yeah, well, we can’t all be brainless jocks, Robbie.” This time Rob’s laugh was full and rich, and his damned dimple winked at Michael, beckoning like a candle flame to a moth. “That’s what I like about you, Mikey,” he chuckled. “You aren’t intimidated by me in the least.” “Hard to be intimidated by someone you once saw eating his boogers,” Michael shot back with a small smile of his own. “Oh, so untrue,” Rob groaned. “Slander!” They arrived at Michael’s house first, and as the truck idled in his driveway, Michael realized Rob was peering down the street toward his own house, which looked every bit as dark and cold as Michael’s. He knew he’d regret it, knew Rob would turn him down and even if he didn’t, spending any time with the guy was bound to be torture, but the words came out before he could stop them. “Hey, looks like my mom’s working late again. I was gonna nuke a pizza and watch Troy for Mr. Cutter’s extra credit. Do you wanna come in?” Rob looked surprised, then pleased. Then surprised he was pleased. Michael suppressed a groan. Such a bad idea. Then Rob smiled, more tentative than his usual sunshiny beam, but somehow sweeter. “Sure. God knows I could use the extra credit. English is so not my thing.” “Brainless jock,” Michael teased, ducking the fist swinging playfully in his direction. “Okay, Forrest Gump. C’mon inside.” * Three hours and a frozen pizza later, Rob was sprawled out next to him. Somehow those long legs were stretched the length of the couch, size thirteen feet draped over Michael’s legs. Michael cast a surreptitious look up the length of Rob’s thighs. They were thick and muscular, and Michael had to force himself to look away before his gaze reached the place where they joined because Rob. Wasn’t. Gay.
“That wasn’t bad.” Rob stretched arms overhead, long body taut and way too tempting for Michael’s peace of mind. “Totally inaccurate, but not bad.” Michael busied himself with the remote; anything to distract himself from the way Rob’s Henley had pulled up during his stretch, baring a slice of lean belly. “Inaccurate how?” Rob looked interested. He also looked like he wasn’t thinking of moving any time soon. “Well, the war lasted years, not weeks. Agamemnon didn’t die. Oh, and Patroclus was Achilles’ lover, not his cousin.” Rob blinked slowly, then blinked again and seemed to notice the way he was draped all over Michael and the couch, and sat up with a jerk. “Okay, that’s just stupid,” he argued. “They were warriors, not queers.” He flushed and shot Michael a sideways look. “No offense.” Michael hadn’t “come out” at school or anything, but he hadn’t hidden his orientation, either. Yeah, he’d dealt with some bullying, some asshole-ish behavior from the other kids, but whatever. If the dickheads weren’t giving him shit because he was gay, they were picking on Patty Jakway because she was fat. Or Phil Matthews because he was just too fucking weird to exist. Michael had never gotten a homophobic vibe from Rob in the past, but then he hadn’t really spent any time with him, either. And it would definitely make sense for a popular jock like Rob to gay bash—even if it was only verbally. So maybe his voice was a little more bitter than it needed to be when he answered. “Right. A bunch of warriors, stuck a long way from home for years. No women— another inaccuracy—‘cuz there wouldn’t have been all those women around. No way to get off but their own hands.” Rob’s flush grew darker with every word Michael spoke, and something in Michael loved it, reveled in the bigger guy’s discomfort. “And did you watch the scene where they’re sparring? That wasn’t cousinly eye contact, dude.” He’d had to close his eyes through most of the scene; it had appealed to him in far too many ways. All the toned bronzed skin… The teasing banter and the light of pure enjoyment in both warriors’ eyes… The way Achilles had controlled Patroclus, keeping him in line, showing him who was boss… And he’d fucking spanked him… Just the memory made Michael’s dick twitch. “Michael,” Rob looked over, and this time he met Michael’s eyes. “Dude. I didn’t mean anything. I’m not like that.” He looked miserable, and he’d used Michael’s real name. “Look,” Michael stood, gathering up the paper plates and napkins littering the coffee table in front of them. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” He carried the trash to the kitchen and dumped it in the can under the sink. When he turned to head back, he was startled to find Rob right behind him, dirty glasses in his hands. One step and he’d be
right up against the taller guy’s chest, which would be a mistake because, again, Rob. Wasn’t. Gay. Maybe if he tattooed it to the insides of his eyelids, Michael’s dick would get the idea and stop twitching every time he looked at the guy. Rob set the glasses in the sink, and put one hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Just that, plainly spoken with no excuses. Those dark green eyes met his, serious and missing their usual mischievous twinkle. The moment stretched and the space between them filled up with silence. A strange stillness gripped Michael, something he’d never felt before. He felt the hair on his arms stand on end. The deep green of Rob’s eyes grew lighter, a thin rim around pools of black as his pupils expanded. The hand on Michael’s shoulder tightened, and so did something in Michael’s groin. And, fuck it all, Rob was not gay. “Mike? I’m home. Whose car is outside?” Michael’s mother’s voice cut through the weird moment like a razor. Like the sword Achilles had spanked Patroclus with. Rob’s eyes went wide and he jerked away from Michael like he’d been shocked. “Uh.” Michael had never seen Rob less than composed. Had never seen him at a loss for words. Rob visibly pulled himself together, and turned as Michael’s mom walked into the kitchen. “It’s mine, Mrs. Henderson. We were just watching a movie. For school,” he added quickly. “Not for, like, anything else.” His cheeks were stained deep red, and he headed for the door like the room was on fire. “Thanks for the pizza, Mikey,” he muttered. “Later, dude.” And he was gone, pulling his coat on as he jogged to his car. “Not for, like, anything else?” Michael’s mom had one eyebrow raised as Rob whipped out of the driveway. “That’s right,” Michael agreed, because it was true. That was all Rob had come for, to watch a movie for school and to put off being alone in an empty house for a few hours. That bizarre moment didn’t mean anything, and Michael was going to just put it out of his head. “Whatever you say, baby.” His mom ran an affectionate hand through his hair, pushing his bangs off his forehead. “Did you eat?” And everything was almost normal again. **** Rob froze in the doorway of the weight room when he saw who the sole occupant was. Shit. He’d known Mikey had some muscles, he’d seen him in a bathing suit during gym, but he’d never thought about how he’d gotten them. He’d avoided Michael all week, since the incredibly strange moment Tuesday night when Michael’s blue eyes had suddenly seemed almost neon, and the space between their chests had taken on the weight of an anvil.
He’d watched that damned movie a dozen or more times in the last two days. No, to be perfectly honest, he’d watched that damned scene a dozen or more times. Suddenly the universe seemed tilted. Achilles and Patroclus, lovers. The way their bodies worked together, the way the air between them crackled… it was all terrifying and inexplicably hot. But what was really freaking him out was the way his dick had come to life at the sight of Achilles smacking Patroclus’ ass with his sword. He’d gone online, had researched Achilles specifically, and Greek warriors in general. He’d learned about pederasty, which skeezed him out; but he’d also learned of the bond between the erastes, the lover, and his eromenos, his beloved. The ancient Greeks hadn’t looked down on gay men. They hadn’t actually even acknowledged homosexuality. It was all a part of a guy’s education. You rubbed off against your teacher who, hopefully, wasn’t a fat, cigarette-smoke-reeking slug like Mr. Ravi, and then you eventually grew up and married a woman. Easy peasy. So, if it was so easy, why had he woken up the last two mornings with his sheets damp and sticky, and the image of Michael naked and gleaming, his mouth pink and swollen, burning behind his eyes. Now, because he’d had to make up a test for Mr. Ravi, he was late for his workout, and Michael and his muscles were spread out in front of him like a taunt. He had every intention of walking away. He’d rig some sort of workout system at home. No way was he risking interacting with Michael after the weirdness of the movie, and the even bigger weirdness of his dreams. Even so, Rob still somehow found himself approaching the weight bench. Suddenly he was standing over Michael, and those pale blue eyes were blinking up at him in surprise. A tentative smile curved his full mouth, and Rob found himself licking his own lips. “Perfect timing,” Michael said, sliding down on the weight bench and sitting up. “I need to add more weight, but I need a spotter.” His uncertain smile flickered when Rob didn’t answer immediately. “Never mind,” he started, and Rob shook his head sharply. “No problem, dude.” No way was he going to give in to the weirdness. If he ran like a little girl, he’d be admitting something was wrong, and he wouldn’t let that be true. He made a brief gesture for Michael to go ahead and add on some weight, then stood back while the other guy slid back under the barbell. “Set of ten?” Michael nodded in acknowledgement, and Rob moved in and slid his hands into position under the heavy weight. He deliberately ignored the way the tilt of his body put his crotch almost directly over Michael’s face. And if Michael was looking at his junk, well he ignored that, too. “One…” he counted for Michael, who was now entirely focused on his lifting. Rob was focused on the lifting, too. Focused on the way Michael’s pale skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat; on the way his muscles and veins popped with the strain.
“Four, five…” Those full lips were pressed flat, pulled slightly back in a grimace. He sucked in air, and Rob was almost hypnotized by the way his belly hollowed, putting his ribcage in sharp relief. A lot of the guys lifted without a shirt on, but this was the first time Rob had really paid attention. Now he wondered with a sort of terror if he’d ever be able to ignore it again. “Eight, nine…” Michael was grunting now with every lift. His arms were shaking just a tiny bit, and Rob dragged his attention back to the task of spotting. No way was he going to let Michael get hurt because he was busy with his tongue hanging out at the way that one bead of sweat was trailing down Michael’s chest before pausing on his nipple. Fuck. “Ten.” Oh, thank God. Instead of sliding free and sitting up, though, Michael seemed to sink into the bench. Arms falling limp over his head, he just laid there with his eyes closed and kept dragging in air. Rob raked his gaze the length of Michael’s body. It didn’t mean anything, just like the ancient Greeks. He had a boner, a raging one and as he ate Michael up with his eyes, he realized the other guy did, too. His eyes whipped upward, taking in Michael’s slightly open mouth and the way those blue eyes were now locked on his face. He was moving again, body working without his brain’s permission, sliding around to stand beside the weight bench. Michael was so hot, so vulnerable, and Rob needed to touch him. He’d never felt like this, like every inch of his skin was sensitized, like every cell in his body was just waiting for the sensation of skin on skin. Fuck standing next to the weight bench. Rob moved to straddle the bench, to straddle Michael’s body, supine and still beneath him. “What…?” Michael’s hand raised, pressed palm down on Rob’s chest. No. He didn’t give Michael a chance to finish, just caught the slender, long-fingered hand in his own and pushed it back over Michael’s head. “Rob?” The confusion in those blue eyes, the hesitation in his voice, it just made Rob flatout crazy. He loved it like this, having Michael all but helpless beneath him, confused and floundering. Nothing had ever been this hot. Not the first time Andrea Zeller sucked him off in the baseball dugout. Nothing. “Hush,” he muttered, pressing his thumb over Michael’s mouth before the other guy could keep talking and shatter the moment. He was pressing hard, and the full, damp lips parted a little, giving him a hint of smooth, slick teeth. “Just shut up, dude.” Michael shut up, but he wasn’t passive. His hands lifted and locked around Rob’s wrists, and his eyes clashed with Rob’s, confusion bleeding into frustration. Rob moved quickly, terrified the moment was going to slip away; terrified this spell would somehow break and it would be him and Mikey in the weight room and all weird again instead of
this … this whatever the fuck it was that had to do with power and sweat and hard dicks straining against soft fleece workout pants. It didn’t take much effort to catch both Michael’s hands and press them back high over his head. Rob locked his fingers over Michael’s wrists, pressing him hard into the weight bench. The new position stretched him out over Michael’s body, pressed them chest to chest, and let his dick nestle naturally along Michael’s. His breath stuttered in his chest, or maybe Michael’s did, and everything went white for a second as he felt the hot ridge of Michael’s dick against his, the dampness of their pants seeping hotly into his skin and the warm jiggle of his balls against Michael’s thigh swirling through him in a rush of static. It all came back in a flood when Michael made the most incredible noise, not quite a sob, but more than a whimper, and arched into him like he was trying to dig through the layers of their pants and get to Rob’s dick through sheer force of will. Michael’s desperation, the frantic twisting of his body and the soft, choked-off sounds he was making filled Rob’s head, but instead of freaking him out—because, after all, Michael was a guy—Michael’s complete loss of restraint filled Rob with a soul-deep calm. Oh, his dick was still hard enough to hit a baseball with, but all at once Rob was in complete control of himself. Michael tugged at his wrists, and Rob’s hips jerked in reaction. Okay, he was mostly in control of himself. Just like Achilles, just like the Greeks, Rob was working with Michael. Training. Not having sex. Not gay. Just a little stress relief. Michael’s legs were spread wantonly open, straddling the bench, and Rob took full advantage, bending his knees to settle deeper against the straining body beneath him. He burrowed down, wriggling until the base of his dick pressed into the giving flesh of Michael’s balls. Michael made a choked cry again, and one leg lifted, wrapping around Rob’s hip and opening Michael up even more for the press of Rob’s body. So fucking good. Their pants, damp with sweat and pre-cum, created a soft abrasion that was blowing Rob’s mind. Michael’s, too, if the way he was jerking his hips in time with Rob’s slow grinding was any indication. Leaning up, Rob fumbled until he was holding both Michael’s wrists in one hand, his free hand coasting down the sweat-slick length of Michael’s torso. Hot, silky skin jumped and shivered beneath his rough fingertips. He hooked his fingers under the elastic waist of Michael’s pants and tugged. They both caught their breath, then groaned when the press of their bodies together kept him from doing more than bunching the pants low on Michael’s hips. With an almost soundless curse, Rob lifted up just enough to yank his pants down enough to bare his dick, then to drag Michael’s pants down around his thighs. The sight of Michael’s prick, thick and hard and long, with a fat head glazed and shiny with precum, almost broke the spell, almost made this about sex, and not some archaic warrior’s
ritual. But then Michael shifted and his erection swayed up, brushing against Rob’s, and the resulting sparks burned away reality. He dropped down hard enough to startle a low oomph out of Michael, and rubbed his balls all over his captive’s prick. It was so silky against him, hot and hard and nothing like the time he’d rubbed off on Stacie’s thighs. It was strength against strength. It was the strain in his hand and arm from keeping Michael’s wrists pinned, keeping Michael helpless. It was the fire in those pale blue eyes, the strong male jaw and the surprisingly full, lush lips he absolutely did not want to kiss, because this wasn’t about sex, never mind that it was the most sexual, erotic thing he’d ever done. He needed more, and needed it now, so he reached up and cupped Michael’s damp jaw in his hand. Tilting Michael’s head roughly he held up his palm. “Get it wet,” he said, well, more like he grunted it in time with the way his hips were thrusting, sliding his dick against Michael’s. Michael’s eyes went wide and, if possible, even hotter. Then the smaller guy slowly turned his head. Slowly opened his mouth, and slowly ran his tongue over Rob’s fingers and palm until they were drenched. Fuck. So fucking, fucking hot. Rob was moving like a machine now, like a man in a trance, like something not human, just made of sheer lust. He kept up the motion of his hips, grinding their dicks together, but now he added in some hand action, too. Reaching down he caught both their dicks in his now slippery grasp and began to pull, jerking them together, fast and rough and paying lots of attention to their cock-heads, which were now putting out enough precum to make everything slick and heady. Michael’s hips were jerking, too. Breathless grunts escaped him with each hard tug. He’d dropped his head back on the weight bench, baring the line of his neck, and for an insane second Rob wanted to lick a trail from the base of his throat to his ear. That was crazy, though, and he distracted himself by pressing harder on Michael’s trapped wrists. Michael must have liked it because the pressure on his wrists combined with a particularly intense twist around the heads of their dicks dragged a raw sound from his throat and suddenly Rob’s hand on their dicks was beyond slick, was fucking sliding on cum, on Michael’s cum, and then on his own as he felt the orgasm wrench through him, practically turning him inside out. He hovered over Michael, eyes closed, breath rattling in his throat, for what seemed like ages. He didn’t realize he’d let Michael’s wrists loose until one of those long, slender hands cupped his cheek. A soft touch to his mouth had his eyes snapping open just in time to see Michael lowering his head, a faint smile on his full lips. Michael’d kissed him? All the panic and confusion he’d shoved down fountained back up and Rob scuttled backwards off the weight bench, practically landing on his ass on the floor. “Rob? Are you okay?” Shit, Michael’s voice was all rough and deep; he sounded like he’d been having sex, but dammit sex wasn’t what had happened. It wasn’t. All his
emotions must have been written on his face, because Michael sat up slowly, like he didn’t want to scare him, and spoke softly. “It’s gonna be fine, Rob. It’s a big deal, but it’s gonna be totally fine.” “A big deal?” Rob was working hard to sound dismissive and not panicked. “There’s no big deal. Nothing happened.” He faltered a bit when he noticed the slickness on his hand, but he quickly scrubbed the spunk off on his pants and hopped to his feet. “Look,” he continued, moving quickly toward the door, “I’m gonna wait and work out tomorrow. You just go on with your lifting.” Michael was staring at him with wide blue eyes, clearly trying to figure out if he’d lost his fucking mind. “Uh, don’t you think we should talk about this?” “Nothin’ to talk about, dude,” Rob stammered, backing toward the door. “Nothing at all.” **** It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, it had been crystal clear Rob wasn’t okay with what they’d done Friday night in the weight room. Michael shivered a little at the memory. There weren’t a whole lot of openly gay guys running around Ferndale High, but even if there had been, even if he’d been touched like that by fifteen other dudes, Michael didn’t think anything would compare to the feel of Rob holding him down, the slick and rough of his hand on Michael’s prick, and the orgasm that had practically shorted out Michael’s brain. And Rob had come just as hard, dammit. Michael knew he had. But he’d also freaked afterward, even though he wouldn’t admit it. It had been in his eyes, nearly black and almost shocky looking, and in the tense lines around his mouth. So, knowing how freaked Rob was, it shouldn’t have surprised Michael at all to come into school Monday morning and find Rob pressing a cheerleader—Michael wasn’t sure which one, they were all tanned, blonde and had names like Sandy and Mindy—up against his locker while he used his tongue to do an inventory of her tonsils. And maybe surprise wasn’t the right word. Maybe, though it pissed him the hell off to admit it, what he was feeling was hurt. Because he’d never even dreamed up something like what they’d done on the weight bench, and dammit all, he wanted more and he wanted it with Rob. As if he’d heard Michael thinking his name, Rob lifted his head, lips parting from Cheerleader Barbie’s with a smacking sound as her lip gloss tried to keep them stuck together. If Rob’s eyes flickered a bit when he caught sight of Michael, well, Suction Cup Barbie fixed that by attaching her lips to the angle of his jaw, and just that easily Rob shut him out, erased what they’d done—what he’d done to Michael—with one leering smile at the pair of boobs disguised as a girl he was pressing up against the locker.
Michael took a deep breath and reminded himself there were only five months left of school. Five months until the Art Institute and, hopefully, someone who’d blow the memory of Rob Hilton out of his head forever.
Chapter Two Present Day “Okay those are the basics of wax play. It’s up to you to be creative, to find the ways to send your submissive flying. And never forget, like any play, it’s paramount you care for your sub after any scene.” Master Sin continued to massage oil on Kendra’s reddened flesh. “Now I’ll bring out our house submissives and those of you without partners may choose one to experiment with.” Rob watched as several submissives entered the staging area. Male and female, the submissives wore purple silk robes over smooth, bare skin that all but begged to be worked over until it was pink and flushed. Rob made it halfway down the line when a pair of blues eyes so pale they nearly glowed caught his attention. For a moment he was frozen to the chair as a face from his past came into view. Though he was ten years older, Michael hadn’t changed much. The face that had haunted his dreams had filled out more. The body was a little less slender, but still rippled with lean muscles under satiny looking skin. He was hot as fucking Hell. “Masters, you may now choose your partners for this evening,” Sin invited. Rob needed no further invitation. He stood and walked straight to Michael. Those pale blues eyes looked up at him, full of cool speculation. “Well, isn’t this a surprise?” Rob shrugged his shoulders. “What can I say? Life is full of them.” What a lameass line that was. He figured he could be cut some slack though, since he couldn’t have been more shocked than he was at the moment. “Shall we?” He really didn’t want an answer. No, what he wanted was to pin Michael to the wall and re-enact a scene from Brokeback Mountain. He smiled slightly; knowing Michael’s penchant for movies, it probably would have been right up his alley. “You aren’t going to flake out this time?” The barb shouldn’t have stung, but it did. “I’ll let that comment slide—this time.” He led Michael to the table farthest away from the group. The other man reached for the belt on his robe, but Rob stopped him. “Allow me.” He grasped the belt and slowly pulled it free. He watched as the front fell open to reveal tight, tanned skin. His cock filled as he let his gaze travel over every inch of exposed flesh. He groaned inwardly as his eyes halted when they reached the tiny white loincloth covering the other man’s dick. Michael shrugged, letting the robe drop to the floor. His body was tanned to a pale gold and as smooth as carved marble, a perfect foil for the length of almost black hair falling to his shoulders and into his eyes and the deep rose nipples, which stood at attention, pierced by titanium barbells. Rob wondered how Michael would react if he
reached out and tugged one of those piercings. His dick throbbed at the thought. “How do you want me?” Michael’s matter-of-fact nonchalance was like sandpaper over exposed nerves. Rob didn’t understand his own visceral reaction to Michael’s attitude—or maybe he understood all too well—and the Dom in him took over. “On your back, like all good bottoms should be.” Michael merely raised a brow and crawled onto the table. Rob’s attention turned to a shorter table which was fully stocked with the various items Master Sin had demonstrated. He picked a fat white pillar candle and lit it. It would take a little while for the wax to pool in the center, but that was okay. He knew how to fill the time. Reaching over he picked up some baby oil and turned back to Michael. The other man had put his hands behind his head and waited with his eyes closed. Rob took a deep breath, trying to calm the slight panic running through him. He’d hadn’t been this rattled when it came to touching another person since … since his encounter with Michael in the weight room, but that had been ten years ago and he was a different man now. Back then he’d panicked and run like Hell. He wasn’t that kid anymore and he was going to show Michael exactly who was in charge and knock the whatever look right off his smug face. An idea struck, and Rob set the oil down, bending to retrieve the silk sash of Michael’s robe. When he tapped Michael’s wrists, the submissive raised an eyebrow, but obediently lifted up, allowing Rob to wrap the sash around his wrists several times, binding them together before directing Michael to return them to behind his head. Rob gave a little smile of satisfaction. Michael spread out like a feast had featured in so many of his secret fantasies. The reality was fucking amazing. He grabbed the oil and tipped the bottle to drizzle a thin line down the middle of Michael’s chest, stopping where the loincloth started. Placing his hands on the smooth expanse of the submissive’s torso he smoothed the oil in slow circular motions, letting his thumbs trail across the other man’s nipples to test their sensitivity and smiling again as he felt Michael try to suppress a shiver. His fingers dug lightly into Michael’s pecs, running down to his waist and back up again. Michael’s body tensed slightly, but his eyes remained closed, his face calm. Picking up the bottle once more, Rob poured a slow stream of oil on the top of Michael’s thighs. Using his palms, he worked the silky liquid up and under the loincloth. The pad of his thumb scraped against the soft skin of the sub’s balls. This time Michael jumped and his eyes popped open. The loincloth moved as Michael’s cock began to swell. Rob fought off the urge to touch it and instead slid his hands back down as slowly as he’d begun. He was determined to have Michael moaning his name by the time the scene was finished. God knew he was ready to cream his pants at any second. Setting the oil down, Rob picked up the candle, swirling the melted wax around the
top. He held it several inches above his wrist and let a few drops fall. The wax was hot but not blistering, and cooled within seconds. Turning back, he held it over the base of Michael’s throat. Raising it several inches he tipped it and dribbled the wax in a straight line down to his belly button. Michael squirmed, a tiny movement, but it was not the response Rob was looking for. Rob examined the cooling wax, shuddering when he realized the plain white candle wax looked like a streak of cum on Michael’s golden abdomen. Michael’s squirming had stopped as quickly as it had started and he lay once again still and serene. It grated on Rob’s nerves, the way Michael seemed to have shut him out. It could be any Dom working him; Michael would be affected no more or less. Determined to get his submissive’s attention, Rob turned back to the table that held his practice instruments. In addition to the pillar candle, there were several votives, some plain white, some richly colored. There was also a silver and black crock-pot set up almost like a double boiler and half-filled with melted wax. Next to the crock-pot lay a selection of implements: a shallow ladle, several paintbrushes of varying thicknesses and textures, something that looked like an old-fashioned honey-dipper. Finally, an ice bucket containing ice and a small pot of aloe-vera gel completed the assortment. Remembering Master Sin’s directive that in wax play it was important to build the sensations, Rob lifted the softest and thickest of the paintbrushes and dipped it into the pot of melted wax. It dripped in thick strands from the bristles when he lifted it, and he smiled in satisfaction. Moving quickly so the wax didn’t have time to begin to set, Rob brushed the wax along the path from Michael’s navel to the base of his cock, creating a feathery pattern on either side of the line he’d already dribbled there. Michael sighed, and some of the tension Rob hadn’t even realized gripped the submissive eased from his body. Rob continued his artwork, painting swirls and loops along Michael’s ribcage, watching the slender body relax more and more into the table. There was a deep satisfaction in that, in knowing it was his touch giving his submissive ease. Giving Michael ease. After his less-than-enthusiastic greeting, Rob had wondered if Michael would really be able to submit to him. He still did wonder. The other man might deny it, but Rob knew there had to be a lot of anger there, a lot of resentment, and while he didn’t like to admit it, the resentment was deserved. Michael sighed again, and Rob pulled his mind back to the present and to the mouthwatering picture before him. Dipping the brush again, he painted thick circles around first one nipple, then the other. Michael’s breath caught a little, his chest rising sharply, but his eyes stayed closed, and he gave no other reaction. It was time to up the stakes, Rob decided. Turning again to the table, he traded the paintbrush for the honey-dipper. Gathering a generous amount of wax on the ball, he
turned and flicked the molten liquid over Michael’s pecs. Michael gasped and tensed, his eyelids going tight for a moment. Rob did it again, this time aiming for the sensitive skin along the submissive’s sides, then the curve of his ribcage, then the tender hollow of his hips. There was no pattern to his spattering. Michael had no way to prepare himself, and it was clearly, finally, getting to him. He shifted on the table, graceful movements that tried to predict where and when the next volley of hot wax would land. That was better, but Rob still wanted more. Returning to the pillar candle he’d started with, he looked with satisfaction at the deep pool of wax collected around the wick. He’d wanted Michael to open his eyes, to acknowledge who it was giving him pain and pleasure, but his ego hadn’t allowed him to command it. He wanted Michael to do it on his own. Now he was glad for Michael’s closed eyes. It gave him the element of surprise. Candle in one hand, he reached into the ice bucket and plucked out a cube with the other. He poured a drop over one nipple and this time he was rewarded as a hiss escaped the other man. The hiss turned into a sharp cry and Michael’s eyes flew open as Rob quickly ran the ice cube over the hot wax, chilling it to hardness, and leaving drops of cold water beading on Michael’s areola. He imagined the sensation of the wax heating and the ice chilling the barbell was pretty damned intense. The submissive’s eyes locked on the candle, and Rob smiled as he repeated the action to the other nipple and got another hiss, and another strangled cry. Fuck, the man was gorgeous. Blue eyes wide and practically glowing, full lips damp and parted, chest heaving and erection tenting the white cotton loincloth, Michael was a feast laid out before him, and Rob was starving. And, Rob noted with more than a little satisfaction, the submissive was anything but indifferent now. Picking up the ladle, Rob filled it with wax and drizzled a thin, zig-zagging line over Michael’s tight abs. At the same time he trailed the fingers of his other hand slowly up Michael’s inner thigh. He knew the contrast of the hot wax and the relative coolness of his touch would drive the man wild, and he was right. With each drop of wax and each stroke of a finger, the other man’s cock rose higher and harder under the scant material hiding it. Master Sin had given them all permission to take the submissives as far as Master and slave were comfortable with, and Rob wanted to see Michael writhing on the table. He hooked two fingers into the bottom of the loincloth and with the other hand moved a line of wax up Michael’s left thigh, raising the interfering piece of clothing as he continued. There were no safe words, because this wasn’t really a proper scene. Just the understanding that at any minute Michael could tell him to stop, could end the experiment with a word. The other man never stopped him from going further, though, and before long the cloth was raised high on Michael’s hips.
Michael’s cock was fully engorged, long and thick and fucking edible. A bead of pre-cum trembled at the tip, and Rob’s mouth watered with the sudden need to taste it. His own cock was throbbing in time with the submissive’s breaths, and he thought if he merely watched Michael much longer he’d explode. He wanted to suck Michael down and make him writhe. He wanted to climb over him, to recreate their frantic dry hump on the weight bench all those years ago, but take it further. He wanted to mount the fucking table and shove his dick into Michael’s generous mouth, to feel the other man’s tongue glide along his hard flesh while he owned the man. How the fuck had this little experiment been turned around on him? Rob didn’t know, but he did know playtime was over. Never mind it was a workshop and not a scene. Never mind this was about practicing technique, and not stripping his submissive bare. Now it was time to break the maddening reserve Michael had wrapped around himself. Now it was time for Michael to truly submit.
Chapter Three It took every ounce of willpower Michael possessed not to beg Rob to take him. From the moment those dark green eyes had caught his he’d known he was fucked. Trying to play it off was not going to work for long and that scared the shit out of him. Sure, what had happened between them was a long time ago, but it had left a small hole in his heart. Adolescence was such a vulnerable time in any kid’s life, but when the kid was gay it was even worse. In his mind he’d known back then, as he did now, that he was out of his depth with Rob. Their tryst had been nothing more than a tiny flash compared to the rest of their lives, but Michael wasn’t a fool and he recognized that this man could do some serious damage to his heart if he allowed it. Even letting him know how his very touch made him crazy could be disastrous. “Put your hands over your head.” Michael turned his head at Rob’s demand. He was a well-trained submissive and didn’t think twice. He removed his hands from behind his head and stretched them to the top of the table. Rob unwound the purple sash and dropped it to the floor. Then he took one of the Velcro cuffs attached to the table and locked one of his hands down. After trailing a finger down the inside of Michael’s arm and dragging a shiver from him, Rob repeated the action on his other wrist. Then Rob did something utterly unexpected, and completely devastating. Moving with slow purpose, the Dom moved each of Michael’s legs, spreading them wide until they dangled over the sides of the table. Michael’s dick hardened even more with being restrained. He loved feeling helpless, loved the anticipation of what was to come. Even more, he was totally getting off on the fact Rob had almost perfectly recreated his position on the weight bench. Added to that the look of focused determination on Rob’s face, which Michael recognized as the look of a Dom with an agenda, and Michael shuddered uncontrollably. Rob was on a mission to prove he could bend Michael to his will, and Michael was afraid the man was already more than halfway there. The Dom retrieved the oil, letting the liquid slide down the base of Michael’s cock and flow over his balls. His cock was fucking aching, his balls so tight and swollen he was surprised they hadn’t spontaneously combusted. He arched on the table, offering himself, begging with his body for something. A touch, a taste, Hell, even a look would probably set him off at this point. But Rob refused to look at him as he waved the candle over Michael’s groin, so the only thing Michael could do was hold his breath and wait for the first delicious drop of liquid heat touch his dick or balls. “Do you want some more?” Rob’s breath tickled his ear. You can handle this. Take the pleasure. There’s nothing between the two of you. Take the pleasure. “Yes,” he murmured. “I want more.”
He was rewarded as Rob slowly allowed the hot liquid to fall down his swollen shaft, engulfing it in a white waterfall of wax. He hissed his pleasure and pain through clenched teeth, and his hips rose to meet the sweet elixir that caused just the right amount of sting but so much more satisfaction. Rob’s other hand was busy caressing his thigh, never quite touching his ball sac or dick. He felt the heat of those caresses and wished the other man would touch him, squeeze or pinch him. He didn’t really care, just as long as Rob kept his hands on him. His entire body was on fire from his hair to his toes and he fought his reactions. Rob was taking him to a place he hadn’t been in a long time, a place of pure sensation, of bliss. Michael knew he could let himself go there just this once. It was public, it was practice and here his heart was safe. He relaxed his entire body and slid into the space every sub hopes to achieve, allowing Rob to take him to the heights of desire and lust a good Dom sometimes could. But this was more than playing with a talented Dom, no matter how much Michael might pretend otherwise. It was the fact it was Rob who had him flying. It was Rob’s touch he needed, Rob’s approval he craved. He twisted his hands in the cuffs as Rob continued to tease him with possibilities. In slow motion Rob tipped the candle slightly and Michael watched a single drop of wax fall through the air, landing perfectly on the crown of his cock. And that was it. He came in a rush, dick flexing in its prison of hardened wax as he exploded in a fountain of painful pleasure. He heard cries as if from a distance, strangled sobs and choked-back moans, and it took a minute for him to realize he was the one making all that noise. It felt like he came for hours, a molten flow of cum every bit as hot as the wax covering him. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t do anything but writhe in his bonds. And then, just when he thought he was done, Rob dipped his head and caught the very tip of Michael’s cock in his mouth. He’d thought he was wrung out, drained dry, but he’d been wrong. With one flick of his tongue, Rob wrenched a final, agonizing spasm from the base of Michael’s balls, so deep he thought the Dom might just be sucking spinal fluid out along with cum. He forced his eyes open as Rob lifted off, and shuddered all over again when the bigger man swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, smearing a trickle of Michael’s seed over his skin before leisurely licking it clean. **** Five days later Rob could still taste Michael. Could still feel the velvety skin of Michael’s cock-head. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was taut muscled skin and pale blue eyes staring up at him.
It had been the single most erotic act of his life, and he hadn’t even fucking come. Well, not until he was home with nothing but his fist and his lube and the memory of Michael—Michael at seventeen, Michael at twenty-seven, made no difference, the man was sex on legs at any age. Then he’d come. Repeatedly. With Michael’s name and the memory of Michael’s taste on his lips. He’d finally broken down and let his fingers do the walking, needing the other man’s phone number. There was unfinished business between them, and no matter how much Rob wanted to believe what happened in high school hadn’t mattered, the truth was it did. Did he want forgiveness, some sort of absolution from Michael for the way he’d treated him? Maybe. Hell, for the first time since his confusion back then, Rob was filled with a kind of emptiness that made sleeping impossible. He knew if he could only tell Michael he was sorry for his past behavior, then he’d be able to wake up in the morning without this constant knot lodged in his stomach. He tried not to even think about what he wanted from Michael now. It was so much easier to just tell himself that once he’d apologized properly everything would be okay again. Deep inside, though, Rob was afraid it wasn’t true. He’d had a taste of the man, and he wanted more. Amazingly enough, Michael’s phone number was listed. After a painfully awkward conversation filled with uncomfortable silence on both sides, Michael agreed to see him. Rob was ridiculously relieved. Now he was sitting at a small table in Velvet Ice, his nerves on edge. Michael had left his name with the head of security, allowing Rob temporary access to the club’s notorious third floor. The same floor where only a week ago he’d had Michael strapped down to a table and writhing with pleasure. He tried to appear at ease, sitting leisurely in a leather chair watching the open play area before him. He’d been approached by subs, both male and female, offering up their services for the evening. His dick said maybe, but his head, his heart, turned them down. Not until he talked to Michael. He nursed his beer for a good ten minutes until he saw the other man across the floor. He swallowed hard; Michael was truly beautiful to look at as he walked toward Rob as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Dressed only in a pair of leather pants and boots, his chest was bare. Hard pecs and sculpted abs called to Rob. His skin was lightly oiled and his nipples both sported barbells through them. Oh, and then there was the collar. Plain black leather with an intricate “V-I” worked into it, about an inch wide, and clearly worn soft with use, the collar marked Michael as clearly as a brand as everything Rob needed to get off. Fuck, he was in trouble. How the hell was he supposed to apologize when his mouth was so fucking dry he knew he wouldn’t be able to get a word out?
Michael stopped in front of him. Rob pointed the chair next to him. “Have a seat.” His dick thumped against his zipper as Michael sprawled across from him. He couldn’t help but notice that while Michael had kept his eyes down and had nodded deferentially at several other Doms as he crossed the floor, now Michael showed no signs of submissiveness. Just a sort of detached curiosity that made Rob crazy to break through and get to some real emotion. “You said on the phone you had something important to talk about.” Pale eyes never left his face as he waited for Rob to begin. “Where do I start?” Rob couldn’t believe how tongue-tied he felt. He was a successful trial lawyer, for Pete’s sake. He made his living with his words. This was his opportunity to make amends, to see where the other man stood where he was concerned, and he was about to blow it because he couldn’t spit the damned words out. “How about at the beginning?” “I’m sorry,” he said in a rush. “For the way I treated you after … the gym.” Michael blinked but his expression remained relaxed, unchanged. “Okay.” Okay… Okay? “It wasn’t about you. I didn’t know who I was. Hell, wanting you was a big fucking shock to me. Admitting I was attracted to another guy scared the shit out of me.” Michael shrugged but didn’t react much otherwise. “I figured as much. How could the star football player be gay?” The submissive’s voice was cordial, but Rob didn’t miss the edge in those blue eyes, and his chest constricted to the point he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to draw another breath. Impulsively he reached out and grasped Michael’s hand. “I’m not that kid anymore. I’m not afraid of who I am anymore. I just need you to understand I’m sorry I treated you the way I did.” Michael slipped his hand out of Rob’s grasp. “If you need to hear it, then fine, you’re forgiven. It was a long time ago, Rob. I’m totally okay, and have been for many years.” Somehow that didn’t quite ring true, but there was no flicker in Michael’s gaze. Of course, there wasn’t much emotion at all in Michael’s gaze. Still, if Michael had forgiven him, maybe… “Do you think…?” He didn’t even get the question out before Michael stood. “Hey, we’re cool, Rob, but I have to get back to work now.” He turned his back to Rob—an action that fairly screamed he didn’t see Rob as Dominant to him—and walked away as casually as he’d come. Rob picked up his beer, only now his fingers were shaking. He’d been given forgiveness but it felt empty. There was no relief running through his veins. No, the only thing he was feeling was the soul-deep need to have Michael naked and on his knees
before him. The need to see that dark head bowed as the submissive shivered in anxious pleasure. He felt the ghost of Michael’s hand in his and he wanted more. He needed more. There was no way in Hell he was letting things end here. There was no doubt in his mind; Michael was meant to be his. He scanned the room and spotted Master Sin. Mind made up, he stood and approached the events coordinator of Velvet Ice. **** Michael had been summoned to Master Brady Ryder’s office, a place he hadn’t set foot in since his initial job interview. He was terrified for no other reason than because it was Brady. The badass boss of Velvet Ice tended to have that effect on most people who came into contact with the scary recluse. Praying no one had made a complaint against him, he knocked on the door and opened it when the gravelly voice behind it commanded him to enter. The Master was sitting behind his large beat-up desk, an application folder in his hand. “Mike. Sit.” It was on the tip on his tongue to correct Brady and tell him it was Michael, not Mike, but one look at the huge, tattooed Dom and Michael thought better and clamped his lips tight. Brady sat back. “Mistress Violet brought me a new application from a prospective Dom this morning. My inclination is to accept, but it’s come to my attention you may have an issue with him.” Michael felt his brows rise. This was the last thing he’d expected. While he knew Master Brady was beyond careful of the Club submissives, he’d never heard of quite this level of concern before. Brady slid a folder across the massive desktop, and his large tattooed biceps drew Michael’s gaze like a moth to a flame. He didn’t know whether he wanted to shiver in anticipation or in fear. He forced himself to breathe; he wasn’t here because of something he’d done. He’d been brought into the tiger’s den because of an applicant. Forcing his eyes away from the charismatic Dom, he saw the name on the application and sighed. He should have known it was Rob. The grown-up version of his high school crush had already been haunting his dreams, and now he was doing a pretty damned good job of tormenting his waking hours, too. Michael’s body reacted instantly, heating and growing hard. Dammit, how was he suppose to forget about the first man who ever broke his heart if he kept showing up and now he wanted to become a member of Michael’s own club? “Mike, I need to know if there is some compelling reason why I should give this guy a no.”
Michael didn’t know how to respond. “I know you two have a past,” the big Dom continued. When Michael opened his mouth to reply, Brady held up his hand. “I don’t want to know the details. Trust me, I’ve been told enough.” Michael’s mind reeled at the thought of Rob sharing the story of their single, disastrous tryst with the formidable Brady Ryder. Oh, God. He forced himself to relax as Brady’s scowl softened just the tiniest bit. “I won’t allow him in if he’s going to cause you any trouble.” The club owner was acting like a papa bear. Michael felt dizzy and his chest warmed. He’d been so alone since his mother’s death during his first year of college, and Velvet Ice had provided him a pseudo family, people who understood him and cared for him. The fact Brady was among them threatened to crack Michael’s composure. Michael flicked his eyes back to the application. As much as he’d like to deny it, Rob becoming a member of the Club would probably present all kinds of problems for him. Hell, the man’s apology two nights before had almost gutted Michael. But he couldn’t very well tell Master Brady to reject Rob’s membership just because the guy had broken his heart ten years ago. He might be submissive, but he wasn’t a crybaby. Besides, there was no way he was going to whine to his boss about his personal life. “No, Sir, I don’t have a reason why you shouldn’t grant the application.” “Are you sure?” The other man was searching his face as if looking for proof of his feelings. Michael shook his head. “I’m sure.” He pushed the folder back to Brady. “Fine. I’ll have Mistress Violet process it.” Brady closed the folder and shoved it aside. “You can go.” Michael stood and backed respectfully toward the door, but Master Brady’s voice stopped him. “Mike,” the big man looked oddly uncomfortable, almost reluctant. “If there ever is a problem you’ll tell me.” It wasn’t a request. Michael shivered, nodded his head and exited the room. On the other side of the door, he leaned against the wall trying to quell his trembling. What the hell had he just done? Invited Rob into his world, that’s what he’d done. During the wax demonstration Rob had stripped him of nearly every bit of control. The Dom had taken him to another world and rocked him to the core, but Michael sure as Hell wasn’t about to let Rob know it. He was a grown man and could deal with Rob being in the club. He’d just have to make sure he wasn’t around him. It wouldn’t be difficult to keep himself busy and out of the way whenever the other man was present. One thing was for sure—Michael would have to go into survival mode in the same way he had so many years ago, when Rob had broken his heart. But he was ten years older now, and ten years wiser; a well-trained professional submissive who could handle anything, and that included Robert Hilton.
He’d just keep telling himself that.
Chapter Four Rob leaned back, elbows propped on the bar, and let his eyes wander over the public space of Velvet Ice’s third floor. It looked like a dance floor, and sometimes it was. As he understood it, there was only dancing three nights of the week. The other three nights the club was open were reserved for public play and performances. The open space ended at a set of tall, smoked glass doors which he knew led to private and semi-private areas for staging scenes. He imagined that was where he’d do most of his playing. Beyond those areas Rob knew there were a number of private, personally owned rooms, as well. He let his gaze travel around the room again. Velvet Ice was like a puzzle box, full of secret chambers and unexpected treasures. His scan of the room stuttered and stopped, stalled at the sight of a slender, darkhaired submissive who was kneeling at the feet of a voluptuous blonde. Funny how, even from behind, he knew Michael the second he saw him. The straight line of the man’s spine above his snug black pants. The almost-black hair, which he’d pulled back into a stubby tail at the nape of his neck. The sharp, elegant curve of his jaw. And funny how just the sight of Michael from across the room triggered a flood of sensory memories. He could almost feel the satin of the submissive’s pale skin under his fingers, could almost taste the bitter-salt taste of Michael’s cum. He wanted more; more touch, more taste. He wanted to learn every sound the submissive made when he was flying, every gasp and moan. He wanted Michael, plain and simple. It pissed him off beyond words that Michael appeared to be occupied for the evening. And he didn’t know if it made it better or worse that it was a Domina who was monopolizing Michael’s attention. Better, maybe, because Rob knew which way Michael’s preferences went. Worse because he couldn’t stop thinking about how he could make Mikey fly so much better than she could. He didn’t even attempt to force his gaze away from the pair, only giving a slight smile and nod when the Domina raised a brow at his scrutiny. He didn’t scowl, though he wanted to, when she reached out and ran a long, candy-pink nail over Michael’s cheek. He wasn’t so successful in keeping his expression blank, though, when Michael gave her a soft smile in return and rested his cheek against the silky skin bared by a short, creamcolored leather skirt. Just about the time Rob was ready to move from beer to gin, another man joined the Domina and Rob’s submissive. This man had every appearance of being a major, scary-assed Dom, maybe even as intimidating as the big, bald owner of the club. To Rob’s extreme surprise, though, the big man knelt next to Michael and pressed a slow,
sensual kiss to the Domina’s thigh. Michael gave the big, dark-haired sub a wicked smile and said something that had both Mistress and submissive laughing. The luscious blonde ruffled Michael’s hair playfully, pulling silken looking strands loose of their band. Michael said something else, eyes now cast respectfully toward the floor. The beefy submissive gave his Mistress a questioning look, not resisting, but clearly not particularly excited to begin a three-way scene. Rather than answering, the Domina tipped Michael’s chin up with one slender finger, and turned his head in Rob’s direction. Rob had already liked the woman just on the basis of her smile. Knowing she’d defer to his painfully obvious interest in the sub at her feet made him like her even more. It was hard, but Rob suppressed his hungry smile—mostly—when Michael’s eyes locked on him. He realized just how little he’d hidden when those blue eyes went wide and a little panicked. The panic gave him hope. Michael’d done such a good job of hiding his emotions; Rob had almost begun to believe the submissive really didn’t feel anything for him. The hunted look in Michael’s eyes let Rob know he did affect the other man. Not only did he affect him, with that one look Rob knew he could push Michael past any number of boundaries. The lovely Domina noticed Michael’s reaction, too. Standing, she hooked a finger in the plain, black leather collar Michael wore to proclaim his status as submissive and began to lead the slender man in his direction. Michael should have looked awkward, or diminished. The woman was tugging him along behind her, on his knees. Instead of looking humiliated, though, Michael just looked vulnerable and fucking lickable. Rob’s mouth began to water. The big submissive had risen and was following them, eyes on the floor as was proper. Somehow, in spite of his obvious submissive attitude, he managed to emote a sense of danger which only served to highlight the studied femininity of his Mistress. She gave Rob a slow, sultry smile when they arrived at his table. Michael’s eyes were resolutely glued to the floor but the other sub, who’d dropped easily to his knees by his Domina’s feet, was examining him closely. Rob could practically feel that gray gaze slice through him. “Introduce us, sweet thing.” Rob had to smile. Her voice was honey and magnolias; sweet thing came out more like sweet thang. “Mistress Megan,” Michael’s voice was the tiniest bit tight, and his eyes stayed glued to the Domina’s stilettos. “This is Robert Hilton. Rob, meet Mistress Megan.” The Domina gave Michael a less than gentle tap on the cheek. “Don’t you mean Master Rob, sweetness?” Rob could see Michael’s teeth clenching. He knew he should let the man hang, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let another Dominant discipline his submissive.
“Mikey knew me long before I was anything other than plain old Rob. I think it’s hard for him to wrap his mind around my being a grown-up, let alone a Master.” Shooting what he knew had to be a smug look in Michael’s direction, he added, “He’ll get over it.” He offered the woman his most charming smile and his hand. “It’s good to meet you,” he added. “I just knew you and Michael must have some sort of history. I’ve never seen him ignore anyone so thoroughly.” Her laughter was rich and a little husky. “I thought, since the two of you seem completely caught up, and my sugar is here,” she stroked her fingers through her submissive’s short black hair, “it would be greedy for me to monopolize two of Velvet Ice’s most delicious subs.” Michael was going to crack a tooth if he ground them any harder. Rob felt his smile grow. “You are too generous.” He kissed the back of Megan’s hand, noting with interest the way her submissive’s eyes darkened at the caress. “And I will happily accept that generosity.” Mistress Megan gave him another smile, then led her brick wall of a man away, full ass swaying with every step. Rob watched appreciatively before turning to the submissive who was no longer on his knees, and who was now giving him a direct and rather unfriendly look. “Come have a drink with me,” he invited casually, although everything in him was demanding he knock the legs right out from under Michael and get him back in an appropriately submissive posture. The urge grew even stronger as Michael took a visible breath before answering. “I can’t tonight.” His gaze didn’t waver, but something dark seemed to lurk in those cool blue depths. “I’m working.” Rob raised a brow. “But not working too hard to play with Mistress Megan and her sub?” Michael shook his head. “No, playing with Mistress Megan and Gregori—or with whichever Dom or Domina I agree to partner with for the night—is my job. I’m a club submissive. I’m available for unattached Dominants to stage scenes with.” Rob nodded. He’d thought Michael’s job was something like along those lines. “Well, that fits in perfectly with my invitation. I’m an unattached Dom, and I’d love to share a drink with you, and to discuss maybe sharing more.” Michael’s eyes widened for just a moment, then the smaller man blinked hard and shook his head. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, sounding just a little wigged out. “But this is my job, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring old baggage to work.” With that, Michael walked away from him. Again. And again turning his back in a show of equality that rubbed every Dominant instinct Rob had in the wrong way. Rob watched him go with narrowed eyes. Plan A, approaching him openly, hadn’t worked. Time for a Plan B.
* Michael leaned against the wall and watched the couples and trios on the dance floor. Lady Gaga pounded over the speakers, demanding a ride on his disco stick, and he found himself swaying just a little bit to the music. He let the music move him, smiling for what felt like the first time in weeks. Rob had been fucking stalking him. It wasn’t bad enough that those dark green eyes chased him through dreams, which left him sticky and panting. No, now the man himself seemed to have practically moved in to the club. And, while the undeniably sexy Dom could have had his choice of male or female submissives, both club subs and club members, he’d stuck to the lightest of play, sharing an occasional drink and an even more occasional dance. And all the time his eyes followed Michael, who couldn’t settle down into a scene when he felt that gaze like a physical touch. Tonight, though, there was no sign of Rob, and Michael was hoping to find someone who would top the shit out of him so he could let go of some of the tension knotting his shoulders and get his head level again. Lady Gaga gave way to Goldfrapp, who wanted to ride on a white horse, and Michael threaded his way onto the dance floor. He didn’t mind dancing alone; in fact, he almost preferred it. Short of a good scene, nothing let him blow off steam like dancing. Besides, he doubted he’d be alone for long; the club was full of men and women, Dom and sub alike, who’d be happy to rub up against him and lose themselves in the music. Goldfrapp, Ke$ha, even Cyndi fucking Lauper. DJ Wicked was on a tear tonight, and Michael wondered who’d pissed the normally Zen rope master off. Then he let it go and went back to dancing, feeling better than he had since Rob walked into the wax play workshop. Just about the time Madonna made her inevitable appearance, ticking the minutes away with Justin Timberlake, Michael felt a wave of heat along his bare back. It could be anyone, absolutely anyone who wanted to dance, but Michael knew without looking it was Rob. Something about the quality of the heat warned him even before one large, well-manicured hand slid around his hip to splay across his groin, bracketing his cock, which had taken an immediate notice of the attention. He kept his back to the man, as if that would make the impact of his touch any less. If anything, it amped it up. He closed his eyes and let his other senses go, drinking in the smooth press of Rob’s chest against his back, the slide of crisp, starched cotton and the tiny bite of buttons against his bare, damp skin. He could fucking smell the man, a hint of sandalwood and citrus he’d recognize anywhere as Rob’s cologne, and a taste of spice underneath he suspected was just the scent of Rob’s skin.
The music kept going and so did Michael, letting Rob pull him back, grinding into the iron-hard cock pressed up against his ass like it had been designed to fit there. By the time Rob’s hand landed on Michael’s dick, Michael was more than halfway gone, erection pressing obscenely against the lace-up front of his black vinyl pants. He didn’t resist when Rob guided his hands up and back, squeezing firmly to indicate they should stay locked behind the Dom’s neck. Then Rob started to play, sliding one hand over Michael’s chest, counting the ridges of his ribs, tracing the muscles of his abs, tweaking his nipples and tugging at the barbells piercing them while the other hand jerked roughly at his cock, playing with the cord holding his fly closed, teasing between the laces. Fuck. Fuck. Rob was behind him, in front of him, filling his fucking head with static and his balls with fire. They were against the wall now, out of the light and a little removed from the crowd. And it was the third floor, so no one was going to notice or care if Rob was unlacing his pants, delving in to fist his cock, bare skin scalding, while Michael hung helplessly against him, arms raised, hands clenched behind his Dom’s head, just letting Rob have him. Rob was more than ready to take anything Michael was giving up, too. Rhianna was wailing, I like it when you tell me move it there, and Rob was spinning Michael around, pressing his chest against the wall. It was cool and slick against his bare skin, a stunning contrast to the heat of Rob’s hand on his dick. The Dom slid down, mouth open on Michael’s back, teeth scraping the sensitive dip at the base of his spine, hand working Michael’s cock relentlessly. Michael didn’t even pretend to resist, just let his hips punch forward, drive his aching cock through Rob’s grasp. Sharp teeth closed over his ass-cheek, the sensation bright even through his pants, and he groaned and dragged his chest against the wall, rasping his nipples against the flat surface. He was close, so fucking close. Rhianna was crying, take it, take it, baby, baby, and Michael needed; needed Rob to take him, to get him off, something, anything. Almost as if he could read Michael’s mind, Rob stood, slid up the length of Michael’s body, his crisp cotton shirt soft and damp from the heat of their bodies. His mouth opened over Michael’s shoulder, teeth digging in just enough to feel before hot lips ran the length of his neck to fasten on the tender skin behind Michael’s ear. “What do you need, Mikey?” Oh, God. He needed this. Rob’s touch. Rob’s mouth. Rob’s fucking voice in his ear chanting, “Give it up to me. Let me feel it. Let me fucking taste it, Michael.” And then he was doing it, was giving it up, shooting heat and anger and desperation all over Rob’s hand, on his own stomach, the wall. God, it was like a fucking flood, ten years of want exploding out of him in one bone-melting, brain-bending orgasm that left him stupid and shaky.
Hard hands turned him, sticky-slick fingers closing on his chin as eyes dyed black by the psychedelic lighting seared through his soul. Rob lowered his head and Michael pulled back, knocking his head against the wall, some semi-conscious instinct warning him what they’d done was bad enough, if he let Rob kiss him, he’d truly be lost. But Rob wasn’t angling for a kiss. Instead the Dom dipped his head to lick the cum off Michael’s jaw, then pulled back and licked the spunk off his own hand. Michael fought hard to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. So. Fucking. Hot. Then those hard hands were on his shoulders, pressing hard, and it was as natural as breathing for Michael to go to his knees. Rob didn’t speak, just guided Michael’s hands behind his own neck, then unfastened his belt and the fly of his fine wool pants. Michael leaned back, bracing his shoulders on the wall and looked up the length of Rob’s body. That fine, fat cock was free now, and Michael’s mouth was watering for it. He wanted to reach out and take, but his Mas…Rob had placed his hands behind his neck, and he couldn’t break the command. Instead he just leaned in when Rob rubbed the damp tip of his cock along Michael’s lips. He chased the salt-sweet silk and steel with his tongue until Rob tangled one hand in his hair and held his head still. At that irresistible grip, the painful tug on his hair, something in Michael just let go. Nothing had changed. This was still Rob, still the first boy he’d loved, the first one to break his heart. But this was also a Dom, a Dom strong enough to give him what he needed. Right now, what he needed was that cock. Rob smacked it against his cheek, tapped his chin, then fed the heavy shaft right between Michael’s lips. * He could taste Michael in his mouth; feel the imprint of that long, hard body against his own. Now Michael was taking his cock, eyes half-closed and dazed with his own orgasm. Rob almost couldn’t decide what was better, the way the nimble tongue danced along his shaft, or the way Michael looked: lips swollen and red and wrapped the fuck around Rob’s dick. Plan B, the sneak attack, was turning out to be a success, thank God. Rob’d had a shitty day; a client had committed suicide and he’d spent the afternoon with the stunned widow. By the time he’d left the office, he hadn’t even bothered to stop home and change. He’d needed Velvet Ice. He’d wanted Michael. Michael was melting under his touch. The harder he gripped the silky dark hair, the harder Michael sucked. Rob tried to keep it slow, it all felt so fucking good he didn’t want it to end too soon, but Michael was sucking him deep, head bobbing fast,
swallowing around the tip on the down stroke, tongue doing some brain-frying twisty thing on the knot of nerves just beneath the head. Before he meant to, Rob was holding Michael still, just fucking that perfect mouth, awash in heat and sensation. Each stroke went a little deeper. Each thrust a little harder. And Michael took every inch, swallowed hard, and blew Rob’s fucking mind. Rob came hard, and Michael took every drop, working his cock with lips and tongue, surprising a final spurt of cream before pulling back to lick him clean. He gentled his hands in Michael’s hair, stroking now instead of gripping, and watched Michael start to come back from the place subs go when the moment and the Master are just right. After a moment he guided the smaller man to his feet, and leaned in, wanting to taste himself on Michael’s mouth. Michael pulled back again, though, and frowned. “I don’t kiss,” he said, and Rob knew the slight roughness in his voice was from taking his cock, and it made him want to start all over again. Then what Michael was saying filtered into his pleasure-drugged brain. “This is work, not romance. I don’t kiss here.” Michael was wriggling his way out from between Rob and the wall, hands fumbling to lace his pants back up. Rob wondered what the fuck had just happened. “Then come somewhere else with me,” he tried. “Someplace that isn’t work.” Michael was finished with his fly, was shoving his hair back and capturing it in a band he’d had around his wrist. “Rob, I forgave you.” It was impossible to tell what color his eyes were in the bar lighting; they looked as colorless as ice. “Hell, I forgave you a long time ago. But forgiving you doesn’t mean I want to have a relationship with you.” Rob clenched his fists, resisting the need to grab Michael and make him stop, make him listen and make him give over everything he had, everything he was, to Rob. “And I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to do scenes together, either.” Pants done, hair pulled back, Michael looked completely cool and unaffected. The only sign of the melting submissive of five minutes ago was the red, swollen mouth. The mouth Michael wouldn’t let him kiss. Michael was walking away, turning his back on Rob and vanishing into the crowd on the dance floor. Rob stood, feeling stupid and slow, for a long time. So, he needed a Plan C. Because Rob would be damned if Michael was going to turn his back on him again without some serious consequences.
Chapter Five Michael stood in the small dressing area set aside for club employees and dragged his hands through his hair. Maybe if he pulled hard enough, he’d shake loose some common sense. A week had passed. Seven days. And he could still taste Rob. Could still feel the heat of the Dom along his spine. It didn’t help that the man was still practically living at the club. It seemed every time Michael turned around, Rob was there tempting, taunting. He didn’t know how many more times he could say no to the man, not when he wanted to say yes so fucking badly. Rob was out there now, in his customary position, leaning back against the bar, nursing a glass of mineral water and lime. Michael had managed to avoid him so far tonight, but he knew it was just a matter of time before that dark green gaze locked on him like a heat-seeking missile, and he’d be in the line of fire once again. He needed a plan; a fail-safe way to keep his distance. “You are well?” The deep voice startled Michael out of his obsessing, and he turned to face Gregori, Velvet Ice’s head of security and submissive to the lovely Mistress Megan. “I’m fine. Just thinking too hard.” He managed what he hoped was a genuine smile, and tugged his hair back in its customary club at the back of his neck. “The new Dom,” Gregori rumbled thoughtfully. “He’s bothering you. Should I intercede?” That would be wonderful. Awful. Fuck. “No, man. Rob and I have some history, and it wasn’t all pretty, but there’s nothing you need to step in on.” His smile was a little more authentic this time. “Thanks, though. It’s good to know someone has my back.” Gregori smiled back and cuffed him on the back of the head. “Well, my Mistress is fond of you, and I do not have so many friends that I would allow one of them to be harassed.” “I’m fond of your Mistress, as well.” Michael gave Gregori a playful shove, which didn’t even make the man sway. The big Russian was built like a brick wall, and was about as solid as one. “And I’m proud to be your friend, you big brute.” So, he was feeling a bit better when he left the changing area and slinked out onto the dance floor. Better enough that he barely flinched when he found himself dancing face-to-face with Rob. This time, Rob’s eyes were narrowed, and there was something… stern in the man’s face that made Michael’s knees weak and his cock hard. Maybe that was why, when Rob took him by the arm and pulled him off the dance floor, he didn’t resist. Rob waited until they were in a relatively quiet corner of the room before speaking. “I accept it when you say you don’t want to share a scene, or anything else, with me.”
Okay, there was something wrong about that statement, but Michael could smell Rob, clean sweat and citrusy cologne, and it was messing with his mind. “I will not accept your continued disrespect, though.” Wait. What? “I am a Dom. I’ve been granted membership to Velvet Ice as a Dom. You are a submissive, employed by this club.” “Now, hold up,” Michael began. “I’m not a prostitute. Just because I’m a sub and you’re a Dom doesn’t mean…” Rob cut him off with a derisive snort. “I’m not saying you have to have sex with me, Michael. What I’m saying is, it is unacceptable for you to turn your back on me. It is unacceptable the way you insist on meeting my eyes. You are disrespectful, and consistently fail to fulfill your role at Velvet Ice, which is to be deferential to the Doms here, whether you are sharing a scene with them or not.” Michael dragged in a breath. Rob had a point. But Michael’d be damned if he could bring himself to play the sub to Rob’s Dom. Because for him it wasn’t playing. Michael needed the discipline, needed to be pushed and even controlled in order to keep his head clear. Submission, to Michael, was as necessary as breath, and he knew willfully submitting to Rob was an invitation to the sort of pain he wasn’t looking for. “We have too much history, Rob,” he finally said. “You could have your choice of almost any submissive here, male or female.” He flicked a look at Rob’s face, then forced his gaze obediently to the floor. “Pick someone you don’t have any baggage with. That’ll make life easier for both of us.” * Pick someone he didn’t have baggage with? Rob watched Michael walk away— again!—with a sort of disbelieving anger. He just wasn’t sure where to direct the anger: at Michael, or at himself. One thing he’d give the maddening submissive, though, was the fact he could have most any unattached sub here. Maybe it was time he took advantage of that fact. It had been weeks since he’d melted Michael into a pool of molten need at the wax play workshop, and longer still since he’d truly invested in a scene with someone. He’d been making do with quick, shallow encounters while work took up the majority of his focus; then, after seeing Michael again, well, shallow lost its appeal. Maybe that was his problem. Maybe he needed a good, deep, intense scene with a willing submissive to put him back in the proper headspace for a Dom. Hell, to put him back in the proper headspace for a man. It didn’t take much, was really just a matter of a quick email to Master Sin, and Rob had what he wanted. Wednesday night was a performance night at Velvet Ice and
Rob, with a little help from Master Sin and a lovely golden-skinned submissive named Trey, was going to provide the entertainment. * Michael watched in something like horror as Rob set up his scene on the big stage. The Dom wore only a pair of snug, black vinyl pants and a silver-studded black harness, which left his chest bare. Michael knew the vinyl was for practical purposes—the wax would come off more easily than denim or leather—but the way the get up showcased Rob’s body made it hard for Michael to breathe. The dark green vinyl drape over the performance table made Trey’s tanned skin glow like gold, and the soft scent of baby oil settled over the room like a warm mist. Rob was sticking with pouring and sculpting wax tonight, using a medium-sized crock-pot and a variety of ladles, spoons, spreaders and carving tools. He’d also placed a bowl of ice water and a large syringe-type instrument on the table. Trey already looked blissed out, and the scene hadn’t even started. Michael held back his sneer, but it was hard. Trey was a nice enough guy, but he was a total pain-slut, and as a submissive he tended to cave like wet tissue when things got intense. Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely fair. But Trey was about to do a scene with Rob, and for all his big words about how he wanted Rob to find someone else to stalk, now that it was happening there was a big part of Michael that wanted to shove Trey off the stage and spread himself out in his place like some pagan offering. “Mikey!” His body recognized the voice before his brain did, and Michael found himself standing just in time to catch an armload of softly scented female. “Hey, Ce.” It was always nice to see Master Dorian’s little sister, though the way Master Brady rampaged around behind her could be downright terrifying. “The bossman hasn’t seen you yet tonight?” He set her down gently on the barstool next to his. “Apparently not.” Her silver eyes twinkled. “Since I’m still here and all.” She tossed her head, letting what seemed like yards of indigo silk hair slither over her shoulders. “So, who’s the new stud?” She cocked her head toward the stage, and Michael automatically looked in Rob’s direction. If his voice was a little tighter than usual, it was just because he was worried Brady’d see Celia out here and tear a strip off Michael for sitting with her. It had nothing to do with the fact Rob had laid down a solid coating of wax along Trey’s back, and was using a hollow tube to put little holes at irregular intervals along the submissive’s spine. “Master Rob,” he answered shortly. When Celia turned her gaze in his direction and raised a raven brow, he added, “We went to high school together.” “Ah,” she hummed knowingly. “So is he the one who got away, or are you?” Curse the woman’s amazing flipping intuition.
“It’s not like that, Ce. He’s just here now, and so am I. And I’ve gotta figure out how having him here changes things.” Now both brows were disappearing into her long fringe of bangs, and he hastily added, “If it even changes anything.” “Michael, did you tell Brady he was a problem for you?” One small, strong hand covered his on the bar. “I can’t believe even the Monster of Metro-Detroit would deliberately allow someone in knowing it would upset you.” “Don’t worry, Ce,” he hurried to defuse her. God knew, when Celia Jenner got riled up, she was a force to be reckoned with. She might be little, but then Napoleon had been little, too, hadn’t he? “It’s not a problem. Master Brady spoke to me before approving Rob’s membership. It’s fine.” Before she could comment on how not fine it looked to her, Gregori approached. He was on duty tonight in his capacity as Head of Security rather than here with his Mistress, so he went ahead and towered over Celia, rather than kneeling at her side. Of course, Michael hadn’t ever seen evidence that Celia was a Domina, so perhaps Gregori was just treating her as an equal. Whatever the case, Michael was grateful for the save. “Good evening, dushka.” Gregori’s eyes were a darker gray than Celia’s, but they managed to sparkle with just as much laughter. The big man just didn’t let it show on his face. “Gregori!” Celia popped off her stool to hug the huge man, dangling for a moment from his neck before dropping back to the floor. “You look amazing! How are you? How’s Meggie? Is she here? I haven’t seen her in ages!” She grinned up at the Russian, then sent a laughing glance in Michael’s direction. “Well, I haven’t seen her since Monday, anyway.” “My Goddess is well. Better than you will be if I don’t escort you out before Master Brady gets off his phone and looks at the monitors.” Celia heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes before blowing a kiss toward one of the security cameras located above the bar. Michael could swear he heard Brady’s growl of frustrated anger vibrating through the floor. After giving him another quick hug, the dark-haired vixen allowed Gregori to escort her down the stairs leading to the second floor, leaving Michael alone with his thoughts and the sight of Rob, who was holding Trey’s buttocks open, blowing a stream of cool breath on the runnels of wax dripping over the firm curves. Michael cursed under his breath and turned away from the spectacle. He was not jealous. He wouldn’t let himself be. It had just been too long since he’d had a good, complete scene himself. He’d come. God, Rob had made him come like a fucking freight train. But Michael needed more than an orgasm. He needed to slip firmly into sub-space, to trust his Master to take him there, to care for him when he could no longer think clearly enough to care for himself. He needed to be Dominated, topped; needed it to stay sane.
Trey’s ecstatic cry cut the air, and Michael just had to look. Rob stood to the side, giving the crowd a clear view of the long line of the submissive’s body. Trey’s back was arched, ass high in the air, cock bouncing between his own body and the table surface. Pink streaks decorated the golden skin, and fragments of hardened wax littered the floor around the table. As the crowd murmured appreciatively, Rob lifted a wide wooden blade and dragged it slowly along the back of Trey’s thigh, removing another curl of dried wax. The submissive moaned and pushed into the touch. Michael almost moaned, too. He could fucking feel the scrape of the dull wooden blade on his own skin. With a slow smile, Rob spun the blade in his grip, holding it like a paddle. With his free hand he reached below the submissive spread before him, wrapping the man’s dick in what was obviously a rough grip. Trey moaned again and writhed in the Dom’s grip. Both men seemed totally caught up in their scene. Trey was red-faced and sweating, moaning incoherently and so clearly in sub-space it was almost painful for Michael to watch because he wanted, needed, to be there so badly himself. Rob’s face was stern, eyes serious and intent and fixed on his submissive’s body. His skin glowed with a slight sheen of sweat between the straps of the harness, and Michael had the urge to lick the salt from his skin. Then Rob raised his head, gaze nailing Michael to his bar stool, hitting him like a body blow because it was clear in the Dominant’s eyes that his attention was all for Michael. Rob’s tongue swept over his lower lip, and after an eternity he looked away from Michael, turned his focus back on the man he held in his hand. Michael wanted to scream, to rage. He wanted every second of Rob’s attention, dammit to Hell. Damn him to Hell. Then Rob flicked another, lightning fast glance in Michael’s direction and raised the wooden blade like a paddle, and brought it down almost playfully against Trey’s ass. Just that easily Michael was transported back ten years, back to his bedroom, to the sight of Achilles and Patroclus. His cock ached, harder than he could remember it being. He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until Trey’s raw cry snapped them open again, just in time to see Rob catch the submissive’s cum in his palm, to slick it up the length of Trey’s velvety, golden back. Low, appreciative conversation filled the area for a long moment then, when it became clear that the scene was over, that all that was left was for Rob to care for his submissive, DJ Wicked, with his impeccable sense of timing started the music, Linkin Park’s “Waiting for the End” providing a fitting soundtrack as Michael slipped from his stool and made his way out of the room. The man was making him insane. Something had to give. *
Rob’s dick was hard—after all, Trey was a gorgeous piece of ass, and he fell into sub-space like a rock—but it wasn’t aching. At least, it hadn’t been aching. Not until he’d looked up and caught Michael’s eye. Not until he’d smacked Trey’s ass and imagined it was Michael on the table before him. To his profound disgust, while Rob’s dick wasn’t exactly disinterested when it came to anyone else, it took the heat of those pale blue eyes to bring it to full attention. He knew he’d made an impression. He’d seen Michael’s eyes go wide and a little glassy when he’d lifted the wide wooden blade. And he was pretty damned sure he’d seen something suspiciously like jealousy in those glowing eyes before the submissive had turned his back—dammit—and walked out of the bar like it was nothing. Now Rob was stuck caring for Trey. Okay, stuck wasn’t really the right word. Bringing his submissive down, bringing him or her safely back to reality, had always seemed like a privilege, one Rob embraced. It made him feel every bit as powerful as the scene itself, knowing it was his hands, his voice, keeping his submissive glued together when they couldn’t do so themselves. So, it wasn’t that he was stuck with Trey. It was that everything in him needed to follow Michael. It wasn’t just that he wanted the man, though God knew he did. It was the way something in that expressionless face told him Michael needed to be brought down gently every bit as much as Trey did. Maybe more. But that wasn’t how things worked, and for the moment Rob’s job was to take care of the beautiful, golden man lying in front of him. He’d get to Michael, though. No question about it.
Chapter Six Michael had started thinking of his life as the time before Rob and the time after Rob. It wasn’t a particularly happy contrast. Every fucking night he worked Rob was lurking. He hadn’t taken on a sub for another scene, though it was clear to everyone at the club Trey would be more than happy to accommodate him. Hell, it was clear that pretty much any of the club subs would be happy to work with him. The idea filled Michael with an uneasy combination of jealousy and yearning that just flat-out pissed him off. Rob had infiltrated every part of his life, featuring prominently in his dreams and even showing up in his artwork by way of the hint of a green-black eye, or a swirl of gold suggesting a hard, muscular shoulder. Worse, it felt like Rob had stolen his one release, the freedom to submit at the Club. Michael was a sexual submissive. Putting himself into the hands of a strong partner he could trust was as necessary to him as breathing. Rob’s presence at the club made it impossible for Michael to give in, though. Just the thought of submitting, of making himself so vulnerable and open, with Rob nearby set a knot at the base of his belly. And the idea of submitting to someone other than Rob was even worse. He wasn’t about to quit his job, though. This perverse obsession with Rob would fade. Yeah, and if he told himself that enough times, maybe he’d come to believe it. No, he needed to burn Rob out of his brain and he needed the release of submission. The answer was quite simple. So simple he felt like kicking himself for taking so long to think of it. He volunteered to be a public display submissive. In truth Michael always had enjoyed letting others watch. It helped to build the tension during a scene and take him higher; it gave him the adrenaline rush like nothing else. And being at the mercy of a series of Doms and Dominas would obliterate any thoughts of Rob from his head like nothing else could. He was completely nude, adorned with only a black cock ring when he climbed onto the platform before the St. Andrews Cross. The device was set on a vertical turntable which allowed passersby to give a spin and leave him head down at their whim. Coincidentally, that would put his mouth at groin level. He wasn’t complaining. Of course, the set-up required more than usual precautions. He was joined on the platform by one of the floor managers. Ty had been a fixture at Velvet Ice long before Michael had come to work there, and he imagined she’d be there long after he was gone. If he had to guess, he’d put her in her early forties, but there was a timelessness about the woman that made age incidental. There was also a calm surrounding her, a peace that soaked into his skin, clear down to his bones. He didn’t know if she was a Domina or a submissive. He suspected maybe she was a switch. What he did know was her serene
presence was one of the things that made working at Velvet Ice such a rewarding experience for the Club submissives. Ty tightened the Velcro straps around his wrists and ankles. He felt wonderfully stretched, a small stirring in the base of his balls signaling his growing excitement at what the night was to bring. She moved to the straps securing his biceps to the arms of the cross, then the straps around his thighs. A final strap around his waist ensured his back would be supported if things got strenuous. It would also give him an extra pinch of restraint that tingled in his balls like cayenne pepper on his tongue. “All set?” she asked as she stepped away from him with a final tug on the straps. “Always,” he replied with his naughtiest smile. “You know what to do if things get out of control,” she reminded him, indicating the alarm near one of his hands. He nodded and she walked away. Music blared announcing the arrival of DJ Wicked, and Michael settled back against the smooth leather-bound cross. It didn’t take long for the third floor to fill up, Doms and subs flooding the area. Club submissives were bound and presented on spotlighted pedestals around the room. Since it was a public play night, no alcohol would be served—that was reserved for nights when the dance floor served its original purpose. Part of safe and sane was being sober, and Michael knew Master Brady would never condone liquor being served when scenes were being enacted. Alcohol or not, the bar area filled up with people ordering from the extensive menu of non-alcoholic drinks. Anticipation flared in Michael’s stomach as a table was set up next to Michael with various play instruments, and he was itching to discover who would be the first to approach him. He absolutely wasn’t searching the floor for a certain dark head, a certain pair of dark emerald eyes. Absolutely not. It didn’t take long for a handsome older gentleman in a half mask to approach him. The Dom never said a word, merely ran his hands along Michael’s torso. He made a big show of examining every implement on the table before selecting a bottle of oil and filling his palm. Laying his hands flat along Michael’s pierced nipples, he rubbed the concoction on his flesh. Michael shivered. Peppermint oil, cool to the touch, sent gentle tingles over his skin and made his hips gyrate as the masked man flicked his nipples, teasing him to distraction. The pleasure bordered on torture because he knew this silver fox would never bring him to fulfillment. No this experience was all about driving Michael to the brink of insanity, but it was an insanity he fucking craved. The man leaned forward to flick his tongue across Michael’s nipple, and he writhed in his restraints. It felt good, so good, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t exactly what he needed to take him to the place where everything else floated away. A sharp snap of teeth brought Michael abruptly back to the present and the Dom who was watching him with cool eyes as his tongue and teeth drew Michael’s nipples to
red, swollen life. Satisfied he had the submissive’s attention once again, the Dom gave each nipple a long, deep suck, tugged at each barbell with his teeth, and watched Michael squirm. When he had Michael helpless against his mouth, the man abruptly turned and left Michael alone. That was just the beginning. Michael was a popular submissive. He wasn’t a painwhore like Trey, or a resistant brat like Mikki, the pretty blonde lashed to the spanking bench to his right. No, Michael’s allure was that he was strong, needed an even stronger Master, but he wanted to submit. Mastering Michael was a challenge, but not a fight. His sexual orientation was common knowledge at the club, and most of the Dominants to approach him were male, but the occasional female took a pass at him, too. He was disappointed to see his least favorite Domina, Mistress Anne, in attendance tonight. There was something not okay in Mistress Anne’s head, something that made her want to break her submissives so they could never be put back together again. He was coasting on the edge of pleasure and adrenaline when she approached him, as he’d known she would. Her usual red leather cat suit clung to every inch of her body, the attached half mask leaving just the sharp angle of her jaw and thin line of her scarlet lips visible. Her long blonde ponytail swished with her movements. In her hand she carried her own personal whip, which she dragged along his stomach. “You’re in fine form this evening, pet.” Even her voice gave him the wrong kind of shivers. “Thank you, Mistress.” He had yet to master the combination of respect and discouragement to send her away without pissing her off, but he kept trying. “I wish you would reconsider becoming my slave.” She held his cheek with her cold leather-clad hand. Her lips curved when Michael shuddered at the touch. It was more than a little unnerving that he felt sure she didn’t care if the shiver was arousal or fear. “Thank you for your kind offer, Mistress, but I would not be able to satisfy you.” It was the same answer he always gave. “You know I’m gay.” Her red lips thinned and her free hand wrapped painfully around his balls as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Oh, I could fuck you as well as any man.” Michael shuddered again, knowing she spoke nothing less than the truth. “I have no doubt, Mistress,” he forced out between clenched teeth. Point made, pain given, and with one more squeeze of her hand, Anne stepped back from the cross. “You know where to find me when you change your mind, Michael.” He gave a tight nod, trying to hide his relief at making it through the encounter so unscathed. Anne gave him one last, menacing smile and gave the Cross a spin, walking away while he whirled head over feet. He stopped with a jolt, right side up and eye to eye with Gregori.
“You are well?” The heavy platinum chain around the man’s throat and his shirtless state announced the big Russian was there as his Mistress’s property tonight, but the dangerous glint in his eye was a potent reminder that he might be a sub, but he was also about as alpha as they came, and he took his job as Velvet Ice’s Head of Security seriously. “I’m fine,” Michael rushed to assure him, wanting to avoid any trouble. He’d already lost his submissive high, and was a little desperate to get it back. “Just a little dizzy.” The big submissive gave a slow nod, but he didn’t look convinced. Michael was more than a little relieved when Mistress Megan approached, managing to move smoothly and gracefully on five-inch stilettos that brought the top of her head level with Michael’s chin. She cast a knowing eye over Michael’s body and gave a nod of satisfaction. “Still in one piece, sweet thing?” Her drawl was like a balm over his nerves and Michael felt his shoulders relax just a tiny bit. “It’s all good, Mistress.” Mistress Megan nodded again, but looked thoughtful. “She seems to have undone all the good stuff you were feeling, though,” she noted shrewdly. Michael’s smile was more natural now, if a little wry. “Well, I’ve got another hour on display. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get the chance to service someone’s big bruiser of a slave.” Gregori quirked a brow as Megan’s laugh rang out over the presentation area. “I am sorely tempted to give you exactly that, sweetness,” she replied, blue eyes twinkling. “But I’ve promised my Sugar something special tonight.” Michael heaved a dramatic sigh. “Rejected!” He grinned to show he was joking. “I can only hope for another time.” Megan laughed again and Gregori rolled his eyes—though he made sure his Mistress didn’t see it. Michael was still smiling as the Southern belle led her submissive toward the private rooms. * Rob sat at the bar for the better part of an hour fuming as he watched stranger after stranger touch what was his. And Michael did belong to him, whether the man wanted to admit it or not. He’d almost left his seat when the bitch dressed in red approached him. The sight of her scarlet-tipped fingers twisting Michael’s tender balls had incensed Rob to the point he’d actually stood when the big Russian headed in Michael’s direction, his voluptuous Mistress hot on his heels. He didn’t even try to contain the snarl when the red-leather bitch sent Michael
spinning, but he did force himself to stay seated as Gregori and Mistress Megan came to his submissive’s rescue. There was nothing for him to do; he knew it. Oh, he could approach Michael, play with him while he was bound and obligated to allow it, but Rob knew if he gave in to the urge, he might as well kiss any chance at something more with the man good-bye. Michael had to come to him willingly. Or at least mostly willingly. So he sat drinking cola after fucking cola while men and woman alike fondled, licked, touched and did a myriad of other things that left Michael’s dick hard, his eyes glazed, and his face utterly serene. He wanted to be the one to take Michael to that place of pure feeling. He wanted to see his fine face flushed and twisted with effort, with pain, with need. He wanted to make Michael come all over his belly, and then he wanted to lick it up. Then he wanted to see the soft, peaceful expression on Michael’s face and know he was the one who put it there. He want to feel the other man’s full lips wrapped around his dick, stretched wide, sucking it down until Rob shot everything he had deep into his submissive’s throat. But most of all he wanted to top Michael and ride him hard until he begged for more, or for mercy, whichever came first. Instead he was locked on his bar stool watching and waiting, his eyes never leaving the leather ring wrapped around the other man’s cock, keeping his dick hard and red and ready to explode. He never came, though. After what felt like hours, but Rob knew for a fact was only ninety minutes, Michael was released from the cross and helped into a back room by a tall, statuesque woman. Half an hour later he was once again on the floor, headed for the bar. The bartender already had a tall glass of juice waiting when Michael arrived, and those blue eyes smiled at her even as he took a long drink. The smaller man was dressed in leather pants and a tight black t-shirt that played peek-a-boo with the barbells in his nipples, and Rob wanted nothing more than to catch one in his teeth and tug until Michael was a melting mess on the floor. He wasted no time in cornering his submissive. “Did you enjoy your time on public display?” He didn’t bother keeping the tension from his voice. He didn’t care if Michael knew it bothered him. Hell, he wanted Michael to know. “Enjoying public display’s my job.” Rob gritted his teeth as Michael took another drink of his juice. He knew the man needed the fluids and the sugar after the intense hour and a half he’d just spent, but he couldn’t control his tongue for long. ”You’ll let everyone in here have a taste but me, is that it?” If there was a tiny bit of hurt in his voice, he was pretty sure the music covered it. Michael waved his hand. “Listen, I don’t want to have this conversation every time I see you. We’re toxic together, and I’m not into that kind of abuse. Now, I’m working. Goodbye, Rob.” He kept his fists curled tight to keep from grabbing Michael’s arm and hauling him
up against him, kissing him like he’d wanted to for ten long years and showing him exactly what he was denying them both. But he knew it wouldn’t change anything. Time for plan what? C? D? “Coward.” He pitched his voice just loud enough for Michael to hear it, and knew he’d succeeded in getting the man’s attention when he froze and those gorgeously sculpted shoulders went even tighter. Michael turned slowly to face him, a look of absolute disbelief on his face. “Excuse me?” Michael wasn’t making any effort to moderate his tone; it was tight with anger. “You’re calling me a coward?” The submissive stalked toward him, sleek in black leather, his hair falling in thick strands from the short queue he’d pulled it back into. Rob licked his lips. The man looked like nothing so much as a pissed-off jungle cat who was ready to take a bite. Rob was surprisingly eager to be bitten. “You didn’t walk away from me ten years ago, Rob. You fucking ran, right to the first pair of boobs on legs you could find.” Those eyes weren’t expressionless now; they were nearly incandescent with rage. “You didn’t acknowledge me even once again, ever, not until you showed up here.” Michael was right in front of him now, so close Rob could feel the heat pouring off him, could see the trickle of sweat that skated down his neck, over his throat as it worked under the leather of his collar. “You might be a Dom, Rob. You might even have come to terms with your sexuality, whatever the fuck it is.” One slender finger stabbed into Rob’s chest, and he swore with every poke his dick got harder. He risked a glance downward. It looked like Michael’s dick wasn’t indifferent, either. “But you don’t get to barge into my life,” Michael continued, “and call me a fucking coward just because I don’t choose to ride the rejection roller coaster again.” “Is that what you’re scared of, Mikey?” He finally gave in to the urge to touch, wrapping his hand around that pointing finger before it punctured his fucking chest. “You’re scared I’ll break you open and walk,” Michael’s eyes flashed, and Rob gave a wry smile, “okay, run away again?” Michael ground his teeth and tried to jerk his hand away, but Rob held tight. “I won’t, you know. I’ve stopped running, and I want you to stop, too.” Michael’s growl was barely audible over the music. “If you’re not a coward, Michael, give this thing between us a chance. It’s been there forever, and it’s not going away anytime soon.” “There is nothing between us but a little bit of ancient history.” Michael yanked at his hand again, to no avail. “Prove it.” Rob suppressed his smile. He was winning, and he knew it. Michael wanted this as much as he did, and Rob had finally found the way to cut off his angles of
escape. “If there’s nothing between us but history, it should be no problem for you to do a scene with me.” “I don’t want to.” Now Rob let the smile tease the corner of his mouth. Liar. “You’ll do it anyway, though. Just to prove I’m wrong.” “Fuck.” Michael finally managed to pull his hand free, and dragged it through his hair, leaving the almost-black strands just a little wild and free of the band restraining them. “Fine. But not tonight.” Those blue eyes were a touch panicked and a touch tired. “I can’t handle an intense scene on a public display night.” “All right.” It was easy to be flexible; he’d gotten Michael’s agreement and he knew the man wouldn’t try to back out later. Besides, the submissive really did look like he needed a little distance to put himself back together. Soon putting Michael back together would be his job, though; a job Rob was eager to take on. “Wednesday?” Tonight was Saturday. The club was closed Sundays, Michael didn’t work Mondays, and Tuesdays were dance nights. Rob’s smile grew to Cheshire Cat proportions. Michael was scheduling them for a performance night. Maybe his little show with Trey had been more successful than he’d realized. It was a longer wait than he wanted, but he liked Michael’s subtle maneuvering, so he agreed readily. “What boundaries do you have?” This might be a battle of wills, but Rob wasn’t going to be irresponsible about it. “No scat or golden showers. I’m not adverse to pain if it’s for a purpose, but I’m not into hurting just for the sake of hurting.” Rob nodded. He was on board with all of that. “And no humiliation,” Michael added, blue eyes darker than usual and totally serious. “Agreed. I’m not a fan of any of those things, either.” He’d hurt Michael enough, he thought. He had no desire to abase the man. He wanted to … care for him. “Wednesday. Nine o’clock. I’ll reserve a private space.” The submissive’s eyes narrowed and Rob reconsidered. “Unless you’d prefer we do it on the stage?” Michael paused, thinking about it long enough Rob was actually surprised when he gave his head an abrupt shake. “No. This is between us.” Glowing blue eyes, full lips pressed tight, Michael was fucking gorgeous. “That’s how it should stay. Between us.” “Done.” He didn’t even try to hide his satisfaction, and from the grimace on his face, Michael was totally seeing it. It killed him, but Rob forced himself to walk away, to stop at the desk by the stairs and make his arrangements without looking back. It was the first time since finding him
again that Michael wasn’t the one to walk away.
Chapter Seven At 8:57 Wednesday night, Michael sat at the bar enduring the bartender’s sympathetic looks and sipping a glass of orange juice. He would have preferred something stronger but Janie, dammit, knew he had what promised to be an intense scene tonight, and had given him a screwdriver without the driver. She said she knew getting the screw wouldn’t be a problem tonight. He’d thought about wearing hot-pants and eyeliner, just to see if he could make Rob squirm, but had discarded the idea. It so wasn’t his style, it was incredibly immature, and he had a sneaking suspicion that, rather than being uncomfortable with Michael’s way-out-there sexuality, Rob would be amused at his obvious attempt to be … bratty. Michael grimaced. He was not bratty. Then he’d considered a simple t-shirt and jeans. But, while it was his unofficial uniform in real life, it was a world away from his usual club wear, and Rob had been stalking him long enough to know it. He finally settled on a pair of fatigues in shades of black and gray, and a black leather vest worn open to frame his chest. He’d gone for loose knowing, even though whipping wasn’t necessarily on the menu tonight, spanking probably was, and he didn’t want something that would chafe already sensitive skin. That thought, of course, led him back to the thought that had been obsessing him for the last three and a half days. What sort of scene was Rob planning for them? * Rob had arrived early. Really early. He’d immediately gone to the room he’d requested, checking and double checking to make sure everything he’d asked for was there and ready to go. This was a new kind of scene for him, and he wanted to be absolutely certain he had everything in order, from his tools and implements to his safety measures. He’d also been keeping an eye on the bar area, so he knew exactly when Michael arrived. The sub had been early, too, though not as early as Rob, and it made him smile to see the man fidgeting with his hair, his vest, his drink. Rob knew the minute Michael saw him the submissive would immediately go all expressionless and serene, so he was glad to get this sneak peek that proved Michael was fighting nerves just as surely as he was. Of course that admission burned. Rob never got nervous. He was supremely confident in every area of his life, from the courtroom to the racquetball court. So realizing he was on edge over this scene was a bit of a blow, not the least because it meant Michael was much more than a random submissive. Michael was much, much more, but knowing it and admitting it were two totally different things.
At exactly nine o’clock Rob sent one of the club employees, the one who’d brought several bottles of chilled water to their private room, to summon Michael. Then Rob left the room, standing on the invisible side of a two-way mirror. The directions he sent to Michael were simple: Come into the room. Strip, and make it pretty. Kneel and take a waiting position. Michael followed his directions exactly. He moved into the room slowly, not looking reluctant, but looking like he was giving a show. His hair was in its usual queue at the nape of his neck, so when he turned his back to the mirror and let the vest slide down his arms, the width of his shoulders was revealed. Michael had always been slender, but even in high school he’d had muscle—long, lean muscle gained swimming and lifting weights. Time hadn’t changed that, except to make him more sculpted. Rob imagined running his fingers, then his tongue over the ridges of Michael’s abs, tracing the lines of muscle in his arms… The submissive caught his vest in one hand before putting it neatly on a hanger which had been provided for just that reason. He was wearing combat boots. Rob laughed a little bit at himself, at how fucking hot he was finding all Michael’s “army chic”. The laces were already loosened, so all Michael had to do was kick them off. His socks quickly followed, leaving him barefoot and bare-chested, poised gracefully before the mirror. With a secretive little smile, Michael began picking at his pants, button and zip slowly giving way to his long, slender fingers. Still smiling he turned, giving Rob his back as he let the pants fall into a pool of gray at his feet. When the submissive bent over, neatly picking up his pants to drape over another convenient hanger, the sight of that perfect, rounded ass had Rob’s mouth watering. He wanted nothing more than to charge into the room and pounce on Michael, bite those gorgeous cheeks and mark the man from head to toe. From the lazy stretch the slender man gave as he stood, reaching his arms high over his head and emphasizing every one of those mouthwatering muscles, Michael knew exactly what was going through Rob’s mind, too. Michael kept his back to the mirror for a moment longer; long enough for Rob to drink in the deep groove of his spine, the way the small of his back curved into the tempting swell of his ass. Long enough to tease, the little bastard. When he finally turned, the little half smile remained. Clearly Michael knew he was gorgeous. The lines of his chest were hard and sculpted and the titanium barbells glinted. His abs were as carved as cobblestones. He was shaved or waxed bare, not a hint of hair on his chest or pubes. Not even a happy little trail to follow to his heavy, half-hard dick. That was okay, though. For now smooth skin suited Rob’s purposes. If he had his way, after tonight he and Michael could discuss little details like manscaping. Michael stood for a moment, giving Rob the show he’d commanded, then dropped gracefully to his knees. Eyes trained on the mirror, the submissive stretched, limbering up
shoulders and arms before moving his hands behind his back, fingers clasped firmly around opposite wrists. The pose threw the lean muscles of Michael’s chest into sharp relief. Those naughty little barbells glinted, begging for attention. Michael gave one last, challenging smile, letting his eyes flick from the mirror to the covered worktable along the wall and back, then lowered his head, training his gaze on the floor like a good submissive. Rob’s dick throbbed. His submissive was a beautiful man, but seeing him like this, on his knees, head bowed and hands clasped behind his back, tantalized Rob in a way nothing else ever had, or ever could. The challenge, the way Michael’s whole body seemed to dare Rob to master him, just added to the thrill. He studied the man before him, taking time to savor every inch of the submissive, his submissive, from head to toe. Michael just knelt easily, looking for all the world like this was something he did every day. Rob pursed his lips. This probably was something Michael did every day. When he’d looked his fill—or at least as much as he wanted to from behind treated glass—he took a breath and opened the door. * Michael could literally feel Rob’s gaze on him, tangible as a physical touch even through the window. It tingled over his skin, making his dick stir, which in turn made him want to growl. He hated the fact his body reacted to Rob even after all these years; hated that the submissive in him wanted Rob’s Mastery as much as the wounded teen still living in his soul wanted another taste of his first love. When the door opened, he risked a quick glance upward, a mere peek through his lashes, and bit back a curse. Rob was in full Dom mode, dressed in snug black vinyl pants, shirtless, bare chest gleaming in the bright lighting of their room. He wondered what Rob had planned for him. He couldn’t make out what tools rested under the cloth on the covered table. The cloth was raised at both ends so it hovered over the surface, giving no clues to what it concealed. The massage-type table situated nearby gave no clues, either. Rob walked around him, dragging a finger lightly over his shoulder and raising goose bumps in his wake. “Very pretty, Mikey.” Michael wondered how such a silky smooth voice could raise such a prickle on his skin. “You follow directions nicely when you want to.” Michael very carefully kept his expression neutral. Honestly, he really hadn’t tried to show Rob the respect he’d normally show any Dom to visit the club. He’d looked at Rob and seen the high school jock sucking face with Cheerleader Barbie, and had focused on the scorn to avoid the hurt. Still, it was disrespectful, and with any other Dom or Domina, it would never have
occurred to him to push the way he had with Rob. Michael wasn’t particularly happy with himself when he considered that his bad behavior was a reflection on him, not Rob. “Are you curious about what I’ve planned?” Expression, neutral. Voice, low and even. He would not let Rob know how much he still got to Michael. “Of course I am.” He flicked a glance toward the table, looking through his lashes in a way he knew from past experience was winsome and alluring. At least, previous Masters and Mistresses had said so. “Of course you are…?” There was a pregnant pause before Michael gave in and gave Rob what he wanted. “Of course I am, Sir.” Another glance from beneath his lashes revealed a slight smile on Rob’s generous, sensual mouth. “Remove the cloth,” Rob directed. When Michael moved to stand, Rob’s big, hard hand wrapped around the back of his neck. “Oh, no, Mikey. Crawl.” Neutral. Keep it neutral. Michael stretched forward, crawling slowly toward the table set up along the far wall. Once he’d arrived, he pushed up to his knees and reached to take hold of the cloth suspended over the surface. “Use your teeth.” Rob’s voice was faintly amused. Fuck neutral. Rob was pressing his buttons on purpose, and if he was any kind of Dom he’d know how to deal with an irritated submissive. Michael lifted his chin and gave Rob a direct look. “Really?” Nothing more than that. Just really? Rob’s eyes glittered, his jaw set, and for just a moment Michael was afraid of what beast he might be poking. Then Rob tilted his head, looking Michael over from head to toe, and sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded, eyes glinting with laughter. “I’d hate for anything to be knocked over because you were being clumsy.” Oh, that bastard. “You may stand and remove the cloth.” Michael ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached, but he managed to keep silent as he stood and carefully lifted the black cloth to unveil the implements spread across the table. He probably should have been prepared. After all, he and Rob had reconnected at a wax play workshop. Still, the crock-pot of melted paraffin wax seemed to almost throb in time with Michael’s heartbeat. Letting his gaze travel down the table, Michael felt his pulse pound with anticipation. Rob hadn’t prepared any colored wax. In fact, there was only the crock-pot
and three melting jar candles. What caught Michael’s attention were the accessories. A large thermal bowl filled with ice sat next to the crock-pot. In front of them both lay a wide assortment of tools. There were picks and sculpting tools, and various instruments meant to manipulate soft, warm wax. At the very end of the table was a large knife. Actually, Michael realized, it was not so much a knife as a modified sword. A sword very like the one Achilles had used to spank Petroclus so soundly. Oh. Oh. His hand was lifting before he even realized it, and Michael quickly lowered it to his side. He didn’t have permission to touch. “Go ahead, Michael. Explore a little bit.” Michael wanted to look at Rob—wanted to see if the amusement in his voice was visible on his sculpted face—but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from the sword. He raised his hand again, running one finger the length of the blade like one in a trance. He was in a trance, hypnotized by the candlelight shimmering on the melted wax, on the surface of the blade. The weapon was dull; no edge to the blade at all, so there was no chance of someone being cut accidentally. Which was good; Michael didn’t do sharps, didn’t need that sort of pain to stay level. No, it was clear this blade was meant to scrape the hardened wax from a submissive’s sensitive skin. And, he couldn’t help but think, it would make a perfect paddle. Sudden heat enveloped his back, and Michael realized Rob had moved closer, standing directly behind him. “Familiar, isn’t it?” Rob’s breath tickled his ear, and a shudder worked its way down Michael’s spine. “I’ve imagined using it on you a million times.” Michael didn’t respond, not out of respect but because he couldn’t have forced words past the boulder lodged in his throat. A soft touch on the side of his neck—a kiss?—and Rob pulled back, leaving Michael yearning for another touch. “Get on the table.” Michael kept his eyes lowered as he moved to obey. He was slipping. Not into subspace, not yet, but into the submissive mindset; into the place where his Master’s Will was Michael’s pleasure. It was an easy transition, and a hard one at the same time. Easy to give before the force of Rob’s personality; easy to bend to the hand of a skilled Master. But oh, so difficult to put aside their history, his own hurt, and trust himself to Rob’s care. Emotions churning, Michael moved to the table and sat with his legs dangling over
the edge. He sat straight, hands resting on his thighs, eyes firmly fixed on his loosely curling fingers. He completely ignored the erection standing proudly away from his body. Erections were to be expected. He was a sexual submissive, after all. The mere sight of the pot of wax and the sculpting tools would have been enough to send the blood rushing from his brain to parts far south. This erection had nothing to do with the Master standing facing him. And it certainly had nothing to do with the memory of Rob’s hand on his dick, of Rob’s cock in his mouth. “Lay on your stomach.” Rob’s voice was a low rumble, and Michael quickly complied. Pressure on his throbbing dick was good. Pressing his face into the padded table, safe from Rob’s intent scrutiny, was even better. “Now take hold of the handles.” Michael obediently wrapped his fingers around the handles located underneath the table. Rob knew what he was doing, the bastard. He knew that by making Michael restrain himself he was driving home the knowledge this was Michael’s own choice; he was submitting because he consented to, not because Rob was forcing him. Once he was comfortably situated, Rob moved next to him, running a hand up the length of his spine. Michael really didn’t mean to react, but his body moved without his permission, arching into the touch and drawing a low hum of satisfaction from the Dom. Rob walked along the table, firmly stroking Michael’s skin, sending little tingles of electricity along his spine, down the insides of his thighs. When he’d circled the table entirely, Rob pulled loose the tie in Michael’s hair, prompting a protest. “I don’t want to get wax…” Rob cut him off by leaning over and giving him a sharp crack across the ass before he could even finish his sentence. “Did I ask you a question?” Crack! “Did I tell you to speak?” Michael sputtered, but managed to keep his mouth shut. “Clearly we have trust issues, Michael.” Rob smoothed a soothing hand over Michael’s stinging ass cheeks. “But trust issues aside, I will not tolerate your disrespect or defiance.” Michael wanted to growl. He wanted to tell Rob to shove it up his ass, and to get up and storm out of the room. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. That would be letting Rob win this battle of wills, admitting the Dom had bested him. Worse, it would mean failing as a submissive, and that was intolerable. A submissive is what Michael was; it was the core of his identity. If he couldn’t submit, even to Rob, then he had failed at a cellular level. “Yes, Sir,” he muttered, voice low and just a little resentful in spite of his best efforts to keep his tone even.
“Better, Mikey.” Rob stroked him again, fingers teasing the sensitive spot at the base of his spine. “I wouldn’t get wax in your pretty hair,” the Dom continued, moving his hand to toy with Michael’s hair. He didn’t elaborate, but instead began to comb his fingers through the tangled mass, drawing it up off his neck and tying it into a much higher ponytail. Feeling a tiny bit abashed, Michael gave a little sigh. “Thank you, Sir.” Dammit. “You’re welcome.” Rob was moving again, standing in front of the wax table and examining the items neatly arranged there. With a satisfied nod, the Dom picked up a bottle of unscented baby oil, and a tiny vial Michael knew contained some sort of essential oil. He wondered what kind it was. Would it be something that merely smelled nice, or would it be something with a little bit of bite? Now the preparation began in earnest. Rob poured a small pool of oil in his palm, holding it for a moment until the liquid warmed to skin temperature. Then he began to spread it over Michael’s skin with slow, sweeping movements. It was almost mesmerizing, the way Rob touched him, melting muscles and resistance with each stroke. It was one of the things Michael needed from a Master, this caring touch before and after a scene. Under Rob’s careful ministrations, Michael admitted, if only to himself, he needed this as much as he needed a firm hand. Rob’s hands glided over him, pressing deeply into muscles, relaxing tension Michael hadn’t even realized he had. When the Dom worked his way down Michael’s legs, then up his thighs, digging his thumbs into the long muscles, it was all Michael could do to keep from moaning and arching up into the touch. He must have made some movement, because those magical hands lifted and Rob made a low, satisfied sound. “You’ve always been gorgeous, Michael.” Rob’s voice was low, holding a sharp edge that let Michael know the scene was well and truly started. “But now, all grown into this hot body and all gleaming with oil…” Rob trailed a light hand over Michael’s ass, tickling the sensitive skin still stinging from his open hand. “Now I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone quite so breathtaking.” The touch, the oil, even the location—Velvet Ice, the place utterly synonymous with submission to him—were working on Michael, softening his anger and smoothing the sharp edge of his hurt. A cool drop touched the top of his spine, then another and another until Rob had made a line from Michael’s nape to the small of his back. A rough finger dragged through the drops, releasing the scent of peppermint even as his skin tingled pleasantly as the oil worked into his pores. Light sweeps under his shoulder blades and across the top of his ass finished Rob’s preparations, leaving Michael slick and warm and tingling under the combination of the oils and Rob’s touch. Michael struggled to hold back a shiver as he felt Rob move away from him again, more a stirring of the air than anything else. A gentle hand in his hair kept him from
turning to follow the movement. A whisper of silk was his only warning as Rob wrapped a length of black cloth over his eyes, blocking out the rest of the room and causing Michael’s senses to narrow sharply to touch, scent and sound. As if he could feel Michael straining to hear, Rob moved silently, taking his time and leaving Michael to slowly tense again, anticipating the next touch. When it came, it was shocking in its intensity. Wax, hot and silky, drizzled in a line along his back, following the trail of peppermint oil on his spine. Then Rob’s fingers, spreading the wax in feathery patterns Michael could feel cooling and hardening even as Rob stroked through them. Again, the trail of liquid fire, tracing the wings of his shoulder blades, then spreading quickly, forming a thin layer of wax that tugged at his skin even with the oil. Over and over Rob drizzled wax over the exposed skin of Michael’s back, decorated his flesh with loops and swirls. Blind, Michael could do nothing but drink in the sensations: the heated trails over his skin, the heady scent of the peppermint, the icy burn of the essential oil on his skin made even more intense by the melted wax. Rob moved. Michael felt it in the way the air caressed his skin. There was a pause, then Michael sucked in a sharp breath as an icy circle was traced at the base of his spine. Rob had plucked an ice cube from the waiting silver bowl, and was tracing a spiraling circle around the bundle of nerves just above Michael’s tailbone. This time there was no pause, just the slow, thick pooling of heated wax, sending sensation screaming over nerves already jangling with peppermint and ice. Rob was working slowly, methodically building up a base of wax suitable for manipulating. Warm fingers danced over Michael’s skin, forming rounded edges that were raised just enough to capture the next ladleful of melted wax, until Rob had built up a wide oval of thick, semi-solid wax spanning Michael’s lower back. Cold again, ice tracing the edge of the wax, intense and stunning. Next came the decoration, as Rob began to carve designs in the wax. The pressure flexed and released, the wax pressing warm against Michael’s skin as Rob manipulated the various tools. A pricking sensation, then a rush of cold, and Michael gasped. Rob had used a small, pointed straw to burrow through the wax, then had forced icy water through the tube. The hot and cold streaked over his skin, forcing a low cry from his tight throat. A breath of time, then a breath of warm, moist air tingled over the exposed skin on either side of the puddled wax. Warm hands smoothed up his thighs, spreading him for Rob’s eyes, Rob’s touch. It was insane, how sensitive every inch of exposed skin was, as if having his eyes covered had made his flesh a thousand times more receptive to touch. And Rob was definitely touching him. Hands along his legs, warm breath misting over his skin, even the slick rub of leather on his inner thighs when the Dom moved to kneel between his legs on the table. Michael could feel him there, feel the press of vinyl against skin but, even more, he could
feel the force of Rob’s presence, filling the air around him. Firm hands grasped his cheeks, kneading deeply and surprising a long groan of appreciation from him. Then he was being spread, opened wide and made completely vulnerable to the only man who’d ever had the power to utterly destroy him. A brush of rough silk hair whispered over his inner thighs, then heat, warm and velvety swiped the length of his crack. Rob’s tongue. Again and again Rob stroked his most private flesh, wide, sweeping licks that had Michael’s breath hitching in his chest and his fingers clenching the handles of the table, fighting to hold his position. Just when he thought he might—possibly—have his reactions under control, Rob upped the ante, stabbing with a firm tongue, teasing and tormenting Michael’s rim, fucking him until Michael arched into the touch. “Oh, no,” Rob murmured, the vibration of his voice shivering straight into Michael’s body. “Don’t mess with my artwork.” One hand left Michael’s ass, and he moaned at the loss. Rob ignored his protest and traced a finger over the wax patterns hardening on Michael’s back. “You’re beautiful like this. Don’t move.” Then that tongue was back, crazy-making, delving in, in, in. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see, all Michael could do was feel. And he felt like his skin was electrified, his entire body one exposed, shuddering nerve. The energy needed to go somewhere, and it escaped in a low whimper, a wordless plea, though even Michael couldn’t have said if he was begging for more or for less. “Oh, yeah, Mikey, let me hear it.” Rob’s breath puffed damply against Michael’s asshole, and Michael shuddered all over. His dick was an iron spike, a two-ton bar of glowing steel. He was afraid that with another thirty seconds of Rob’s tongue in his ass, he’d blow, shoot all over the massage table without even a touch to his cock. It was maddening, embarrassing, and So. Damned. Hot. Rob pulled back, and the air around Michael cooled enough that he could suck in a full breath for the first time since Rob’s evil, evil tongue had come into play. A pause, insanity inducing because Michael couldn’t see what was happening, a rustling sound, then something thin and flexible was being smoothed over his crease, poked just a tiny bit into his hole. He hadn’t played extensively with wax, but he’d been through Master Sin’s workshop more than once, so he recognized the sensation of plastic wrap being laid protectively over his anus. And the knowledge allowed him to prepare for what came next. Wax, hot and penetrating, kept from his opening by a thin barrier of plastic wrap, rushed down the length of his crack, puddling hot and blistering at the base of his balls.
His nerves sizzled, his brain seared by molten pleasure. His back arched, he couldn’t help himself. Even as he cried out, keening the excruciating pleasure, he felt the wax on his back crack, crumble as his muscles flexed beneath it. “Bad, Michael.” Rob was crouched over him, warm leather and even warmer skin pressed all up against Michael’s back, pressing bits of hard wax into his skin as his voice rasped in Michael’s ear. “I told you not to move.” His breath, his words, the very air around Rob vibrated, shivered over Michael’s skin in an unbearable, intangible caress. “I’m sorry,” Michael choked out. Words were literally painful, as if his very lungs were filled with soft, melted wax. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he finally managed. Rob shifted, pressing his shins over the backs of Michael’s thighs, pinning his lower body to the table. “You say you’re sorry, but you’re still moving, Mikey.” And, oh fuck, he was moving, writhing under the lightning streaks of the wax and the velvet lash of Rob’s words. “Do you need to be punished?” No. No. Because if he gave in to it, gave Rob that power over him, how would he ever protect the last corner of his heart which he’d kept safe for all these years? “No, Sir,” he panted. “Please, Sir, I don’t.” His voice was trembling, he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. What was pride in the face of what Rob was drawing out of him? “Don’t need it? Or don’t want it? Because, baby, you’ve been all but begging me to punish you since I walked into that workshop.” * So fucking beautiful, so warm and sleek and strong beneath him. Michael was a feast for the senses, a freaking Carnival of delights. The break in his submissive’s voice as he begged Rob not to punish him sent shudders of reaction down Rob’s spine. Partly because he knew he was going to punish him anyway, but mostly because he knew that when he did it, Michael would love it. But it could wait a bit. Sitting back on his heels, Rob began to play with the rapidly cooling wax between Michael’s impressively firm cheeks. Pressing, kneading, Rob felt like an overgrown child with some X-rated Play Doh as he formed hills and valleys, adding more wax here, swiping through with an ice cube there, and generally tormenting Michael until his slender back was in a constant, agonized arch. When Michael was panting, each breath a low, pained groan, Rob knew it was time to move on. Settling back even more comfortably on his heels, he slowly peeled away the
plastic wrap, enjoying the way the thin material clung to Michael’s oiled skin. The flesh below was a gorgeous, flushed pink that seemed to glow with heat stolen from the wax as it cooled. Unable to resist, he lowered his head, ran his tongue along the throbbing, burning skin, tasting baby oil and heat and something he knew was pure Michael, a faint salt and spice Rob remembered as the taste of Michael’s cum. Michael moaned, head falling forward on the table, hair sliding free of its tail to stick in messy strands to Michael’s cheeks. His pale gold skin shimmered against the black silk blindfold, damp with sweat and, Rob suspected, tears. “I’m going to fuck you, Mikey,” he said, pressing the words into Michael’s very flesh. “Are you ready for it?” “Sir…” Michael’s voice trailed off weakly as Rob flicked his tongue around the pink, vulnerable rim. “That’s not an answer,” he pointed out, dragging his teeth lightly over Michael’s clenching hole. “Are you ready?” “Please, Sir.” That wasn’t an answer either, really, but since Michael’s ass was pressing back, his body all but begging for a deeper touch, Rob decided he’d let it go. “Yeah, Mikey. Gonna fuck you. Gonna fucking own you.” Rob’s fingers dug into Michael’s cheeks and the submissive grunted, pushing into the touch. “But first, we’re going to get you ready.” He ran his hands over Michael’s ass, stroked over the silky flesh. “And you have a punishment coming.” “Rob, Sir, please.” Rob wondered if Michael even knew what he was begging for. Whatever it was, Rob was going to give it to him, everything he was begging for and more. Rob rose up onto his knees, then leaned down, pressing against Michael from knees to shoulders, enjoying the slide of oiled flesh and the prickle of hardened wax against his own skin. Wrapping his hands around Michael’s, he eased the submissive’s white-knuckled grasp on the handles set under the table, and urged him to push up, so he was arched in almost a cobra pose, knees firmly planted on the table, upper body raised and pressed hard against Rob. Rob just stayed there for a moment, rubbing slowly against the beautiful man beneath him, savoring the leashed strength of his submissive. Savoring even more the fact that, resistant or not, Michael had chosen to submit to him. Eventually, though, Rob knew he had to move or he’d end up rubbing off against Michael’s perfect ass, and that was definitely not how he wanted to come. With one lithe movement, he jumped off the table. He had to smile when Michael’s head jerked up. The submissive’s entire body went rigid as he seemed to practically scent the air, trying to figure out where Rob had moved to, what Rob was
doing. What Rob was doing was retrieving the dull sword from the supply table. Another graceful movement and Rob was on the table again, this time straddling one of Michael’s thighs. Michael, braced on his forearms, turned his head as if he could actually see Rob, and Rob had a sudden need to look into those neon blue eyes, to see Michael’s soul reflected there, his for the taking. Leaning forward, Rob tangled the fingers of one hand in Michael’s messy ponytail, using the grip to pull the slender man back until he was pushing up on his hands, back in an exquisitely graceful arch. Then, his erection throbbing with the pounding of his heart, Rob ran the very tip of the sword down the line of Michael’s spine, letting it bounce lightly over bits of hardened wax even as it traced a faint line on the exposed skin. The caress electrified Michael. The man shuddered, letting loose a low, guttural groan that sounded like it was pulled straight from his balls. The sound worked on Rob like a touch, a long, tight stroke of the hand over his aching cock. Leaning in, he pressed his cheek against Michael’s, all the while keeping a tight grip on the submissive’s silky hair. “Stay like this,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised by the grating, tight sound of his voice, or by the fact he managed to speak at all past the lump of sheer want lodged in his chest. Slowly, he released Michael’s hair, not relinquishing his grip entirely until he was sure the submissive would stay in his arched, push-up position. Once he knew Michael wasn’t going anywhere, he slid a finger under the edge of the blindfold, tracing a light line over Michael’s cheeks, the bridge of his nose, even toying with the sensitive rim of his ear. Michael just shivered under the touch, shivered and practically whimpered, so fucking responsive. The black silk was damp, a fact Rob noted with a slow rush of triumph. He’d give Michael this gift, pulled him out of himself enough to give him the release of tears. If he’d ever doubted Michael was meant for him, and really, he hadn’t, then the evidence of how fully the man had given over to him would have erased it. His. His submissive. His man. Soon to be his lover. Moving quickly now, he tugged the blindfold off, exposing a flushed, blotchy face and burning blue eyes. That glowing gaze glittered with leftover tears, his dark lashes clumped together and damp. Michael’s lower lip was red and swollen, and even now the submissive was sinking straight, white teeth into the abused flesh, trying, Rob knew, to bite back his instinctive cries of passion and resistance. “Time to clean you off, Mikey,” he rasped, smiling a little wildly as Michael’s eyes widened at the sight of the blade. Oh, yeah. This was fucking perfect.
Winding his fingers back in Michael’s hair, he pulled until the submissive’s body was completely taut, completely dependent on his grasp for balance. Then he laid the blade sideways against the upper swell of Michael’s ass and slowly dragged it up the length of his spine. Michael shuddered hard under the stroke, and Rob spent a moment in gratitude that the blade was utterly dull. It was so gorgeous, little bits of wax flaking off, falling to the side, sticking in the leftover oil on the submissive’s golden skin. He placed a slow, wet kiss at the top of Michael’s spine, then moved to take another stroke, peeling the wax away with the edge of the weapon, watching Michael’s skin go white, then flush dark pink in the wake of the blade. Unable to resist, he followed the third stroke with his tongue, bending low to lick Michael’s skin, which was almost feverish with a combination of passion, pressure and the heat from the wax. Michael tasted amazing, of salt and the powdery remnants of baby oil. The skin of his back lacked the rich spice of his ass or his cock, but the submissive was every bit as responsive to the drag of Rob’s flattened tongue along his spine as he was to the thrust of it in his opening. “Please, Sir. Please. Please.” Michael was chanting, moaning, gasping with every stroke of the blade and every flick of Rob’s tongue. “Please, Rob. I need. I need. I need.” “I have what you need,” he growled back. Because he so fucking did. Everything Michael needed, and he was aching to give it all. Rob gave himself a moment, a moment to bury his face in the curve where Michael’s neck met his shoulder, to drink in his scent, to bite into the heavy muscle, tasting salt and submission. He ground his cock against Michael’s ass, feeling himself slide a little in the pre-cum gathering in his leather pants. So slick, so hot, but not as hot and slick as it would be sliding into Michael’s ass. “Sir…” It was more a thought than a word, but Rob heard the plea as loud as a siren, and the Master in him had to respond. Moving quickly, less graceful now in favor of speed, he vaulted off the table to stand at Michael’s side. So hot. He wondered if Michael’s sheer sensuality would ever stop taking him by surprise. He somehow doubted it. After all, ten years later the submissive was every bit as addictive as he’d been back in high school. Maybe more so. He urged Michael to shift, having him brace again on his forearms and push up on his knees, presenting his ass beautifully, open, begging to be pounded—by a paddle or by a cock, Rob thought either would work. Of course, he had something else in mind. Running an appreciative hand down the submissive’s back, over his ass, he paused to drink in the sight of Michael’s cock, full and hard and wet-tipped, pointing straight down from the submissive’s groin like a sword of flesh. He took a moment to delve a bit between strong thighs, to tickle Michael’s tender, hairless balls that drew up tightly. So
sweet. Then moving with more purpose, he settled Michael’s thighs a bit closer together, protecting anything especially delicate from the upcoming punishment. Holding the sword up so Michael could easily see it, he moved to stand by the submissive’s head. “It all comes back to this, doesn’t it?” he murmured. Michael nodded mutely, eyes blazing electric blue but somehow vulnerable. “Eromenos,” Rob murmured, reaching to stroke Michael’s hair back from his sweating forehead. “I’m not your beloved,” Michael rasped back, watching Rob with a wounded expression the Dom knew would haunt him. He didn’t pull his head away from Rob’s touch though, although Rob could tell he wanted to. “Aren’t you, Mikey?” Rob stroked Michael’s hair one more time, tucked a strand behind the submissive’s ear. “Because it really feels like you are.” Michael didn’t answer with words, but the way he closed his eyes, shutting Rob out the only way he could, spoke volumes. Rob sighed again and wondered if he’d ever be able to make it up to Michael. Firming his jaw, he moved to stand alongside Michael’s ass. There was only one way to prove he was in it for the long haul, and that was by doing it. Raising the sword, he brought it down hard across Michael’s ass, the flat of the blade delivering a stinging blow to those firm cheeks. Michael grunted in reaction, involuntarily jerking away before surging back into the blow. “Please…” It was Michael’s voice, but this time the word resonated in Rob’s soul. Please don’t let this moment ever end. Please don’t stop moving, breathing, stealing my fucking mind. Again and again he brought the sword down, marking Michael’s ass with each crack of the wide blade across his flesh. It began to blur. Michael, sprawled across the couch, light from the movie on the TV flickering over his features. Michael, spread across the weight bench, long, lean muscles begging to be touched. Michael, pressed against the wall, lights from the dance floor dying his features in stained glass hues. Michael, so cold and closed off Rob could literally feel the frost crawling over his skin. Michael, presented, open and waiting for Rob’s pleasure and punishment. Michael’s cock bobbed with each blow, pre-cum gathering in a glistening bead that trembled for a moment before splashing on the cloth covering the table. “Don’t come,” Rob warned him, snapped from his trance by the sight of the dark spot left by Michael’s cum. “Not until I’m inside you.” Michael groaned, and Rob watched appreciatively as those strong thighs went tight as the submissive clearly fought for control. Enough waiting. They were both too close to the edge to keep playing around. Rob
dropped the sword, yanking at his fly with one hand and scrabbling for a condom with the other. He ripped the foil packet open with his teeth, then fumbled the condom into place using the lightest touch possible, too close to the edge to risk going off too soon. Michael was rocking, cock swaying, raw, wanting noises coming from his throat. Rob grabbed the lube, which was waiting in a bowl of hot water, and hurriedly dumped some over his fingers. Now. He worked one finger into Michael’s tight passage, moaning a little himself at the blistering heat. “So tight, Mikey,” he whispered. “You’re gonna squeeze my dick off.” Michael just grunted and pushed back, riding Rob’s finger. That was Rob’s cue to add another finger, scissoring them apart, opening Michael up and getting him ready for Rob’s cock. “Now, now, now.” Once again Rob’s thoughts were coming out in Michael’s words. No more waiting. He had to feel Michael around him now. Wrapped up, lubed up and ready to go, Rob climbed back onto the table, knocking Michael’s thighs wide and making a place for himself. He was almost afraid to grab his dick and aim, he was so fucking close. Clenching pretty much everything capable of clenching, he set himself against Michael’s puckered opening, echoing the submissive’s moan as he wedged his way in, one torturous inch at a time. “Yes.” It was a hiss, wrenched from his throat, echoed by Michael. “You are so fucking good, feel so good.” * Michael slammed back, needing to feel Rob so deep inside he could taste him in his throat. Rob’s fingers dug into his hips, dragging Michael back even harder, pounding into him again and again and again. He could feel his ass, burning against the smooth skin of Rob’s hips, the rasp of vinyl dragging over tenderized flesh. More. It was the only thought in his head, the only desire in his soul. He was consumed with the need for more. More pain, more pleasure. More of Rob. “Yeah, Mikey.” Rob was panting, each stroke of his cock strafing the bundle of nerves that had Michael keening out his pleasure. “Don’t come,” his Master commanded. “Not yet.” Michael groaned, tightened again, trying to force the climax back with sheer willpower, and knowing he was failing miserably. “Help me.” The words fell from his mouth unbidden, a desperate warning. Rob reached around, wrapped strong, smooth fingers around his dick and held the orgasm
back with an iron grip. “Rob,” he was whimpering, almost whining, caught in a loop of pleasure. Rob’s cock in his ass, stretching him into delicious, burning pleasure. Rob’s hand around his dick, reining him in. “Please.” He wasn’t a beggar, wasn’t the sort of submissive who cried prettily to get his way. But Rob dragged it out of him, exposed the deepest secrets of his soul and left Michael yearning to belong to him utterly. “Not yet,” Rob growled, pulling out with a movement both painfully rough and exquisitely perfect. Michael all but screamed in denial, tried to ride back onto Rob’s dick, but there was no way to make contact. Rob had all the control, held him with a bruising grip on his hip and an irresistible hold on his cock. “Flip,” Rob directed, loosening his grip on Michael’s dick to help urge him onto his back. Rob was moving fast, arranging Michael, then positioning himself between Michael’s wide-spread thighs. And, oh. Oh. Rob rose above him, black vinyl pants hanging around his thighs, cock huge and hard and taunting him by staying just out of his reach. He was every Master Michael had ever served, every god he’d worshiped. He was Achilles, chest glistening with oil and speckled with tiny bits of hardened wax. He closed his eyes in self-defense, unable to meet that blown-out, passion-black gaze. Rob wasn’t letting him get away with that, though. A quick smack to his cock had Michael curling up, desperate for more, for enough touch to get him off. “Keep your eyes open,” Rob commanded, and Michael was helpless to refuse. So he watched Rob wedge his thighs under his own. He watched his Master lean in, sweeping one arm under Michael’s thigh and then planting his hand on the table by Michael’s hip, opening him up for Rob’s piercing gaze and his visibly throbbing dick. He watched Rob take himself in hand, squeeze tight, then set the swollen head against Michael’s clenching hole. And he watched Rob sink balls-deep with one long, slow motion; the visual was almost as good as the sensation. Rob held him, split wide, and just pounded away, each thrust harder, deeper than the last. The man, who’d been relatively quiet through the entire scene, was making noise now. Low grunts of effort, sibilant hisses of pleasure, rough growls of passion all washed over Michael like an irresistible tide. Each thrust, each sound, each fucking second took Michael closer to orgasm, closer to a harder, sharper climax than he’d ever felt before—even with Rob. “Soon, Mikey.” The words were a promise and a threat. A promise of pleasure beyond bearing, and the threat it would all come crashing to a halt. “Please.” Michael had just enough brain function to wonder if he could articulate
any other word. Please. Just, please. Rob leaned in, all but rolling Michael onto his shoulders. Michael wrapped his free leg around his Master’s waist, lifted with his abs and rode Rob’s cock, wanting the man as delirious as he was. Rob speared him hard, and Michael fell back, chest heaving as his head hit the table. He wanted to close his eyes, try to control the sensations, but his Master had said no, so Michael had no choice but to writhe, caught on his Master’s dick and drowning in his Master’s eyes. “So pretty, Mikey.” Rob was moving hard, hips grinding in a quick and dirty swivel that had Michael’s eyes practically rolling back in his head. Then, fast as a snake striking, Rob’s lips were on his, tongue invading, teeth scraping. Their first kiss. It was fucking catastrophic. Michael did scream, now. Screamed into Rob’s mouth and felt the larger man swallow the sound down. Bucked into his embrace, and felt Rob dig deeper still. Release was like a freight train, bearing down on him, and Michael was helpless on the tracks, electrified by Rob’s body in his, paralyzed by Rob’s mouth on his own. “Come, Mikey.” Rob’s voice was raw, but the edge of command was there, and Michael was shooting almost before Rob finished speaking, shooting high and hard and without a hand on his dick at all. “Yeah, eromenos,” Rob grunted as Michael’s muscles locked, squeezing down until his Master could barely move. “Come all the fuck over my cock.” And Michael did, was. “Shit!” The first spurt hit Michael’s chin, the next fell hot and wet across his chest. He lost track after that, because Rob was pounding his prostate, forcing spurt after spurt of cum to streak his chest. Then Rob was leaning in, licking the cum from his chin, sucking at his bottom lip before sliding his tongue to tangle with Michael’s, sharing the taste of Michael’s pleasure. Thank God, Rob rode it out, kept the evil grind going until Michael was empty, drained dry. Then Rob went for his own pleasure, pounding with short, sharp thrusts that still felt so fucking good. Less than half a dozen strokes later, Rob came, lips still grazing Michael’s, sharing breath and moans and the dizzying rush of ecstasy shooting from Rob’s dick to pulse in Michael’s still-spasming ass. Rob shifted just enough to let Michael’s leg fall limp on the table, but kept him pinned. Their breaths were harsh, chests rubbing together erratically, legs tangled. Rob brushed another kiss over his lips, softer this time, but no less intense. Michael wanted to pull away, but he wanted to stay even more. Wanted Rob’s kiss, his touch. Wanted the tenderness that soothed all the raw nerves at the end of a scene.
His Master must have read his mind, because Rob was holding him, stroking his lips with a gentle tongue, pressing slow, wet kisses to his throat, bringing him down in the sweetest way possible. Rob’s own breath was still harsh, still ragged, and Michael wondered for a moment who soothed the Dom. * Wrung out, exhausted and almost numb from their scene, Rob wondered if it had been a bad idea to let Michael shower alone. The submissive had said he needed a few minutes to regroup, but with each minute that passed, Rob was more convinced he never should have let the man out of his sight. When Michael finally approached the bar, he looked every bit as used up as Rob felt. His eyes were red-rimmed and looked the tiniest bit swollen, which just made the blue pop even more than usual. His expressive face was sober, almost tentative as he propped himself gingerly on the bar stool next to Rob’s. Rob squashed the surge of smug possessiveness at the move. Clearly Michael was still feeling every inch of Rob’s dick. “Hey.” Michael cut him a glance, but didn’t return the greeting. For once he was behaving like a submissive toward Rob, eyes on the floor, body language deferential. Rob smiled a little bit, but the satisfaction was tempered with the uncertainty over where this thing between them would go next. “Hey,” Michael answered eventually. His voice was as raw as his eyes, fucked out and rough from Rob’s use and his own screams. It was sexy as fuck, but more, it made Rob want to take care of him. He reached up without thinking, laid his palm over Michael’s throat, curling his fingers around to give the illusion of a collar. Michael shuddered, then leaned into the touch until Rob knew the submissive was really feeling the restraint. Stroking the submissive’s jaw with his thumb, he turned to the bartender and ordered a cup of herbal tea. Michael didn’t respond, but the bartender smiled as she prepared the soothing beverage and slid it in front of Rob’s submissive. * “We need to talk.” Michael supposed he should be grateful Rob had waited until he finished his tea to start the conversation. Holding the mug between his palms, Michael rotated it slowly on the bar. He didn’t know why it had come as such a surprise to him, the way Rob cared for him after their scene. He really hadn’t seen any sign Rob was a negligent Master. He
supposed he was just stuck in a loop of their high school encounter, when Rob had run so fast Michael had practically heard a sonic boom. “Do we have to?” He knew better than to ask, but the idea of discussing anything meaningful with Rob now, when he was stripped so bare and vulnerable just flat out terrified him. “I think we do, Mikey.” And just damn him for using that low, steel-edged Master’s voice. “There’s something between us. Something powerful and electric, and it’s been there since we were kids.” Michael shook his head, knowing it was true, but unwilling to admit it. “You can lie to me, Michael, but don’t lie to yourself.” Rob cupped Michael’s jaw before laying his hand over Michael’s neck once more. Michael shuddered all over again; at the touch, at the feeling Rob owned him. Rob owning him? The idea was terrifying. “I ran away from you ten years ago,” Rob continued, fingers stroking Michael’s neck soothingly. “I was a kid, and I was confused about what I was feeling and afraid of what other people would say.” Rob leaned closer, resting his forehead against Michael’s temple, breathing his words directly into Michael’s ear. “I have never for one minute stopped regretting it. I’ve wondered what might have happened if I hadn’t been such a coward.” His breath tickled Michael’s ear, hot and damp. “If you run now, Michael, we’ll both spend the next ten years wondering what we could have had.” Michael squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. It would be far, far too easy for Rob to break him. Having his teenaged heart bruised was one thing. Having his submissive spirit broken was another thing entirely. “We could build something amazing together, Michael.” It was like the devil whispering in his ear, offering him everything he’d ever wanted, and Michael was afraid to reach out and take it. His own cowardice infuriated him. He was a submissive, not coward. A submissive had to be the polar opposite of cowardly. “How do I trust you?” They were the first real words he’d spoken and they rasped in his throat. “How do I know you’ll do what you say?” Rob’s eyes lighted, green glinting even in the surreal lighting of the bar. Michael sighed. Clearly Rob knew he’d won. “We’ll sign a contract, something that protects both of us.” Michael felt himself nod, felt Rob’s hand tighten on his throat, and caught his breath. “We’ve both been afraid, Michael.” Rob’s voice vibrated against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Or maybe it was Rob’s words that affected him so strongly. “Alone we were afraid, for far too long. Now it’s time for us to be brave together.” Together. Michael had been alone for so long, alone even with the club Masters
and subs. Alone even in contracted relationships. Rob was offering him a chance at something more—at being with someone on more than a physical level. Rob slid off his barstool and urged Michael off his so they were standing face to face, chest to chest. The Dom reached up and cupped Michael’s face in his hands, resting his forehead against Michael’s. “This is going to work, Mikey,” Rob whispered against Michael’s lips. And with those green eyes burning into his, with the strength of Rob’s hands on his face, the strength of Rob’s will controlling his very breath, Michael believed it would work. “Yeah,” he murmured against Rob’s mouth. “Yeah, I think it just might.” The kiss that followed was full of laughter, and salt, and all the things Michael had been looking for, for all of his life. All the things he was beginning to believe he’d found with Rob. They were caught up enough in each other that they didn’t notice the piercing gaze of the big, bald club owner as he stood on the stairs, or the way Master Sin and Janie, the cinnamon-haired bartender, clinked their glasses together. No, Rob and Michael had no attention for anyone but each other. And that was just the beginning. The End
About the Author: Violet Summers is actually the writing team of Sierra and VJ Summers. Sierra lives in Michigan with her husband, three children and two dogs. She is grateful that she has the opportunity to fulfill her dream of writing. VJ Summers is the quiet—and short—half of the team. She doesn’t remember quite when she started writing, though she has a vague memory of a story written in the seventies about a girl name Carmel (that’s Car-MELL) who wore designer Sassoon “shapes”, or jeans. It was not, she says, her finest work. Now, years in public education have sparked a variety of stories that she’s eager to tell. Both women live in Southeast Michigan, and the spice of the Metro-Detroit area often flavors their work. “Why look for a more glamorous setting,” VJ asks, “when we’ve got the beautiful, re-vitalized Downtown area to draw from?” “Violet” is multi-published in a variety of genres, from contemporary to paranormal, from BDSM to fantasy. The two things you can count on in all of VJ and Sierra’s books are their deeply emotional stories and scorching erotic love scenes. Sierra and VJ love to hear from her readers. Contact them at
[email protected] or check out their website at VioletSummers.com.
Meet Lsb Authors At The House Of Sin Lsbooks.Net We invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books LSbooks.com for other exciting erotic romances. 2007: Terran Realm Urban fantasy world: TerranRealm.com
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