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://LS books.com

Email:

raven@LS books.com

Editor

Terri Schaefer

Cover Art ist

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

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 semi-circle 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.”

“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

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

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 flat-out 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

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 pre-cum, 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.

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 pre-cum 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 lame-ass 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.

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

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

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

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?

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

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, dark-haired 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, cream-colored 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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

“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 pain-whore 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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

“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.”

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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 [e-mail] 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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