Studio Orders Morticia Knight

A Totally Bound Publication

Studio Orders

ISBN # 978-0-85715-661-7

©Copyright Morticia Knight 2014

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright March 2014

Edited by Sue Meadows

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination

and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or

places is purely coincidental.

whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of

the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound

Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil

proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs

and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator

of the artwork.

Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road,

Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This

story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.

0#-#. 8 ), '), '' ))%-

Gin and Jazz

STUDIO ORDERS

Morticia Knight

Book five in the Gin and Jazz series

The head of Global Pictures Studios, Vincent Franklin, promised Jack Stone that he would take care of

Jack’s loyal driver, Juan. But for a dominant man like Vincent, Juan’s natural submissiveness causes

him to long for much more from the shy young man.

Juan is devastated when his only friend, film star Jack Stone, leaves Hollywood for good.

Lonely most of his life, the shy young man has dreamt of love, only to have his heart broken

repeatedly. Before he left, Jack made certain that Juan would be taken care of by asking his

ex-boss, studio chief Vincent Franklin, to hire him on.

Vincent Franklin is an incredibly controlled and meticulous man. Not given to emotional

outbursts and unnecessary flights of fancy, his temperament is ideal for the stressful and

demanding job as head of Global Pictures Studio. He leads a carefully concealed private life,

his only social outlet being the sadomasochism club to which he belongs. When Jack

introduces him to his handsome chauffeur Juan, he is struck by how naturally submissive

Juan is. He wonders…

Soon, Juan is falling for the elegant, older man that is his new boss. He’s also thrilled when

Vincent asks him to be his personal valet. But there are things that Vincent demands of a

lover that Juan knows nothing about. Things that could make him run away from the man

who would do anything to protect and care for him.

Dedication

For everyone who wanted Juan to have his own HEA—he thanks you ;-)

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following

wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Musso & Franks: Mark Echeverria

Model T: Ford Motor Company

Marlboro: Philip Morris USA

Listerine: Johnson & Johnson

Cream of Wheat: B & G Foods

Cadillac: General Motors Company

Hamilton: Hamilton Watch Company

Stickley: L & J.G. Stickley

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Chapter One

“Mr Franklin, Mr Pasquale is insisting. He seems rather…desperate and claims he’ll

come over here and not leave until you speak with him.”

Vincent regarded Miss Platt, his secretary and receptionist at Global Pictures Studios.

The worry etched on her brow and the flush in her cheeks indicated how rattled the typically
stoic young woman was by Roman’s likely hysterical manner. Vincent had chosen Susan
Platt as his secretary precisely because her demeanour was as controlled and unflappable as
his own. But screen idol Roman Pasquale was a challenge on his best days. And the past
several days had not been his best. They had probably been among his lowest.

“Is he on the lot?”
Miss Platt looked as distressed as he’d ever seen her which—in addition to her facial

expression—amounted to her rubbing her thumb reflexively on the door jamb.

I wonder if anyone has ever tried to dominate her?
Vincent cleared his throat and mentally kicked himself. He had stayed away from the

club for too long. However, his prospects there had been rather dismal as of late.

“He said he’s nearby and could be here in ten minutes.”
Musso and Frank’s.
It was the very grill that all of them from the studio regularly haunted and where

Roman had met his now ex-lover, Jack Stone. It was there that Global Studio chief Vincent
and his associates, director Marvin Holst and casting agent Herbert Goldstein had been
meeting with the beautiful young actor about signing a film contract with the studio the
previous year. His angelic good looks had already captured audiences in a small movie role
he had been in with his close friend, Trixie Fox. Nineteen twenty-four had been a great year
for discovering new talent. But now that it was the spring of twenty-five, Vincent was on the
verge of losing some of his best players.

So much has changed since then.
Roman had shown up unexpectedly at the luncheon and after joining them, had spent

the majority of the meal fucking Jack with his stare. Vincent still regretted that he hadn’t

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stepped in somehow to save Jack from Roman’s clutches. At the time, Vincent hadn’t been
able to fathom how the young man could truly have such a sweet disposition and be so
innocent in spirit—especially anyone who had been in Hollywood for more than five
minutes.

“Sir? He’s waiting on the line.”
Miss Platt knew that Vincent demanded a certain level of respect and behaviour from

her, as he did with anyone he associated with. She had to be quite flustered by Roman to
push him to answer her.

“Fine then. Might as well get this over with. Tell him he has ten minutes to get here,

otherwise I’m leaving for the day.”

His secretary looked relieved as if she had just exhaled with her entire body.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”
She left the room, carefully shutting the door behind her so that it didn’t make a loud

noise. Vincent realised it had been a rough couple of weeks for her and that she had handled
it admirably, the way she did most challenges that arose from working at one of the top
motion picture companies in the world. From the moment Jack had broken free from Roman
for good, the devastated film star had been voracious in his attempts to get to Jack through
the studio. Susan had been the one to deal with the brunt of Roman’s angry and frantic
efforts to find his ex-lover. The young man had been very careful to keep his whereabouts
hidden when off the lot—no doubt with his driver and fellow escapee, Juan, helping him in
that regard.

Vincent made a note in his calendar to order some roses and theatre tickets to be sent to

Miss Platt at the office.

What I need is a valet.
He didn’t dare. There wasn’t a chance he would trust anyone in his home. Vincent’s life

outside of the studio was a carefully constructed secret. There was a housekeeper who came
in a few days a week and only when he was there. He never allowed anyone access to his
private residence unless they had been expressly invited. His driver Tommy arrived in the
morning from wherever it was that he resided and tended to Vincent’s transportation needs.
He was on call for premieres, meetings and other engagements—but never to the club.

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To maintain the confidentiality of the club of sadomasochism and its members, special

drivers were employed to transport the attendees to and from the lavish mansion in San
Marino, right over the hill and to the east of Hollywood next to Pasadena. There was a
common area for the male patrons who desired to socialise, view special showings or to meet
new submissives. Only the dominant men could initiate any interaction. Once a twosome or
threesome desired privacy, they would check into one of the many specially appointed and
equipped bedrooms to engage in whatever activities everyone agreed upon.

It had been almost a month since the last time he had partaken of his home away from

home. If ever Vincent had needed the dynamic of dominating another man, revelling in the
joy of his submission as they surrendered to his masterful touch—the past couple of weeks
had been it. Yet, he hadn’t bothered going. No one there had the potential to connect with
him on a long term or—what he barely allowed himself to hope for any longer—a permanent
basis.

Ten years before, he had loved a man deeply who had seemed to be the perfect

counterpart for him. But his young lover had only been experimenting. He had lied to
Vincent about his circumstances, eventually returning to his hometown back east to marry
his fiancé.

Sighing, Vincent prepared himself for the raging storm in the person of Roman

Pasquale that would soon come thundering through his office. Practically on cue, Miss Platt
buzzed him on the intercom.

There was no point in questioning what she wanted. “Send him in.”
Vincent chose to remain seated behind his rather large mahogany desk. His office was

almost as spacious as the study in his home in Hancock Park, an affluent area south of the
studio and Hollywood. In the same way that he kept his residence, every tasteful object d’art
and leather bound book in Vincent’s office was fastidiously arranged and maintained.

The door opened wide, revealing an uncharacteristically haggard looking Roman. Dark

circles under his eyes and his trembling hands were what Vincent noticed first. Roman also
seemed to have suffered enough of a weight loss that it caused his typically stylish and
elegant ensemble to hang loosely on him. He didn’t appear to be very steady on his feet and
the complete effect of seeing Roman so torn apart startled Vincent.

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At one time years before, Roman had been charming and fun to be around. Always

gifted with a dry wit, his wicked sarcasms had been more enjoyable than hurtful. However,
his success had changed him. Vincent was vaguely aware of hearing about a very rich man
who had dumped Roman right before his career took off. Vincent wondered if that was part
of what had turned Roman so sour. Eventually, Roman had become so difficult and
overbearing, that the mere mention of the screen god’s name made Vincent want to reach for
a Bromo-Seltzer.

In addition, trying to corral the star’s outlandish behaviour once he had become

completely obsessed with Jack Stone had almost seen Vincent receive his walking papers
from the Board Members of Global. The film industry was under a tremendous amount of
pressure to conform to the Hays Moral Code. Any performers found to be involved in
adultery, pre-marital sex, drugs or homosexuality would immediately be discharged. Every
player’s contract stated that fact.

Vincent frowned. He actually felt somewhat sorry for the man, despite the endless

aggravation he had caused Vincent in the previous year. Roman seemed to be attempting to
gracefully take his place in one of the dark leather chairs facing Vincent’s desk. Roman had a
specific trademark style in which he presented himself. It appeared to have deserted him.

“My dear Vincent, so good of you to take time out of your very busy schedule to meet

with me.”

Roman’s tone was a trifle shy of the pompous arrogance that Vincent was accustomed

to. Everything in Roman’s manner spoke of someone using every ounce of their remaining
strength to keep from becoming completely unravelled. Vincent’s original intent of giving
Roman the bum’s rush dissipated in the face of the broken man seated before him.

“That’s not a problem, Roman.” Vincent shifted in his seat, surprisingly unsure how to

approach his highest paid star at the studio. “What can I help you with today?”

He knew exactly what Roman wanted help with—to tell him where he could find Jack.
Roman’s gaze flitted around the room and Vincent noticed he swallowed a few times

before replying.

“I…I know you’ve been helping Jack out, and I sincerely want to thank you for that. I

have been terribly concerned about him.”

“Yes, we have too.”

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A look of alarm contorted Roman’s face. “Is there anything wrong? I can help.

Anything, I would do anything for him.”

Good Lord. I had no idea how deep his love went for Jack. Didn’t know it was something he was

actually capable of.

Vincent kept his expression impassive. “Let your mind be at ease. He’s fine. I’m

personally making sure that he’s taken care of.”

Something else crossed Roman’s face. It appeared to be of a more angry nature. “I see.”

His speech was curt. “I imagine being taken care of personally by the studio chief must be
delightful for a young Hollywood actor. Especially one so beautiful, vulnerable and
trusting.”

Roman narrowed his eyes at Vincent and it was clear that the spoilt brat Vincent had

grown to greatly dislike over the years was coming back to life.

Still, Vincent remained unflustered by Roman’s barely-veiled accusations. Nothing

could be further from the truth. As likeable and sweet as the boy was, Vincent didn’t view
Jack in that way. He genuinely cared about Jack’s well-being, but his feelings for him were of
a more fatherly nature. Regardless, he wasn’t the physical type Vincent preferred either. A
strong, masculine man that he could gain obedience from was what Vincent craved.

“There’s no need to turn the concern I have for Jack into something sordid.”
He had been careful not to allow his voice to rise in volume, or add emphasis to any

particular word. It was a simple statement.

“Humph.” Roman looked away, obviously formulating his next move.
“If that’s all you need, then I—”
“Please, wait.”
Roman’s pleading look stopped Vincent from going on.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think, consider my actions, and I had hoped I could meet with

Jack and explain all of this to him—”

“No.”
“But, I—”
“No.”
“Vincent. I’m begging you. When has that ever happened? My God, you should be

filming this.” Roman laughed bitterly. “I didn’t mean alone. You or Charlie or every fucking

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person at Global can chaperone us. I don’t give a shit. Just please let me have a chance to
speak with him.”

This is actually heartbreaking.
“No.”
The firm, steady timbre of Vincent’s words never changed. He knew that not a hint of

any sentiment passed over his face. His ability to remain in control of his emotions was a
carefully refined art. It served him greatly in business and it made him a master in the
bedroom.

“This is all your fault!”
Roman’s rage burst from him and Vincent merely raised his eyebrows. The studio chief

understood what so many didn’t because he had the ability to step back. Roman was helpless
and wounded, so he needed to strike out however he could.

“If you hadn’t forced us to remain separate, to perform that charade of dating Maude

and Louise, allowing Andre Chenard with all of his pretentious method acting nonsense to
corrupt Jack—he never would have left me! Now all I ask of you is one little favour, one tiny
consideration, a chance—and all you can do is tell me no!”

Roman had worked himself up into quite a lather, shaking, his face flushed. Vincent

took a moment to ascertain whether Roman had finished spewing.

“It is not mine or the studio’s policy to interfere in the personal lives of our players—

except as it pertains to the Willie Hays Code—so I will not entertain the idea of mediating a
failed romance between two of my stars.”

Roman dropped his head into his hands. Vincent wondered if he was crying.
“That’s it then?” Roman raised his head. “That’s all Jack and I are, a failed romance,

nothing more.”

“Roman, whether you believe me or not, it gives me no pleasure to see you hurting like

this.” Vincent braced himself for the sarcastic retort that never came. “But I can’t, and I won’t,
help you with Jack. I would like to see you come back to work. I think that would help you.”

Roman snorted. “You would like to see me pay the studio’s bills is what you’re saying.”
“You have a contract with us—an exceptionally generous one—and putting your

energy into something other than pining over someone would be therapeutic.”

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Roman muttered something in Spanish. “Pining? Is that what I’m doing? I see it more

as trying to regain a part of my soul.”

Roman’s words sliced through Vincent’s gut. Out of nowhere, Vincent was filled with a

sudden envy of Roman. Vincent had loved once, but it never could have been described in
such a way. He ached to find someone who meant that much to him. Someone he could keep
in his care and protect forever.

“You know I can’t force you to work. However, if you decide not to, it’s in your contract

that we will no longer pay your salary and you won’t be able to work at another film studio
for a period of five years.”

Vincent had never believed in forcing people to create art that they didn’t want to. It

made no sense to him. He had argued his stance to the board until they finally saw the
wisdom of his words right on film. A difficult and troubled star had ruined an entire motion
picture by their intentionally poor performance and bad behaviour. They had simply no
longer cared. The film had been scrapped—lots of money and time squandered.

Most stars were more threatened by the five year no competition clause. And since

Roman was in his mid-thirties, his years of playing the dashing hero were limited already.
When Jack had announced he wanted to leave, he had assumed that he would have to pay
Vincent back. Vincent had explained to him that all they would do was stop paying him once
he was done working on Andre Chenard’s film. Jack had been greatly relieved. Vincent had
also explained about the five year clause.

“Oh I would never work for another studio, Mr Franklin, even if I was staying in Hollywood.

Global took a chance on me and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Vincent held a smile at bay remembering the young man’s words. All Jack wanted was

to leave Hollywood behind and go back to a simple, normal life. On the days when the
Roman Pasquales of the world flounced into his office, Vincent understood that compulsion
all too well.

Roman had obviously been chewing something over in his mind, the expected results of

his meeting with Vincent clearly becoming derailed.

“Yes. You’re right. I probably should get back to work here at the studio. When did you

have in mind?”

Oh no you don’t. You’re not going to accidentally run into Jack here.

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“I’m going over some projects right now. André said he would love to work with you

again.”

Roman’s lips curled down in apparent disgust. “The man’s obviously a masochist.”
Vincent had to contain his laughter. He couldn’t agree more. He had also wondered

why André would want to go through the hell of pulling a memorable and heartfelt
performance out of Roman ever again.

“What about Maude? Is she back from her trip yet?”
“No, not yet. But I have a film with Will Carmichael that I would like for her to do.”
“Splendid. The day becomes even more excruciatingly awful.”
There had been no love lost between the two actors ever since Roman caught Will

kissing Jack at their New Year’s Eve party.

“Let me look over what is in development and I’ll be in contact.” Vincent stood. “But I

really must be going, I have an engagement elsewhere.”

Roman quirked his eyebrows as he stood. “Anyone I would know?”
“No, Roman. I’m not seeing Jack.”
“Humph.”
Roman swirled away from Vincent and strode to the door of the office. He stopped,

then turned to Vincent, his momentary show of bravado dispelled.

“If you do see Jack, could you please at least let him know that I will always be here for

him if he ever needs anything, anything at all.”

Roman’s eyes shone with unshed tears and Vincent was struck by his vulnerability.

Roman’s usual pride was no match against the genuine love for Jack that lived inside him.
Vincent was glad he had finally met with Roman. It seemed to jostle something awake in
him, a need that had been buried too long.

“I’m sorry, Roman. I really am. But the answer is still no.”

* * * *

Juan leaned against the Model T Ford car that Jack had recently purchased. After

pulling out a Marlboro, he placed it in his lips, then lit it. The days were warming up as they
advanced towards summer, so he had the new vehicle parked in the shade. His soon-to-be

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ex-employer would be along momentarily and they would grab lunch as had been their
custom for the past two weeks. Ever since Juan had helped Jack escape Roman by driving
him away from the star’s estate—leaving his job and life there behind for good—they had
developed their own daily routine.

It had been an easy decision for him to run away from his somewhat stable existence as

Roman’s driver. He had fallen in love with Jack a few months before and had thought…

He sucked the smoke deep into his lungs. He still didn’t regret it. Unlike some others,

when he loved someone, he cared about their well-being whether his feelings were returned
or not.

After confessing his love to Jack the night before, he had been hopeful. There was a

brief moment back at the hotel in Jack’s room when he had put his hands on his shoulders.
He had let them rest there, waiting, wishing that Jack would turn around and give himself to
Juan. When Jack had told him no in so many words, Juan had quietly left and spent the night
crying in his room, mourning the love that had never been with Roman and could never be
with Jack.

A light breeze ruffled the eucalyptus trees that were clustered against an old shed that

didn’t appear to have any specific purpose. Juan checked his watch. It had been a gift from
Roman a couple years before and Juan had been thrilled that the handsome star had given
him such a beautiful item.

“I expect you to be punctual when you drive me around, so I purchased this for you to ensure

that there would be no excuses. You can tell time, can’t you?”

Juan saw that the filming should be breaking for lunch at any moment. He tried to

remain distracted, not let his thoughts drift back to the situation between him and Jack. The
young man had been so kind to him always, the only person he could remember in forever
who had treated him as if he mattered, who talked to him instead of at him. A part of Juan
understood his love was primarily based on that. It wasn’t a bad way to begin a romance.
Even though Juan didn’t want to admit it, he knew they wouldn’t have lasted.

They both needed someone to take care of them, someone they could give themselves

to. Juan had done with Jack what he always had with everyone before him—waited on him
at every opportunity, desiring only to please him, give him whatever he wished.
Unfortunately, Jack hadn’t wished for anything from Juan. He had only wanted to be nice to

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Juan, not be any trouble to him. The young man wasn’t interested in playing the part of a
pampered screen idol and had already warned Juan he was leaving Hollywood as soon as
his picture with André Chenard was over.

Juan’s stomach clenched. He was terrified by Jack leaving. He knew his friend—that

was what Jack had said they were—wanted to make sure Juan had a job before he left, but
that wasn’t the thing that frightened Juan the most. Losing the first person who Juan cared
about and who also cared back was devastating. He would be alone, amongst strangers.

He saw Jack leaving the side door of the soundstage and speaking with someone from

the set. Juan dropped his cigarette to the ground, stamping it with the toe of his new shoes
purchased by Jack. They had left in such a hurry that Juan had only had the clothes on his
back, and even then, he hadn’t been wearing his full chauffeur’s outfit. Jack had insisted on
getting him set up with new attire. He hadn’t wanted to accept, even though Jack kept saying
he owed him big because Juan had lost his job over the whole thing.

Juan hadn’t done it for the shoes—he’d done it for someone he loved, and would do it

all over again even knowing what he did now. Juan had an idea of what the day would have
in store for him after taking Jack to the administrative offices that morning. A note had been
slipped under the door and Juan had watched with a heavy heart as Jack walked back to the
car after dropping off the message to Mr Franklin. He was sure Jack was going to take him to
the studio chief of Global and see about getting him a job. It made him sad, but there was
nothing else to do except go along with it. He would need to work, especially with Jack
leaving.

I won’t have to go in there too, will I?
Juan had seen the handsome older studio chief at Roman’s parties and at some of the

restaurants or premiers Juan had driven Roman to. They had never interacted personally.
Juan had watched him quietly, noting how the elegant man seemed so refined, but not
without compassion. He had wondered about him, if he had a family or what he was like
when he was away from the studio. Juan had also been impressed by how Mr Franklin
tolerated Roman’s excesses—yet employed a firm hand with him when necessary.

He had been so grateful to the studio chief when he’d personally brought a doctor to

attend to Jack after he’d become so ill from alcohol poisoning. It had been after New Year’s

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Eve when there had been a vicious fight with Roman over a misunderstanding with Will
Carmichael.

Juan held everything inside him. He knew it was what contributed to his inability to

stand up for himself, fight for what he wanted. Even though he still believed that he and Jack
wouldn’t have worked out in the long run, anxiety over whether he’d been good enough still
plagued him. He should have worked harder, tried harder to please him. So many times he
had experienced the urge to reach for Jack or speak plainly to him. Juan’s biggest fear was
that he would never be capable of expressing himself openly and would always miss out on
being with someone he loved.

Jack neared Juan, a carefree look on his face.
I’m glad he’s away from Roman. At least I was able to help him with that.
“Hi, Juan. Mr Vincent sent someone over to the set saying he could see us right now. Do

you mind if we eat a little bit later?”

Juan shrugged. “That’s fine.”
It was for the best. The sooner he became used to his new circumstances, the better.

Being alone and unloved was nothing new. He might as well let go of his silly romantic
fantasies and concentrate on his survival.

* * * *

Darting his eyes to the bronze clock on his desk, Vincent realised Jack would be in his

office at any minute. Film star Maude Simons still prattled on about her recent trip and
Vincent needed her to get to the point. Her unannounced arrival was troubling, as she was
not only a close associate of Roman’s, but had been Roman’s ‘date’ on his outings with Jack.
Vincent had no idea what she did or did not know regarding Jack and Roman’s break-up.

“Well, I do apologise again for taking up your time so unexpectedly like this, Vincent

darling. I was merely concerned that you might pass me over for one of your exciting new
film projects believing I was still unavailable.”

The very moment she began her goodbyes, Vincent stood to encourage her exit that

much quicker. If he was lucky, Jack would be a few minutes late, saving everyone from a
potentially awkward situation. Vincent’s primary concern was for Jack’s emotional state. He

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was a very sensitive young man and Vincent was certain that it had taken a great amount of
courage for him to break away from someone as overpowering as Roman. He was curious,
though, as to what part Juan—now Roman’s ex-driver—had played in helping Jack extricate
himself from the screen idol’s estate. There was certainly more to the story than what Jack
had shared.

Vincent opened his office door that led to the waiting area and gestured for the lanky

brunette star to go ahead. She continued her conversation, still angled towards him.
Vincent’s gaze flitted to a horrified Jack sitting rigidly on his chair, his eyes bugged wide, jaw
hanging open. In the brief moment he glanced over, he had also noted that Juan the driver
was with him.

Odd.
As they concluded their conversation, Vincent wondered if Jack might escape unnoticed

by Miss Simons, but it was not to be. Helpless to save Jack from having to interact with the
actress, he was immediately relieved when it became obvious that she had no idea about the
change in Jack’s romantic status. She made friendly small talk with him, oblivious to Jack’s
apparent discomfort.

The conversation wrapped up and Maude left. Vincent regarded the handsome young

driver, noting the worry etched on his brow as he watched Jack.

He’s in love with him. Or at the very least, cares for him deeply.
Vincent approached them and placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“I apologise, Jack. There wasn’t a way for me to get word to you before your arrival.”

Vincent paused. “Jack?”

“Huh? Oh. That’s okay, Mr Franklin. Can we go in your office now?”
“Of course.”
Vincent indicated his office, and Jack slowly walked ahead, seemingly lost in his own

world. Juan hesitated and, without meeting Vincent’s stare, he nervously trailed behind Jack.
Vincent took his time following them in. He noted several things immediately. Juan was
incredibly uncomfortable. He was able to stand still—stock straight—yet the muscles in his
jaw worked overtime as he repeatedly clenched his teeth. Beads of sweat had formed on his
forehead and one tiny drop had made its way down the side of his face. The chauffeur cap
Juan held also seemed to be in danger of obliteration—he couldn’t stop worrying it.

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There was a sudden need within Vincent to understand the nature of the relationship

that Juan and Jack now shared. Jack had insisted that there had been no dalliances with the
young driver before he left Roman, but things change. Especially as Jack was likely
susceptible to anyone who might show him any affection. Watching Juan stare at Jack in the
waiting room had made it clear to Vincent that he wanted to show Jack a lot of affection.

What is this ex-driver of Roman’s story?
Both men stood silently as Vincent took his time walking around them. He considered

the tall, masculine driver.

Superb. Just my type. Seems anxious to please. Such large, soft brown eyes.
Vincent came to a halt right in front of them, finding it difficult to tear his gaze away

from Juan. The driver had managed to calm himself somewhat by finally leaving his cap
alone, and had fixed his stare on a spot just behind Vincent.

I would love to work with him. Set him free.
“So, Jack. Do I remember correctly that this young man is Juan?”
Juan never flinched, never turned to meet Vincent’s eyes.
“Sorry, Mr Vincent. Yes, this is Juan…” Jack frowned. “Juan.”
Vincent chuckled. “Juan it is then. We can worry about the rest of it later. Unless you

want to tell me now?”

He had made sure to address his question directly to the chauffeur. Vincent had used

the tone he always did when he worked with a submissive man. It wasn’t too much different
from his typically calm voice, except that it was slightly deeper and more firm. It had the
desired effect on Juan. His hands and jaw stilled.

“Whatever you prefer, sir.”
So perfect.
Vincent cleared his throat. In the same voice he said, “Juan, I wish to speak with Jack

right now. Go wait in the office until we are finished, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”
Juan didn’t say another word or even acknowledge Jack. Vincent continued to watch

Juan as he exited, his stride controlled, his need for approval evident in the way he had
instantly obeyed him. He had to figure out a way to delicately inquire as to the young man’s
status with Jack.

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“He seems very…compliant.” He turned to Jack. “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered

him out like that?”

“No, Mr Franklin. It’s your office.”
He chuckled again. “I wanted to hear from you personally how things are going. I was

concerned when I received your note.”

Vincent gestured for him to sit down, then made his way around his desk to take his

seat.

“I didn’t mean to worry you. Everything’s fine, I just wanted to ask you a couple

questions.”

“Good. No Roman sightings?”
Jack paused slightly. “No.”
“I wanted to make sure, because we have—”
“Mr Franklin? I’m sorry, but I don’t want to know anything about what’s going on with

him.”

Vincent pressed his lips together. “My apologies, Jack. We will never speak of his

whereabouts or doings again unless you ask. Agreed?”

“Yes, thank you.”
“Now. What can I help you with?”
“Would you like to hire a really good and loyal driver?”
Vincent let out a loud laugh.
Unbelievable. It’s as if Jack has brought me a glorious gift in the person of my dream submissive.
Unable to keep from smiling at the unexpected turn of events, Vincent needed to know

the complete details. It at least cleared up his curiosity over whether Juan and Jack were
lovers, despite the driver’s obvious infatuation. He knew Jack well enough to know he
wasn’t the type of person to use, then toss someone aside.

“I assume you’re speaking about Juan?”
“I’m not trying to get rid of him. But when I’m done with Mr Chenard’s picture, what

will I do with a driver? And I owe him big.”

“Oh?”
“Yeah. He lost his job to help me get out of there. And he’s very nice, but I don’t need to

order anyone around, and he told me he really likes that.”

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Vincent coughed behind his hand and adjusted himself in his chair.
“I see.”
Good Lord. Yes. Absolutely unbelievable. However, I have a driver already. Perhaps some other

position?

Vincent noticed that Jack stared at him in likely anticipation of his answer. He wasn’t

sure how he was going to handle the whole situation quite yet, but there wasn’t the slightest
chance that he would let this opportunity slip away.

“I’ll figure something out. I assume we need to keep him away from…?”
He had promised not to speak of Roman, however the new development with Juan had

to be taken into consideration.

“Yeah. We would. Will that ruin things for him?”
“Don’t worry about Juan. I’ll make sure he’s being taken care of—personally.”
Jack let out a loud sigh, seeming incredibly relieved. “Thank you so much, Mr Franklin.

I’ve been so worried about him.”

“No, thank you, Jack.”
There was a moment, a slight twinge of concern inside Vincent. It wasn’t wise for him

to hire Juan when what he really desired was a dominant relationship with the young man.
In addition to his trepidation over that, Juan’s natural submissive nature hardly indicated
that he would enjoy the sadomasochistic aspects of Vincent’s private lifestyle.

Shoving his unease aside, he focused on Jack’s worry over his good friend, film star

Trixie Fox. She had become another troublesome issue for Vincent to deal with. Trixie had
managed to get herself entangled with a local gangster named Mario. He had successfully
enabled her to become hooked on heroin and had been keeping her from fulfilling her
contractual obligations to Global. Vincent had genuine worries over her well-being,
surmising that she would either overdose, be beaten up or be killed by the brutish mobster.

Global purchased a large quantity of the hooch that Mario’s Chicago bosses sold.

Vincent had used that approach with the Studio Board of Directors to intervene on her
behalf. He had explained to them that since she was a part of their business, that Mario’s
bosses from Chicago should respect their mutual business arrangement and handle Mario. It
was the only way Vincent could see to save Trixie from the animal. He made sure that Jack

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understood to stay away from her until that had been resolved. There was no telling what
sort of shenanigans might occur.

“In regards to Juan. As soon as I have word from André that the picture has wrapped, I

will send instructions directly to him. Is that agreeable with you?”

Jack shrugged. “It’s fine with me. Should we ask Juan?”
Vincent’s yearning for Juan erased his earlier apprehensions.
“No. I’m sure if he is as interested in a position with me as he seems, he’ll follow the

instructions to the letter.”

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Chapter Two

I can’t remember ever being this bored in my life.
A pile of cigarette butts lay at his feet. Juan leaned over the bench he sat on at the edge

of the Santa Monica beach and used one hand to sweep the debris into the other so he could
dispose of it. He got up, then walked over to the trash receptacle to dump them in.
Afterwards, he brushed his hands vigorously over one another to wipe away any additional
dirt. With the extra money Jack paid him each week, he no longer had to ration his smokes.
He wasn’t sure he should be spending all of his money on Marlboros, but they helped to
keep him busy. At least he was doing something other than staring at the ocean all day long.

He checked his watch. In another fifteen minutes he should take the car back to the

studio to meet Jack. He had toyed with the idea of simply staying on the lot all day despite
Jack’s insistence that he go out and enjoy himself.

“Geez, Juan, you don’t have to be anyone’s servant like you were with Roman. Have some fun,

do something you want to do for a change.”

He had never done that before in his life, even from the time he was a small child. With

too much free time to ponder his current circumstances, he had realised that all he really
wanted to do was to be with Mr Franklin. He knew there wasn’t any chance that the studio
chief would have a romantic interest towards him. More than likely, a man his age would
have a wife and family at home. Yet he sensed that he could make him happy—at least as a
driver. Juan would show him that he could flawlessly perform any task his new employer
required. It was easy to tell that Mr Franklin demanded perfection. Juan wanted to be the one
to give it to him.

I’ll be better this time. I won’t disappoint him.
If nothing else, he would have that. He would be the one that made the powerful man’s

life easier, less stressful. It would be an accomplishment, a source of pride.

I wish…
Juan shook his head as though he could dislodge his silly thoughts. Something inside

him couldn’t keep from wanting to share his heart with another human being, no matter how
pointless it was. After all he’d been through in the past few years, he should have known

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better. His best friend growing up had also been his first lover. They hadn’t done much more
than touch and taste each other, but that hadn’t mattered. The closeness and need for one
another had been more important. At least it had been for Juan.

Geraldo had never even invited Juan to his wedding to Maria, never told him that he

had planned it all along. His friend had journeyed down to southern Mexico for the
ceremony, leaving Juan’s family to tell him that Geraldo had left, and why. Juan’s almost
hysterical reaction to the news inadvertently told on him to his parents. Especially as Juan
had always been quiet, keeping to himself, silently obeying whatever his father had asked of
him. His outburst signalled to them that there was much more to his relationship with
Geraldo than simply being friends.

After a good thrashing, he had been kicked off his family’s rancho forever. As the eldest

son, the de Cordoba ranch would have been his inheritance one day. That hadn’t mattered as
much to him as losing his sisters and his favourite horse, Espìritu. Juan had migrated north to
California, lured by the promise of many available jobs in the rapidly growing Los Angeles
area. It was as a parking valet at the Cocoanut Grove that Juan had first met the dashing
screen idol, Roman Pasquale.

In the beginning, Roman’s rabid interest in him had boosted Juan’s self-esteem. A mere

few months later that had changed to a crushing loss as he was cast aside in favour of a new
young man. Juan had begged Roman to let him stay on as his driver. Already irretrievably in
love with the star, he had foolishly believed that if he were allowed to stay around Roman in
any capacity, he could eventually prove to him he was worthy of Roman’s love.

Juan snorted to himself.
Yes. A fool.
It would do him no good to behave like that again with Mr Franklin. He felt guilty even

putting Mr Franklin in the same category as Roman. If nothing else, he sensed his new boss
was a much kinder and fairer man. The way he had helped Jack out before when he was sick
and how he was currently protecting him from Roman spoke to Juan of the man’s goodness.

Jack said I would really like working for him.
Thinking of Jack made him check his watch again. He needed to get moving, Jack was

expecting him back at the studio by five.

Maybe we can go to the Sunset Inn for dinner or take a walk on the beach later.

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He was so bored.

* * * *

Vincent rinsed out his mouth with Listerine, spitting it into the sink of his private office

bathroom. He straightened up, then checked his reflection to verify his hair was in place and
that nothing seemed amiss. He noticed something and leaned in closer to the mirror. Pulling
the lower lid of one eye down, he noted that a blood vessel must have popped when he’d
vomited. It wasn’t very obvious, but Vincent didn’t want any indicators he was anything
other than in command of events. That he could be trusted to handle everything efficiently
for the benefit of the Studio Board. No doubt Vincent would have to broker a meeting
between the board and the Chicago mob bosses over the whole mess.

In the meantime, he needed to get to the crime scene where Trixie lay dead with her

gangster lover after being gunned down. That had obviously been the mob’s way of
‘handling’ the situation with Mario.

It’s my fault. I thought it would help her, and instead I sent her to her doom.
Vincent heard the buzz of the intercom in his office. It irritated him as he had expressly

asked Miss Platt not to bother him. He threw the hand towel he had used to wipe his mouth
into the sink, his anger transferring to himself over his loss of emotional control. Tempering
his moves, he opened the door with a calm hand, then strode to his desk to press the
intercom button.

“Yes?”
“Sir.” Miss Platt’s voice wobbled slightly. “There’s a detective from the scene on the line

and he wants to talk to you about Jack Stone.”

No…
Vincent forced the bile back down.
“Thank you.”
He slumped into his office chair, staring at the red lit bulb on the phone. He had a stray

thought that if he never picked it up, there couldn’t be any bad news.

Unable to stop the trembling of his hand, he picked up the receiver.
“This is Mr Franklin.”

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“Hello, Mr Franklin, Detective O’Riley. Listen, I got a fella here that one ‘a my cronies

says belongs to you. He says his name is Jack Stone.”

Vincent inhaled sharply.
“Is he all right?”
“Depends on how you define all right. He’s been wandering around here in a daze, not

making much sense. I questioned him and said he was free to go, but he keeps staring at the
house where the bodies are.”

He’s not dead. Thank God.
“Is he hurt?” Vincent knew his voice had an uncontrolled edge to it and decided it

couldn’t be helped under the circumstances.

“Nah. Just a couple of cuts, but he has a lot of blood all over him. You know, from the

corpses.”

Oh Jesus, Jack, why?
“Keep an eye on him for me, I’ll be right there.”
“No offence there, Mr Franklin, but I’ve got my own problems right now.”
Vincent pressed his lips together.
“If one of your ‘cronies’ could be counted on to make sure that he doesn’t wander off or

get hurt further, Global would definitely show their appreciation to the police department.”

There was a pause on the other line. “Yeah, I guess I could do that. Hurry up though,

it’s a mess down here. Oh, and another thing. You think you can ID Miss Fox’s body so the
coroner can get her outta here?”

Vincent rubbed sweat off his brow. “Yes, that would be fine. I’m on my way.”
Another thought chilled him.
“Detective?”
“Yeah?”
“The only bodies there are Miss Fox and her gentleman friend?”
“I’m not sure about the gentleman part, but yeah, they’re the only two deceased.”
“And there’s no one else there that’s been hurt or who’s with Jack?”
“No, he’s it. Why, you looking for someone in particular?”
“No, detective. Merely verifying the situation. Goodbye.”
Vincent hung up.

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Where the hell is Juan?

* * * *

Sniffling, Juan reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. Everything around him

seemed disjointed and unreal. Sitting in Vincent’s kitchen, he waited, useless, unable to help
Jack or Mr Franklin. Alone and thinking about poor Miss Fox. The door pushed in and Mr
Franklin strode in. Juan jumped up from his chair and stood at attention. His future boss
abruptly halted.

“Please, Juan, have a seat.”
Mr Franklin gestured to the chair in which Juan had been seated. It seemed

inappropriate for him to sit when his boss stood—his future boss. Juan hesitated.

“I asked you to take a seat, Juan.”
Vincent’s commanding voice prodded him and he obeyed immediately, keeping his

eyes forward so as not to stare at him directly.

“Can I get you anything? A bottled water or some brandy?”
Juan scrunched his eyebrows together. This was wrong. He should be the one waiting

on Mr Franklin. Or Jack. He tilted his head up and chanced a peek at Mr Franklin. The older
man looked down at Juan with compassion. There was nothing to indicate he was displeased
with Juan in any way. He meant to keep it that way.

“No thank you. Can I do anything for you?”
Mr Franklin raised his eyebrows a fraction. “That’s very kind of you, Juan.”
He held Juan’s gaze for a second longer, then turned to the icebox. He took out a bottle

of soda water, then pulled out the stopper before offering it to Juan. Mr Franklin remained
completely still with the water extended to him, and Juan had the sensation that he would
stay there forever if Juan didn’t take the bottle.

Reflexively swallowing, he tentatively raised his hand to take the drink. He wasn’t sure

how he would be able to grasp it without touching Vincent’s fingers. He reached as low on
the bottle as he could, but he still brushed against them, concentrating on ignoring the
acceleration of his heart from their contact. As soon as Juan had it tightly held, Mr Franklin

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let go. He smiled almost imperceptibly at Juan, then turned to open the icebox to take one
more for himself.

Mr Franklin sat in the chair opposite his, openly considering him. Juan lost the ability to

remain completely still.

Fool. Don’t ruin everything before you have the chance to prove yourself.
“You’ve been crying.”
Juan gasped. Mr Franklin would think he was like a child, not capable of serious

consideration as an employee.

“That’s all right, Juan, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m concerned about your well-

being after today’s tragic events.”

Heat travelled up his neck and to his cheeks. There was a little flutter in his chest. Mr

Franklin was such a nice man. So very nice.

“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m always here if you need anything or want to talk about something. You’ll be

working for me once Jack is done with his film commitment, however, that doesn’t mean that
you can’t come to me with any personal worries at any time now or then. I know this all
must be quite abrupt for you. You’ve had a lot of unexpected and upsetting changes in your
life these last couple of weeks. The horrible events of today must seem very overwhelming.”
Mr Franklin reached across the table and patted Juan’s hand gently before pulling back.
“Don’t ever be afraid to come to me for anything.”

Juan nodded, averting his eyes. What was the most overwhelming to him was how

much he wanted to tell Mr Franklin everything. About all of his fears and longings, his
wishes and hopes. But he would never dare.

“I would like to help. Is Jack…Mr Stone all right?”
Juan detected a slight frown from Mr Franklin. “He’s lying down for a bit. Do you

always refer to him as Jack?”

I knew I shouldn’t have been calling him that.
Juan lowered his head, ashamed. “He insisted.”
Vincent chuckled and Juan peered up at his future boss.
“Yes. I can picture Jack saying something like that. However, I must insist that you

continue to call him ‘sir’ and that you address me that way as well.”

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Juan exhaled. The soothing sound of Vincent’s voice put him at ease, and the comfort of

calling his new boss ‘sir’ went a long way towards erasing some of his immediate fears about
his future with the studio chief. The only other thing Juan wondered about was how difficult
it was to tell what Mr Franklin thought by reading his expressions. He was excellent at
keeping his face blank most of the time. It crossed Juan’s mind that they were quite similar in
that regard.

“That would be wonderful, sir, thank you.”
There wasn’t any indication that Juan could see as to how Mr Franklin felt about what

he’d just said. Juan had to assume that Vincent was fine with it.

“Are you really anxious to help?”
“Yes, sir. Anything you want, I’ll do it.”
Mr Franklin coughed into his fist, but never took his eyes away from Juan. He removed

his hand from in front of his mouth.

“I’m quite glad to hear that. However, for right now all I wish for you to do is go out

and pick up some new clothing for Jack, as well as some grooming accessories.”

“Yes, sir.” Juan struggled with whether to mention anything else about Jack. It was too

hard not to after all they’d been through together. “If I may, have his cuts been tended to?”

He still couldn’t gauge Mr Franklin’s reaction. Despite Roman’s primary expressions

being either extreme displeasure or raging anger, Juan would always know exactly what he
was dealing with.

“I personally made certain that they were cleaned and bandaged.”
“Oh. Of course.”
Juan didn’t want Mr Franklin to misinterpret his concern as a criticism on Vincent’s

ability to take care of Jack.

“I only asked because…” How could he word it properly? He was gripped with an

irrational fear that Vincent might find out that Juan had confessed his love to Jack. “Because
I’m supposed to be taking care of him.” Guilt washed over Juan. “I should have been there, I
shouldn’t have left him alone.”

There was a small flash across Vincent’s face that almost looked like pain. “No, Juan,

you should not have been there. Jack shouldn’t have even been there at all, and I am very
grateful that you were nowhere near that hell today. You can help him now by doing these

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tasks. Once you finish drinking your water, you may leave. I have some money for you in a
tray on the coffee table.”

“I can go now, sir.”
Vincent had been about to push up from the table, but lowered himself back down. He

held Juan’s gaze. “Let’s establish one rule between us right now, Juan. You are not to argue
with me regarding anything I ask you to do as an employer. You need to trust that I will
always have a specific reason for what I expect from you in that regard. If you wish to speak
with me freely as I invited you to do earlier, then you may request that from me when we are
not in the guise of a working relationship. Is that clear?”

Heat flushed his face. “Absolutely, sir. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean—”
“Shush. You didn’t know. Now please do as I requested.”
Juan picked up the bottle of water. “Yes, sir.”
A small curl appeared at the corner of Mr Franklin’s mouth. “Excellent. Alert me when

you have returned, I will be in the study. Tommy can show you where that is.”

Vincent stood, and with one last look at Juan, turned away, then left the kitchen.
Juan attempted to slow his breathing. Having so many competing emotions course

through him was unusual. There had been one moment where he thought he’d ruined
everything. That couldn’t happen, he wouldn’t let it. He took a swallow of the water, then set
it on the table. He caressed the cool, smooth glass where Vincent had gripped it before giving
it to him. His new boss had such large, strong hands.

* * * *

Carefully making his bed, Juan smoothed the sheets until they were perfect before

adding the single wool blanket, then the cream satin bed covering. His first few days staying
at Mr Franklin’s house had been unsettling in many ways. The shock of Trixie’s murder,
Jack’s sorrow, jealousy over how Tommy had been assigned to keep Jack occupied and
sleeping so close to the room where Vincent lay every night.

Does he sleep naked?
After unsuccessfully attempting to banish those types of thoughts about Vincent, Juan

had come to a realisation about himself. He would never possess the ability to control what

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went on inside him. He was near expert at hiding it from the world—especially with those he
loved—but everything that churned within him was his to do with as he pleased. It was
much too risky to share those types of thoughts and feelings. It would only lead to rebuke
and heartbreak.

There was one thing that had always helped him to sort through his inner conflicts, and

other than meeting Jack—which had led him to Vincent—it was the only good thing he could
think of that had come from his difficult time with Roman. His grasp of the English
language. Despite Roman’s posturing, his use of larger, more complicated words had greatly
helped Juan over the years. Many times people had assumed that Juan was not only unable
to speak or understand English, but that they could use large words and he would be
oblivious to what they were saying. He had seen more than one shocked expression from
Roman’s pretentious and snobby acquaintances.

Didn’t help me with reading.
Juan sighed as he propped up the pillows on the bed, ensuring that the ruffles from the

shams were spread out evenly. It was his dirty little secret. He had learned a few easy words
over the years to help him follow basic instructions—sometimes willing to incur Roman’s or
his valet Hector’s wrath by claiming to have lost a note they’d left him. He would save it in
his pocket, and once they had verbally repeated their requests, he would compare it to what
the note said and figure it out.

Finally satisfied with his efforts, he straightened, then walked over to the mirror above

the maple dresser. He checked his reflection, verifying his hair was meticulously combed and
that his lip was completely smooth from where he’d shaved off his thin moustache that
morning. When Vincent had been relaxing in his study with a friend, they had been chatting
amiably, unmindful of Juan’s presence as he’d brought them tea. He’d overheard Vincent
remark that he believed that Roman, along with most men, would be much more attractive
without facial hair.

Initially, Juan had been disappointed not only with Tommy’s interaction with Jack, but

that Vincent had taken him aside to explain he didn’t need Juan to be his driver. His stomach
had clenched briefly, his heart dropping, as he was sure Vincent would be letting him go.
Instead, Vincent had asked Juan if he would be interested in being his valet.

“I’ll do whatever you want, sir, but I’ve never been a valet. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

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Vincent had uncharacteristically smiled at Juan, his green eyes crinkling, his striking

features more alluring than ever.

“I doubt that would be possible, Juan. Allow me to guide you.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
Juan’s face had filled with heat immediately, and he could have sworn he saw what

looked like a pleased expression cross Vincent’s face. It had been decided that Juan would
continue to use his chauffeur’s uniform until his employment with Jack had concluded, at
which time Vincent would have him fitted with a black long-tailed jacket, as well as a
waistcoat and bow tie to match. It also meant that Juan would live in the house with Vincent,
available to him whenever he might require his services.

Juan wiped the sweat off his brow and adjusted his current shorter red jacket. He

turned to the side so he could verify that the crease line down the centre of his pants was
aligned properly. He was ready to see Vincent. Today was Miss Fox’s funeral, and it had
been decided Juan should drive them instead of Tommy. Mr Franklin had told Juan how
important it would be for all of Jack’s closet friends to be there to support him. Juan had
warmed inside when Vincent had said that. It indicated that he believed Juan to be a friend
of Jack’s.

But first, he needed to head downstairs and make sure there was some coffee, sliced

fruit and that Cream of Wheat was available. Juan had been able to figure out many things
during the previous days about Vincent’s private world. There had been no sign of a wife or
family, the thing Juan had been the most curious about. It also appeared that neither Tommy
nor any other servants—including a cook—lived on the premises. An older woman had
shown up the day before and had spent several hours cleaning the downstairs and the rooms
upstairs currently in use. Those had been comprised of Vincent’s large suite at end of the
hall, Juan’s bedroom immediately adjacent to Vincent’s and the second suite at the other end
which Jack currently occupied.

As far as food was concerned, it seemed Vincent took most of his meals outside of the

home with the exception of a simple breakfast and the occasional light dinner when he
returned from the studio. He had requested that Juan provide food for Jack, despite his
reluctance to eat anything. So far, other than one evening when Vincent had sent out for food
to entice Jack to eat, he hadn’t taken any meals with his new boss.

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That evening had been extremely stressful for Juan. The only time he had ever sat with

an employer to share a meal was after Jack had escaped Roman’s. That had been
uncomfortable as well, only with Jack, he had been so adamantly against Juan being his
servant in any way. Despite his nervousness, he had done very well, with the exception of
one time when he hadn’t been able to control his fidgeting. Vincent had sharply cleared his
throat and Juan had instantly stilled.

After preparing everyone’s breakfast, he brought the tray of fruit, then the silver coffee

set to the dining room, placing everything on the sideboard. He had arranged the plates and
utensils already, so he went back to get the serving dish filled with the hot cereal. He was
learning fast. However, Vincent had made it clear he didn’t want Juan to be his butler—he
would not be expected to cater to him in that way. He had explained that the parameters of
their boss-employee relationship would be dictated by him—as opposed to convention—and
would likely seem unusual to Juan at first. In reality, other than what he had observed on
occasion at Roman’s, his tenure as a driver had kept him out of the house, and away from the
staff, the majority of the time. He would do whatever Vincent wanted.

Vincent entered the room.
“Good morning, Juan. Everything is ready I see.” He froze in mid-gait, staring intently

at Juan. “I approve the removal of the moustache, much better.”

Juan had to work extra hard to contain his excitement and remain still.
His boss continued, “Why don’t you serve yourself some breakfast and join me at the

table.”

Without waiting to see if Juan would obey him, he walked over to the coffee set and

poured himself a cup.

Don’t argue. Don’t question.
He hesitated only in the slightest, then followed Vincent’s orders. He tried to control the

shaking of his hand as he poured his own drink. It wasn’t working, and a bit of the hot liquid
sloshed into the saucer. Muttering, he set it down to clean up the mess. In his peripheral
vision, he became aware of Vincent’s gaze on him. He swallowed, horribly embarrassed.

“You will become accustomed to our arrangement in time, Juan. You needn’t be

concerned around me. You please me very much.”

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As soon as Vincent had said that, he took his cup and the bowl of cereal he had

prepared, leisurely walking to the dining table to begin his breakfast. On weakened knees,
Juan took his own cup and newly cleaned saucer and did the same. Vincent glanced up from
the spoon he was about to place in his mouth, then set it down.

“Juan. Please get yourself something to eat. This will be a difficult day and you need

your strength.”

He didn’t want to disobey, but the words flew out before he could stop them.
“That’s all right, sir, I’m fine.”
He was certain he had cringed almost as soon as he’d said it.
“Are you questioning me?”
Juan gulped. “N-no, no, sir.” He pushed up from the table on shaky legs and said

quietly, “Please forgive me.”

Vincent swallowed the food in his mouth, and wiped his lips with the white linen

napkin he had plucked from his lap. He placed it back on his legs, Juan only able to picture
the action in his mind from his vantage point on the opposite side of the table. Picture
Vincent’s hands on the tops of his thighs. Juan’s eyes darted back up to Vincent’s soft, well-
formed lips.

Oh God.
“Already forgiven. And to further set you at ease, I doubt Jack will be able to eat

anything this morning. I mentioned it, but after hearing the stories from you in regards to his
nervous stomach, I think it best we let it go for now.”

Juan nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He had learnt that Vincent expected him to verbally acknowledge his statements at all

times. He wasn’t sure—everything was still so new, so confusing—but he thought that when
Vincent had offered the information about Jack, it might have been what he’d meant when
he’d spoken the other night about trust. That Juan should trust Vincent would know what
information he needed, that it wasn’t necessary for him to ask.

It was comforting, yet frightening at the same time. It put him in an unexpected state of

vulnerability to realise that his powerful boss apparently spent a lot of time making sure he
was aware of Juan’s every little need or want—that he could understand him so well.

Can he tell what else I want?

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Chapter Three

After yanking the bow tie free from his collar, Vincent tossed it atop his dresser. It was

an uncharacteristic move, however, both his mental and physical strength had been
unusually challenged that day. He had been prepared for the sadness he would feel at
Trixie’s funeral, but he had been blindsided by the dramatic events at her burial site. At the
conclusion of the ceremony, Jack had run off and Vincent had assumed he was so overcome
with emotion that he had needed to be alone. Instead, there had been a scene that had almost
created a problem with the press hounds gathered near Trixie’s grave.

From what he’d been able to ascertain through Jack’s actions, and later, from what little

Juan knew—the man Jack had punched in the jaw was actually a long lost love. Jack had
behaved crazy and out of control, and Vincent had needed to remove all of them from the
scene immediately before something untoward was reported in the press. He had enough
problems to deal with these days.

Juan.
His almost perfect obedience combined with his masculine beauty kept Vincent in a

near constant state of arousal. The inner conflict over Juan’s position as his employee and
Vincent’s need to take him completely—make him his own—had disrupted his normally
flawless composure. Until he’d decided on the proper course of action, he would need to do
something to release his tension. He couldn’t risk getting out of control.

Despite the late hour, he picked up the receiver to dial up his closest friend, Saul

Liebowitz. At the age of fifty three, he was over ten years older than Vincent. He had met
him at a bath house he frequently attended. There had never been any dalliances - they were
unevenly matched as lovers. Both desired control over the other. Instead, they had become
close friends, and Saul had been the one to introduce Vincent to the private men’s club that
was available by invitation only to those like him who practised a sadomasochistic lifestyle.

It was there Vincent had learnt all of the various aspects of binding and disciplining a

lover, as well as dominating a submissive partner. Through the club’s services, he had found

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a structured outlet for his natural cravings. What he needed from his mentor now was some
guidance in regards to his situation with Juan.

“Hello, Saul, sorry to disturb you at this hour.”
“This had better be good, old sport.”
“I won’t keep you. Would you be able to meet with me at the bath house tomorrow? I

could use a good sauna and some of your wisdom.”

“Ah, sounds serious. I’m unaccustomed to your flattery. Yes, I can be there by eight

o’clock in the evening. Would you care to join me at the club after? I haven’t seen you there
in quite a while.”

“I’m sure you’ve read about the troubles I’ve been having at the studio.”
“Come on, old sport, let’s not pretend with one another. In the past, any stresses would

have sent you running to Hampton Road for release.”

Vincent cleared his throat. “I’d prefer to discuss it with you tomorrow.”
“Very well. If you don’t mind, I’m going to ring off now. I need to see a man about a

dog.”

Vincent chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from any whisky.”
“Smart fellow. See you tomorrow then.”

* * * *

Stifling a cry, Juan came violently in his hand. He watched as his cum washed away in

the warm shower. Supporting himself with his other hand against the stall covered in small,
hexagonal shaped tiles, he waited for his breathing to slow and the slight dizziness to fade.
Every time he touched himself he had the bizarre sense that Vincent knew about it. It didn’t
help that their bathrooms shared a wall.

It was preferable than displaying constant erections in his boss’ presence, however. He

was in love with Vincent. So deeply in love that his body ached with it. The tears flowed
from him, also mixing with the shower water. Vincent was in his bedroom getting ready to
go out for the evening. It was something he had informed Juan of after they had shared a
pleasant dinner together. Jack had left with his newly found ex-lover, Nick, the day before—
so they were the only ones in the house.

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Vincent has someone. Someone he wants other than me.
Juan slammed a fist against the hard tiles, biting the knuckle of his other hand to keep

from yelling out. He had done it again. Allowed himself to fall for someone who could never
be interested in a poor cast-off from Mexico. The realisation filled him with disgust.

He flung the curtain aside and stepped from the shower. After drying and putting on

the pyjamas Vincent had purchased for him, he decided he didn’t really care to do anything
else for the evening other than go to bed. It was only seven-thirty, but what was there for him
to do? Vincent would be gone seeing his lover. Touching him, allowing this mystery man to
please him. Maybe even holding him close afterwards. He wouldn’t need Juan that evening.

He had finished with the last silk-knotted button on his shirt, when there was a firm

knock at his door. He startled, then grabbed his robe. After tightening the sash, he opened
the door and took in Vincent’s tall, graceful form. He was only about two inches taller than
Juan, but he still gave Juan the sensation that he towered over him. Juan was surprised to
discern a clear look of worry on his face.

“Are you well?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your eyes are red, and it seems a bit early to be in your sleep attire.”
“Oh…I, uh… It must be the hot water from the shower—”
“Yes. You seem to take unusually long ones.”
Juan’s face heated furiously. Up until meeting Vincent, he had never blushed so much

in his life.

“I, well, I thought since you would be gone for the evening and wouldn’t require my

services, I might get to bed earlier.”

Vincent didn’t comment, only studied Juan as if he were searching for the truth. The

one he knew he could never reveal.

He kept his stare fixed intently on Juan. “I won’t be gone long. When I return, I want

you to have some sliced cheese and fruit ready, and my paper laid out on the table in the
study. When you hear the car in the driveway, then you are to warm a snifter of brandy for
me and take it to the study as well.”

Juan exhaled audibly and he noted a slight quirk at the corner of Vincent’s mouth.
I’m losing my control. I need to be more careful.

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“Do you need me to drive you, sir?” Juan couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice.
“No, Juan. I’ve already instructed you as to what I need.”
“Of course. Yes, sir.”
Vincent had a gleam in his eye that Juan had thought he’d noticed before on a few

occasions.

“Very good, Juan. I will see you in an hour or two.” He turned to leave, then paused.

“And it won’t be necessary for you to change back into your uniform.”

Juan swallowed, unable to tell what that might mean, if anything. He watched as

Vincent descended the stairs, his heart beating faster at the possibility that Vincent wasn’t
meeting with a lover after all.

* * * *

“I don’t see what the problem is, Vincent. If you are that enamoured of him, find him

other employment, then keep him as your submissive.”

“I could never do that, Saul.”
“Why ever not?”
In an unusual move, Vincent looked away from his friend, hiding any expression that

might be there from his knowing eyes. “Because I won’t allow him to be under anyone else’s
control.”

“Good God, Vincent. What is going on with you and this young man? I’ve never seen

you this way.”

The conversation stopped when one of the attendants came into the sauna to add more

hot coals to the water. As soon as the door closed behind him, they continued.

“I don’t know what’s going on, that’s why I wanted to meet with you.” Vincent turned

back to his friend, silently pleading with his eyes for his mentor to offer him the perfect
solution. “I can’t get him out of my thoughts and he’s not helping by acting as though he
would be amenable to a union.”

“Oh? Do tell.”
“You know I’m very astute at reading people’s subtle nuances. However, he’s not all

that subtle. I catch him staring when he thinks I’m not looking. Also, he magically appears as

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if from nowhere right when I might be about to ask for something.” Vincent smirked. “He
also spends an unusually long amount of time showering.”

“I see. Then why don’t you put this poor boy out of his misery? Or rather, put him in

some misery.”

“I’ve tried to dissuade him since I can see I’ll never be able to do that for myself. I even

casually mentioned my age the other night to get his reaction.”

“He must have fainted from the shock.”
“Forty-two is hardly ancient, but I found out from his employment card that he’s only

twenty-three.”

“Yet he still didn’t scamper away? Sounds serious.”
“I can’t tell. I’ve lost my focus, my centre.”
“One of two things is going on, old sport, and you are the only one that can decide

which one it is. Although, I believe it is likely a combination of both.”

“Well?”
“It’s been the longest you’ve ever been away from the club. You see Juan’s natural

submissive tendencies, and since there is no one else available, you have the overwhelming
urge to tame him.”

Vincent pursed his lips. “And what is your other theory?”
“That you are in love with him.”
“Ha!” Vincent snorted. “That’s ridiculous. I barely know the young man.”
“Precise timetables rarely govern cupid’s arrow.”
“You’re being silly.” Even as he said it, Vincent couldn’t keep from averting his gaze

again.

“Am I? Well, let’s say that it’s the combination of the two, which I’m more inclined to

believe. Your time away from the club has left you vulnerable, more open. Juan appears in
your life and instead of shutting off your carefully controlled emotions, you find yourself
available to let him in. To let your heart make decisions for you for a change.”

Frowning, Vincent considered what his friend had just said. Looking into his eyes, he

could tell Saul was quite serious.

“I’ve allowed my heart to make decisions before.”

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“When was the last time you desired to commit to a submissive partner? To put the

time into training them, keeping them. Loving them.”

Vincent ran his hands over his face and across the top of his head to remove the sweat

that had gathered there from the steamy room. They both reclined in the nude, so no towel
was available within reach.

At last he spoke. “There hasn’t been anyone that I’ve felt that way about in ages.”
“What about Irwin?”
Vincent rubbed his chin. His ability to keep himself still and calm had completely left

him. He allowed it, if only to get to the bottom of his quandary over Juan.

“I may use him the most, but that’s only because he responds to me so enthusiastically.”
“And that doesn’t hold enough appeal for you to deepen the relationship?”
Vincent shook his head. “He’s too much of an Ethel for me.”
“That’s right. You dislike effeminate men.” Saul exhaled. “Then this is what I suggest.”
Vincent was so anxious for Saul’s advice, he had to resist the urge to run and grab

paper and a fountain pen to write it all down.

“Yes?” He had completely let go of any pretence of constraint and allowed his voice to

take on what he knew was a desperate quality. His friend smirked.

“My, my. Why don’t you test him, and yourself?”
“Could you elaborate?” He found himself suddenly wanting to get back to his home.

Where Juan was.

“See if he is likely to be interested in your lifestyle needs by giving him a small dose of

physical discipline.”

Vincent inhaled sharply, and moved his hand to hide his lengthening erection. He

wanted to so bad, but it was too soon.

“I don’t think he’s ready yet.”
Saul dropped his gaze to Vincent’s lap then quickly raised it again.
“Obviously you are.”
Vincent pressed his lips together. “Never mind that. I need to discover if he even feels

an attraction to me first.”

“From the few interactions you’ve described, I would guess that he’s in love with you

as well.”

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“If that’s true, then it would greatly concern me. Is he so anxious to please—please

anyone at all—that he’s mistaken what he feels for me as love? Is his fear that he might lose
his job what’s really motivating him?”

“Dear old sport, you have yourself twisted into quite a few knots, haven’t you? Take

your time with the boy, but don’t try to control either of your feelings for one another. When
you’re both ready, then the proper type of control can take place. Remember, love cannot be
commanded into behaving according to a prescribed set of rules. Once you have both given
your hearts to one another, then you can mutually decide what the boundaries will be in
your relationship.”

Vincent sighed. “I hope you’re right. I don’t know about love yet, however, I do want

him. There’s never been anyone that has incited this type of need in me before. All I can think
of is being his protector and his guide, of helping him to release whatever it is that he has so
tightly locked inside of him. And of holding him close to me every single night.”

Saul laughed heartily. “Not in love, indeed.”

* * * *

Juan tried to control his tears as he stood at Vincent’s office window—watching as Jack

and Nick drove away from the studio for good. They were on their way to begin their new
life together in the seaside town of Carmel, over three hundred miles north of Hollywood.
Three hundred miles away from Juan.

“Here’s our address, Juan. If you ever need anything, you’ll know where to find me.”
Juan needed him right then. His heart wouldn’t slow and the sensation that it beat in

his throat was part of what had him on the verge of tears. He tried to swallow it down, but it
was useless. Jack was his best friend. Even if they had never been together as lovers, Jack was
still a closer friend to him than Geraldo had ever been. What would he do without him?

Vincent had been in his outer office waving them goodbye, and now that they were out

of sight, he was headed back inside. Juan sniffed, inhaled and was almost able to get his self-
control back. After entering the room, Vincent shut the door behind him. Vincent regarded
him, and Juan felt uneasy all of a sudden. He had become accustomed to Vincent’s constant
scrutiny, but the raw emotions swirling inside him that day were particularly unnerving.

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“You’re upset.”
Juan searched within himself to find his composure. “I’m fine, sir.”
Vincent exhaled. “Sit down.”
He indicated to one of the large leather chairs in front of his desk. Juan knew better than

to question him, so he took his seat right away. There was still the slightest bit of trepidation
within him though. Juan had assumed that once they had gone down to the studio together
to say goodbye to Jack, they would simply head straight home.

Home?
Juan swallowed and heard a click behind him. He turned, and realised that Vincent had

locked the office door. He whipped his head back around, droplets of sweat beginning to
form on his forehead and upper lip. The next thing that occurred was Vincent drawing the
drapes closed. Juan had almost mastered the ability to quit clenching his jaw and twitching
so much. He had no mastery over it whatsoever at the moment.

Vincent’s gentle hands on his shoulders caused him to jump in his chair.
“Be still. I won’t hurt you.”
“Yes, sir.”
His words had come out in a gasp, and to his horror, his cock filled. He placed his

clenched hands over his crotch. Vincent used his thumbs to press against the muscles closest
to Juan’s neck, and used his fingers to grasp the front of his collarbone.

His touch. So warm, so soothing.
He thought he might cry. No one had touched him in such a personal way for so long. If

only Vincent felt real desire for him, Juan would do anything he asked. Anything.

The intensity of Vincent’s ministrations increased, and he pressed deeper into Juan’s

tense muscles with his thumbs as he moved up Juan’s neck and towards the base of his skull.
The more pressure Vincent used, the more the pain he had held in his neck increased. Soon,
Vincent’s touch went from being comforting to being unwelcome. He attempted to move
away.

He said he wouldn’t hurt me.
“Relax, Juan. Stop resisting, let go.”
“I…”

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“Shush. Remove your hands from your lap and let them rest on the arms of the chair.

That’s it.”

As the pain from the massage had increased, Juan’s erection had decreased—so he no

longer had that as a concern.

“Inhale deeply and exhale very slowly.”
Juan obeyed Vincent, and as he let his breath out, Vincent dug aggressively into his

flesh with his thumbs. It still hurt, but not quite in the same way. They repeated the exchange
several times and Juan found himself becoming lulled, his muscles loosening as he gave
himself over to the ache in his neck and shoulders. Gave himself to Vincent.

Blood pooled in his groin, and a bit too late he rushed to cover his lap again. Vincent’s

hands stilled. His warm breath next to Juan’s ear startled him.

“Better?”
Juan could barely choke out his words. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Vincent moved away and sat behind his desk. He appeared relaxed, self-assured. There

was a long stretch of silence between them. The entire time, all Vincent did was consider
Juan, and he did his best to sit still the way he knew Vincent liked. He wanted to do
whatever Vincent liked.

“You’re very tense. Do you get a lot of headaches?”
How does he know that?
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“It’s the tension you’re holding in your body. You’ll be sore there for the next couple of

days because I had to work so hard to release your stress. I have a salve back at the house
that I will give you to rub into your skin to help alleviate the pain.”

Vincent paused and Juan wondered if he was done speaking about what had happened

between them.

“I want to help you with that some more. If you’ll let me.”
Juan had an idea he was being asked about something more than what had just

happened. He couldn’t place it, couldn’t comprehend where such a thought would have
come from, but he was afraid to say no. Afraid it would spell the end of any chance for him
to be with his handsome boss.

“I would like that very much, but I don’t want to be a bother to you.”

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“You are in my care, Juan. I’m responsible for your well-being, and this is something

that I know you need.”

“You don’t have to—”
“Are you arguing with me?”
Juan gulped. “No, sir. Forgive me.”
“I do. But if this continues, I may have to punish you.”
What?
“I’ll be good. I promise.”
He trembled a little, not entirely sure if he understood what was going on, what Vincent

meant by that. Still, he was intrigued that the man he loved so much seemed to have taken a
more personal interest in him.

“Very good, Juan. You’ve done very well.”
Done what?
“Are you ready to go home, or do you need to discuss anything else with me?”
Juan swallowed a couple of times and clenched his hands in his lap. Should he?
“May I speak freely?”
“Yes, Juan. You may.”
“I’m not sure I completely understand what I did that was good.”
The play of a smile passed over Vincent’s lips.
“I know. Give yourself time. You’ll understand eventually. Is there anything else?”
“No, sir, that’s it.”
Vincent nodded and rose from his chair, Juan following his boss’ actions. He came

around the desk and stood in front of Juan, silently regarding him. Vincent extended one arm
towards him and he froze, yearning for another touch from his boss. Vincent picked at
something on the arm of Juan’s uniform, and flicked it away.

“We will visit Jack. I promise.”
Juan nodded, afraid that if he spoke that the tears forming behind his eyes might spill.
“And…” Vincent reached for him again, this time adjusting the collar of his shirt

slightly. “You’re not alone.”

A single tear escaped before he could stop it, and he swiped it away. Vincent patted the

side of his arm.

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“Let’s go home, Juan.”

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Chapter Four

Grunting and sweating, Vincent finally came after rutting against his pillow. It had

been a poor substitute for his fantasy of driving Juan into the mattress. He rolled over, then
pushed the soiled pillow off the bed. He could deal with it later. He draped one arm over his
eyes as his breathing slowed, using a hand to absent-mindedly fondle his emptied balls. He
imagined Juan caressing them in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

This is insane.
The previous three weeks had been a true test of his strength. If he hadn’t worked so

hard on his skills of self-control for so many years, he would have thrown Juan to the ground
and ravished him days ago. As it was, he was afraid that such behaviour was still possible.

Fuck you, Saul. So I’m in love with him. What of it?
Vincent groaned and forced himself off the bed. He was slipping. It wasn’t Juan per se,

but Vincent’s inability to begin working with him the way he really wanted to. And fucking
him. However, the question still remained in his mind whether Juan’s feelings were too tied
in with his fears of being alone, as well as the need to have employment. It wouldn’t do for
them to cross that line only to have Juan become unhappily trapped in a situation he didn’t
really want.

Vincent’s love for Juan wouldn’t allow that. It had to be Juan’s decision without any

other considerations hanging over his head. So far, no matter how much he’d turned it over
in his mind, Vincent couldn’t come up with the perfect solution to their dilemma.

Vincent headed to the bathroom and turned the spigots on in the shower. What he

needed was a session. If he could get into his true dominant state, it would clear his head and
he might gain the ability to come up with a tenable solution. He either needed to claim Juan
completely very soon, or let him go. He would guarantee that the young man had good
employment in a safe environment. His heart ached at the very thought of it.

There has to be a way.
He stepped under the cascade of hot water and allowed it to almost scald his skin. He

lathered up and grudgingly admitted that since Juan wasn’t ready for any type of session, he

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would have to find someone else. He wouldn’t fuck them or have any other sexual contact.
That belonged to Juan, unless Vincent ended up having to send him away.

Don’t think about that. A session will make it clearer.
The last thing he wanted to do was go to the club. There would be endless inquiries

regarding his absence, and he wasn’t in the mood for any type of social interaction. He had a
specific agenda and that was it. There were instances where the club had sent someone over,
but how could he get Juan out of the house? Regardless of the source of Juan’s feelings for
him, he would come apart if he were to know there was another man in the house with
Vincent.

After shutting off the water, he stepped out of the shower. He reached for a large, fluffy

white bath towel and dried off.

Saul could help.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, he headed to the bedroom to ring his friend up. It

was the weekend, and Vincent accepted the fact that Saul may have already left for the day.

“This is Mr Liebowitz.”
“Saul, Vincent here.”
“Ah, have you and your young lover worked things out yet, old sport?”
“Saul, please. I really need your help.”
“Good God, man. You sound a bit frazzled. What happened?”
Vincent sank on the bed, dragging the phone with him, the thick cloth-covered cord

barely long enough to reach.

“It’s more of what hasn’t happened. I…” Vincent couldn’t believe he was about to

confess such a thing to his friend. He never would have considered it with anyone else on the
planet. “I can’t think straight. I’ve tested him, the way you suggested, and he is so responsive
to me. I know he would at least give it a chance, yet I still can’t bring myself to go any
further. I can’t take the risk that he might end up feeling manipulated because of our work
relationship.”

“You are a stubborn fool. There, did that help?”
“I need a session.”
“Then come with me to Hampton Road tonight.”

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“No. I don’t want to be around other people. I was thinking of having the club deliver

Irwin to the house.”

He heard a choking sound on the other line. “Have you gone mad? You’re going to

have a session right under his nose when he’s completely uninitiated into any type of
sadomasochistic activity? Show and tell?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course not. I was hoping I could send him to your place on the

pretext of an errand while I have a submissive over.”

There was a sigh. “I’m not sure I agree with your little plan, but I’m willing to help you

out.”

Vincent was filled with a measure of relief. Maybe he would have some clarity soon.
“I’ll be eternally grateful, Saul. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t mention it. However, if you want to perform this charade today, we should

work on coming up with a plan.”

* * * *

Something doesn’t seem right.
Juan drove Vincent’s black Cadillac, headed to his boss’ friend’s home. Purportedly, it

was to help him clean out his garage and that it would likely take the entire day. Vincent had
explained that his friend was a long-time associate and too old to move some of the larger
objects all on his own. Juan could have sworn Vincent had amused himself with the last
statement.

It seemed like a perfectly reasonable task for Juan to do, except ever since he had

moved in with Vincent, the man practically hadn’t let him out of his sight. There had only
been a few times when Vincent had sent him on errands outside of the house and always
with the admonishment to be quick about it. Even when Vincent went to the studio each day,
and Tommy drove him in the Cadillac, Vincent would instruct Juan that he needed to remain
at home in case he should call for anything. Typically, he would hear from Vincent a few
times a day. It was always about minor things that could have easily waited, or unnecessary
reminders.

And now he was being sent off for the whole day—to a stranger’s residence.

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Up until that morning when Vincent had told Juan what he wanted him to do for his

friends, the last few weeks had seemed to hold so much promise. There were several times
where he’d been sure that Vincent was going to say something more to him, or let his touch
go further. The neck massages had continued and Juan had come to look forward to the pain
that he not only associated with Vincent’s powerful hands, but with the release of his tension
for short periods of time. Vincent had been right, it really did help.

Sometimes, Vincent’s gaze would linger on Juan longer than necessary, or he would

stare at him when maybe he thought Juan wouldn’t notice.

That was what I used to do with Jack.
Or, he would briefly touch Juan’s arm in passing, maybe barely place his hand at the

small of Juan’s back as they moved from one room to the other. Being alone so much in the
house with Vincent had also made Juan feel safer, more secure. He loved the strong, caring
man with all his heart. It was different from the way he’d experienced love with Roman.
Much of that had been about him being star struck. With Jack, it had been the wish to save
him from Roman—in the way he hadn’t been able to save himself.

With Vincent, it was the need to please him—to be everything for such a good man. A

man he was certain would protect and cherish him.

“You are in my care, Juan. I’m responsible for your well-being, and this is something I know you

need.”

Those words made Juan shiver every time he recalled them.
There was another worry that had recently begun to form in his mind. Maybe Vincent

was afraid to carry things any further because Juan was his employee. He used to hear
Roman spout off repeatedly to his various associates that getting romantically involved with
the help always spelled disaster. Vincent was certainly a much wiser man than Roman, so
that could be the very reason he would never risk becoming closer to him.

As soon as Juan had heard that Vincent wanted him to leave for the day, he had made a

promise to himself. When he returned that night he would request to speak freely the way
Vincent had told him to do. He would tell him he was going to find another job, but also
request to rent the room in his house. He wouldn’t admit to him it was so they would still be
near one another.

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There was a clutch in his stomach at the thought of no longer working for Vincent, and

the added fear that the studio chief wouldn’t mind him going. He was terrified he would
anger or disappoint Vincent. However, he couldn’t go on being around him the way things
were currently. Juan chuckled to himself. He had managed it for years with Roman and for
months with Jack. Yet with Vincent, he was sure he would go insane very soon if they
couldn’t be together the way Juan needed them to be.

* * * *

Vincent exhaled, some of what he’d held inside him ever since Juan had entered his life

releasing from him.

It’s not enough. I’m wasting my time. I’m not even enjoying this.
He picked up the rhythm of the flogger again, expertly twirling his wrist, moving the

leather instrument in a pattern all along Irwin’s torso. The man bound to his bed barely
flinched. He wasn’t even fully erect.

“Sir, please. I’m begging you.”
“Did I give you permission to speak?”
Even his voice had lost its edge.
Vincent tossed the small whip aside and undid the leather straps around Irwin’s wrists.
“Have I displeased you in any way?”
Yes. You aren’t Juan.
“Shush. Follow my instructions.”
Vincent reached down to pull the cock and ball restraint from the trunk he kept under

his bed. He had very few accessories in his home for a couple of different reasons. The
prevalent one being to lower his risk of discovery should the housekeeper take to snooping
about. The other was that he typically didn’t need to. The majority of his sessions took place
at the fully-equipped club.

Vincent handed his partially bound submissive the apparatus.
“Put this on.”
Irwin offered up his dick and hairless sac to him. Vincent had no desire to touch them.
“Bring yourself to arousal, then strap it in place.”

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Irwin didn’t appear to even try and temper the look of irritation on his face.
“You’ll be punished harsher for your insolence.”
After stroking himself vigorously, he became hard enough that the restraint could be

tied around him. He fumbled somewhat with the small straps, as he was likely accustomed
to having a dominant do it for him. Once his genitals were secured, Vincent gestured for him
to lie back down and he reattached the bonds.

Satisfied with Irwin’s position, he picked a snake whip from the box and put his hand

through the loop at the end. He flicked his wrist back and snapped the short whip across
Irwin’s upper chest, the end landing right on a nipple. Irwin arched his back, causing his
tightly restrained cock to bob, yet he didn’t cry out. There had been many years for Vincent
to practice with varying instruments of pain, and he was adept at most. But he was an expert
with whips.

This time, Vincent aimed for the other nipple, also hitting his target. Still Irwin kept

silent. He had been a submissive for years and could tolerate a lot. Many times he had
begged Vincent to be harsher with him.

The infliction of pain was only one aspect of what Vincent used to reach a submissive

man, yet for Irwin, it was the only aspect he seemed to enjoy. Even disregarding his smaller
stature and more feminine features, Vincent had never latched onto Irwin in the way that he
had seemed to do with Vincent. Not once had he been able to bring Irwin to a place of
serenity through their many sessions. Vincent had come to believe that finding a release from
life’s injustices and giving himself to another human being in spirit as well as body was the
last thing the young man hoped to achieve.

Vincent reared his whip back and struck more severely, a red welt rising in a diagonal

line across Irwin’s stomach. A small cry came from him this time.

“More?”
“Yes, sir. Harder, if it pleases you, sir.”
Raising his arm even higher, Vincent swung at an alternate angle, adding a stripe in an

almost perfect line opposite to the first one. The severity of the strike brought forth a yell
from Irwin. Establishing a rhythm again, Vincent moved the whip up and down Irwin’s
bound body, his struggles futile against Vincent’s harsh administrations. Each smack of the

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whip increased in intensity, the snapping sound of the leather instrument becoming louder
along with Irwin’s cries.

Vincent paused, out of breath, sweat finally forming on his forehead. He felt somewhat

better. It was enough to bring him the clarity that he’d needed to understand that Juan was
the only man that could ever satisfy him—regardless of the cost. He would allow Irwin to
bring himself to a climax, then he would send him away and wait for Juan to return. He
couldn’t wait any longer to find out whether Juan would be willing to give himself to him.

“Does your body ache for release?”
“Yes, sir. Please.”
“We’ll see how well you do with your final punishment.”
Vincent cast the snake whip aside and reached for a riding crop. With precise aim, he

smacked it on the end of Irwin’s swollen, imprisoned cock—eliciting a sudden hiss as the
young man screwed his eyes shut. He positioned his next strike on one of Irwin’s testicles.
This time he let out a sharp yelp. Vincent struck the other one immediately, giving him no
time to recover, his yells increasing in volume, as he jerked in his restraints.

He repeated the same pattern of hitting Irwin’s genitals three more times—each time

harder than the last—until Irwin screamed for mercy. Rarely had he ever done that. The
submissive was ready to come, and Vincent was ready for him to leave. He let the crop
dangle by the loop from his wrist, and turned to undo the binds at Irwin’s ankles.

He froze. Something moved in his peripheral vision. Turning only his head, he saw to

his horror that Juan stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Their gazes locked, Vincent
prepared to see revulsion there. He wasn’t sure if it was the shock of the moment, but it
seemed more like hurt, sadness.

Juan was the first to break the stand-off. He turned and ran so suddenly it took a second

for Vincent to register that he’d taken off.

“No! Juan, wait!”
He set off after him and Irwin yelled.
“Sir, don’t leave me here like this!”
Shit.
Vincent rarely ever cursed or gave in to using foul language. He considered it a sign of

an undisciplined person. Only Roman and extreme circumstances could ever bring it forth.

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It was unthinkable to leave Irwin tied to the bed. He yanked desperately at the young

man’s bonds, so anxious to free him that his fingers were inept. The more his fear rose that
Juan would get away, the more useless they became.

At last he had undone them enough so Irwin could free himself. He ran out of the room,

then down the stairs and out the front door. He reached the end of his winding driveway,
but couldn’t see Juan anywhere.

Shit, shit, shit.
He didn’t dare leave Irwin unattended in his home, and it would take what would

amount to forever for the club’s driver to come back earlier than had been arranged.

He raced back inside and into his study where the only other phone was located. He

dialled the operator and frantically requested a cab. He gave his address, then hung up. His
next move was straight back up the stairs - which he took two at a time.

Almost tripping over himself, he halted in the doorway at the sight of Irwin jacking

himself off at the end of the bed.

What the fucking hell is the matter with me? Why did I ever bring him here?
He stopped instantly upon seeing Vincent.
“Sir, forgive me. You can punish me more if you’d like.”
“Get dressed.”
Vincent knew he sounded unhinged and he didn’t care.
“I don’t under—”
“Now.”
The sooner Irwin had been extricated from his home, the sooner he could go find Juan

and bring him back.

Unless he pushes me away for good after what he saw.

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Chapter Five

His thoughts were scattered, chaotic. It was difficult to stay focused on any one image

in his mind—they were all so strange and confusing. Juan wasn’t sure how long he’d stood
in the doorway of Vincent’s bedroom watching him torture a bound and naked man. At least
that was what he had assumed at first.

However, the young man being whipped by Vincent had pleaded with him to hit him

harder, he had even been ready to come. Juan had been close enough to see a trail of semen
dripping over the black leather ties encasing the man’s cock. For the briefest moment, Juan
had experienced a jolt of arousal at the thought of being in the man’s place, being at Vincent’s
mercy, available for his pleasure.

But I’m not the one he wants.
Even if he could comprehend in the slightest what Vincent had been doing to the

restrained man, the fact he had chosen that man over Juan was what hurt the most.

Again. Not good enough again.
He had done everything he could to please Vincent. Anything he had ever asked of

him. Memories of the first time Vincent had touched him in the studio office the day Jack left
came to the forefront of his mind. The pain. Vincent assuring him that it would make things
better. Warning him that he might need to be punished.

Then why hadn’t he? Why did he choose this other man?
Juan stared out the window of the train, intermittent lights illuminating random things.

Cars. A roadside café. A row of small houses. Some trees. Would Carmel be nice? Would he
like it there? Thankfully, he had kept Jack’s address inside his wallet.

When Vincent’s friend, Mr Liebowitz, had fallen asleep in an outdoor lounge chair by

the garage, Juan had quickly finished up, anxious to get back and speak with Vincent about
what had been filling his thoughts. He’d pulled into the driveway and noticed that Vincent’s
light was glowing behind the closed curtains of his bedroom. He had never gone to his
bedroom before, Vincent had only ever come to his. Even then, it had only been for the
purpose of relaying instructions.

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He had heard cries from upstairs almost as soon as he’d entered the house. He’d

hurried up the carpeted stairs, worried that Vincent might be ill. Instead, he had arrived just
in time to see Vincent forcefully whipping a struggling man. His shock had been so
complete, it had been as though he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

Vincent’s tied up lover had been much smaller than Juan, more delicate looking. More

like Jack. That must be what it was. So many men preferred someone built like that. Not tall
and muscular like Juan.

That thought made him regret all of the time he had spent making sure he stayed strong

and fit. He had envied Roman’s physique, and had been allowed to use some of the old
weights Roman no longer wanted once he had purchased a new set. Since being at Vincent’s,
he had exercised in his room at night. Being able to actively work throughout the day had
helped too. He was no longer required to sit in a car most of the time, doing next to nothing.

He adjusted his shirt that had come untucked a little. It had worked out in some ways

that he had been working in Mr Liebowitz’s garage that day. Otherwise, it would have
appeared very odd to board the train wearing his new valet uniform. Instead, he wore the
blue cotton work shirt and jeans purchased by Jack the day after their great escape from the
Roman Pasquale estate.

Once he arrived at Jack’s, maybe his friend could recommend a good place where Juan

might get a job. He certainly hoped so. Juan reached into his pants pocket, then pulled out
his wallet. There was one dollar and twenty cents left. He might be able to get a room for one
night and maybe a burger, but that was about it. All of his other money was in the top
drawer of his dresser back home.

His? Home? Hardly.
Leaning against the cool glass of the window, he pressed his cheek to it and closed his

eyes. Vincent’s expression as he’d struck the man repeatedly with the whip popped
unbidden into Juan’s head. His lips had been parted slightly, his eyes gleaming. His stance
had been powerful whilst his actions were performed with a controlled abandon.

I wasn’t able do that for him. Obviously, he didn’t even want me to.
Juan sniffed and wiped his eyes. The train would be stopping for a few hours part of

the way up the state. Then it would arrive early in the morning in a town called Salinas. He
would have to figure out how to get to Carmel from there. He hoped it wouldn’t be too far.

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Once again he was starting over. As difficult as his time had been with Roman, at least

there had been structure to his day-to-day life. He’d taken comfort in knowing what was
expected of him for the most part. Only Roman’s outbursts had ever disrupted his routine,
but Juan had learned how to work around them. He thought he had achieved a similar
situation with Vincent with the added hope of something more.

Love.
Yes. A fool.
He wrapped his arms tightly around his body as if he could hold himself together that

way. If no one else had been on the train, he would have curled into a ball and pressed his
knees to his chin. His mind drifted as he dozed off, and he allowed himself to be the one tied
to the bed—the one receiving Vincent’s punishment.

* * * *

There was nothing more he could do for the time being. After scouring the

neighbourhood and driving throughout all of Hollywood, he had been completely
unsuccessful in locating Juan. He really could’ve been anywhere.

Vincent had checked Juan’s bedroom for possible clues, but the man who held his heart

captive had few possessions. There had been close to fifty dollars and some loose change in
the top drawer of Juan’s dresser, in addition to his undergarments and socks. Vincent had
brushed his fingers down the carefully hung uniform in Juan’s closet, leaning in to inhale his
unique scent. Nothing had ever affected him the way Juan’s natural aroma did. When he’d
first become aware of it, a crazy thought had gone through his head that nature had crafted it
solely for Vincent’s benefit.

He had also checked the train schedule, as he had a notion where Juan might have

gone. However, after seeing how much money he’d left behind, Vincent wasn’t sure he
would have enough. The trip up to Carmel was less than five dollars, but how much had
there been in his wallet? Vincent doubted Juan would have carried much cash on him.
Would he be able to eat? What if he could only afford part of the trip to Carmel and was out
on the streets?

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Vincent’s gut tightened. He had to find him. If he was frightened by Vincent and

wouldn’t come back, he had to at least make certain he was taken care of. Jack would never
abandon Juan—Vincent was assured by that—but he had to verify that Juan had at least been
able to make it there.

And maybe…maybe I can convince him to come back. Convince him that I truly love him.
His mind made up, he decided he would call Saul, his penitent friend. On the chance

that Juan might reappear before Vincent returned from Carmel, he would ask Saul if he
could stay at the house whilst he was gone. His friend was so riddled with guilt over the
whole incident—he doubted it would be an issue.

Wait for me, Juan. Give me another chance.

* * * *

His feet were killing him. He’d eventually managed to hitch a ride on the flatbed of a

farmer’s truck right outside of the train station. However, they had only been able to take
him to within five miles of Carmel. They had told him that the address he had was on the
main street running through the downtown, and if he kept going, he would eventually find
the place he was looking for. Juan certainly hoped so—it was already going on four o’clock in
the afternoon.

At least I had my watch on me when I left.
If it came down to it, he could always pawn it. He was covered in a thick layer of dust,

and no matter how many times he brushed it off his pants and shirt, it would reappear
within a few minutes. Despite the cooler breezes coming from the sea, the sun beating down
on him made him sweat continuously. He finally reached an area that was filled with small
inns, shops and restaurants. Each structure was unique, some of them with an almost fairy-
tale like quality. The road he was on gently sloped towards the coast and he could see the
ocean in the distance. It was picturesque, and Juan could easily imagine Jack wanting to live
there.

And Jack would have his true love, Nick, by his side. Before Juan had fallen in love with

him, before Jack had been captured by Roman’s spell—Jack had come to California with
Nick. They had struggled to survive, then something had happened between them Jack had

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never fully shared. Nick had left Jack and he had been devastated by the loss. It was at that
point Roman had lured Jack into his bed. Then, on the day of Trixie’s funeral, they had been
reunited. Juan surmised that their deep love for one another had overridden any other
considerations.

If only…
He wouldn’t do that to himself. It was time to look forward and begin a new life.
Stopping in front of a small clapboard house with a short wooden gate to the side, Juan

dug his wallet out of his jeans and found the piece of paper with Jack’s address. He had
looked at the numbers so many times already he had them memorised. But he had to be sure.
He was so grateful he had thought to ask Jack the name of the street where he would be
living. He wouldn’t have been able to read it otherwise.

Juan covered the sides of his face as he peered in the front window of the house. It was

empty. Maybe they had gone somewhere, or were out back. He decided to check. The latch
on the gate was locked, but it was only about three feet high, easy enough for him to hop
over. If they were nowhere about, he could wait there.

He immediately noticed a smaller home at the rear of the yard. There were cans of paint

and a ladder right outside of it, so Juan was hopeful they were inside doing some work. The
front door was shut tight, so he crept down the side of the house, pushing low hanging
wisteria vines out of his way as he did. He rounded a corner and saw that a back entrance
had been left open.

Once again, Juan had walked in on an intimate moment between two men. Nick was

seated in a wooden chair, with Jack straddling his lap. They were fully clothed, but it
appeared they wouldn’t be for much longer. Nick had Jack wrapped in an embrace, and Jack
rocked into him. They were lost in their own world as they hungrily kissed one another, Jack
clutching Nick’s hair, moaning.

He turned to leave, and kicked one of the paint cans. There was the sound of a gasp and

Juan stopped to face them. They both stared at Juan in surprise, then Jack scrambled off
Nick’s lap to run towards Juan.

“Jesus, Jack. Watch the jewels.”
“Sorry!”

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Jack paused briefly to kiss Nick’s cheek, then rushed to Juan again. He threw his arms

around Juan’s neck, and he had to stoop down to hug him back. He couldn’t help but see the
disapproving look on Nick’s face.

At least Jack has someone that wants only him, is protective.
“Oh my God, Juan! When did you get here?”
Juan let go and straightened up. “A few hours ago.”
“That’s swell. Where’s Mr Franklin?”
It must have been the expression on his face. Somehow, he’d lost the desire to work so

hard at keeping his mask on, his every miniscule feeling shielded from the world.

“Oh no,” Jack whispered.
Nick cleared his throat and stood. “Why don’t you two stay here and get caught up. I’ll

go make some lemonade in the front house. Come in when you’re ready.”

He tipped his head at Juan as he walked past him to leave. Juan faced Jack, suddenly

horribly embarrassed. How could he ever explain something so bizarre to Jack? Especially
after he had witnessed such a beautiful exchange between the two men? It was clear they had
a sweet and loving relationship. Jack wouldn’t be able to help Juan understand what he’d
seen Vincent doing. He may even end up hating Vincent, despite all he’d done to help Jack.
Juan didn’t want that to happen. Regardless of anything else, he knew Vincent was a good
man.

Jack gave him a feeble smile, then went to the other side of the barren room to drag

another wooden chair over. It was clear they were in the process of cleaning and painting the
interior of the small home. It had to be so wonderful to share the little day to day chores with
one another, to build a life together. It had seemed as though that had possibly been in store
for him and Vincent. If nothing else, Juan had enjoyed performing the daily tasks Vincent
asked of him.

“Come on, Juan, sit down. After all we’ve been through together, you can tell me

anything.”

I doubt you’ll want to hear this.
Juan took a seat next to Jack and immediately began fidgeting, clasping and unclasping

his hands, one leg jiggling nervously. What difference did it make any more if he could
remain still? There was no one there to tell him how good he was.

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A small sob escaped him.
Jack placed a hand on his knee as if to stop his jitters. “It’s okay, Juan, you can stay here

with us. I told you it would be all right.” Jack took his hand away and sat back in his chair.
He looked around nervously. “So…what happened with Mr Franklin?”

Juan shrugged then stared down at the dusty floor. He had no idea where to start, or

even if he should. But he supposed Jack deserved some sort of explanation after he’d worked
so hard to make sure Juan had a place to go before he’d left for his new life.

“It just didn’t work out.”
He raised his eyes enough to gauge Jack’s reaction. His frown spoke volumes. That

vague explanation wouldn’t hold with Jack.

“What didn’t work out? Was he mean to you?”
Juan shook his head vehemently and raised his head back up. He didn’t want anyone to

think badly of Vincent.

“No, not at all. He was very good to me.” Softer he added, “Very good.”
Jack narrowed his eyes at Juan. “You like him, don’t you.”
Juan’s inhaled sharply. “Why do you say that?”
“Now that I know you better, I can tell. But it’s true, isn’t it?”
He hadn’t meant to take the conversation so far, so soon, and already it had reached the

point of Juan revealing his emotions about his boss. He couldn’t help it—the whole situation
was eating away at him. He had no other friends, only Jack. No one else to talk to about such
things.

“I don’t want anyone else to know.”
“Geez, Juan. Who would I tell?”
“Nick either.”
“Well, he already knows about Mr Franklin.”
“It’s something else. Something embarrassing.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Oh. All right. I promise. It’ll be between you and me only.”
Juan nodded, unable to stop himself from gritting his teeth, the twitching in his jaw

worse than ever. He had almost stopped doing it completely. Especially since the neck
massages.

I’ll never have his strong hands on me again.

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Juan moaned—the loss of Vincent almost too much to bear. They had never even been

lovers. His feelings went beyond that.

“If you don’t want to tell me—”
“No, I need to.” Juan took a deep breath. “Yes, I like him. Actually, I love him. More

than I can say.”

“Oh, no, Juan.”
Jack looked as if he were in physical pain. Juan knew how bad Jack had felt after he’d

turned down Juan’s offer of love.

“He doesn’t love you back?”
Juan shook his head. “I thought he did. At least, that there was a chance he did. The

way he would look at me sometimes, touch me.”

Jack gasped. “Touched you? Did you guys…?”
“No. Never. It…it’s so hard to explain. He would help me with my tension by rubbing

my neck and he would say things about how he was responsible for my well-being, that he
needed to take care of me.”

“Geez, Juan. It sounds to me as though he likes you a whole bunch.” Jack paused and

wiggled in his chair a bit. “So, why are you here without him?”

Juan rubbed his face and turned somewhat away from Jack. He wouldn’t be able to

meet his eyes if he was going to talk about this.

“I walked in on something. Sort of like I did just now with you and Nick.”
“Sort of?”
Juan still couldn’t look at Jack. He would lose his nerve otherwise.
“There was a naked man on Vincent’s bed.” Juan covered his face with both hands. “He

was tied up and Vincent was hitting him with a whip.”

There was complete silence and Juan couldn’t take it any longer. He peeked through his

fingers to get Jack’s reaction. His friend’s face was a deep red and he was squirming on his
chair.

“I’m sorry, Jack, I shouldn’t have told you that. I don’t want you to think bad things

about Vincent.”

Jack regarded him in a way that gave Juan the impression he wanted to tell him

something, but wasn’t sure if he should.

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“I don’t think anything bad about Vincent. Is that what you call him now?”
Juan frowned, shaking his head again. “No. He’s instructed me to only call him ‘sir’.”

Juan considered what Jack had said. “You don’t think he’s an awful person for…for doing
those things to that man?”

Jack cleared his throat. “This might seem like a strange question, but did the man

Vincent was doing those things to seem to like it?”

This time it was Juan’s face that heated. He could barely get his words out. “Yes. It

seemed as though he liked it a lot.”

Jack looked around the room as if he were checking to make sure they were alone.
“Now you have to promise, Juan. You can’t tell anyone neither—especially Nick. He

would get real sore.”

He had no idea what Jack could possibly be getting ready to tell him, but he would

never break a promise to his friend.

“I promise.”
Jack scooted the chair closer and brought his voice down.
“Nick ties me up.”
Juan gasped and sat straight up. He wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly.
“What?”
“It’s not strange, Juan. It might seem that way at first, but it’s really not.” Jack’s blush

deepened. “I love it when we do that. We’ve done other things too.”

The air seemed to thicken and Juan wasn’t sure he could catch his breath. Sweet,

lovable Jack wanted to be tied up during sex?

“Wait. What other things?”
“Well… We’ve never used whips. But Nick spanks me and I wouldn’t mind if he

wanted to try a whip some time.”

Juan gulped. Trying to reconcile the pictures in his head of what he’d seen going on

between the two men didn’t match the visual of Jack being restrained whilst Nick had his
way with him—as he spanked him. What he saw in his mind’s eye when he thought of the
lovers, was Jack’s desperation to get Nick back at the Santa Monica Pier when he’d seen him
by accident. The way he had first punched him, then wouldn’t let him go once they’d been

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reunited. And finally, their joy at leaving together to start their new life—along with the
loving scene he had witnessed earlier.

“What is it, Juan?”
Still uneasy, yet more determined than ever to understand the disquieting scene at

Vincent’s house the night before, there was something very important he still needed to
know.

“So, you and Nick do this all the time? You both like it?”
“Geez, Juan, like I said, we love it. But we don’t do it all the time, just when we’re in the

mood for it.”

“Oh.”
Jack leaned in closer again, his voice kept low. “What bothered you more—what

Vincent was doing, or that he wasn’t doing it to you?”

Juan knew the answer to Jack’s query only too well. He wanted to make it all about

Vincent being strange, wrong somehow—but that wouldn’t be the truth. The entire incident
had all been wrapped up in the hurt of another man giving Vincent what Juan couldn’t. And
the other part was that Vincent had never tried to find out if Juan could.

Could I?
When Vincent had massaged his shoulders that first time and talked to him about how

the pain would help him, had he been trying to tell Juan something? Trying to find out if he
would be willing to do what the naked man had done?

I must have messed it up somehow. He must have decided I wouldn’t be good enough for him to

do that with.

Juan rubbed the back of his neck. The combination of the dirt and sweat made him itch.

The tension was back worse than ever. And Vincent wouldn’t be there to help him with it.

He sighed. “It was that I wanted to be the one tied to his bed. That’s why I’m here. I

love him, but he doesn’t love me. I can’t go through that again.”

Jack nodded, tears at the corners of his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Juan. It’s all my fault. I never

should have introduced you to him. I was being selfish, trying to get out of Hollywood as
quickly as I could.”

“It’s not your fault—”

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“Yes it is. I feel real bad. You can stay with us as long as you want. This is going to be

Ana and Jose’s house, but we’ll figure something out.”

“I’ll need to get a job—”
“You already have a job.”
Jack yelped and Juan almost fell out of his chair. He jumped to his feet right as Vincent

entered the room.

“Sir?”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that, Juan.” Then he smiled, his green eyes crinkling nicely.

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Chapter Six

Why is he here?
It was impossible for Juan to believe Vincent had come all the way up to Carmel

because of him. It didn’t make sense. Since he knew Vincent was a decent, caring man—
perhaps he had brought Juan’s money and few possessions.

What did he mean about me already having a job?
Vincent was no more than six feet away and Juan had backed away slightly when he’d

stood, the flimsy chair between him and his boss. Ex-boss.

Right?
Vincent wouldn’t take his eyes off him, and Juan couldn’t help but stare back. He

hadn’t even acknowledged Jack’s presence in the room. The hint of a smile remained on his
lips and Juan was certain he detected something like relief on his face.

At last Vincent tore his gaze away and turned to Jack.
“Good afternoon, Jack.”
Jack had stood also and appeared to be a nervous wreck. He couldn’t stand still and

chewed on his thumbnail. He dropped his hand quickly, then answered Vincent.

“Hello, Vin— Mr Franklin.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back and

forth between him and Juan.

Vincent turned back to Juan. He was entirely calm, his form almost regal, clothed in

simple, yet elegant attire. It was the way in which Juan was familiar with him. It gave him
comfort. And Juan was captured all over again by how strong and handsome Vincent was.
Yet despite his joy at seeing the studio chief, there was the undercurrent of agony that they
would never be together.

Without breaking his gaze with Juan, he spoke again. “Jack, would you give Juan and I

some privacy please?”

“I don’t know. He might not want to talk to you right now.”
Juan was startled by how forceful his small friend sounded.
Vincent glanced over at Jack, who was next to, but slightly behind Juan.

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“Jack, do you recall when you first saw Nick at the cemetery, and how I brought you

back to my home in order to afford the two of you some time alone?”

“Oh.” Jack had said it in a very small voice. He moved closer to Juan. “Is that okay?”
Juan nodded. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to speak again.
As Jack passed by Vincent, he reached over to stop him by clasping his shoulder.

“Thank you for being there for him, Jack.”

Jack gave him a feeble smile. “Sure, Mr Franklin.”
Vincent let go and Jack stepped out of the house. They were alone. Juan tried not to

have jealous feelings towards his sweet friend, but when Vincent had touched him, it had
reminded Juan all over again how Vincent preferred smaller men like Jack. His heart ached
with a heaviness that rivalled any other sadness he’d ever experienced.

“Juan. Will you give me a chance to explain?”
His voice was kind, yet tinged with something else—melancholy? Regardless, he

wanted Juan to make a decision. It would probably be the only chance he would ever have to
hear Vincent’s reasons for not wanting him. The way Jack had told him once. Did he really
want to hear that?

“Is that what you want, sir?”
Vincent exhaled. “Oh, Juan. I want it more than anything.”
There was something in Vincent’s tone that was different. Whereas Juan had thought

he’d detected relief on Vincent’s face earlier, now he was certain he could hear it in his voice.
Then his timbre changed. It was back to what he was accustomed to. Firm. Commanding.

“Did I give you permission to leave?”
Juan shuffled on his feet. Why would he care? Unless he had come to rely on Juan’s

household services. One of the first hopes that had bloomed inside Juan was when he’d
realised Vincent had never had a valet before. It had seemed as though he might have
created the position to keep Juan around. Later, he had assumed it was more likely that he
had done it as a favour to Jack.

“No, sir.”
His mind reeled. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. There had been no chance

for him to consider the current scenario of Vincent showing up in Carmel.

“Then tell me why you left.”

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Vincent’s face remained impassive. There would no more clues as to what might be

going on inside his head.

Juan pulled his eyebrows together, confused. “You must know.”
“If I did, would I be asking you?”
Juan considered his question. What did he want him to say? Was he trying to humiliate

him by making him confess his love, when he didn’t even love him back? Didn’t even want
him?

“But, that man. You had him in your bed.”
Juan gulped. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. He had meant to say he was

shocked. Appalled by what he’d seen and that there’d been no choice except for him to leave.

“Then it had nothing to do with what I was doing to him?”
Juan worked his jaw furiously. He was actually surprised Vincent hadn’t corrected him

about it yet.

“I…well, uh…it…I…”
“Juan, you may speak freely.”
He had to drop his gaze. This was much worse than when he’d told Jack about what

he’d seen.

He swallowed and took a deep breath. “I thought so. I think it was. I don’t know.”
“Continue. What else was it?”
“You wanted him. Not me.”
“That’s what you think? That I don’t want you?”
Juan shrugged. “Not like that. Not in your bed.” He cringed as soon as he’d said it, and

his face flushed—the heat almost making him dizzy.

“Then you are greatly mistaken.”
The air left his body and he trembled, his ability to maintain stillness utterly lost.
“Sir?” His voice shook.
“I want you more than you will ever know. I have for a while. But I didn’t want to risk

you feeling obligated to me because I am your employer. Do you understand what I’m
saying?”

Juan’s heart beat so fast, he was sure he would pass out. This time he made certain to

look Vincent right in the eyes, to make sure he knew how sincere Juan was.

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“Sir, please don’t think that.” His voice took on a desperate edge. “I had been planning

to tell you how much I love you, that if you were worried about me working for you that I
would get another job.” His words tumbled out like a stampede of horses. “I wouldn’t have
left. I would have rented a room from you so that we could be near each other. I never would
have left you—ever—but that man…he…you…”

Tears flowed down his cheeks and he choked on a sob. Vincent moved towards him

and Juan stepped back. Vincent froze.

“Are you frightened of me?”
His lower lip trembled. “No. But I’m all dirty and sweaty. I don’t want to ruin your nice

clothes.”

Vincent chuckled and advanced. He reached behind Juan with one hand, pulling him to

his chest. He embraced Juan forcefully with the other by grasping him around the waist.
Juan’s entire body melted into Vincent’s and he traced his hands up his back to hug him too.

Juan buried his face in the crook of Vincent’s neck. He inhaled. Never had he been so

close to the man he loved. Even when he had massaged Juan’s neck, Vincent had never
pressed his body to him. It was glorious.

Vincent nuzzled his lips against Juan’s ear and spoke softly. “That man is not my lover.

What you saw me doing with him last night was not sexual this time. I have been so
desperate for you I had to find a way to free my mind, gain some clarity. It’s what I do to
maintain a measure of control in my life. But it’s also what I desire with a lover. What I desire
with you. It must seem very foreign. I want to show you how it can offer you freedom,
release.”

Juan clutched Vincent, terrified to let him go in case he walked away.
“Like it did with my neck?”
Vincent squeezed Juan. “Yes. Like your neck.”
“Then I want you to teach me.”
Juan felt the warmth of Vincent’s breath against his ear as he sighed. He disentangled

himself from Juan gently, still grasping his upper arms and stroking them with his thumbs.
Juan held onto Vincent’s waist, their bodies flush against one another’s. He became aware
that both of them had hardened. His face heated again.

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The gleam in Vincent’s eyes showed intent. Juan couldn’t read it, but he knew that

Vincent was back in control. Juan didn’t look away. It was too important that he face
everything about Vincent without reservation. What happened between them in the next few
moments could change his life forever.

“It won’t always be tender with me, Juan. I will challenge, discipline you. I will never

harm you or do more than I know you can handle. You will be the only one I do this with—
you will be mine, and I will be yours. I will keep you safe and take responsibility for all of
your care and needs. I want to give you the gift of freedom through pain.” Vincent paused,
seemingly to search Juan’s face for his reaction. “In return, I must have your trust and
obedience. No questioning, no arguing. Otherwise, you will be punished. We will establish a
set of rules and boundaries that we both agree upon so that you are very clear about what is
expected of you.” Vincent squeezed Juan’s arms. “Is this what you want?”

Juan swallowed hard. It was so much to take in all at once. As he gazed into Vincent’s

eyes though, he saw his life unfolding before him. It would be with this man who he would
give himself to, and who would hold him dear.

“Yes, sir.”
There wasn’t a single indicator from Vincent’s expression to tell Juan what he was

thinking. He was certain that the challenge Vincent had just spoken of had already begun.

“Very good, Juan.”
Vincent let his hands drop and pulled Juan’s hands down to his sides. He was puzzled

at first, then assumed it must be because they were getting ready to leave.

Going home.
A rush of joy filled him.
Vincent turned, then walked towards the door. Juan went to follow, but halted when

instead of exiting, Vincent closed it. He faced Juan again.

“Unbutton your pants, except for the top. Take out your cock, then come here and

present it to me.”

Juan inhaled in shock. “Sir?”
“Are you so anxious to be punished that you’re going to question me right away?”
Juan shook his head vigorously.

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“My first rule will be that you answer me out loud at all times. That one is non-

negotiable. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”
“Then do what I asked. Now.”
Juan’s hands shook uncontrollably. He was worried he wouldn’t even have the ability

to undo his pants and already he would disappoint Vincent.

He wasn’t scared. He was unbelievably excited. And soon, Vincent would see it for

himself.

At last, he was able to get the final button opened and he reached in to take out his

stiffened member. He closed his fingers around his cock and was mortified by the sweat
coating his groin and dick. Such a meticulously groomed man couldn’t possibly want to
touch him in that state.

He was in agony. His erection was painfully swollen, his desire for Vincent unbearable.

It would be so bad for him to question Vincent when he had just promised he wouldn’t.

I’ll never be able to do this. I’m no good for him.
“I gave you clear instructions.”
His voice was not gentle or kind. It demanded obedience.
“Forgive me, sir. I don’t want to offend you by how dirty I am. I walked a long way to

get here and the heat, the dust…”

“I didn’t ask you if you were clean. I told you to present your cock to me. Either you are

willing to obey me, or I can leave. The choice is yours.”

Despite his wobbly legs, Juan moved forward. As he reached Vincent, the studio chief

extended his left hand, palm up. Juan fixed his stare on it, anticipation stirring in his gut at
the thought of finally feeling Vincent’s warm touch on his body. The instant his stiff flesh
made contact with Vincent’s skin, he was sure he would come. His balls were agonisingly
tightened and he panted short breaths in and out.

Vincent closed his fingers around Juan’s shaft and squeezed. The pressure increased

until it was on the edge of being painful. Vincent held it there until Juan’s breathing returned
to normal. He slowly relaxed his grip, but didn’t let go.

“That’s it. Now spit.”

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Vincent’s right hand was held up to him, right below his mouth. Juan refused to give in

to the temptation to ask why. Embarrassed, he spat into Vincent’s palm.

“Again.”
He obeyed.
“Once more.”
Juan did as he was told, his focus back on the thrill of having his cock held by Vincent.

His lover.

Vincent transferred Juan’s dick to his right hand and rubbed the spit all around the

length. Then he encircled it again and stilled.

“Do you need me?”
He began to nod, then remembered his instructions.
“Yes, sir.”
“Show me.”
Fear coursed through him briefly as he tried to comprehend what Vincent meant. His

lover barely stroked the top of his shaft with his thumb and Juan knew. As he thrust forward,
Vincent gripped him tighter, still allowing him the ability to move in and out of Vincent’s
fist.

Pleasure shot through him as he fucked Vincent’s hand faster, and he almost lost his

balance. He was steadied by Vincent’s hand at his waist, and he grabbed Vincent’s arms to
keep from falling over.

“Look at me.”
Grunting with his exertions, he locked his gaze onto Vincent’s, the hunger in his lover’s

eyes unmistakable this time.

“You’re beautiful, Juan. Come for me.”
Clutching Vincent strongly, Juan yelled, surprised by his own outburst. He jerked

uncontrollably into Vincent’s fist. His cum shot from him, coating his sensitive skin. As he
finished, his slicked cock easily sliding in and out of Vincent’s hand.

He gasped for air from the intensity of his orgasm.
“Better?”
Juan saw the quirk of a smile on Vincent’s lips. He wanted to taste those lips.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

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A rush of emotion swept through him and sobs overtook his body.
“That’s it. Let it out.”
His crying increased, his tears flowing freely. Even his embarrassment couldn’t stop

him. Vincent released him and turned towards the door. Juan was filled with the loss of his
touch. Now that he had experienced closeness with him, he knew it would be something he
would crave all the time.

He watched, his weeping subsiding, and waited for Vincent to direct him. His lover

stood just outside the doorframe, then leaned in and gestured for Juan to come to him.

“Out here.”
Juan began to tuck his softened dick into his pants, but stopped at Vincent’s harsh tone.
“Did I say you could put that away?”
He doesn’t really want me to go outside like this, does he?
Swallowing down his fear, he moved towards Vincent.
“No, sir. You didn’t.”
“Then come on.”
His cock hung down from the front of his pants as he tentatively walked outside.

Vincent held a hand up to block him from exiting the building completely.

“Come out here, but turn your back to the front of the property.”
Wisteria vines hung thickly all around them, trailing down from a trellis that ran next to

the house. He presumed that Vincent was being extra cautious so they wouldn’t be caught.
He looked down and understood immediately why Vincent had called him out there. There
was a bucket of water and Vincent poured some over his hands. Once he had them cleaned
off, he cupped some of the cool liquid and rubbed it on Juan’s dick.

“Be careful you don’t get any water on the front of your pants. You may button yourself

up now.”

He did as he was told, glancing down at the front of Vincent’s slacks. It was obvious

that Vincent needed the same relief he had just given Juan.

“Sir?”
“Yes, Juan?”
“May I speak freely?”
“Yes, Juan.”

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“May I… Would you like me to…?”
“No. I will get what I want from you when it’s appropriate. In our relationship, it will

be my responsibility to take care of all your needs first, then tend to my own.”

Juan frowned. It seemed incomprehensible to him that such a great man would put

Juan’s desires before his own. It didn’t make sense.

“You needn’t worry about anything anymore, Juan. That is for me to do.”
“But I want to please you.”
“You do please me, Juan. The greatest pleasure you will ever give to me is your

complete surrender.”

Juan scrunched his eyebrows together. He wanted to give everything to Vincent,

anything he wanted. He just didn’t understand it all yet.

Vincent’s tone became gentle. “Give yourself time. You are doing wonderfully so far. It

will be clear eventually. Remember, worrying is my job. Yours is to give yourself to me.”

There was a flutter in his chest. Could it be that simple? Was he finally safe in

someone’s care, and all he had to do was belong to them? It was a dream. One from which he
never wanted to wake.

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Chapter Seven

Glancing to his right, Vincent was relieved to see that Juan had dozed off.
He must be exhausted.
Vincent was rather tired himself. After barely sleeping the night before, he had risen

early to ready himself to leave for Carmel. Saul had tried his patience by not arriving at his
home until almost ten o’clock, at which point Vincent had been almost frantic. He hadn’t
thought that frantic was a part of his vocabulary anymore. Apparently, Juan had changed
things for him even more than he’d realised.

He had driven straight through to Carmel, only stopping once to use the washroom and

fill the gas tank. His nerves had been stretched thin as he’d played over and over in his mind
what Juan might say to him about what he’d seen—if Juan was even there when he arrived.
The possibility that Juan might not be there at all had terrified him. His relief when Nick told
him he was in the other house had almost brought him to his knees.

And now, Juan was next to him. Going home with him. Willing to give himself to him.
If he doesn’t get scared off again.
Vincent needed to remember that the offer he had presented to Juan and his acceptance

of it could change, perhaps right away. The concept of what Vincent needed from a partner
was not something he was sure Juan fully comprehended. The true test would be his
response to Vincent’s harsh demands. There was the still the chance he might lose him.

Vincent swallowed past a lump in his throat, startled he was so close to tears. If he

stopped to analyse it too much, he would go mad.

When they had said their goodbyes to Jack and Nick, he had been touched by how sad

Jack had been to see his friend go. Vincent had watched with curiosity when Jack had
whispered something in Juan’s ear. Then Jack had shook Vincent’s hand and asked him to
take good care of Juan. Vincent smiled as he remembered that.

So sweet.
It was almost seven o’clock and they still hadn’t eaten. He had only had his daily bowl

of cereal that morning, and he was unsure whether Juan had eaten at all. His body was heavy

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with tiredness, the five hour drive up from Hollywood combined with the emotions of the
day very overwhelming. He decided it would be best if they stopped for the night.

The next roadside stop he spotted, he pulled the Cadillac in. He chuckled to himself as

he recalled how Juan had insisted on driving. It had seemed like it was torture for him to
accept that Vincent wanted him to rest whilst he drove. It was still light out, so he needed to
be careful. There didn’t seem to be many people staying at the motel, but he had to be careful
in case someone was peering out a window.

Juan really did look like a bum, so Vincent thought it best that he not be seen by the

front desk clerk. It would appear very strange for a well-dressed older man to have a scruffy,
dirt-caked young man with him.

Poor thing. He needs to get cleaned up.
After securing two rooms, he opened the door on the passenger side of the Cadillac and

jostled Juan awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked around in a daze.

“Sir?”
“We’re spending the night. Come along, as we have no luggage, this seems rather

suspicious.” As Juan stepped out of the car, Vincent handed him a key. “This is for your
room.”

Vincent immediately regretted his quick words when he saw the fallen expression on

Juan’s face. He cleared his throat and Juan lifted his head.

“It’s for show. I told the attendant that I had my valet with me and that I needed a room

with an adjoining door in case I required his services. For now, use your key to go inside.”

A bright smile lit up Juan’s face and Vincent was suddenly anxious to get him alone.

First, however, he needed to find them something to eat before everything closed up for the
night. He watched to make certain Juan got into his room okay, then headed to the front desk
to inquire about food. He was informed there was a diner down the street, so Vincent went to
pick them up some fruit and cold sandwiches.

When he arrived back at his room, he noted it was empty. He felt a bolt of panic at first,

but calmed himself with the thought that Juan would likely never enter his room uninvited.
He was reminded of how Juan’s submissiveness was really so natural to him, that it was
what had drawn Vincent to him in the first place. Maybe he wouldn’t have such a difficult
time adjusting to Vincent’s world after all.

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He set the food down on the small table in the room, then knocked on the adjoining

door. Juan appeared in the doorframe, an expression of uncertainty on his face. Vincent
noted with satisfaction that he hadn’t showered or changed. After Juan’s embarrassment
during their first intimate encounter, Vincent had wondered whether he would take the
initiative to clean himself up. Instead, he had awaited Vincent’s instructions.

“I see you waited for me before you showered or changed. Very good, Juan.”
A beautiful smile spread across Juan’s face. It was quite evident that verbal praise was

very important to the young man. It filled his heart the way Juan responded to his words.

“Come inside.”
Vincent stepped aside to allow Juan through. Vincent watched his every move. From

now on when they were alone, he could stare at him endlessly, drink him in visually without
the fear of Juan discovering his true feelings.

I haven’t shared everything.
Vincent frowned at himself. He supposed it was his years of detachment from his

emotions and his dedication to maintaining control at all times that had silenced him. There
was no doubt in his mind about his love for Juan. It had been so long since those words had
held meaning for him. Juan had confessed his love and he was so vulnerable.

Even if I say it, he could still run from me again if he finds the other aspects of our relationship

more than he can handle.

As premeditated as Vincent demanded every aspect of his life to be, the idea of

expressing deep love that way grated on him. For once, he decided not to plan on something.

“Take a seat. You must be very hungry. Have you eaten today?”
“No, sir.”
Vincent pursed his lips. He had suspected as much, but it still bothered him to hear it.
“I understand that today was an unusual situation—never to be repeated again I might

add—but from now on, you will take regular meals, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”
Vincent hesitated, then mentally berated himself. There was no room for hesitation if

they were to achieve together what Vincent wanted for them.

“Regardless, don’t think you will be escaping punishment for leaving without

permission.”

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Juan’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir.”
Good.
They sat in near silence whilst they ate their meal. It was obvious to Vincent that Juan

was attempting with varying success not to gobble down his food.

He must be starving.
The familiar tug in his heart Vincent had become accustomed to since he’d had Juan in

his care was another reminder as to why Juan was different. He couldn’t honestly remember
that feeling before, even when he’d had the lover from ten years ago he’d hoped to keep as
his own. Vincent was overwhelmed by his need to look after Juan.

Once they had finished, Vincent stood. Juan stayed seated.
“Take off your clothes and go into the bathroom.”
Juan rose from his chair, then moved towards the other room.
“Juan. Your clothes.”
He stopped, turning to Vincent. He looked stricken, uncomfortable. Vincent knew that

almost every seemingly mundane command would be a new experience for him. The routine
of taking his clothes off in a bedroom took on an entirely different slant when he was doing it
in front of Vincent for the first time. Soon, they would be able to move past the simplest
things and get on to the real challenges—the ones that could potentially drive Juan away
from him.

“Yes, sir.”
Vincent took a stance directly in front of Juan, only a few feet away. He had to admit he

was anxious to inspect the young man’s body. Delight in every inch of him. But he could take
it slowly—give Juan a chance to adjust.

He noted that Juan’s hands trembled as he first undid his shirt, then his pants. He

wouldn’t meet Vincent’s eyes, and he surmised that what Juan felt went beyond modesty. He
seemed ashamed.

Once Juan had stripped down to his undergarments, he stopped to take a deep breath.

Still shaking, he unbuttoned the tank and slipped it off. With one more brief hesitation, he
slid his shorts down, then stepped out of them. His cock was semi-erect, and Vincent sensed
he was dealing with conflicting emotions about being naked under Vincent’s close appraisal.
Still, he kept his head lowered.

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Vincent had to admit he was puzzled. It was inconceivable to him that a man so well-

formed and sexy could be so shy about his body. Vincent walked slowly around him, taking
in the glorious sight of the man he’d dreamt of many nights. Toffee-coloured skin covered
lean, but defined muscles. He had very little hair on his body and his firm, full ass almost
took Vincent’s breath away. The idea of stretching Juan’s long, shapely limbs out to bind
them brought his dick to life. He could see, however, that Juan didn’t view himself that way
at all.

He’s really very innocent in many things.
“Keep your arms to your sides and stand straight, shoulders back.” Vincent kept

moving around him. “Now lift your chin and fix your stare on that picture in front of you.”

It was the first time since he had seen Juan again where he was almost still. His jaw was

the exception.

“You’re doing very good, Juan. Tell me why you are ashamed of your body.”
Juan flinched, the twitching where he gritted his teeth worsening.
“I asked you a question.”
“I…I’m not…”
“Answer me.”
Juan dropped his chin almost to his chest, shaking his head, his shoulders slumping.
Vincent saw the tears dropping onto Juan’s torso. He had hoped to have a quiet evening

with the young man, not push his boundaries very much until they were back at home. But
Vincent couldn’t leave so many issues unresolved until then. It appeared Juan needed a lot
more help than Vincent had anticipated to work through his demons.

“Get in the shower. Now.”
Wordlessly and with his head still hung low, Juan did as he was told. Vincent disrobed,

listening to the sounds of Juan turning on the water, then. Once he was nude, he padded to
the bathroom and saw that Juan had already stepped into the shower. Vincent yanked the
curtain aside. Juan startled, the redness of his eyes and a swipe across his nose indicating to
Vincent he was still crying.

Juan’s pained expression tore at Vincent’s heart. It would be so easy to gather him close

and tell him everything would be all right. But that wouldn’t give him the confidence to

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believe in his own worth. Juan needed to know he could handle anything, that he was strong
and good.

“Hand me the soap.”
Juan hiccupped a sob and did as he was told. He glanced around everywhere except at

Vincent, his shame an almost tangible thing. The moment Vincent laid his soapy hands on
Juan’s body, he jumped back as if Vincent had slapped him.

“Shh. Let me take care of you.”
Juan kept shaking his head, his face contorted.
“No. I’m no good for you. I’m not the type of man you want. You don’t have to do

this.”

Vincent stilled his hands, fear piercing his heart. Was Juan saying he didn’t want to take

orders from him, that he couldn’t submit? It seemed difficult to reconcile with Juan’s
naturally compliant nature.

“Look at me, Juan.” Vincent used his strongest tone.
Juan peered up at him tentatively.
Poor baby.
“I never do anything that I don’t want. Ever. And you’re exactly the type of man I

desire, in all ways.”

Vincent rubbed soapy circles over Juan’s body, being careful not to be too rough. He

washed him, doing it as though he were caressing him, soothing him.

“Turn around and face the wall. Place your hands in front of you to brace yourself, and

spread your legs apart.”

Vincent had prepared himself for Juan’s objections, but as he moved to obey his orders,

Vincent noted the young man’s full erection bobbing. Once Juan was in position, Vincent slid
the bar of soap between Juan’s crease, over his incredible ass, then washed down the backs of
his legs. Straightening up, he finished smoothing the suds over Juan’s body, then brought the
soap through his parted thighs. He manipulated each of Juan’s full nuts carefully, his slicked
up hands grasping Juan’s rigid shaft.

He let go of Juan’s dick so that he could reach around and tug it from the front. Vincent

moved closer until his body pressed against Juan’s back, Vincent’s erection slipping between
Juan’s butt cheeks. Juan moaned and Vincent increased his pull on Juan’s member. He put

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the soap down, then used his free hand to explore Juan’s testicles, and noted they were
drawing up.

Vincent squeezed just enough that Juan cried out a little, his fingernails clawing futilely

on the tiled wall. Vincent made one more pass over the engorged head of Juan’s dick, then
yanked his fist back to the base and held him tightly. Without any equipment with him,
Vincent had used his hands to simulate a cock and ball restraint.

He kept an even pressure on Juan’s genitals, but rubbed his own needy shaft between

Juan’s cheeks. Never had he wanted to penetrate a man so much as he did right then. But it
wasn’t the proper time. It wasn’t about what he needed in that moment.

Still rutting against him, Vincent whispered into Juan’s ear.
“These are mine. I will do with them whatever I please.”
Juan’s whimpering gave him satisfaction.
“You will never come unless I give you permission, is that clear?”
“Y-yes. Sir.”
“You are mine. You belong to me. I wouldn’t be here with you like this if you didn’t

thrill me.”

Vincent squeezed a little harder and Juan jerked up onto the balls of his feet.
“Why are you ashamed of your body?”
Juan had his forehead pressed against the unforgiving hard wall, his shoulders shaking

as he cried. Vincent increased the pressure on Juan’s heated erection, his swollen nut sac.

“Why are you ashamed of your body?”
Vincent’s grip tightened even more, Juan’s sobs rising in intensity.
“Why are you ashamed of your body?”
A torrent of words poured from Juan.
“I’m not like that man you had in your bed! Not like Jack. I’m too big, my skin’s too

brown. I can never be what a man like you deserves. I’m nothing but a poor, stupid,
immigrant cast-off.”

He dissolved into uncontrolled weeping and Vincent released his hold on Juan’s

genitals. He turned Juan around and enfolded him in a strong embrace, allowing him to cry
it out on his shoulder. The warm water cascaded off their bodies, the sound of the shower a
peaceful backdrop as Juan’s sobs gradually subsided.

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Vincent loosened his hold on Juan to grasp his face between his hands.
“Look at me.”
He waited until Juan would meet his gaze.
“Just because you saw me with that one man doesn’t mean I like small men, nothing

could be further from the truth. You’re a good, kind and stunningly masculine man. I’ve
waited for years to find someone like you. Someone I could love.”

Juan’s face crumpled and Vincent was certain he would start crying again.
“Love?”
“Yes. Love. Now be a good boy and rinse off. Once you’re done drying up, come lie

with me in bed. It’s been a long and trying day and we need our rest.”

Vincent let go of a visibly stunned Juan, and ran his head under the shower. He held a

smile at bay when he realised that instead of hiding his face from Vincent, Juan stared openly
at him, at his body. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed one of the towels. Drying off
quickly, he was anxious to get into bed where he would be sleeping with Juan’s naked form
tucked against his.

His dear, sweet Juan had so many hurts, so many fears. He took a personal vow to

devote the rest of his life seeing to Juan’s happiness.

* * * *

Sleep was impossible despite the cloud of exhaustion weighing him down. Vincent had

him curled against his body, Vincent spooning him from behind. The older man’s gentle
snores filled the room, a wonderful melody to Juan’s ears. How long? How long had he
wished to be held like this?

Juan had never spent the night with a man in his bed. It had been impossible to get

away with it when he’d been with Geraldo, and before Jack, Roman had never allowed any
man to share his bed after sex. Juan had never experienced the loving embrace of a man’s
arms as he slept.

He was still filled with some trepidation over the nature of the relationship Vincent

wanted to share with him. He could at least admit to himself that his initial reaction upon

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seeing the scene in Vincent’s bedroom had been envy. Anger that he couldn’t be the delicate
man he’d assumed Vincent wanted.

There was no doubt in Juan’s mind that Vincent was an honest man. Yet Juan still had

to play Vincent’s words from the shower over and over in his head. The ones where he told
Juan he didn’t like smaller men, that he wanted him. That Juan was good. Masculine and
stunning. That he loved him.

Those things Vincent had said about him didn’t seem real, but he had to hope that his

lover would at least believe them and never want Juan to leave.

He said I belonged to him.
Warmth filled him as he recalled Vincent’s powerful admonishments. He shivered

when he thought of the command that he couldn’t come unless Vincent said so, that his cock
and balls were Vincent’s. At last Juan was able to give form and meaning to his desire to
please. He wanted to belong to someone. It was so simple, yet had seemed so unattainable.

Vincent stirred and tightened his grip around Juan. He sighed, nuzzling his face into

the crook of Juan’s neck until he settled again. It was exactly how Juan had always hoped it
would be with the man he loved.

I’m yours. All yours.

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Chapter Eight

Juan hadn’t been able to wait to get out of his filthy clothes once they’d got back home.

Vincent had told him to change into his pyjamas then meet him in the study. It was still the
weekend, so they had one more day together before Vincent would be required to be back at
the studio. Juan hoped there wouldn’t be any premieres or late night meetings that week. He
was anxious to spend as much time as possible with Vincent now that they were lovers. He
was also dreadfully curious about the other aspects of their new relationship.

He’d been somewhat embarrassed when Vincent’s friend Saul had been waiting for

them at the house. He wasn’t sure what that was all about, but knew better than to ask.
Vincent had assured Juan that he would always tell him everything he needed to know.

Trust.
He’d been in the study for almost a half hour, fidgeting, wondering what was taking

Vincent so long. Juan had heated a snifter of brandy for him, but it had already cooled down.
He thought about getting him another one, and was about to rise to fetch it when Vincent
entered.

“Please sit down, Juan.”
He watched in undisguised admiration as Vincent walked around the room. The only

time he would have to hide his feelings for the man anymore would be in public. Behind
closed doors, it would be different. Vincent shuffled through some unopened letters, then
tossed them on the desk.

Locking his gaze on Juan, it seemed as though Vincent were checking to see if he were

measuring up somehow. He didn’t think his jaw was too tense. Maybe a tiny bit. He sat up
straight, not trying to appear smaller the way he normally did. Concentrating on Vincent’s
words from the night before—and remembering his vice-like grip—he willed himself to
believe that he really was what Vincent said he saw when he looked at him.

“You’re doing good, Juan. I like to see you hold yourself straight, your head kept high.

You have reason to be proud of yourself.”

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Juan drew his eyebrows together. He couldn’t imagine what he had to be proud about.

No matter what Vincent might think of him now, when he’d cried out about where he came
from—that was still true.

“You seem perplexed.”
Vincent moved around to seat himself next to Juan on the loveseat. He regarded him,

cocking his head to one side until Juan was back to feeling incredibly self-conscious. He
knew he was twitching and wondered if he would ever be able to master it.

“Well?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand why I would be proud.”
Vincent eyed him as though he would find the answer on how to proceed from Juan’s

face.

“You’ve agreed to give over your care to me. To trust me with your well-being. That’s a

very brave decision. You say you come from a poor background. You should be proud that
you’ve worked so hard to build a better life for yourself.”

Juan fidgeted with his hands, Vincent’s praise difficult for him to accept. It was much

easier when all he had to do was stand tall or be still. Make sure that his clothes were pressed
properly and that Vincent’s paper was laid out. He supposed he could feel proud about that,
not what Vincent was telling him. That seemed as though it were about someone else. But he
wanted it to be true.

Maybe someday after I’ve done those things with him he says he likes so much?
“Remember yesterday when I told you there would be a set of rules between us?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We need to discuss that right now because I want to fuck you. However, I won’t yet.

Not until we’ve come to an agreement as to what will go on between us.”

Juan swallowed hard, his shaft hardening, already dripping in anticipation.

Instinctively, he moved his hands over his lap.

“Don’t cover yourself.”
Juan jerked his hands away and put them at his sides.
“I’ve already told you much of what I expect from you, but since this is all so new to

you, I want to elaborate a bit more. Physical pain will be a part of our relationship. Even
though I said it already and you saw me inflicting it—that’s not the same as experiencing it.

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I’ll work you up to it gradually, and I will strive to never give you more than I think you can
handle. However, if you reach a point where you can’t take anymore, you need to be able to
tell me.

“Since it is likely that you will reflexively yell out the words ‘no’ or ‘stop’ during our

sessions, I require that you call out the word ‘mercy’ instead.”

Like the other man.
“Sir, may I speak?”
“Yes, speak freely, Juan. This is your opportunity to set your boundaries.”
“I would like to say a different word than mercy.”
Vincent raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Why is that?”
Juan’s jaw twitched. “Because it’s what he used with you.”
An expression of understanding crossed Vincent’s face. “I see, of course. What word

would you like to use?”

He hadn’t considered that. Frowning, he thought about what he might want to say if

Vincent ever did anything to him that he didn’t want. He couldn’t even imagine stopping
him from doing whatever he desired. Juan was his—he’d said so.

“Yours. That’s the word I want to use.”
The slightest hint of a smile showed at the corners of Vincent’s mouth.
“That’s very nice, Juan. I like it. ‘Yours’ it is then.” He noticed Vincent adjust himself a

bit. “There will also be things I demand of you that aren’t sexual, nor will they involve pain. I
won’t negotiate with you on those. One example would be is if I want you to kneel at my feet
when I’m in the study. Is that clear?”

Juan was shocked at his gut reaction to what Vincent had said. Even though such a

thing never would have occurred to him, he would love to do it.

“Yes, sir.”
He hoped he hadn’t sounded too eager. The look on Vincent’s face indicated that he

might have.

“To continue, the one thing that I must reiterate, and it is particularly important for our

sessions, is honesty. It’s everything. If you can’t be truthful with me at all times then you will
betray our trust and you will never receive the benefits of my discipline. Are we clear so
far?”

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“Yes, sir.”
“Any questions about what I just said?”
“No, sir.”
“Very good, Juan.”
Vincent appeared to be studying him extra carefully. He took a small notepad from the

side table as well as a fountain pen, and placed the items in his lap. “The final thing before I
take you upstairs with which you need to be forthright with me about is what you are
willing, or not willing to do.”

Juan squirmed. There was so little that he understood about what they might do, he

couldn’t fathom how he could tell Vincent what he did or didn’t like. He’d done nothing like
this before. The closest he had ever come was when Roman would bite him hard as he
fucked him. He knew something about what Jack and Nick did with each other, although not
very many details.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done any of those things. I don’t even know what there might

be that I wouldn’t want to do.”

“I know, Juan. This will be a learning experience for both of us.”
Juan lowered his head.
“Chin up. What’s bothering you?”
“I’m sorry you have to put up with my lack of experience.”
“I don’t have to do anything. I choose to. I’m ecstatic that you have no experience. That

makes you mine to shape how I want. You are a gift to me.”

Juan’s cheeks flushed hot. It wasn’t from embarrassment—it was from joy. It was the

first time he actually felt he might be good enough for Vincent.

“Let me help you decide on some boundaries for now, and if they need to change

because this is all so new for you, then you can request to speak with me freely any time
we’re not in a session. If we’re in a session, I will assume that everything I do is all right
unless you say ‘yours’. Remember, no questioning, no arguing. The only thing I won’t
negotiate with you is my right to control your orgasms. I meant what I said last night, your
cock is mine. Your balls are mine. And your ass is mine. I do what I please with what is mine.
If I punish you, one of the things I might do is restrain your genitals so that you can’t come,

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just as I did last night. You are not allowed to touch yourself to get relief. Ever. Is all that
clear?”

He didn’t like the sound of not being able to come, but he trembled in excitement at the

thought that the most personal areas of his body were Vincent’s property.

“Yes, sir.”
“You will always address me as sir unless I say otherwise.”
Juan stared at Vincent, waiting for what he would say next.
“Respond so that I know you understand.”
“Oh, sorry. Yes, sir.”
“May I tie you up how I please?”
Juan gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“Blindfold you?”
Blindfold? I hadn’t thought of that.
“Yes, sir.”
“Gag you?”
Juan frowned. That might be the first thing Vincent had mentioned or he’d heard about

that he didn’t think he would like very much. He could say no. Vincent had said it was his
chance to set his boundaries. Yet he didn’t want to displease Vincent. But he was supposed to
be honest. He couldn’t sit still.

“The truth.”
“No, sir. I’m sorry.”
Vincent wrote in his notepad then looked back up at Juan.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You did perfectly. I asked you to be honest and you

were.”

Juan smiled. He was pleased with himself.
“How about spanking you with my hand?”
Juan cleared his throat, blood pooling in his groin. He moved to cover himself, but

stopped before he did. Despite everything being an untried mystery to him, the thought of it
excited him. In particular, because it would be by Vincent’s touch he would get disciplined.

Jack said he liked it.
“Yes, sir.”

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He could swear that a slight flush had risen to Vincent’s face.
“Very good, Juan. Use whips on you?”
Juan chewed on his lower lip. The questions were becoming more difficult. More

confusing. As much as he’d wished that it had been him and not the other man tied to
Vincent’s bed and being whipped, would he really want Vincent to do that? He honestly
didn’t know.

“Maybe, sir.”
Vincent nodded, and wrote in his notepad.
“Wooden paddle or other wooden instruments?”
Juan furrowed his brow. He wasn’t certain what kind Vincent meant.
“Maybe, sir.”
More notes.
“The insertion of foreign objects into your rectum?”
Jesus.
He couldn’t imagine what the reason for that would be. He’d had a man inside him—

Roman had been well-endowed and not very gentle. He badly wanted Vincent inside him.
Would this be any different? It would depend on what the object was.

Juan cleared his throat. “Maybe, sir.”
“Hmmm.”
Vincent made more notes.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He was afraid he might be making Vincent

unhappy, that he wasn’t answering the questions right. What if this was a test, and he failed?

“I’m sorry, sir.”
Vincent looked up from his notepad.
“Did you lie to me?”
“No, sir!”
“Then don’t be concerned, Juan. Everything is all right.”
Vincent reclined against the back of the love seat they shared.
“Just a couple more things, then I badly need to take you upstairs. Hot wax?”
“Sir?”
He had no idea what he was talking about.

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“The dripping of hot wax on any part of your body I choose.”
Juan swallowed hard. He might want to say no to that. But then again, he might not. He

wasn’t sure.

“Maybe, sir.”
There was a slight rise to Vincent’s eyebrows. He made one more note, then set the pad

down on the side table.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t say yes to more things, sir. Maybe after I get used to the other

things?”

Vincent’s eyes gleamed. “You did very well, Juan. Truthfully, I didn’t think we would

get past me tying you up before everything became a definite no. As always, you thrill me.”

Running a hand across his pomade-free hair, Vincent adjusted himself in his seat again.
“As we advance in our sessions, a couple things will occur. I will get to know your

body better and there might be things on your maybe list that I will suggest would be good
for you, that might help you. I would like to have the opportunity to discuss those with you
as they come up, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Very good. In addition, as we advance, we will go over this list again to see if

there are any changes for you. There will also be additional things that I will ask if you are
willing to do.”

“You mean more?” How could there be so many different ones? “Sir.” In his surprise,

he’d almost forgotten to say it.

Vincent’s lips were pressed together. He cleared his throat.
“Yes, Juan. More. There are weights and clamps, suspension—other things that you

really won’t be able to make a decision about right now.” Vincent sighed. “I will also need to
equip the house better. I used to rely primarily on what the club provided.”

There was a sinking feeling in Juan’s stomach. What did he mean by that? Was that

where the man in Vincent’s bed had come from?

“Don’t fret, Juan. I won’t be going back there anymore. Truthfully I haven’t been in

several weeks. Even before you came to work for me, I had lost interest. Now that I have you,
you’re all I want ever again.” Vincent seemed to consider something else. “We should
discuss how we’re going to handle your employment situation.”

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Things had been going so well. Vincent had seemed pleased with Juan’s responses and

had even praised him. Now they would have to discuss the one thing that had kept them
apart to begin with.

“It’s vital that I’m always truthful with you as well, Juan.”
Vincent’s voice had taken on a kinder, softer tone, one that Juan wasn’t used to hearing.

It worried him. He liked Vincent’s firm voice. It let him know Vincent was in charge and that
there was nothing to be concerned about.

“Don’t look so frightened, Juan. Do you think I would have just gone through all of

those rules and boundaries if I didn’t mean to keep you?”

Juan exhaled. Of course. He was still learning to be safe with someone. That he could be

safe.

“I was thinking that I could find you some type of position at the studio. I don’t want

you to be someone else’s driver because I’m an incredibly possessive man. And as you well
know, the hours can be dreadful and sporadic. I’m not entirely certain what would be best,
but I can’t give you money in exchange for your services, then take you to bed or ask for your
submission. It would go against the very thing that I wish to achieve with you, with us.”

The thought of being away from Vincent’s home during the day terrified him. The only

way he would have considered it was to bring them together. Now that things were out in
the open, he didn’t see why he had to leave the house. Even though Vincent wasn’t
physically there, it was a part of him. And Juan was able to clean or cook or do other tasks
and errands for him. Sometimes Vincent would call during the day. It might only be for a
few minutes, yet it always filled Juan with happiness. He couldn’t bear it if he had to go
somewhere else. If it were any other two people in love…

“Sir, I have an idea.” Hope swelled inside of him.
“You have a place you would like to work?”
Vincent’s face showed his own sadness. Juan had noticed that Vincent had been much

more expressive lately.

“Yes. I want to work here.”
Vincent furrowed his brow. “What are you getting at?”
“Didn’t you say yesterday that I already had a job?”

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He sighed. “I know. Regardless, we need to deal with this situation, Juan. I can’t put

you in a position where you might feel compromised.”

“I know, sir. But if I were your wife, you wouldn’t pay me. I would cook, clean, take

care of you and the house. That would be my job.”

Never had Juan seen such a shocked look from Vincent. He also appeared to be so

stunned for a moment that he was beyond speech.

“I…Juan. I know you must realise that I can never marry you.”
Juan bit his lip and held his insecurities at bay so he could make his point. The ones that

screamed inside his head that Vincent had said that because he didn’t really want him.

“I know. But what would the difference be? If married couples can do it, why can’t we?

I would be like the woman, and I wouldn’t feel exploited or manipulated.”

Vincent snorted. “I’m sure there are many married women who would disagree.” He

had his eyebrows drawn down, and seemed to be in deep concentration. “I don’t know…”

Juan fell to his knees in front of Vincent.
“Please, sir. I belong to you. That’s what you said. I said I would give myself to you.

How is that different from two people being married if that’s what they both agree on? Like
all of these other things we’ve agreed on? You said you would see to my well-being. Well,
this is what I need—to serve you. Please you in all ways. I beg you, don’t make me go
anywhere else. I want to stay here and take care of our home.”

Juan stopped on a gasp. He hadn’t meant to say the last part. It had been too rash.

Vincent had never said it was Juan’s home. How could he have been so stupid?

“I’m sorry, sir. I know this isn’t my home. That flew out of my mouth.”
Vincent leant forward to cup Juan’s face in his hands. “Yes, it is, Juan. This is your

home. You are mine and I am yours. I would marry you if I could, without hesitation. Of
course you can stay here.”

Dipping his head lower, Vincent captured Juan’s lips, pushing his way into Juan’s

mouth, opening him up to accept his kiss deeper and deeper. The breath had been yanked
from him. He had yearned to kiss Vincent from almost the very second he’d moved in. When
Vincent had given him an orgasm without every trying to taste his mouth he had thought
maybe it was something he simply didn’t do. The more demanding Vincent’s tongue
became, the more grateful Juan was that Vincent liked to kiss after all.

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When Vincent broke their connection, Juan gulped in a large puff of air. It had been

heady. He was hard.

“Thank you, Juan.”
“For what, sir?”
“That glorious kiss for one. But primarily, for thinking of such a wonderful solution.

You make me feel cherished. I love you, my very good boy.”

Smiling down at him, Vincent stroked Juan’s head, over and over. It was so perfect,

Juan could have stayed at Vincent’s feet forever.

“I love you, sir. With all my heart.”
He couldn’t believe it, but he thought he detected tears at the corners of Vincent’s eyes.

His lover bent to kiss him lightly on the lips before straightening up. He caressed Juan’s
cheek, then stood. He extended his hand to him, and Juan accepted it. Once he was in a
standing position, Vincent yanked him close, grasping his butt cheeks so hard that it
bordered on painful. Juan’s stiffened immediately, Vincent’s rough handling erotic in a way
that surprised him.

It was obvious that Vincent was fully aroused too as he ground into Juan, pressing his

rigid heat up against Juan’s cock, sliding them together through their silky clothing. Was he
allowed to come? He didn’t think so. Vincent needed to stop if that were the case. But he
didn’t want him to.

“That’s enough,” Vincent growled in Juan’s ear.
He immediately stilled, breathless. Vincent no longer pushed his length up against

Juan, however he still cupped his ass. Juan needed to move, thrust forward. His order had
been to stop, and he wanted to obey.

So hard to obey.
“Good. You’re doing very good.”
The sultry sound of Vincent’s voice slithered down his spine and lodged in his groin.

His dick leaked. Sweat beaded, then rolled down his face. He clenched his toes so tight they
started to cramp up.

I’ll be good. I won’t move.
Vincent kneaded his backside, gently at first, then with more force.
“Stay still.”

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Tears fell. He hadn’t even realised that he’d clutched the silk arms of Vincent’s pyjama

top so tightly in his fists.

Vincent’s used his hands to explore between Juan’s fabric covered cheeks. It was too

much. He couldn’t do it. This type of denial was something he’d never done. He was an
incredibly lusty man with nothing to do on long lonely nights. He had never deprived
himself of multiple orgasms by his own hand.

“Sir, please.”
Juan had barely been able to croak out the words. Vincent took one hand away from his

ass and brought it to the front of Juan’s pyjama bottoms, pressing his palm against Juan’s
hard, sensitive member. Vincent rubbed up and down his length and the overwhelming urge
to pump into his hand the way he had the day before almost caused him to disobey Vincent’s
instructions.

He would come if Vincent didn’t stop.
“Sir, I want to be good, I want to…”
The tears flowed freely.
“You’re doing wonderful, Juan. Almost there.”
Almost where?
Vincent abruptly let him go, then stepped back. Juan’s knees threatened to buckle.
“Strip.”
He shook so hard, he couldn’t fathom how he could do anything. But he had to follow

Vincent’s instructions. That was all he had to do. There was nothing else for him to worry
about. His aching cock begged for release and he felt hot and cold at the same time.

He let his clothing drop to the floor. His mind went to the pyjamas crumpled on the

rug. They couldn’t stay there like that. He bent to retrieve them.

“No!”
Juan yelped in surprise.
“That wasn’t what I ordered.”
“S-sorry, sir.”
“Stand straight, arms at your side. Shoulders back. Display that beautiful cock for me.”
His arousal had waned when he’d become distracted by the pyjamas, but Vincent’s

words had him right at the edge again. His shaft jutted proudly, angling to the ceiling.

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Vincent approached him, and reached beneath his leaking erection to grasp his balls. He
massaged them, toyed with them until the tears came back to prick the corners of his eyes
again.

Still. All I need to do is stay still.
Vincent presented a finger from his free hand to Juan.
“Suck it.”
Juan took it in his mouth, hungry to give some of the raw energy building deep within

him any kind of an outlet.

“That’s enough.”
Vincent removed the finger, and Juan was so lost in some nameless universe that he

jumped at the sensation of Vincent’s touch between his crease. Vincent used the moistened
digit to push and prod Juan’s tight entrance.

Oh, he’s going to…
With a pop, Juan’s channel was filled, Vincent using his long finger to stroke him from

the inside. As he delved deeper into Juan’s ass, he brushed nerves that threatened to make
Juan break his promise not to come until Vincent allowed. He thrust once before he could
stop himself.

“That’s one spanking.”
What?
Juan stilled again. His breathing increased in intensity. Somehow, he thought if he

could concentrate on that, he wouldn’t break any of Vincent’s rules. Vincent twisted the
finger inside him and crooked it just so. Vincent wiggled his digit over that sensitive cluster
and Juan groaned, pumping his hips twice before he realised what he’d done.

“Now you have three spankings.”
Whimpers fell from Juan’s lips. They were sounds he’d never made before, but it

couldn’t be helped. He was falling, falling, falling and he needed Vincent to catch him.

“Sir, I’m begging you. I need you. I need…”
He had no idea what he reached for. Everything. And only Vincent could give it to him.
“You’ve done remarkably well, Juan. I’m very proud of you.” Vincent nibbled Juan’s

earlobe as he pumped his finger in and out of Juan’s tight hole, picking up the pace, skating
over that spot inside him that brought his dick to life. Vincent kept up the rhythm of finger

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fucking him as he kissed and licked the side of Juan’s neck. He paused long enough to grasp
Juan’s pre-cum slickened cock, and to whisper in his ear.

“Let go my sweetheart, let go now.”
With a guttural cry, Juan released his orgasm, clutching at Vincent to keep from

tumbling over from the intensity of it. He clenched his butt cheeks tight, almost as if he could
hold Vincent inside him—he didn’t want to be without his touch. He barely registered his
lover’s soothing words, yet he knew they were words of praise, of love.

Vincent removed his finger from Juan and let go of his softening erection. Pulling him

close, he then rocked him in his arms. Juan held onto Vincent tightly—he could never be
without him. No one had ever reached his soul the way this man had. They were still at the
very beginning, Vincent had never even entered him, yet Juan already felt as if they had been
one for all of time.

Vincent spoke right next to Juan’s ear as he stroked his back. “We’re not done. I still

need to spank and fuck you.”

His breath stolen again, all Juan could do was keep his face buried in Vincent’s neck. Of

course he had known Vincent would discipline, punish him. The reality of facing it though
was unnerving. Having Vincent inside him, pushing into him over and over—he longed for
it. And he had agreed to the spanking, said yes. He had thought that it excited him too, but
the reality of it looming over him was different.

“Upstairs, Juan. Get on the middle of the bed on all fours, knees wide apart, your ass

facing the door so that it’s the first thing I see when I walk in the room. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”
Juan searched Vincent’s face for any clues as to what he was thinking or feeling. His

control was back, so Juan couldn’t tell what might be running through Vincent’s mind. He
turned to walk up the stairs, certain that Vincent watched his every move.

I hope so.

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Chapter Nine

Vincent wiped the sweat from his forehead. He had almost come as well when Juan had

let go all over the floor.

God, he is so incredible.
He watched Juan’s glorious ass flex with each step he took up the staircase to their

bedroom. Now that he was back in their home, Juan would never sleep anywhere else but
there again.

Before Vincent had joined Juan in the study to go over Juan’s boundaries, he had

cleaned up any remnants of Irwin’s presence from two days before. He changed the
bedclothes and discarded the cock restraint he’d used on him. Only new items that hadn’t
been touched by any other man would he use on Juan, which left his options limited for the
time being. However, it really was for the best. He would have to break Juan in slowly.

Perhaps not as slow as I’d assumed.
It had been almost impossible for him to contain himself when Juan had readily agreed

to being tied, blindfolded and spanked with barely a hesitation. Even whips and hot wax had
been maybes. It was more than he could have hoped for, and much more than he had.

Soon, I’ll feel his heated skin under my palm. And his inner heat wrapped around my cock.
Juan had exceeded his expectations in the first part of their session as well. Vincent had

been sure he could torment Juan to the point of several more spankings than three. His boy
had shown such resilience, such resolve.

Vincent inhaled deeply, the promise of what sight would greet him upstairs all he could

focus on. He had been painfully hard almost every moment since he’d first touched Juan in
Carmel the day before. Showering, then sleeping with Juan’s naked body pressed to him all
night had given the word torture new meaning. Still, he would never ask his submissive to
do more than what Vincent was willing to do. However, he had practised enough restraint
for the time being. He resisted the urge to race up the stairs. There was the slightest twinge of
something he couldn’t name running under the surface of his skin. Juan had reached him in a
way no one had been able to before. Vincent’s initial assessment of his naturally submissive

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nature was true, but there was more than that. Was it that love coloured everything
differently than it had been before?

As soon as he stepped into the bedroom, he froze. Juan had done exactly as he’d asked.

He was spectacular. This was the strapping male form he had always desired in his bed. And
under his control. That his masculine dream also included Juan’s giving spirit made it even
sweeter.

He took his time gazing at Juan, drinking in his beauty. His sac hung low and heavy as

if it hadn’t recently been emptied. His partially erect cock was visible just below it. As
Vincent drew closer, he could see just the hint of Juan’s brown puckered hole. In the position
he had assumed for Vincent, he was open, but not completely vulnerable. That would change
soon.

“You’ve done well, Juan. I’m going to get your punishment out of the way first. Then

when I fuck you that will be all that is happening between us. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”
So natural.
Juan hadn’t even attempted to twist around or move to see Vincent. It was remarkable.
“We agreed that I could use my hand on you. You only have three spankings—plus two

more for disobeying me when you left—but I still want you to tell me what you would say if
you want me to stop.”

“Yours, sir.”
Vincent smiled. Juan couldn’t see him.
“Yes, Juan, yours.”
As much as Juan impressed him as a genuine submissive, the disciplining aspects of

their relationship were still an unknown quantity. Vincent knew he had to tread lightly—no
matter how compliant Juan might seem.

“I’m standing right next to you. Brace yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vincent hesitated. He hadn’t really expected an answer. Raising his arm high, he aimed

the first slap to land on Juan’s right butt cheek. Juan cried out, and it looked as though he
had to catch himself before he fell forward on the bed. Vincent was capable of a lot of force

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with his strikes—he’d had years of practice. He wouldn’t dare use all of his power on Juan so
soon.

A lovely red print from his hand shone on Juan’s skin. He raised his arm again and

smacked his left side. Juan didn’t make a sound the second time. He repeated his actions,
Juan still remarkably silent. For his final hit, Vincent aimed in the middle, knowing that Juan
would feel the sting even harsher on his exposed areas.

“Final one.”
This time, Vincent used more power and when his hand landed across the centre of

Juan’s ass, he howled and pitched forward, burying his face in the blankets. A tiny seed of
worry planted itself in Vincent. Had he gone too far? He had never been this careful with a
submissive before. And he knew all too well the benefits that Juan could derive from
embracing the full experience. In some ways, it was if they were both taking the journey for
the first time, but exploring it together.

“That was wonderful, Juan. You were remarkable.”
Vincent rubbed and soothed Juan’s heated skin, caressing it to ease the pain. When he

reached a hand between Juan’s spread thighs, his fingers skated across Juan’s fully hardened
dick that leaked cum.

It excited him. He liked it.
Vincent sighed audibly. Juan really was his perfect match. All he needed to do was lead

him there one step at a time, allow him to grow into all aspects of discovering himself.

Keeping one hand protectively on Juan’s lower back, Vincent leaned close to Juan’s ear.
“How are you doing? Talk to me.”
“I’m fine, sir.”
His voice was slightly muffled by the blankets. Vincent reached under Juan’s torso to

encourage him back up on his hands and knees.

“Come on, I need to see your face.”
Once Juan was in his original position, Vincent continued to rub his back in slow circles,

sometimes dropping a little lower to pet his ass.

“Look at me, Juan.”
Juan inclined his head to the side so they could make eye contact.
“How do you feel about what just happened?”

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“I…”
There was a blush to Juan’s cheeks, and Vincent wondered if his lover was embarrassed

to admit that it had given him an erection.

“Did it arouse you? Remember, honesty.”
Juan drew his eyebrows together as if he were in pain.
“Yes, sir. It did.”
“Does that worry you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because you were punishing me and I liked it. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
Vincent had to stop himself from bursting into laughter. Juan was like a surprise party

each time he did something new with him.

“I’m not disappointed. I’m actually quite aroused as well by your reaction. If you like it

too much, then I will find another way to discipline you. For right now though, I need to
bury my cock inside of you. Roll onto your back, spread your legs wide, then lift your knees,
pulling them all the way towards you, keeping them spread apart. I need you to be as
completely open as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”
Watching as Juan readied himself delighted him in a way that had been lost to him for a

long time. He had wrongly assumed that the only thing that brought him pleasure from
binding and disciplining a submissive were the acts themselves. Clearly, he had been wrong.
Sharing it with someone who meant so much to him gave it true meaning.

Vincent allowed himself to enjoy the view. He wanted to experience the moment and

wanted the same for Juan. Rushing through a session didn’t provide the same benefit as
allowing it to unfold, embracing each nuance as it occurred. Vincent noted Juan gradually
tensing, his teeth clenching as they always did when he was afraid or holding something in.

In time.
Vincent waited a little longer than he normally would to give Juan a chance to deal with

what was happening to him. He tore his gaze from the sight of Juan’s brazenly exposed
body. It was still unclear to him whether he would do any better at holding back an orgasm

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than Juan. He hadn’t brought himself to a climax since before he’d met with Saul. And he’d
been taunted by having a naked, willing Juan by his side for the past twenty-four hours.

Vincent was impressed by how freely Juan had opened up to him, and how he kept

himself still, waiting for the next command. Opening the door of his mahogany armoire,
Vincent then pulled out a very long coil of softened jute fibre rope. It had come from the
Orient and had been quite costly. There had never been anyone that he’d wanted to use it on
before. Not until that moment.

As he approached the bed with the half inch thick cord, he detected a fleeting glance

from Juan. His boy had to be overflowing with curiosity. Sighing, Vincent was once again
struck by how honoured he was to be the one to initiate Juan into the joys of submission—to
teach him how to free himself through discipline and binding.

Vincent had spent a lot of time learning various rope tying techniques and patterns over

the years. He had a specific position he wanted to tie Juan in for the first time that he
penetrated him. As he drew closer to the bed, Vincent noticed that the twitching in Juan’s jaw
had increased dramatically in the space of a few minutes. As excited as Vincent was, it was
his responsibility to coax Juan safely through his first time being restrained.

He had the coil of rope slung over his left arm. He leant down over Juan and stroked his

forehead, soothing him.

“Because this is our first session, I need to make sure you are doing okay. In the future,

I will be more attuned to your body so we will only discuss what goes on between when we
conclude our play. Talk to me, Juan.”

Juan swallowed a few times as if he had no spit left in his mouth. He looked in

Vincent’s eyes.

“I’m all right, sir. I want this.”
Vincent attempted to keep his expression as blank as possible. It was vital that he be

there for Juan and not distract him with whatever Vincent might have going on inside
himself. He didn’t want Juan to lose his focus.

He caressed Juan’s forehead a little more, then straightened. He looped the twenty three

foot long rope around a large solid wood ornament at the top of his headboard. Taking the
two free ends, he began the process of carefully binding Juan’s legs and arms to one another,
maintaining the posture of him spread wide. Wordlessly, he placed Juan’s limbs the way he

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wished them to be. He marvelled at Juan’s willingness to be manipulated by him, his lack of
resistance.

It had been a while since he had completed the tie he was using on Juan, so it took him

close to twenty minutes to achieve the aesthetics he desired. Once he had accomplished it to
his satisfaction, he stood back to allow himself the pleasure of viewing Juan helpless and
displayed before him. Even the task of working the rope around his lover’s form had been
erotic. But the final result was breath-taking.

Juan’s lower legs were bent to their extreme and bound tightly to his thighs. His arms

had been encased with additional ropes, trapping them alongside his limbs. The cords were
tied in an evenly circled pattern, and it all led to the headboard to keep him anchored.
Already Vincent looked forward to the marks the restrictive binds would leave on Juan’s
flesh once the ropes were removed.

Even though Juan had not resisted him in any way as he’d tied him, Vincent noted the

cords of his muscles working beneath his skin. Vincent recalled the first time he had been
bound. The instinctual response was to fight the imprisonment. The freedom came through
embracing it.

It was time for Vincent to enter Juan—claim his ass. He used a special non-irritating oil

he’d discovered from his tenure at the club. It provided excellent softening qualities as well
as an enjoyable slickness. He lit a candle to be placed under the oil-warming bowl. He heard
a gasp from Juan and turned to see his eyes widened in alarm.

“Speak, Juan. What is it?”
“Sir, you said… I mean, I thought…”
“Answer me.”
“I said maybe.”
Vincent frowned. Juan had most definitely said yes to being tied. Why was he

protesting now? Communication had to be precise for the type of interaction they were
engaging in.

“You agreed to being tied however I chose.”
“Yes, sir, I did. I meant the hot wax. I only said maybe to that.”
Vincent looked at the candle in his hand, then set it down. He approached Juan,

keeping his hands clasped behind his back. It was too tempting to try and comfort the young

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man with soft caresses and gentle words. And that was not the purpose of what they were
doing.

“Do you believe me to be an honest man?”
Juan looked stricken. “Of course, sir.”
“Use ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Do you believe that my primary concern is for your well-being?”
Juan gulped. “Yes, sir.”
Vincent paused to give him a chance to absorb what was being said.
“Do you trust me?”
Juan’s lower lip trembled. “Yes, sir.” He had said it much quieter.
“Then you should know that I wouldn’t break our agreement. Since this is still so new

for you, I will let it go this once.”

“You can punish me.”
Vincent had to use every bit of his strength not to react visibly to Juan’s words.
“Why do you think I should punish you?”
“I…I questioned you, sir.”
“You don’t have to take a punishment this one time. I may never offer that to you

again.”

Juan bit his lower lip, his face flushing. “That’s okay. I want you to.” The colour in

Juan’s cheeks deepened.

My God.
“I see.” Vincent cleared his throat. “Then I’ll let you choose. How do you think I should

punish you?”

For a moment, Vincent thought Juan might have lost the ability to speak. He was about

to ask him again, when Juan responded.

“With one of the maybes, sir.”
Juan’s voice was still reticent, unsure. Vincent wanted him to be certain about what he

said he wanted, and not go too far, too fast.

“All of the maybes are harsher than what I had planned on doing with you for our first

few sessions. I want you to feel safe with me and with what we do before we advance
beyond spanking and binding.”

“I do feel safe with you, sir.”

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Vincent allowed his gaze to travel. He was torn. Vincent needed to be the one to direct

and control the action—not Juan. However, he also knew that he’d been much softer with
Juan than he’d been with any other submissive—new or experienced. Juan wouldn’t be
helped by Vincent coddling him.

He regarded Juan. “Then instead of me allowing you to skip your punishment this time,

I will let you choose your penance.”

The entire interaction between them had Vincent twisted up inside. Somehow, he

wasn’t able to simply go through the motions with Juan the way he’d been doing for a while.
It was clear he had as much to learn as Juan.

“Well?”
“You asked about whips. Will you punish me with one of those?”
In the position Juan was tied, it would be unwieldy to effectively or accurately whip

him. Unless he only targeted the soles of his feet. But that was such a sensitive area. It was
not for new initiates at all and had even caused experienced ones to cry for mercy.

“Do you know what a riding crop is?”
Juan shot his eyebrows up. “Yes, sir. Yes, I do.”
Vincent cocked his head. “Oh?”
“I was raised on a horse ranch. I love horses.” He smiled, then seemed to remember his

circumstances. “Sir.”

“Then that is what I shall use. Are we in agreement?”
“Yes, sir.”
He sounded more assured.
Vincent went to the armoire once again. After reaching behind the thick coats and suit

jackets hanging on the right, he shoved them aside. Then he was able to retrieve his crop
from the array of whips he had hung behind the clothing. He approached Juan with a calm
and measured stride.

“Remember your word?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is it?”
“Yours.”
Vincent fought to keep any hint of a smile from showing on his lips.

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“Very good.”
Vincent traced the pliable leather tongue at the end of the implement against Juan’s

exposed skin. He teased it along his butt cheeks, brushed it lightly over the loose, wrinkled
skin running from his balls to his entrance. Juan’s dick was filled, the head purple and
swollen. Vincent could see beads of moisture gathering from his slit and slowly dripping
down his length.

Juan’s breathing had increased from the second Vincent had touched the crop to him. It

was difficult to discern how much was fear and how much was excitement. Eventually,
Vincent would be able to tell immediately. Juan’s high state of arousal reassured Vincent he
needn’t worry too much about frightening him.

After teasing him a little more, Vincent tried some soft, experimental slaps to test Juan’s

reaction. The first one against his ass cheek caused a slight startle from Juan. Vincent slapped
the other cheek, this time a bit harder. Then back to the first one, each time, increasing the
power. So far, Vincent had been surprised, yet pleased, that Juan hadn’t cried out.

Normally, he would want to evince a verbal reaction from his subject. He would want

to test their boundaries and to know that they were a hundred per cent engaged in the
session. Juan was different. His bravery by being willing to accept so much, so soon, made
Vincent extra protective of him.

But he hadn’t asked to be teased. He’d asked to be punished. Vincent gave him what he

needed. With a practised flick of his wrist, he landed a sharp slap on Juan’s butt. This time he
cried out. Without allowing Juan time to recover, he smacked the other cheek. He alternated
his strikes, each time aiming for a different spot.

Soon, there were splotches of red covering the skin of Juan’s backside. As Vincent had

established a regular rhythm, Juan had kept up a continuous low wail that would peak every
time the crop hit its mark. He didn’t cry, he seemed relaxed, his eyes closed—but not
screwed shut. Vincent reluctantly stopped—Juan’s surrender so gorgeous to watch.

Vincent gently caressed Juan’s sore flesh. He teased his puckered hole with the tip of his

index finger, then dragged it up to his scrotum. His boy moaned, his lips parted, eyes still
shut.

“Please, sir. There too.”

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Vincent audibly gasped. At the rapid rate with which Juan was responding to Vincent’s

lifestyle, he would need to better equip the house immediately.

Unwilling to interrupt Juan’s reverie, he gave him no warning before he landed the tip

of the leather instrument sharply on his hole. Juan jerked and flew open his eyes. There was
more than a wail to Juan’s cry, it bordered on a scream. His breathing came in rapid gasps,
and he clenched his hands in a fist.

Vincent was sure he could take more. Using his normal force, he raised his arm to the

side and twisted his wrist to inflict pain on the exact target he sought. A louder scream was
wrenched from Juan. He grimaced and writhed against the tightly corded ropes. His cock
was as swollen as Vincent’s, and there was no doubt that he enjoyed what was happening to
him. There were two more spots he wanted to land a strike on Juan. Then, there would be no
denying Vincent any longer. He had never needed to be inside someone more than he did at
that moment.

Quickly, as Juan worked through the sting of the last assault, Vincent divested himself

of his pyjama bottoms. After stepping out of them, he kicked them aside so that he could
ready another blow. The leather end of the crop snapped on his sac and this time, tears
accompanied Juan’s cries and struggles.

Vincent hurried to light the oil warmer, wanting to penetrate Juan before he left the

space the pain had sent him to. If the oil was too cold, it would pull him from the place to
which he had retreated. That was for Juan alone, no one could reach him there. It belonged to
him.

He waited a few seconds longer to see if Juan would use the word for mercy, but his

breathing had slowed somewhat. Juan’s eyes were closed, but no longer scrunched together.

Last one.
There was a whoosh as Vincent sliced through the air to hit his mark on the tip of Juan’s

cock. Juan’s yell was quick and sharp. He dissolved into tears, thrashing his head from side
to side, whimpering incoherently. Vincent cast the riding crop aside, and rushed to the
nightstand to coat his hands in oil. Amazingly, Juan still hadn’t asked for mercy. Vincent
marvelled at his strength, especially as Juan didn’t know that Vincent had finished whipping
him.

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He pushed a slickened thumb against Juan’s puckered hole as he climbed onto the bed.

He was anxious, needy. In some ways, Vincent believed Juan to be the one more in control
right then. Positioned on his knees between Juan’s legs, Vincent pressed his other thumb
inside Juan’s tight entrance. He worked them both together in Juan, his fingers grasping
Juan’s ass cheeks. Vincent continued to loosen Juan’s ring of muscle, and he was pleased to
feel Juan relax under his invasive touch.

At last, he was satisfied that Juan could receive him without being hurt. There was a

difference between the controlled pain that Vincent delivered and unintentional discomfort
that could detract from a loving, physical union. There were times when a good raw fuck
was what was needed, but after all Juan had endured that evening, the reward of pleasure
would be a true balm for his psyche.

Vincent saw that Juan’s eyes were opened. He stared at the ceiling, his lips slightly

parted. There were no more sounds coming from him and his breathing was steady, calm.
Vincent moved in closer, and after smoothing the remaining oil on his shaft, used one hand
to position his cockhead against Juan’s anus. He ran the other hand across the ties digging
into Juan’s flesh. Gripping the cords tightly in his fingers, he thrust part of the way into his
lover’s ass. Juan gasped.

He mentally chastised himself for not asking Juan if he’d had a man inside him before.

The tight heat of Juan’s passage wrapped around his throbbing dick made him wonder. At
the very least, it must not have been in a great while. There was a momentary ache in
Vincent’s heart as he thought of his sweet Juan cold and alone.

Never again.
Slowly, Vincent pushed in farther. Juan still seemed to be lost in a world that only he

was aware of, and Vincent didn’t want to take that from him. Urging himself into Juan’s
channel even more, he was at last seated all the way in. Juan moaned. Vincent crouched over
him, supporting himself with his hands on either side of Juan’s head. He needed to look in
his eyes, make sure all was well.

Their gazes locked and Juan whispered, “Thank you, sir.”
Vincent couldn’t speak. He was sure it would come out on a sob. Gently, he moved

inside Juan, testing his response. Juan moaned again. Vincent was acutely aware of the

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difference between hurt and pleasure when he interacted with a man. Juan was experiencing
pleasure.

Gradually using more force, Vincent picked up the pace of his fucking. He watched

Juan’s face in awe. His eyes were rolled in the back of his head, eyebrows scrunched
together. He alternated with biting his bottom lip and opening his mouth to allow little cries
to escape. Vincent couldn’t stand it. He latched onto Juan’s mouth, plunging his tongue
inside, tasting every part of him there. He broke the kiss only to take in air. Pressing his body
all the way down on Juan, he lowered onto his elbows, Juan’s hard length smashed between
them. Vincent nuzzled Juan’s ear, scraped his teeth along his neck.

Faster, more.
His need pooled low, ready to surge up and out of him. He wanted to let go but needed

to make sure Juan was there to fly with him. Detecting a change in Juan’s cries, he felt a slight
pulsing in his ass.

“Yes, my sweetheart, come. Come with me now.”
It was a simultaneous roar of satisfaction. Warmth gushed between them as Juan’s

passage spasmed around Vincent, squeezing him dry. They were sticky with sweat, oil and
cum. Vincent wanted to capture every essence of their first time joining together. He wanted
it to live on in his mind over and over. The smell, taste, sounds—the sensation of being
buried so deep inside Juan.

Reluctant to break their physical connection, Vincent waited until his dick softened and

slipped all the way out Juan’s ass. As he rose up on his elbows to move off him, Juan
whimpered. Vincent gazed down at him, noting the look of pain. He had been tied up quite a
while in a very unforgiving position. It was a lot for a first session.

“I’m going to remove the ropes now, I’m sure you must be very sore.”
“Please, sir. Be with me a little longer.”
What’s worrying him now?
“I’m not going anywhere, Juan. It’s time for you to get untied and for me to take care of

you. Then we can talk.”

Distress shone on Juan’s face.
“Please speak freely, Juan. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I don’t want tonight to be over. To have to go back to my room, alone.”

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Ah, of course.
“This is your room from now on, Juan. Here with me.”
Despite being held so tightly in his binds, Vincent could still detect in the way Juan’s

body relaxed how relieved he was by that simple statement.

It took almost as long to free Juan from his restraints as it had to place them. Vincent

loved this part of the ritual as much as he did tying them in the first place. It was a sense of
completion, seeing the visual result of his handiwork on his lover’s body. Welts where
punishment had been inflicted, the imprint of the cords in Juan’s flesh.

Even though he remained focused on his task, he was aware of Juan staring at him

intently. Vincent tempered his expression. It wouldn’t do for him to become giddy, his
behaviour out of control from the thrill of their first complete session. When he did meet
Juan’s gaze as he removed the last of the ropes, he saw undisguised adoration in his eyes.
Vincent inhaled and steadied himself.

Juan grimaced as Vincent helped him to carefully extend his limbs. He took his time,

carefully flexing Juan’s legs so that he could loosen them up and get the kinks out. Vincent
inspected Juan’s genitals to verify that no skin had been broken. There was no resistance
from him as Vincent performed the intimate task. He was delighted that Juan was so at ease
with him already.

“Onto your stomach.”
Juan obeyed, and Vincent positioned his arms above his head, pressing a pillow under

his face. Juan grasped it to him and turned his head to one side to rest his cheek against it.
Guiding Juan wordlessly, Vincent pushed Juan’s leg’s apart. He needed to check his anus
and to rub a balm on the welts that had been raised from the sting of the crop. It was difficult
to keep his touch from turning sexual, but Juan needed care other than more orgasms.

After washing his hands and retrieving the jar of balm, Vincent sat next to Juan on the

bed. He was on the side where Juan had his face turned so he could administer the healing
paste to his skin and talk with him at the same time.

“How are you doing with everything that happened tonight?”
Juan sighed. “I’m doing wonderful, sir.”
Vincent resisted the urge to grin like the Cheshire Cat.

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“Do you have any questions about what we did? Any worries? Fears? Please speak

freely.”

Juan furrowed his brow slightly.
“I’m not afraid. I wonder why I like it so much. I never knew about it before. If Jack

hadn’t—”

Juan gasped and Vincent stopped rubbing the salve on Juan’s ass.
“Jack?”
“I…oh, sir. I promised I wouldn’t tell.”
This is intriguing.
“I wouldn’t ask you to break a promise, Juan—that would be dishonest. However, I’m

going to assume that Jack knows about this type of thing and that I might have him to thank
for helping you to not be so afraid.”

“Please don’t thank him, sir, he’ll know I said something!”
Vincent had to laugh.
“Oh, Juan, I meant that I would thank him in my heart. I won’t say anything—that’s my

promise.”

Vincent returned to soothing Juan’s hurt areas. He massaged his legs, loosening the

cramped muscles. He smoothed his hands up to Juan’s crease, and parted his cheeks. Juan
made a sound of pleasure. Vincent chuckled.

“No more of that tonight, Juan. I’m checking to make sure you’re all right. Do you have

any stinging or unusual pain here?” Vincent lightly prodded Juan’s hole.

“It’s a little sore. Nothing bad.”
Vincent removed his finger and reached under Juan to rub more of the ointment on his

hip joints.

“I apologise for not asking you before—it’s been a long time since I was with someone

so young. Has a man ever entered you before tonight?”

Juan cleared his throat and Vincent noted that the twitching in Juan’s jaw was back.
Hmmm.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, sir. A few times with someone, but it was a while ago.”
Juan’s tone indicated that he felt embarrassed about it.

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“If you’re worried about how I feel about you being with another man, there’s no need.

However, I can sense there’s something else about it that’s bothering you. Tell me what it is,
then it will no longer gnaw at you.”

Vincent moved his hands to Juan’s back and slid them up to his shoulders. He was

struck by the renewed tension there. He urged his thumb into the knots at the base of Juan’s
neck and frowned when he winced in pain.

Using a calm, quiet voice, Vincent tried to draw the information from him. “I won’t be

disappointed or angry. I’m not going to stop loving or caring for you. I’m keeping you
regardless.”

“It was Roman.”
Has Roman fucked every man in Hollywood?
Vincent used every small reserve of strength he had not to react or transfer his own

tension to Juan. He didn’t blame Juan. He would always blame Roman.

“That’s all right.” Vincent continued massaging Juan’s shoulders, moving his way

down his arms. “Do you want to tell me anything more about that?”

“I thought I loved him. I stayed as his driver after he was done with me, hoping he

might love me back someday.”

Bastard.
“I’m sorry you were hurt. But I’m here for you now and I’m going to make it up to

you.”

As he’d spoken, Vincent noticed that Juan had begun to relax again.
“Back to what happened between us tonight. Am I to assume that we have moved the

whips from the ‘maybe’ to the ‘yes’ list?”

There was a curl to Juan’s lip.
“Yes, sir.”
“Mmm. What a nice gift to me. Thank you, Juan. Is there anything else on your mind?”
Juan was quiet for a few moments, and since his eyes were closed, Vincent wondered if

he had dozed off. He opened his eyelids partially.

“How come you didn’t kiss me last night?”
Vincent wanted to tell Juan that the question he really should have asked was why

Vincent had kissed him at all.

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“I don’t kiss my submissives. It’s been a very long time for me since I’ve kissed anyone,

and never has it been someone from the club or who I was in a session with.”

“So you don’t like it?”
Vincent could hear the genuine sadness in Juan’s voice. “Not with people I don’t have a

personal relationship with. And before you ask me, I adore kissing you and plan to do it
every chance I get.”

This time there was a full smile on Juan’s lips.
“Thank you, sir.”
“No, thank you. Now I’m going to suggest that you sleep on your stomach tonight. Your

soreness will increase over the next twenty-four hours.”

“Are you going to sleep with me too, sir?”
“Yes, Juan.”
“Please may I be on my side, so I can be next to you? Last night was the first time I ever

spent the night with a man.”

Oh, Juan.
“Of course you may. How about you wrap yourself around my back so that I don’t hurt

you?”

Juan nodded against the pillow. “Thank you, sir.”
Vincent finished rubbing Juan down then stood from the bed to put the balm away and

wash his hands again.

“Sir?”
Vincent turned to see Juan leaning up on one elbow.
“Yes?”
“Did I do good tonight?”
Vincent’s breath caught.
“Better than I ever could have imagined. You were wonderful.”
A huge grin split Juan’s face.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

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Chapter Ten

It was after nine o’clock in the evening and Juan was so grateful that Vincent was finally

back from the studio. There had been a board meeting that had gone on late and Juan had
missed him terribly. He’d spent the time making albondigas—a meatball, vegetable and beef
broth soup. It was a family recipe his sisters had taught him that he remembered by heart. He
had wanted to have something ready for Vincent to eat as soon as he arrived home.

Juan rested on his heels, kneeling at Vincent’s feet as he read the paper. Vincent always

used the large wing chair and Juan was able position himself to one side, leaning his body
against Vincent’s legs. He rested his cheek on his thigh, and Vincent absent-mindedly
stroked his head. He sighed, completely contented.

It had been almost two months since they had confessed their feelings and Juan had

moved into Vincent’s bedroom—their bedroom. After everything between them had worked
out so incredibly, Juan had become glad that he’d walked in on the scene with the bound
man that night. It had been what they’d needed to open up to one another.

There were still times when he would question in his mind some of the things they did.

When he would worry. He wondered at how strongly he burned to feel Vincent’s harsh
touch on his skin, particularly the spankings. But there had been a few times when he’d
become so absorbed in the intensity of the physical hurt that everything else had dropped
away. He’d felt safe and free in Vincent’s care in a way that transcended the daily fears that
he always carried inside. Nothing could intrude on him when he was in that space. Vincent
had given that to him.

There were other times when there wouldn’t be any ropes, or whips or commands.

Vincent would tell Juan that he wanted to make love with him, and that would signal to him
that it would be different. It was when Vincent would be the most tender. The last time they
had done that, he had asked Juan to call him by his name instead of sir, and he hadn’t been
able to do it. He had become so upset that Vincent had taken him downstairs to the newly
equipped session room that he had set up in the basement.

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There, Vincent had bound and spanked him, allowing Juan to work through what had

distressed him so much. Most of it had centred on how much his ability to please people was
what gave him the most happiness. If he wasn’t serving someone, giving them verbal
respect, he believed he had no value as a person. After, Vincent had held and soothed him
with soft caresses, assuring him he was much more than a servant. That his value was in
everything he did, in his kind heart.

“The joy you give to me every day proves how exceptional you are as a person.”
In truth, Juan didn’t see himself as anything special. He never had. It was a struggle to

believe that Vincent Franklin, head of Global Pictures Studios, wanted him, and only him.
Had said he loved and wanted to keep him for always.

Juan closed his eyes, and focused on the feel of Vincent’s light touch. He traced his

fingers along Juan’s cheek, teased his brow then combed through his thick black hair. Juan
wished he could touch Vincent, run his hands up and down Vincent’s legs, reach between his
thighs, but that wasn’t allowed when Juan knelt in the study.

“I have a lot of correspondence I need to go through before we retire. Why don’t you

get one of the books I laid out for you so you can read while I’m doing that?”

Juan fought the tension that he knew Vincent would be able to detect. He had

successfully got away with making excuses the last few times Vincent had brought the books
up. At first, he had claimed it was because he enjoyed being at his feet so much that he didn’t
want anything to detract from it. In many ways, that was true—he had such a sense of peace
when he was like that with him. Then he’d claimed to be too tired to read, or not in the
mood. He couldn’t hide it forever.

Panic surged through him at the thought. He must have tensed up even more than he’d

realised. Vincent put his paper down, then cupped Juan’s chin, tilting it up.

“Talk to me, Juan.”
Oh no.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
Vincent frowned and let go of Juan’s chin. He settled back in the wing chair and kept

his gaze fixed on him. Even though he knelt before him, he and Vincent were almost the
same size—Juan six feet and Vincent a little more—Juan felt especially small, as if his lover
loomed over him.

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“Honesty, Juan, remember?”
Juan swallowed. “Yes, sir, I remember.”
“Then don’t lie.”
Heat flushed Juan’s face, and he was startled by the rush of anger that swept through

him. He didn’t want to be mad at Vincent—he loved him more than anything—but he
couldn’t help it.

“I’m not a liar.”
“Address me properly.”
Juan pressed his lips together, frowning, frustration boiling right beneath the surface of

his skin.

“Sir.”
Juan waited to see a look of disapproval, but Vincent’s expression never changed. They

seemed to be frozen in a battle of wills. One that Juan never could have imagined having
with his lover. He had only ever felt peace and contentment with him.

“Why don’t you want to read the books?”
“I’m just not in the mood to read.”
“You’re lying.”
Juan pushed away from Vincent, landing on his butt, his fury taking hold.
“I said, I’m not a liar.”
“Keep your voice down, Juan. I never said you were that. But I do know you’re not

telling me the truth about something. It’s my responsibility to take care of you and I can’t do
my job if I don’t know what’s bothering you. So you need to tell me why you don’t want to
read the books.”

“No.”
“You’re showing me disrespect. Go downstairs, strip and wait for me in the usual

position. I need to finish going through my letters. I’ll be down when I’m ready.”

Juan wrestled with the rage that had taken him over. He wanted to please Vincent,

wanted to give him respect, love, his entire soul. But he couldn’t tell him about the books. It
wasn’t fair that Vincent had to have absolutely everything from him. Juan knew that he’d
agreed to it, but still—

“Juan. Now.”

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There was an edge to Vincent’s voice that reached him despite the ugly emotions roiling

in his gut. Breathing heavily in and out of his nostrils, he stood. Vincent continued to regard
him with no discernible expression.

“Go.”
It was said firm and definite. He knew Vincent wasn’t saying for him to go away for

good, but that was how his heart took it. He swallowed around a large lump in his throat, a
mixture of hurt and anger keeping him from being open and honest with Vincent. He didn’t
want to disappoint him, he never wanted that. Didn’t want Vincent to be displeased with
him, or give up on him.

“Sir, please, I’m sorry. Please let me stay here—”
“I gave you an order. Go. Now.”
With that, Vincent rose and calmly walked over to his desk. He picked up the stack of

letters and shuffled through them, his back to Juan. Running from the room, Juan let the tears
fall. He wasn’t sure how things had fallen apart so fast. Although, if he’d only told Vincent
the truth the first time he’d brought up the books, it never would have gone this far, never
would have taken Juan back to the scariest place he’d ever been. The one where those he
loved were done with him for good—where he was all alone.

* * * *

Vincent’s heart lay heavy in his chest. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t realised that as Juan

progressed, he would have outbursts. It had more to do with Vincent’s surprise at his own
reaction to him. His usual blasé attitude of it being a small hiccup that the submissive needed
to work through, had instead become a deep anguish over what could have Juan so terrified.
He knew it was fear that drove Juan not to tell him about the books. Vincent had the urge
he’d felt so many times since first taking their relationship to this level. The one where all he
wanted to do was hold and comfort him, to tell him everything would be all right.

He checked the Hamilton cherry wood mantel clock. It had been thirty minutes. It was

difficult to say what he’d be greeted with when he went downstairs. This was Vincent’s first
experience with Juan defying him. It would be a first for them both. Thankfully, they had

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both eaten some of the wonderful soup Juan had prepared when he’d first arrived home. He
was certain they were going to need extra stamina for this particular session.

Vincent left the study and padded to the door past the staircase leading down to the

basement room. The button for the light had already been pressed, so at least Juan was in the
room. It was a start. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw that Juan was indeed
naked and standing at attention. He was not at all aroused, which concerned Vincent.
Whatever was going on with his sweet boy, it went very deep. It was entirely possible it
might not be revealed that night.

“Thank you, Juan. You did very good.”
That seemed to throw him off. There was a flicker of what seemed to be hurt or regret.

Maybe a little of both.

“You’re welcome, sir.” His voice had been tinged with relief.
Vincent approached Juan and stood right in front of him. He allowed Juan to feel his

presence, to become aware of it, not shy away. Vincent walked around him, knowing it
would bring Juan back to the awareness of them being in the room together and to remember
that it was their private sanctuary. The hope would be that Juan would collapse in its
familiarity and safety—that he would let go of whatever it was that tore him up inside so
much that he’d lashed out at Vincent.

“Go to the wall and face it.”
Before Vincent had ever made his way to the basement, he had decided to use the

flogger on Juan. It worked very well for him. Even when they weren’t engaging in an
emotionally draining session, it had seemed therapeutic for him. He responded to the
rhythm of the whip and the gradual increase of power Vincent employed. Recently, he had
been testing Juan’s threshold of pain with the implement. Juan’s current dilemma would be
the perfect opportunity to see how far he could go.

Juan had placed himself perfectly, his arms raised over his head with his fingers laced

together. His legs were spread four feet apart, in position to be secured by the leather cuffs
bolted to the floor.

Vincent stood next to him. He watched as Juan remained focused on the wall right in

front of him, not turning or acknowledging Vincent’s close presence. He knew that if he

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could inhale Juan’s essence and feel his heat, it would be the same for him. Once he had Juan
secured, he wouldn’t be able to escape.

If he had really wanted to get away from me—from what terrifies him—he never would have

come down here.

“Beautiful, Juan. You’re doing a wonderful job.”
There was a barely discernible hitch in Juan’s breathing, and Vincent knew his boy was

there with him. There was the possibility a breakthrough could happen. Vincent had to
remind himself that Juan had been a quick and eager student. Never had Vincent been able
to progress so well with a submissive.

It’s because somewhere hidden inside, he knows I truly love him.
Vincent reached up to tie the thick leather bindings hanging from the ceiling so that

they wound around Juan’s wrists several times. Once he was satisfied with the tension of the
straps, he bent to attach the cuffs around Juan’s ankles.

Vincent straightened and went to the oak wood cabinet that had been specially

designed and delivered from Hampton Road. He opened the door on the left where his
various floggers and whips were displayed. He chose the larger cat o’ nine tails. It was
something they had only tried once and Vincent hadn’t taken him too far with it. Vincent had
personally braided and knotted the suede tails to his liking and it seemed like a good tool for
what he hoped to achieve.

“Do you know why I’m disciplining you?”
“Because I wasn’t honest with you, sir.”
Juan’s usual conviction wasn’t there.
“Anything else?”
Juan swallowed.
“Uh…I didn’t show you respect.”
“And?”
There was a pause as Juan worked his jaw.
“I argued with you.”
Juan had said the last words with finality.
“Very good, Juan. Thank you.”
Juan’s eyebrows drew together and his chin trembled.

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It won’t take much to reach him after all.
“What is your word for mercy?”
A tiny keening sound came from him before he answered. “Yours. Sir.”
“Excellent. I’m going to deliver your punishment now.”
Vincent had just raised his arm to place the first strike when Juan stopped him with his

words.

“Thank you, sir.”
Vincent controlled the urge to respond. It was vital that he remain in charge for Juan’s

sake. Taking a deep breath, he targeted the first blow so it would land across the middle of
Juan’s back, the tails snapping across his shoulder blade, the ends biting him all the way to
his upper arms. He repeated his attack in the same area, angled so that the knots would hit
the opposite side. The next two lashes were in an identical pattern, but on his lower back.
Then Vincent aimed for Juan’s ass. His thighs and calves were the next recipients of Vincent’s
precision assault.

He paused. The next bout would be quick, relentless. Before he began, he moved very

close to Juan, but didn’t make physical contact. He spoke right next to his ear.

“Do you believe I’m an honest man?”
Juan frowned, obviously puzzled.
“Yes. Of course, sir.”
“So when I tell you something, you know that I’m telling you the truth?”
“Yes, sir.”
This time, Vincent heard the conviction in Juan’s voice.
“And when I tell you that I love you no matter what, there’s no doubt within you that

I’m being truthful?”

Juan’s breathing had sped up and Vincent could see Juan struggling against his

restraints. He gave a low moan.

“Yes, sir.”
Juan’s resolve was waning again, Vincent could hear it.
“And if I were to tell you that you are more special to me than anyone has ever been in

my life—that I would never let you go no matter what you reveal to me—would you call me
a liar?”

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Juan dropped his head, his chin almost to his chest. He shook his head back and forth.
“Don’t, sir. I know what you’re trying to do. You don’t have to.”
“What am I trying to do?”
“Make me believe there’s nothing wrong with me.”
“There’s no need for me to make you believe anything—there is nothing wrong with

you. I’m only telling you something I already know to be true.”

Juan lifted his head and let it fall back, the agony on his face evident.
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
There was whistle through the air a fraction of a second before the loud slap of the

flogger resonated off Juan’s back. This time, he cried out. Vincent kept the previous pattern
he had established, the intensity and speed of his ministrations increasing with each blow.
Juan yelled louder, Vincent waiting on the edge. Waiting for Juan to do what he’d never
done before—cry for mercy.

The welts on Juan’s skin looked red and angry. With each strike on his helpless body,

he struggled to pull away. Sweat poured freely down him, and his face contorted with
distress.

“Stop, stop, please—no more!”
Vincent’s rhythm never broke. “Are you asking for mercy?”
Please, Juan. Don’t.
He thrashed his head from side to side. “No no no no…”
“My God, you are so strong. So incredible. Nothing pleases me more than having you

in my life. I would be nothing without you.”

A wail sounded from low in Juan’s gut, then rose on a wave until it burst out of him in

a shout. “I can’t read! Don’t you understand? I’ll never be good enough for you, never. You
shouldn’t keep me. I’m the one who’s nothing.”

Juan dissolved into sobs, allowing himself to go slack in the restraints, no fight left in

him. Vincent threw the whip aside, and wedged himself between the wall and Juan’s body.
He wrapped his arms around Juan’s torso, holding him in a tight embrace. Juan let his head
fall on Vincent’s shoulder, the hiccups of his weeping subsiding somewhat. He hadn’t even

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flinched when Vincent had clasped him, despite how raw and sensitive Vincent knew his
skin must be.

“I’m keeping you forever, no matter what. I love you.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I can’t read, can’t write. I’m stupid.”
Vincent let go of him to grab Juan’s face between his hands. “Look at me. Now.”
He waited until Juan had obeyed—his nose leaking, his swollen eyes still streaming

tears.

“I’m right here, my sweetheart. You’ve hidden that this entire time, probably for years

before you knew me, and now it’s out—someone knows. I know. And I still love you, still
want you. I’m not going anywhere. It’s out and nothing bad happened. There’s no reason to
be afraid.”

Juan’s brow was furrowed, his big brown eyes hopeful. Vincent reached into his pocket

to take out a handkerchief to clean Juan’s face. Once he had finished, he claimed Juan’s
mouth. The desperation with which Juan responded to his kiss gave him a measure of relief.
He was back with him.

After sweeping his tongue through Juan’s mouth once more, he pulled away. Juan

whimpered.

“Please forgive me, sir. I’m sorry I yelled at you.” His face reddened, and he looked

down with what appeared to be shame. “I’m sorry I lied.”

“Thank you, Juan, you’re forgiven. I’m not angry. Let’s lie together now and rest.”
“Your letters…”
“Shush. You’re much more important than letters. I’ll get up a little earlier if I have to.

All I care about right now is being with you. But first, I need to take care of your back and
legs.”

“I love you, sir. I would be nothing without you too.”
Vincent was untying Juan’s wrists. “I doubt that, but thank you.”
Juan raised his eyebrows. “Are you calling me a liar, sir?”
Vincent bristled, then realised what Juan was trying to say to him. He smiled at his

beautiful submissive.

“See? I’m learning from you, Juan. We are teaching each other.”

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The ties fell away and Juan collapsed against Vincent, clinging to him. He gently

supported him, mindful of Juan’s lash marks.

“Thank you, sir. For everything.”
No, Juan. Thank you.

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Chapter Eleven

Juan craved the taste of Vincent’s seed, loved it when the gush of warmth filled his

mouth, shot down his throat. He hoped Vincent would go that far with him tonight. Juan
was strapped to a leather cushioned bench in their session room. Vincent clutched Juan’s
hair, holding him up as he guided his cock in and out of Juan’s mouth.

In the position in which Juan was restrained, his head was over one end of the fixture,

his ass exposed over the other. He knelt over the bench, and his arms were securely tied with
the jute rope to the front legs of the piece of furniture, his thighs to the back.

He knew it was unlikely Vincent would finish in his mouth. The height of the bench

had been constructed so it would be at the ideal height for Vincent to fuck him. It had been
several days since Vincent had entered him and Juan knew how much he loved to be inside
him. Juan desired it too, but it wasn’t the same as the sweetly bitter taste of his lover’s spend.

“Ah, God, Juan. Wonderful.”
Vincent supported Juan’s chin as he removed his dick from between Juan’s lips. It

would be up to Juan to hold his head upright, or let it hang if the strain became too much.
Before Vincent would enter Juan, there would be some discipline. There had been many
spankings lately—Juan’s favourite—but now that paddles had been moved from the ‘maybe’
to the ‘yes’ list, he was anxious to try it. Undoubtedly, Vincent was too.

The faint creak of the cabinet as it was opened behind him caused him to tense up.

Frustrated by his inability to see what Vincent was doing, he tried to listen to the sounds of
the implements, guessing as to what might be in store for him.

“In honour of your decision to accept wooden paddles onto your yes list, I had one

specially constructed. This particular one is a thin solid oak, and is a foot and a half long.
There are round holes drilled through the length of it so that there is less air resistance. Its
blows will have a sharp sting on impact.”

Why won’t he let me see it?

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“I also have a larger, thicker one with no holes that we can use another time if you’d

like. That one can cause bruising, so we need to discuss that some more before I will try it on
you. Just because you said yes to the paddles doesn’t mean you have to use all of them.”

Vincent had shared with Juan one time why he knew so much about how all the

varying instruments of pain worked and felt. Every single one he used on Juan had been
used on him at some point. He’d explained that it had been part of his initiation into the
world of sadomasochism. There had been one teacher who had travelled to the Far East and
had taught Vincent all about the intricate rope tying he used that was from a practice called
kinbaku. His friend Saul had been his mentor in discipline.

It was difficult for Juan to imagine Vincent being whipped, spanked or paddled by the

older man. Juan had wondered if they had been lovers and Vincent had reassured him that
had never been the case. It had only been instructional, so that Vincent would have an idea of
what a submissive might experience.

Submissive. That’s what I am.
Juan understood so much more now. Vincent had given his life clarity. Not only could

he not imagine living without him, but he was thankful he had instructed him in the ways of
erotic pain and bondage. The strength of their connection to one another was unlike anything
Juan had known was possible. He would do anything for Vincent. In truth, he would die for
him. Because without him, he never would have lived.

“I’m almost finished with the oil.”
Juan had already seen him take out the healing balm, so he knew it would be a

challenging night.

“I want inside of you. I’m going to make you come that way, like we have before.”
Vincent had a way of fucking him that pressed against that sensitive spot inside. As

always, he couldn’t come without orders from Vincent, and it was always harder to hold
back if he’d been spanked or whipped first. If the paddle was as good, he would have to
work extra hard not to release too soon. He didn’t want to get punished.

Since he loved being disciplined so much, the only real way Vincent could chastise him

would be to deny him orgasms. There had been one excruciatingly long weekend after
arguing with Vincent during one of his reading lessons. He had thought his balls were going
to burst from being restrained. He never wanted to repeat that.

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“Are you ready for the paddle?”
“Yes, sir. Please.”
“Five strikes across your buttocks. In the position you’re in, you will feel the sting in

your genitals too. I’ll pause after that and you can tell me if you would like more before I
fuck you.”

“Yes, sir.”
He tried not to brace himself—it always made the first few blows incredibly hard to

take. It was no longer an issue with Vincent’s hand or the various whips they used, however,
this was new. He had agreed to it, but he still didn’t know if he would like it.

“Count for me.”
These was a whoosh through the air and the harsh slap of the paddle surprised him. He

inhaled sharply, surprised not only by the sting, but the prickles left on his skin in the wake
of the strike.

“Juan. Count.”
“One, sir.”
The next one was harder and he felt it in his scrotum. He instinctively clenched his ass

in reaction. During the pause after sucking Vincent, his erection had waned. Now it had
returned, tinged with a desperate need. Already, Juan’s cock dripped in anticipation of more
of the new discipline.

He took a deep breath. “Two, sir.”
The third wrenched a cry from him. The bite of the sting had built, sharpening, heating.
“Three, sir.” He gritted it out.
On the fourth one, Juan wondered if he would make it to five.
I’ve had worse. This is just different.
“Four, sir!”
He knew better than to hold his breath, yet he couldn’t help it. With the fifth one, he

knew he was done for the night.

“Five, oh, God, sir.”
The smooth feel of Vincent’s hand caressing his backside filled him with comfort. The

way Vincent tended to him after Juan had been disciplined was what made the entire
experience complete. He couldn’t have one without the other.

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“That was very good, Juan. I’m so proud of you.”
Juan sighed. He didn’t want any more for the night, but he knew he would another

time.

“Do you want more?”
“No, sir, thank you.”
“Then I need to fuck you.”
Oh God. I hope I can hold out.
Warm oil was poured on his crack and almost immediately he was treated to Vincent’s

fingers exploring his needy entrance, preparing him to be penetrated. It was like an internal
caress the way Vincent explored his hole. It went beyond the need for sexual fulfilment, it
also soothed him.

Sometimes, after Vincent had taken his ass and they lay in one another’s arms, Juan

would pull Vincent’s hand to his rear, and push it towards his moistened entrance. The first
time he had done that, Vincent had insisted that Juan verbalise his need. He was
embarrassed at first, but his desire for Vincent’s fingers inside him overrode any other
concerns. Vincent would insert his middle and index finger just enough so they breached
Juan. Then Juan would easily fall asleep, still physically joined to his lover.

“Hard or gentle?”
He had come to realise that so much of what Vincent did was for him. There were times

when he was specific about his own needs, but even if he were disciplining him, it was for
Juan’s benefit, not Vincent’s. Juan had only recently understood that. As much as he wished
he could, he would never be able to do as much for Vincent.

“Hard, sir.”
Vincent pushed all the way into him in one punishing thrust. Juan grunted—his balls

still sensitive from the bite of the paddle. As soon as Vincent had completely filled his
channel, he picked up an unrelenting pace, hitting him deep inside with every plunge of his
cock.

Vincent was at that perfect angle to stimulate the cluster of nerves that would make

Juan come off very soon. Vincent’s moans sounded from low in his chest as he plundered
Juan’s ass without mercy. Juan hoped his lover was close. The tingle at the base of his spine
was already drawing his balls up, and he wasn’t sure if he could obey Vincent’s orders.

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The helplessness of being bound so tightly to the bench as he was fucked added to the

thrill. He had to take whatever Vincent gave. Over and over Vincent drove into him until all
Juan could focus on was the burn and stretch of being filled by the man he loved.

Oh, God, please…
Vincent grasped Juan’s hips as he rutted him forcefully, the tell-tale erratic thrusts

signalling Vincent’s imminent release. As soon as he felt the first pulse in his ass, Vincent
grabbed a fistful of Juan’s hair and yanked his head up.

“Come, Juan!”
Juan was grateful Vincent had given permission for him to come—there would have

been no way to hold back. As Vincent shot his cum into him, Juan tensed against the ropes
that held him fast as they cut into his skin from the intensity of his orgasm. The involuntary
need to push his release forward with his hips was impossible whilst secured in the bindings.
His semen spilled freely, his dick spasming at the same time as Vincent’s inside him.

At last, Vincent was spent, and he fell across Juan’s back, draping his arms over Juan’s

shoulders, nuzzling his neck, placing little kisses there. Vincent’s laboured breathing
gradually slowed along with Juan’s. Sweat clung between them, the smell of sex permeating
the room. Vincent’s cock slipped from his ass and Juan knew he would need to be filled
again later. He would need Vincent’s fingers.

* * * *

Maude Simons hated Will Carmichael and demanded he be replaced on their current

film together. Roman also hated Will, but that had to do with old scores. Still, there would
never be a chance Vincent could cast them together. André Chenard had refused to direct
Will for some reason, so there was the possibility that he hated him too. Ironically, Will
seemed to like everyone.

Vincent sat at his desk in the study. His head and his stomach were killing him. The

longer he stayed on as the chief of Global, the worse his stomach seemed to get. It used to
only be Roman that could do that to him, but lately, it had been others as well. The whole
incident with Trixie four months previously had been particularly upsetting. He had begun
to wonder if it was all really worth it. Especially since his relationship with Juan had shown

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him that there were much more important considerations. Juan had brought him back to life.
He wondered if Juan would ever truly comprehend how much he had saved him.

Vincent had moved to Hollywood from New Jersey almost twelve years before. He and

a fellow group of investors had been part of the initial wave of filmmakers to come to the
west coast. He had originally been a producer, then had formed Global Pictures Studios with
those men, as well as others that currently made up the board of the studio.

He’d had many exciting and satisfying times in the beginning years—the thrill of being

a film pioneer part of the attraction for him. When he’d first been chosen to head the studio,
he’d felt as if it would be the grandest achievement of his life. It had recently occurred to him
that filling Juan’s life with happiness would be his true accomplishment.

I wish mother was still alive. She would have loved Juan too.
His mother was the only person in his family who knew about him. They had been very

close. So close, that his two brothers despised him. Their father had died when he was still
young, and when she had passed a few years back, his brothers had swooped down on her
house and grabbed all they could. Vincent hadn’t cared for the estate per se, but he had
hoped to have a few small mementos from his childhood.

He had been raised in comfortable circumstances. Both he and his mother shared the

same love of keeping things meticulously cared for and arranged. He would spend hours as
a child helping her dust the porcelain trinkets and crystal vases on display in the home. He
had kept the silver polished to a high gleam. They would play Cribbage together whilst they
waited for the cookies to be done that she had taught him how to make. He missed her very
much.

Rubbing his head, he frowned as he realised the pomade had coated his hand.
Damn.
He reached for a handkerchief, and cleaned himself. The phone rang and it was Larry,

one of the Board Members. He immediately launched into a litany of complaints.

“I’m sorry, Larry, but Marvin’s already attached to another film. I know your nephew is

very interested in being directed by him, however, Herbert and I have already signed Will
Carmichael for this picture.”

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“So what’s the big deal about Carmichael? My nephew is a much handsomer young

man. If you only gave him a chance, he would have the ladies lining up around the block to
get in to see one of his pictures.”

“Larry, it has nothing to do with how handsome he is—Will is already signed as I

said—and he’s the actor Marvin wants.”

“Come on, Vincent, we go way back. If it hadn’t been for me and Saul, you never

woulda made it out here. I’m just asking for one little favour. Just one. Come on, be a pal.”

Vincent sighed, wondering how things had got away from him over his years in

Hollywood.

“I’m sorry, Larry. I wish I could help you, but there’s really nothing I can do.”
“I see. I’ll keep that in mind when there’s something you want from me.”
With that, he slammed down the phone.
Vincent resisted the urge to do the same thing. At one time he would have revelled in

the challenge, congratulated himself at how he could deflect anger and inappropriate
emotions in every aspect of his life. He still held the belief that life was better spent when a
certain amount of restraint was employed. There was no need to come apart over every little
thing. Yet he had to wonder how many years he had denied himself the joy of completely
connecting with another human being because of his strict policies. The idea that he could
have passed up the pleasure of being with Juan was frightening.

Again, the phone rang. It was Charlie, the studio’s attorney.
“Sorry to be a bother to you Vincent, but I just got off the line with Larry and he’s quite

upset. He’s claiming that you promised him his nephew would be a major motion picture
star and that you’re not living up to your agreement. He’s threatening to make your life a
living misery by going to the board about some of your other decisions regarding Will,
André and Roman. He’s even threatened to bring up your willingness to release Jack from
his contract.”

Vincent clenched the fist not holding the phone.
I don’t even care about any of this. It’s so petty.
“Charlie, really. Do you honestly believe that his dolt of a relation should star in

Marvin’s new adventure film instead of Will? His fan mail is beginning to surpass Roman’s.”

Why did I just say that out loud?

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Almost everyone had it in for Roman anymore. Vincent didn’t really want to tear him

down, they had been friends once and Roman really was good for the studio. There had
never been a greater star at Global. His sex-appeal on camera was unrivalled. But fresh new
faces could always snatch someone’s glory away in Hollywood and Vincent knew that many
actors were caught unaware when a newcomer made a great impression.

“Well, it’s going to be an issue. He’s not backing down. I’ll need to meet with you in the

morning to go over all of this. I’ll have to see the full production schedule, who’s been
committed to what projects—”

“Charlie, I’m not quite following how it is that you are suddenly involved with the

casting of films at Global.”

“Don’t get all worked up, Vincent, I’m simply making sure that the studio’s best

interests are being represented.”

“The last time I checked, that was why I was hired.”
Vincent couldn’t help the steely edge his tone had taken. He sensed there might be

more to the whole conversation than was readily apparent.

“Now Vincent, don’t get paranoid on me. It’s an informal meeting, nothing to worry

about.”

There was a light knock at the studio door. No doubt Juan had finished up in the

kitchen and wanted to kneel at his feet. A rush of unexpected irritation ran through him. He
was always there. The young man never went anywhere, had no friends other than Vincent.
At least not in Los Angeles. He ignored the knock and kept up his conversation with Charlie.

“I don’t think it’s paranoia that makes me question an unprecedented move. We have

never had such a meeting in the past.”

Vincent’s controlled tone was back. As he’d come to learn, it wasn’t appropriate in

every situation. But the current one was where it worked perfect. There was a pause.

“All right, Vincent, have it your way. I’ll call Larry back and tell him you’re not

interested in helping his nephew.”

“That is not what I said, Charlie. I don’t know why you’re—”
Charlie had hung up and the knock at the study door became louder.
“What?”
Juan peeked his head in, looking concerned.

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“I’m sorry, sir. I wanted to make sure you’re all right. Also, I’m done cleaning and

thought I could kneel at your feet while you read your paper.”

Vincent took a deep breath. “I’m fine, Juan. I was having a phone conversation and

things became heated, that’s all.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, Juan, that’s quite all right.”
Vincent was still chewing the whole strange conversation with Charlie over in his mind.

Something gnawed at him about it.

“I can rub your back or get you some brandy. Or if you want to talk about anything, I

can always listen.”

“Juan. I said I was fine.”
His tone had not been controlled. It had been harsh. Unkind.
Juan lowered his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I won’t bother you anymore.”
He immediately turned and left, clicking the door softly shut.
The way I taught him. Because he knows it makes me happy.
Dropping his head in his hands, Vincent was filled with shame. The irritation that was

coursing through him had been caused by Larry and Charlie—not Juan. He pushed away
from the desk then hurried after his lover. He wasn’t sure where Juan may have scurried off
to, but he tried the kitchen first. Vincent found him there at the table, drinking what looked
like a cup of tea. There was a flash in his mind of the first time he’d had Juan in his kitchen,
when he’d handed him the cool soda water, and their fingers had touched.

Juan looked up, the hurt evident on his face.
“Juan, my sweetheart.”
Vincent used his voice as best he could to radiate his remorse. Moving towards Juan, he

saw the subtle way he curled in on himself. As if he was trying to make himself smaller,
insignificant. Vincent dragged the chair so the he sat right next to him. He took one of Juan’s
hands and sandwiched it between his own.

“Please forgive me. I’m not angry at you and I was wrong to snap at you like that.”
Juan’s head was still lowered and it broke Vincent’s heart to see him appear so beaten

down. Not after he had bloomed so much in their months together.

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“I know I’m not smart enough to really help you with your problems, I only thought it

might help if I listened. I’ll try not to get in your way so much.”

Vincent leant forward and pulled Juan to him, wrapping one arm around him in a hug.
“It’s not because I think you’re stupid, you know that. I’m merely trying to shield you

from unpleasant things, take care of you.”

Juan snuggled closer. “But we belong to one another. Even if I don’t know what to say

to help you, I can still be the one you share things with, be there for you.”

Vincent closed his eyes. Of course. Why hadn’t he realised? They shared everything else

together, their lives intertwined in every way—except for the studio. Vincent kept that
hidden far away from Juan. It must leave him feeling very left out, not necessary in Vincent’s
professional world.

Vincent sat up, holding Juan by the shoulders and looking him in the eyes. “Come sit

with me in the study. I want to tell you all about it.”

“Sir, you don’t have to –”
“Shush. Remember? I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. And, Juan, I need you to be

patient and forgive me if I get lost in my own concerns. I’ve lived my life completely alone
for so many years—this is all very different for me.”

An expression of panic crossed Juan’s face.
“Don’t take that to mean I don’t want you here—you’re all that matters to me. You’ve

saved me from a lonely existence, deprived of love.”

There was a small curl at the corners of Juan’s mouth. “I feel the same about you, sir.”
“Then come kneel at my feet and I’ll tell you what’s been happening at the studio. And

if you have any advice or thoughts—I would love to hear them.”

Juan scrunched his eyebrows together. “Really?”
“I wouldn’t say it otherwise.”
Vincent pulled Juan to him for a deep kiss, the taste on his tongue the vanilla and

cinnamon flavoured tea that Juan had been drinking. He released him and straightened.

“Would you mind making me a cup of that tea, Juan? I doubt it could possibly be as

flavourful as when it comes from your mouth, but I would still like a cup.”

Juan’s smile lit up his face and he was relieved that his selfish behaviour hadn’t cut him

too deep.

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“Yes, sir. Whatever you want.”
What I want, Juan, is you.

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Chapter Twelve

A few days before when Vincent had told him of all of his worries that the studio

people were somehow looking for an excuse to have him replaced, Juan had been crushed.
He saw how hard Vincent worked and he listened in awe as Vincent described the years of
sacrifice that had gone into his rise as the head of Global. Juan knew the man he loved had
given up so much to dedicate his life to his job and it must feel even worse when many of the
people on the board were his friends.

I wish I could make it better for him.
Vincent had thanked Juan for insisting that they talk. He had told him that he was

right—sharing their concerns and fears with one another would make them even stronger
together.

It was a Friday, and Juan looked forward to the weekend. From the moment each

Monday began, all he longed for was for the week to end so he and Vincent could be together
constantly. Typically, any really involved sessions would happen then as well, since many
times Vincent was too exhausted because of his job.

But that was okay too. Sometimes they would just cuddle in bed after spending the

evening reading or playing cards. Juan had even begun to teach Vincent how to speak
Spanish. Other nights, they would help each other come off with their hands or mouths. It
would be tender and slow—another side of their physical love. They were there for each
other.

The day had been quiet for the most part. The housekeeper had come by in the morning

for a few hours, glaring at him whenever she passed him by on the stairs or in the room. He
knew it was because Juan had inadvertently taken over a fair portion of her job. He took care
of the cleaning of the clothing and linens. The kitchen was his domain and he had asked
Vincent to tell her not to go in there—that he would take care of it. The first few times she’d
been there after Juan had moved in, things were not put back to his liking. After that, her
remaining responsibilities amounted to doing the windows and dusting.

I could do that.

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Vincent had told him that he wanted Juan not to be constantly working, to take time to

enjoy himself. He had explained to Vincent that the work was what he enjoyed—that his
whole life had been dedicated to working for something or someone. The stories of his
childhood of living on a horse ranch had captivated Vincent. Many times he would ask Juan
to tell him more of his life from then. Juan had shared the other parts too. All the things that
had happened with Geraldo and his family. The loss of his sisters and his favourite horse,
Espiritu.

They had been in bed relaxing after a demanding session when the subject of why he’d

left his home had first been brought up. Vincent had cradled Juan to him after hearing the
heart wrenching story, kissing his head over and over, stroking his arms and back. It was in
that moment it had first occurred to Juan that Vincent truly was his one and only family. Jack
was close to being that way to him, but Jack had Nick to care for him.

We never would have been able to do that for one another. It really was for the best.
Now that he had the place all to himself, he had opened the kitchen windows to let in

some air. It was still warm as September in Los Angeles remained hot. Fortunately, where
the kitchen was located at the back of the house, there were tall deodar cedars providing
ample shade. But it was better to have them open as not.

He had the oven going, ready to bake the apple pie he was making for them. With the

small amount of reading of which he was now capable, he had found more enjoyment
deciphering recipes than the world’s classic literature. Vincent had purchased him a
cookbook, and helped him practise with it almost every night.

Juan sprinkled some cinnamon sugar on the crisscrossed crust of the pie. The doorbell

gonged and Juan thought maybe the housekeeper had left something behind. He checked the
wall clock and saw it was almost one o’clock. She must have gone all the way home and had
needed to come back again.

He wiped his hands on a towel and hurried to the front door. He no longer wore the

full valet uniform except for show when they went out, or for the rare meeting Vincent might
have in their home with an associate. His simple daily attire was comprised of one of the
many white dress shirts and black trousers that Vincent had purchased for him from
Vincent’s favourite department store, Bullock’s.

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The bell sounded again, reverberating throughout the large mansion. Juan opened the

heavy wood door and gazed curiously at the slightly built young man standing before him.
He was similar in size to Jack, perhaps a few inches taller. He was dressed fashionably with
his brown hair combed against his head in the latest style. He was quite pretty for a man.

He seems familiar…
Juan’s gut clenched as the realisation of who the person at the door was. Memories of

the night he’d walked in on Vincent whipping him, touching his naked body—even if it had
only been to loosen the binds. No words came to him—all he could do was stare.

“Wouldn’t you like to invite me in?”
Finally able to suck air into his lungs, Juan spoke. “What are you doing here?”
It had flown out of his mouth before he could stop it. The man raised his eyebrows as if

he were greatly insulted.

“That’s not very polite. Especially for a valet.”
His voice had a lilting quality to it and Juan thought for the briefest of moments the

young man had batted his eyelashes at him.

“Mr Franklin’s not here right now, so I’m not supposed to let anyone in.”
He smirked at Juan. “Mr Franklin? Is that what he makes you call him when he has you

tied up? He always made me call him ‘sir’.”

The warm day turned suffocating, threatening to make him ill.
“I don’t know why you’re here, but you need to leave.”
Juan stepped back to push the door closed, but the brash submissive stepped in its path.
“If you give a shit about Vincent, you’d better listen to what I have to say.”
Juan frowned. The whole incident was as puzzling as it was upsetting.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you after you let me in.”
Juan considered his words. It seemed like some sort of ploy to get into Vincent’s

house—their house. He was sure Vincent wouldn’t like it.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”
“Hmmph. I guess I’m sorry too, cuz now I have to go to the press and tell them all

about Vincent’s night time activities. I have some whip marks and bruises on me they can
photograph. Won’t that make a great story? Especially when I tell them all about how he

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corrupted me, forcing me to do dirty, filthy things while I begged him to stop. I bet Global
Studios will love hearing all about what their big cheese does with young fellows.”

It was next to impossible for Juan to maintain any coherent thoughts. He shook, and the

sweat that had beaded on his forehead and upper lip had begun its sluggish trail down his
face.

“What do you want?” He had barely been able to bring his voice to an audible level.
“I told you. I want to come in.” He shrugged. “That’s not so bad, is it?”
Terrified he was doing the wrong thing, yet unable to think of an alternative, Juan

opened the door wide and gestured for the man to enter. He strolled in as if he had spent a
lot of time there and was reminiscing about previous visits.

Was he more important to Vincent than he let on?
Tears pricked the backs of his eyelids. He couldn’t let himself come apart. He had to

figure out what was going on—for Vincent’s sake. No matter what, he would never let
anyone hurt his magnificent man.

They made it to the main living area, and his unwanted guest plopped down on the

emerald green velvet-covered settee. Juan took a seat in a leather padded Stickley oak chair
at a right angle to him.

“All right. You’re inside. I don’t understand what’s going on.” Juan wasn’t able to

completely keep the tremble out of his voice.

“Of course you don’t.” He looked Juan up and down with a sneer. “My God, you’re

covered in flour or something, and you have spots on your shirt. Your hair isn’t styled,
you’re rather manly and…well, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re an immigrant. What is he
thinking?”

He had said the last part as if Juan wasn’t there and he was talking to himself.
“But I suppose I should get to the point. I need to make sure you’re long gone before

Vincent gets back.”

Juan swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. An odd thought of having to get the pie

into the oven passed through his mind.

“It’s really very simple. I won’t go to the press or tell anyone about Vincent’s secret

world as long as you go far away and never come back.”

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Juan clutched the chair arms, holding onto them as though they were anchors. He

would die without Vincent. Nothing would ever mean anything to him again.

I can’t let Vincent get hurt.
“Why?”
He narrowed his eyes at Juan. “Because he’s mine. I had him before you. And now that

I’ve seen you in person there won’t be any problem getting him back once you’re outta here.
Obviously, he was looking for a little variety by slumming it.”

Juan shook his head as if he could make it all go away. Keep himself from

disintegrating.

“Why now?”
He snorted. “I kept thinking he’d come back to the club. He’d been away for about a

month before he had me brought to him that last time—the time you interrupted. Then, as I
was waiting for him, I…well, let’s say I got a bit distracted by a new member. But he’s not
Vincent. No one could ever be Vincent.

Yes. I know.
There had to be another way. His thoughts jumbled in chaos through his mind and he

was terrified at the thought of any harm coming to Vincent because of him. He didn’t really
believe that Vincent wanted this pathetic little man. Their connection and love had built in
ways that Juan never would have thought was possible to achieve with another human
being. Which was why he knew he would have to leave.

“When?”
His voice was tiny and afraid. He was utterly defeated.
“No time like the present, I always say.” He had visibly brightened. “Oh, Irwin by the

way.”

He held his hand out to him and Juan stared at it as though it were a poisonous snake.

Irwin waited, then drew it back. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Suit yourself. Now how about we work on your goodbye note so that he knows you’re

gone and never coming back?”

* * * *

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Tommy turned Vincent’s black Cadillac onto the street that led to Vincent’s large Tudor

Revival home. He’d called Juan right before leaving the studio to let him know he was on his
way, but he hadn’t picked up. It probably meant he was busy in the kitchen and hadn’t heard
it. If he was going to be more than a few minutes late, he would always let Juan know so that
he wouldn’t worry. There had been a last minute meeting with Marvin over the whole
nephew versus Will Carmichael debacle. Marvin was about ready to shoot Larry.

At least there’s one person at the studio who doesn’t appear to be out to get me.
In all honesty, he was at the point of no longer caring. In dealing with his anxiety over

what might be going on at the studio, he had kept going back to the same thing over and
over. Juan was the centre of his world now, not Global. He had plenty in investments that he
could cash out. In addition there were his studio shares. With the combined wealth, he could
take Juan and go anywhere in the world. He was going to work on his resignation letter over
the weekend and have it ready for Monday morning.

Let Larry’s nephew run Global. And put up with Roman.
Tommy pulled into the long driveway. It was twilight and the house was strangely

dark. Even the lantern at the front door wasn’t turned on.

I hope he didn’t take ill.
Icy trails of fear rose up his back and went to the base of his skull. Something was

wrong. He could sense it. Whatever it was, he didn’t want Tommy around. After bidding
him good evening, he unlocked the door and walked into what essentially appeared to be a
cold and empty house. It struck Vincent that just a few months back that never would have
bothered him.

He pushed the button to light the main living area, hanging his coat and hat on the rack

in the hall. Passing through the room, he headed to the staircase that would take him to their
bedroom. He had to make sure that Juan wasn’t sick. An unnameable dread grew inside him
as he made it to the landing and lit up the hallway. The glow shone through to their room
and Juan wasn’t in the bed. But a large piece of paper was.

Approaching on weakened knees, Vincent had a premonition of what the message

might be. It didn’t make sense, but then so many things that had happened to him lately
hadn’t either. Of all the things that had surprised him, the greatest was the discovery that he
was capable of a deep and real love.

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It can’t be…
Vincent picked up the note, collapsing on the bed almost at the same time. It was

written in Juan’s cramped script, however, the only thing he could really focus on was the
part where Juan told him goodbye.

Other parts jumped out from the paper and taunted him. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you for a long

time that I hate what you do to me’. ‘Don’t try and find me, I’m never coming back’. ‘I never really
loved you, I just needed a job’.

He crumpled up the paper in his fist, squeezing it so hard that his fingernails dug

painfully into his palm. What had he done? What was it that had finally driven Juan away?
He had thought that there had been an even closer bond building between them recently.

This can’t be real.
The agony slammed into him as a guttural wail rose up. He screamed until his throat

was raw, crying openly, sliding to a heap on the floor as he did.

Fuck you, Roman. Now I understand.

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Chapter Thirteen

“Juan, let me in, please?”
He could hardly remember the train ride to Carmel. He had vomited so much in the

washroom before he boarded it that he’d barely been coherent. It brought back the memories
of driving Jack on New Year’s Eve and how sick he’d been. Juan had known even then it
hadn’t been about too much champagne and caviar. Jack’s inability to handle emotional pain
had made him sick.

He had been mourning his lost love.
There had been a second chance for Jack when Nick had reappeared in his life. That

wouldn’t be the case for him and Vincent though. There was too much for Vincent to lose.
Juan would never allow himself to be the cause of anything bad happening to his precious
lover.

Ex-lover.
He shook with sobs as he tried to muffle the cries in his hands. He was trying to keep

Jack and Nick from hearing. As soon as he’d arrived the day before, Jack had been distraught
over his emotional state. Juan had told him he didn’t want to talk about anything, then asked
if he could stay for a few days until he figured out what he was going to do. Both Jack and
Nick had looked very concerned and had gone out of their way to assure him that he was
welcome there for as long as he needed.

Jack must have given up on trying to get into the upstairs bathroom where Juan had

himself locked up. It was located right between the two tiny bedrooms that comprised the
area of the house above where the restaurant would be. Juan had stayed in the empty one.
Ana and Jose had settled in to the house in the back. Now the focus was to finish the
renovations on the café.

“Uh, hey there, Juan. You wanna come down and have some coffee? I’d really

appreciate it, cuz Jack is very worried about you.”

He cringed. More people he cared about who he was hurting. At least with Jack, he

could try and make it better. Unlike he could with Vincent. The awful things Irwin had made

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him write in the letter sliced through him. The little bastard had needed to spell half of them
for Juan. They would devastate Vincent, but at least his job and reputation would be safe.
Maybe he would eventually appreciate having his privacy and solitude back. Maybe he
would go back to the club and find happiness there.

I can’t think about that. I’ll be sick again.
Not that there was anything left to heave up. However, he wasn’t sure the muscles in

his stomach could stand anymore.

“Juan? I’m beggin’ you. Jack’s real upset. We both just wanna make sure you’re okay.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Nick. Tell Jack I’ll be down in a few minutes. But

please, I really can’t talk about it. I don’t want him to be mad at me.”

“No one’s mad at you. Just come downstairs.”
“Okay.”
Juan stood from where he’d been perched on the toilet seat. Every move he made was

slow, sluggish. He turned on the spigot of the standing porcelain sink and splashed some
water in his face, running his fingers through his hair. He had a comb in the bedroom he’d
been given to use, but he didn’t have the energy to go in there and dig around for it in his
satchel.

Satisfied he wouldn’t scare Jack too much with his appearance, he forced himself into a

forward motion. As soon as Jack saw him appear in what would become the restaurant’s
dining area, he ran up to Juan and threw himself at him. He saw a disapproving look from
Nick. He doubted it was jealousy—more likely concern that a passer-by would see Jack
clinging to Juan.

“I won’t bug you, Juan, I promise.” He spoke low so that it was only between them.

“You don’t have to tell me nothing if you don’t want. But if you need to talk about anything,
let me know.” Jack moved in closer. “Even that other stuff from the last time you were here.”
He put his arms around Juan’s waist and squeezed him tight. “I love you, Juan. I don’t want
you to be sad.”

Jack’s words went straight to his core and his lower lip trembled, his ability to maintain

his composure falling away. Jack let go of Juan’s middle, but hung on to his hand. Nick
seemed to sense that things were taking a downward turn again.

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“We got some biscuits and gravy here. I been workin’ on a couple recipes and it would

mean a lot to me if you’d give ‘em a try, let me know what you think.”

Juan remembered the first time he saw Nick, and worrying whether or not he was good

enough for Jack. It was clear to him now that Jack was very fortunate to have such a
wonderful man who loved him so much.

Like I used to have.

* * * *

Vincent pressed a cold, wet cloth to his forehead. He wasn’t much of a drinker—just his

nightly brandy. However, the night before had been about a week’s worth. He regarded
himself in the bathroom mirror. He couldn’t ever remember a time that his eyes had been so
swollen. Not only was his throat sore from his initial reaction to Juan’s awful note, but it had
become worse when he’d woken from his drunken stupor in the middle of the night and had
screamed into his pillow until he’d been unable to scream anymore.

He went through his daily rituals, relieved that his presence wouldn’t be required at

Global for that day or the next. More than ever, he was convinced that leaving the studio was
the right thing to do. But it had lost all its poignancy without Juan to spend his life with. He
couldn’t think about the future in any way. Getting through each moment was enough.

As he made his way out of the room, he saw Juan’s note on the floor. It was in a tightly

compressed ball, and Vincent thought about picking it up to burn it so he would never be
hurt by it again. Somehow, he couldn’t do it.

Once he reached the kitchen, he was startled to see that the windows had been left

open. He went to close them, and noticed an unbaked pie sitting on the counter. The recipe
book Vincent had bought for him was next to it, the ribbon marker set in the binding placed
inside. When he opened the book, he saw that it was for the apple pie.

Why would he…?
A realisation clutched at his stomach. He ran out of the room, then back up to the

bedroom, grateful he hadn’t decided to burn the devastating note. He grabbed it before
sitting on the edge of the messy bed. He undid the scrunched up paper and spread it out
before him. The writing was most definitely Juan’s. However, the thing he hadn’t realised in

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his shock and pain from the night before was all too obvious now. Juan wouldn’t have had
the slightest idea how to spell half of those words.

Someone put him up to it. But why?
It was incredible. And disturbing. Hopeful.
His first thought was that it had something to do with Global. Was this their way of

trying to get to him somehow? He had the urge to call Charlie and start tearing into him. If
they thought they could come after him over his sexual preferences, they should watch out.
Charlie in particular. The attorney paid to have men give private sex shows in his home
whenever his wife went to visit family. Two of the current board members attended the
Hampton Road club.

He decided to call Saul. His friend and mentor was the only person left he believed he

could trust. Then he would try to find a way to get a hold of Jack and Nick to verify that Juan
was there and he was safe. The last time he and Juan had been in Carmel, they had still been
in the beginning stages of getting the restaurant ready. There certainly hadn’t been a phone.
He would figure something out.

The first words out of Saul’s mouth startled him.
“What in God’s name did you do to that delightful boy that made him run-off?”
It has to be Global.
“What do you know, Saul? I’m frantic over here.”
“Gordon was all in a tizzy last night because Irwin told him Juan had left you and that

he was no longer going to be Gordon’s submissive—that you wanted to take him back. For
reasons I don’t understand, Gordy thinks Irwin is the cat’s pyjamas. I was practically out the
door to find out why you had gone completely screwy all of a sudden.”

Vincent felt ill—his head pounding harder than ever, his stomach lurching.
“It was Irwin.”
“What do you mean, old sport?”
“I have no idea why or how, but for some reason he convinced Juan to leave me. He

must have threatened him in some way.”

Fury built inside him at the thought of Juan being bullied and scared.
“This is absolutely shocking. We can’t have this type of behaviour going on at the

club—could ruin it for all of us.”

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“Then I need your help.”

* * * *

Sunday. It had no meaning in the same way as nothing else did. The only way he was

able to function at all was by helping his good friends, Jack and Nick. Anything they wanted,
he would do. They had asked if he could assist José in painting the outside of the restaurant
and he had gratefully agreed. Juan had learned a lot from José about his, Ana, Jack and
Nick’s plans for their business. They had been concentrating on the inside first to make sure
they had a functional place to live. The kitchen had been one of the most important things to
take care of too. Not only for their only daily needs, but to try out recipes for when they
finally opened.

Nick had got roped into doing some cooking. José and Ana had enough to do with

preparing the Mexican specialities, so Nick had been using all of them as guinea pigs to try
out his new culinary creations.

Juan concentrated his energies on how he could help his friends, on anything he could

do to make their lives better. He had much better focus than he’d ever had. The harsh and
loving discipline Vincent had administered to him had seen to that.

Stretching his back, Juan shielded his eyes to look out at the street. It was about fifty feet

away, past the patio area where Jack wanted to have outdoor seating. It really was a nice
place. He took his ‘kerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat away from his face and
neck.

Judging from how dry it’s been, it’s going to be hot for a few more weeks at least.
The weather and the consistency of house paint was about all Juan could handle

emotionally for the time being, and more likely for a very long while. Jack approached José
and Juan from the sidewalk, carrying two glasses of lemonade.

Nick had teased him the day before about how much Jack liked to squeeze lemons, and

he had acted crushed until Nick had fallen all over himself to apologise. Jack had laughed
out loud that he was just kidding. Then the two of them had chased each other around the
open area of the restaurant trying to tickle one another. It had ended when Nick had easily

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overpowered Jack, picking him up and tossing him over his shoulder, swatting his butt. Juan
had looked away.

He still hadn’t told them anything. He didn’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t as if it

would change anything. It would be easier to pretend his time with Vincent had never
happened at all. There would be no other way to bear the pain.

Jack handed him one of the cool glasses of the sweetly sour drink, then gave the other to

José. He drank greedily, not fully realising how dehydrated he’d been until that moment.
Jack stood there watching him, and he figured he was waiting to take the empty glass back
inside. He finished it and handed it to the still silent Jack.

“Oh, uh, do you think you could help me inside for a minute, Juan?”
“Sure.”
He followed his friend through the yard and out the gate to the sidewalk. They turned

right to head into the front of the café. Nick glanced up at them when they entered, and
cleared his throat. He motioned for Jack to come over. Jack nodded.

“Hey, Juan, I was thinking. Why don’t you run upstairs and get a shower and change.

We’re gonna go take you around town later.”

Juan frowned. He appreciated how they were taking time out of their busy schedules to

try and make him feel better, but that wasn’t why he was there. He had no intention of taking
advantage of his friends’ hospitality or getting in their way.

“That’s okay, Jack. I don’t mind working some more. We still have a couple hours of

light left.”

Jack looked at Nick as if he were seeking guidance. Nick didn’t say anything, he simply

shrugged and held his hands palms up at his lover’s silent enquiry. Jack pursed his lips and
turned back to Juan.

“Please? For me?”
This is strange.
“Um, okay. I don’t have any other denim though. I always wear black pants at home…”
He bit his bottom lip to keep the tears back. Judging from his friend’s pained

expression, it must have been obvious to him he was on the verge of coming apart. He didn’t
want to upset him any further.

“Okay, I will.”

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He gave them both a feeble smile and headed up the stairs. He wasn’t certain when

they would want to leave, so he made sure to hurry himself along. All of his possessions
were with him this time. Irwin had watched him pack to make sure he was really going—
and to ensure that Vincent would believe that Juan planned to leave for good.

He finished shaving, not bothering to inspect for smoothness as he always had. What

difference would it make how stubble-free his skin was? He would likely end up working
somewhere locally doing manual labour of some sort. That was fine. He really didn’t care
one way or another.

There was a knock at the bedroom door. He figured it was Jack checking to see if he

was ready yet. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he tucked one corner in to hold it up. As
he opened the door he began to speak.

“I’m almost ready—”
It wasn’t Jack.

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Chapter Fourteen

The tears he had fought to keep under control all day spilled freely down his cheeks. He

couldn’t say anything, couldn’t think straight. All he was able to do was stare into the
beautiful green eyes of the man he couldn’t live without.

No. The studio. The press. I can’t go with him.
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and dropped his gaze.
“I’m sorry, sir. I already told you…” He choked on his words, but forced himself to go

on. “I told you that I don’t love you, it was all an act.”

He couldn’t keep his face from contorting into pain, so he dipped his head to hide it

from him. Vincent pushed him into the room and shut the door behind them. His towel fell
away. Juan gasped and bent to retrieve it. Vincent grabbed his wrist, holding him fast.

“You’re lying. I thought we’d been through this already. You know I demand honesty.”
His eyebrows furrowed, the temptation of Vincent’s commanding grip too much to

resist. He agonised over how to convey to Vincent that they couldn’t be together without it
endangering his reputation. Vincent yanked him to his body and enfolded Juan in his arms.
Juan struggled against him.

“No! You don’t understand. I can’t be with you anymore. It will ruin everything for

you.”

“Is that what you believe to be the truth?”
Juan whimpered, the warmth of Vincent so intoxicating, so cruel. He nodded

frantically, still unable to look Vincent in the eyes.

“Out loud, Juan. You know what to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what you said before about not loving me, is that the truth?”
He inhaled, readying himself to break both their hearts by lying. It was too much. Too

unfair.

“No, sir, no—it wasn’t the truth. I love you, I’ll always love you.”

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Sobbing convulsively, he threw his arms around Vincent’s neck and clung to him as

Vincent’s hold tightened.

“Shush, my sweetheart. Everything’s been taken care of. I know all about Irwin and

what he did. Nothing could keep me from you. We belong to one another, remember?”

He couldn’t answer the way Vincent wanted. He could only make low keening

sounds—the crushing pain and vast relief overcoming him all at once. Vincent grabbed him
by the hair and pulled his head back. Juan gasped when he saw tears at the corners of
Vincent’s eyes.

“I never gave you permission to leave, did I?”
Juan hiccupped. “No, sir.
Vincent’s face crumpled as the tears spilled onto his face. “Then let’s go home.”

* * * *

Gazing up at the house when they had pulled into the long driveway had unleashed

another flood of tears from Juan. The terror of almost losing Vincent forever had surged
through him when he’d seen the home that had become his sanctuary. The one he’d thought
he would never see again.

On the drive back from Carmel, Vincent had told him everything. That Saul had not

only clued Vincent in as to what Irwin’s scheme was, but had made sure everyone at the club
knew about his threats. It had been strongly suggested that he leave and never come back.
No one knew or cared where he might be headed, but apparently, Gordon had gone with
him. After calling around various businesses in Carmel, Vincent had been able to get a
message to Jack and Nick.

However, even more startling was Vincent’s decision to leave Global. At first, Juan had

been worried he was only doing it because of Irwin’s threats. Vincent had explained to him
all of his reasons for wanting to leave, and how the stress of the job wasn’t worth it. Not
when he had his partner waiting at home for him.

Partner.
Juan hadn’t been sure what to say to that. He didn’t want anything in their relationship

to change. He would always want to submit to Vincent—in everything. Vincent must have

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seen the distressed look on Juan’s face—he could always read him so well. There had been
reassurances that Juan would remain his submissive, that Vincent would forever take care of
him.

He lay back on their bed, naked, waiting for Vincent to join him. When they had first

arrived back from Carmel, emotional exhaustion had claimed them both. They had slept
entwined in one another’s arms for almost twelve hours. When one of them stirred, the other
would grab hold. Juan knew they were both as equally distraught from the previous couple
of days.

After their long rest, Vincent had brought fruit and breads up to the bedroom, and had

insisted on feeding Juan by hand. Vincent asked him if he would like to be fed again and he
had readily agreed. Then Vincent had gently washed him in the large claw foot tub after
which he massaged warm oil in his muscles. That had almost sent Juan to sleep again.

Vincent had gone downstairs to make some calls so that they could spend the rest of the

day uninterrupted. He had called in sick to Global and his friend Saul had been seeking an
attorney for Vincent, in case he should have any issues cashing out his shares of the studio.
Juan thought it all sounded very complicated. As far as he was concerned, Vincent could
handle the intricate business dealings and Juan could take care of the house and the kitchen.

The sound of his lover trotting up the stairs caused him to stiffen. Now that they were

both so well-rested, Juan was sure there would be a session—or two. As Vincent entered the
room, Juan could see how much more relaxed he was. He was sure it was the long sleep, but
it was more than that. Undoubtedly, no longer having to worry about Roman’s antics—or
stars hooked on drugs, directors who couldn’t meet deadlines or morals clauses—had to be a
huge relief.

Vincent sat on his side of the bed, and leaned over to stroke Juan’s cheek. His contented

smile warmed Juan’s heart right before a sharp tinge of guilt assaulted him. Vincent frowned,
a puzzled expression on his face. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Those awful things in that note. I didn’t mean any of it, I swear. I am so sorry, sir.”
As much as he didn’t want to, he thought the tears might start up again. Vincent

climbed all the way into the bed, kicking off his slippers as he did. He pulled Juan’s naked
body to him and clutched him to his chest.

“You are not at fault, Juan. It was all my doing.”

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“No it wasn’t—”
“Shush. If I had been honest with you and myself regarding my feelings in the

beginning, I never would have had him in my home. He never could have got to you. So I
ask for your forgiveness.”

Juan’s face heated. “That’s okay.”
“Am I forgiven then?”
Juan cuddled closer to Vincent.
“Yes, sir.”
He had something else to say and it seemed like the right time. He had been mulling it

over in his mind on the drive back from Carmel.

“Sir, I need to tell you something.”
Juan detected Vincent tense somewhat. He didn’t want him to think it was anything

bad.

“Is there something else bothering you?”
“No, sir. But I wanted to let you know that everything is a ‘yes’ now.”
Vincent clasped him tighter and kissed the side of his head.
“Do you need me to go over the list again so you can be sure?”
“No, sir. I trust you.”
Vincent turned Juan in his embrace to plunge into his mouth. Over and over again, his

tongue darted inside, deepening the kiss with each swipe. As soon as he pulled away, Juan
was left almost breathless. Vincent petted Juan’s face, planting soft kisses here and there—his
brow, the tip of his nose, his chin.

“I have something I would like to try then.”
Juan’s heart fluttered, and his dick hardened. Anything he had ever done with Vincent

sexually had been beyond what he could have wished for. It had only ever been his own
insecurities about what he really meant to Vincent that had been an issue. He knew now. He
knew Vincent would always keep him.

“Lie back, I need to prepare it.”
Oh God.
The urge to touch himself was unusually powerful. He knew better, so he never did—

but Vincent’s words had been an instant aphrodisiac.

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“This is something I had made for you a couple months ago in the hopes this day

would eventually arrive.”

Juan tried to imagine what sort of thing Vincent meant. He remembered items like hot

wax, clamps and gags being on the ‘maybe’ or ‘no’ list. But he thought there might be others
he had forgotten about. However, he’d meant what he’d said. He trusted Vincent to keep
him safe—to take care of him.

Vincent went to the armoire, but instead of opening the door on the closet side, he

opened a large drawer and pulled out what looked like a black velvet case. It was a foot long
and about a half foot deep.

“I’m going to show this to you so that you can see what I’ll be putting inside of you.”
Juan’s breath hitched. He had forgotten about Vincent wanting to insert things into his

ass. He opened the case and lifted a phallus-shaped black object. It seemed heavy, and Juan
guessed it was some type of stone. He wasn’t sure, but thought it was about seven or eight
inches long and estimated it having an inch or so circumference. It had a wider base that
formed into a knob—likely for someone to grasp onto.

However, the most noticeable feature of the item Vincent held was the series of ridges

all along the length. He would feel every one as the fake dick was worked in and out of him.

“I need to warm this in water first, along with the oil to slick it.” Vincent leant down to

kiss him tenderly on the lips. As he rose, he stopped to run his thumb across Juan’s cheek. “I
promise you it will be quite enjoyable. And since my mouth will be filled with your cock,
you have my permission to come when you desire.”

It was difficult to imagine how Vincent could make each experience between them even

more erotic than the last. Juan had always been wildly attracted to him for many reasons
such as his intelligence and kindness—his exceptional elegance and handsomeness. Once he
had been fortunate enough to know him intimately, there had never been a question that
Juan saw Vincent as anyone other than the ultimate male.

Juan silently watched as Vincent prepared the object. He ran his hands up and down its

length, apparently verifying that the temperature was correct and the surface completely
oiled. He turned to Juan. It occurred to him that he still wore his pyjamas.

“Stand up please. I’m going to lie on my back, then I’ll direct you.”
Juan did as he was told, intrigued, yet filled with a small dose of trepidation.

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Once Vincent lay prone on the bed, he gestured with his free hand for Juan to come to

him.

“Climb on the bed, straddle me facing away. Then bend forward so I can prepare your

hole. I will fuck you from this angle so I can test it in your body. Remember, it is hard and
won’t give when you push yourself against it, and I don’t want you to get hurt. So allow me
to control the dildo, and you focus on fucking my mouth once I’ve turned you around. Is all
of that clear?”

Juan swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
He climbed on Vincent as ordered and right as he felt Vincent’s fingers invade his

entrance, he considered telling him he didn’t want that thing inside his body. But the next
sensation was the unyielding hardness of the object, and the feeling of Vincent gently
pushing it inside him.

As his ring of muscle encased the first ridge, he had already decided that he wanted

Vincent to use it on him after all. It was different. It was dirty and made him feel violated. It
was something he loved. Vincent kept the pressure even, but twisted it as he moved it in and
out of Juan’s hole. He pushed against it, and Vincent pulled it away.

“No, Juan, you can’t fuck it. You might push too deep or hard. Let me fuck you with it.”
Juan groaned in frustration, his butt clenching around the slicked up piece of stone, the

ridges causing small bursts of stretch as it was worked in and out of his ass. He knew how to
be still, Vincent had given him many lessons on that. But the object didn’t encourage
stillness. With a frustrating pop, Vincent removed it from him right as he’d been relaxing
into it.

“Come on, my very good boy. Turn around and let me swallow your glorious cock.”
He was grateful he had Vincent’s permission to come. He wouldn’t last otherwise.
Right as Juan lowered his shaft into Vincent’s open mouth, Vincent reached behind him

to insert the dildo. He allowed Juan to fuck his face whilst he controlled the stone phallus in
his ass. Every time Juan thrust in Vincent’s mouth, he was impaled by the dildo as he pulled
out. The ridges stimulated the cluster of nerves and also sensitised his rim. With Vincent
tonguing and sucking him at the same time, his orgasm ripped through him unexpectedly
like an explosion. He wouldn’t have been able to stop it if he’d tried.

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Later in the day as he lay in Vincent’s arms after they had enjoyed and pleasured one

another’s bodies over and over, Juan gave a silent thank you to his lover, kissing his cheek.
Vincent stirred in sleep, mumbling.

“You okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Vincent snuggled him closer. “You are such a good boy.”
Juan closed his eyes, the tears pricking at them again. This time, it was from the

overwhelming joy.

* * * *

“I’ve got to hand it you, old sport, this is quite a set-up. I appreciate you having me up

this weekend.”

“Of course. We rarely get visits other than Jack and Nick. I thought my old friend might

enjoy getting far away from that detestable town.”

Saul grunted. “You used to love it, thought it was everything.”
“Ah well, I discovered that I didn’t really know what everything was until now.”
Vincent waved at Juan as he came around the ring once more. Juan grinned back, his

expression one of utter bliss. Saul and Vincent reclined in lounge chairs in the shade under
the large oak tree by the ranch house. Juan had made them fresh glasses of strawberry
lemonade before he had taken his bay mare, Espiritu, out for some training.

They had a large piece of land in the Napa Valley area not very far from San Francisco.

It afforded them the ability to remain secluded, but to travel to the city for theatre or
shopping excursions. The decision to buy a horse ranch had been an easy one for Vincent. He
had been charmed by Juan’s stories of his childhood and devastated when he’d learnt that
Juan’s inheritance had been torn from him because he had loved another man.

“So, speaking of old—have you ever thought about what will happen to him after

you’re gone, old sport?”

“Good Lord. You know how to brighten up an afternoon.”
“I’m just wondering is all. I know you’ve always been a practical man, but I do believe

your young lover would have a difficult time without you to take care of him. And I’m not

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referring to wealth or physical needs. I wonder at his ability to carry on with you not here.
I’ve never seen anyone as adoring as he is with you. It’s quite breath taking, but it did bring
to mind that he would be devastated without you.”

Vincent smiled. It would be a long ways away, but he had made sure to give Juan what

he would need, even if he wouldn’t be there personally to give it to him.

“I have that taken care of. He’s provided for in my will. He’ll receive everything.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant. The will contains strict orders that he is to follow to the

letter.”

“Oh? And what are these orders?”
“That he find happiness in every day of his life.”

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Uniform Encounters: Guarded Desires

Morticia Knight

Excerpt

Chapter One

“Are you fucking kidding me? Cheap piece of crap.”
DEA Agent Stephen Morris wiped off the sweat that dripped into his eyes and re-

checked the current cell phone in use for the deal. They used and discarded them as needed
and only pre-paid devices were implemented. No identities. No locaters. Agent Gonzalez
hadn’t contacted him yet and it was well past the time that had been arranged. The phone’s
battery life was wearing out and here he was—stuck lying behind a clump of low scrub
brush, trying not to scrape his arms over and over on the gritty dry ground.

Clean shirts with no tears are overrated.
The plan had been for Rigo to contact him as soon as the deal had been done, and alert

him that he was on his way back to pick him up. Once Rigo had the trust of the dealers, they
would be able to do a large sting and take them down. But in the meantime, Stephen was
holed up in a remote desert locale in Arizona—just near the border—and wondering where
the hell his partner was. There had been absolutely no indication that this low-level
marijuana operation was connected to the Vasquez Cartel in any way. The cartel that had
been like an insidious presence ever since it had positioned itself as the newest force to be
reckoned with. The Mexico-based alliance had everyone on edge.

In hindsight, he wished he had insisted more that Rigo not go in alone. It was dicey

when they did these types of undercover gigs, but it had been deemed a waste of resources
to use one of their deep undercover guys. Rigo did local stuff only and everyone at their
home base teased him about being a master of disguise. Stephen was a great balance, more of
the investigative backbone of their partnership.

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Having worked as a Drug Enforcement Special Agent for close to ten years, he was

accustomed to anything and everything happening. There was no such thing as the norm.
But what should have been a fairly routine operation now seemed more and more like a
really bad idea.

He detected something in the distance, and grabbed his binoculars. Dust clouds. They

were increasing in size and headed his way. The approaching vehicle moved at a fast clip. He
pulled out his Glock 23 pistol just in case it wasn’t his partner and double-checked it for
readiness. He moved to a crouching position, maintaining his cover, ready to either fire or
make a hasty exit. More sweat blurred his vision and stung his eyes, and he cursed the pre-
summer heat as he swiped at his forehead again.

The car was almost upon him and Stephen could see that it was the undercover car—a

black late model Chevy sedan complete with a couple of small dings and dents to reinforce
Rigo’s persona as a minor player dealing weed in one of Tucson’s suburbs. He wasn’t ready
to breathe any sighs of relief just yet—it didn’t necessarily mean that it was Rigo in the
vehicle. In addition, it was newly decorated with numerous bullet holes and a cracked
windshield.

It ground to a stop, sending bigger clouds of dirt and gravel in the air. The passenger

side window rolled down slightly.

“Let’s go. Now!”
Stephen launched himself from his position, staying low and yanking open the door

before leaping into the car. Even as Stephen slammed the door closed, Rigo gunned the
engine. No explanations were needed. That could wait for later.

Stephen had his weapon ready. “Should I be covering us from the back?”
“Yeah. Do it.”
Stephen turned in the seat to watch for pursuers, but put his window back up for the

time being as the dust was choking them. It was next to impossible for him to see anything
with the dirt clouds billowing behind the bouncing, jostling, racing Chevy. Stephen held onto
the back rest to keep from being tossed about so much.

If this thing survives its desert abuse, it’ll probably be rewarded with a trip to the junk heap.
At last, they made it to the access point from the highway and—seemingly without

checking for oncoming traffic—Rigo fishtailed onto the road, regained control and floored

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the sedan. Now that they were off the dusty terrain, Stephen could get a view of where
they’d come from. He couldn’t see any vehicles approaching from the desert, but before he
holstered the Glock, he rolled the window down again and checked for any helicopters
advancing on them. Even though it had originally seemed to be a basic, low value sting—in
light of Rigo’s agitated behaviour he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Are we clear? Are we clear?” Rigo’s eyes were wide, but intensely focused on the road

ahead as he gripped the wheel.

Stephen turned around in his seat and buckled his belt as he reassured his partner.

“We’re good, buddy. Now, what the fuck?”

* * * *

One more beer then I’m getting the hell outta here.
As soon as Rigo returned from the pisser, he was going to tell him that he was done for

the day. What had gone down earlier had been way too close as far as he was concerned. The
last thing Stephen wanted was to lose a partner on an assignment. In the close to ten years
he’d been with the DEA, that had never happened. And he wasn’t about to let it happen
now.

“Hey dumbass, don’t look so happy.”
Stephen frowned, in no mood for their usual bullshitting. “Love you too.”
“Sorry. I only like pussy.” He held up a hand as if to stop Stephen from commenting

further. “I know, I know—don’t know what I’m missing, right?”

After sitting in one of the rickety chairs, Rigo took a long swig of his Tecate beer,

dragged his sleeve across his mouth, then set the nearly empty bottle down.

Typically, Stephen would have had an equally smart-ass comeback, but something

unnameable churned in his gut. He wasn’t superstitious, and he didn’t have any particular
religious leanings, but he did believe in intuition to a certain degree. He’d been on the job
long enough and had completed enough field assignments that he knew when something
was off.

“Okay. One more time. They didn’t even give you a chance to start the deal. They just

had you in their sights right away?”

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“I’m tellin’ you man, they knew. They fucking knew.”
“And there’s absolutely nothing you can think of that could have tipped them off? Even

the tiniest comment or gesture—anything?”

“Nice vote of confidence there, partner.”
“It’s okay, you can cry. Let it all out. I won’t tell the guys back at the station.”
“I only cry when I think about your love life. That’s a true tragedy. But to answer your

question, it went how it always does. They were practically begging me to do business with
them before today.”

Rigo was one of the best agents he’d ever worked with, but people still made mistakes.

But he knew that if Rigo had tripped up somehow, the man was not above admitting to it.

“I don’t get it. All our intel on these guys was very low-key. They aren’t connected to

anything or anyone hardcore.”

“Yeah, but obviously they are now. Either they’re trying to increase their street cred or

they’ve just been recruited by our new guys.”

“Fuck. Vasquez’s reach seems unstoppable. The way things have been going lately, I’ve

got to assume this is their work. We need to check and see if there’ve been any new messages
sent from them in the last couple of days while we’ve been nose deep in our operation.”

A message from the cartel never entailed anything written. It typically involved severed

heads or bodies where evidence of the worst types of torture was apparent.

“I’m gonna get another beer.”
He didn’t look towards Rigo to see his reaction, he just pushed up from the table,

forcing the abused wood bar chair back as he did. It dragged loudly on the equally beat-up
wood floor.

“Yeah, thanks. I wasn’t going to get another one anyway. What is your problem,

homey?”

Stephen ignored him and walked up to the bartender of the El Gringo Loco lounge. The

bar was a mixture of shabby Southwest décor from sometime in the sixties and newer
Mexican tourist trinkets. It was an absolute dive with two pool tables, a dart board, long bar,
a couple of cracked pleather booths and wobbly Formica tables. The dry desert heat was
probably the only reason the old beer that had soaked into the carpet for years hadn’t turned

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into black mould, yet the stale hops smell remained as a reminder that the dried liquid was
indeed still there.

As he leaned against the counter waiting to be served, he absent-mindedly looked

around the room. A tall and slender young man approached the bar. He moved with a
confident gait, but his eyes were cast down as if he were purposely avoiding engaging
anyone in conversation. As he reached Stephen, just two barstools over, he was able to get a
better look at the man.

Why am I looking anyway?
The last thing he wanted to do was to be obvious. It was hardly the time or the place to

be picking anyone up, but something about this man appealed to him. He didn’t usually go
for younger guys, but there was a maturity in how he presented himself—as if he wouldn’t
take crap from anyone—and that always turned Stephen on. Plus, this man was hot. Exactly
the type Stephen was attracted to. It was the tall, fit frame to be sure. But Stephen could see a
strong chin and sharply outlined masculine features as he took in the young man’s slightly
angled profile. His look was completed with shortly cropped dark hair.

I wonder what colour his eyes are.
No doubt the kid was straight, and likely one of the local border agents or guardsmen

who had just been sent down. He’d heard that the new active-duty-for-training group had
arrived earlier. They would be switching out with the last group leaving, and stay on
working with the Border Agents for three weeks until they were changed out again. Ever
since the Vasquez Cartel had got so completely out of control, as many reinforcements as
possible had been called in. It had been ordered from the highest level of government as the
fear in the border towns was palpable.

At first, it had appeared to just be an escalation in assaults on the Border Agents. That

was always a danger for them, and would fluctuate between quiet times with little activity,
then spurts of violence. But in the past few months, four men had lost their lives in
gruesome, seemingly pre-meditated attacks. It was at that point that his own investigation
into this newer cartel had led him and his partner Rigo to believe that the border agent
attacks were part of a much larger picture. Then the violence had gone beyond agents.

American and Mexican citizens of all backgrounds were being attacked and killed in

the border towns. Signs pinned to the corpses that warned the authorities to ‘back-off’

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reinforced their intent. None of the victims could be tied to drug smuggling or any other
gang or illegal activities. Many had been innocent women and, disturbingly, children. What
was even more frightening was that the murders were increasing and more often than not,
happening on US soil. The Guardsmen had been brought in to help protect the citizens and
stem the panic, whilst the DEA and Border Patrol continued their job of hunting down the
animals who were responsible for the killings. Cooperation between the American and
Mexican law enforcement agencies was stronger than ever.

At last the bartender came over to serve him.
“Another Tecate?”
Stephen nodded. He’d been holding his wallet as he’d waited for the drunk at the end

of the bar to quit talking the server’s ear off. He opened it and slapped a five dollar bill down
on the scratched up, but nicely polished counter. After closing his billfold, he stuffed it into
his back pocket.

The server turned to the young man. “I’ll need to see some ID.”
Stephen glanced over at the kid who seemed none too pleased. He pulled out a military

card and held it defiantly in front of him for the bartender to see.

The server nodded. “What’ll you have?”
“Bud Ice.”
“I only have bottles.”
“That’s fine.”
He threw down some cash, and Stephen noted that he left the bartender a buck as a tip.

A lot of the younger guys weren’t very good at giving decent tips—if they gave any at all. It
impressed him somehow.

“You coming or going?”
The kid looked up with a puzzled expression as if wondering whether the question was

actually directed towards him.

“Excuse me?”
I think they’re a darker blue.
“I noticed your military ID. Are you in the group arriving, or are you on your way

out?”

“Oh. Yeah. Uh, just getting here.”

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He seemed a little uncomfortable, unable to make eye contact and Stephen wondered

why. True, Stephen knew he appeared intimidating—about six foot two and pretty well
built—but he wasn’t right next to him.

“Well, we can use all the help we can get right now.”
“You Border Patrol?”
“No DEA. Name’s Stephen by the way, Special Agent Stephen Morris.” He moved

closer and extended his hand. He could swear he saw the kid swallow a little before taking it.
He had a nice firm shake.

That would feel good fisted around me.
As the thought came to him, his cock twitched.
“Joseph. Joseph Pirelli. Nice to meet you.”
This is a scintillating conversation.
For some reason he wanted to keep talking to him and maybe find out if he was straight

or not. His gaydar had never been that great, and he hated meeting guys under vague
circumstances.

What the fuck? I’m not supposed to be meeting anyone right now. Especially not someone so

young.

“Hey, dumbass! That was Boyd. He wants a rundown of earlier. I’m headed to the car

so suck that beer down and let’s go.”

Stephen held up a middle finger as an acknowledgement without even glancing Rigo’s

way.

Dammit. Oh well, probably for the best.
“As you can see, the honeymoon’s over. Partners.” Stephen rolled his eyes dramatically

and Joseph chuckled. “It was nice to meet you too. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

He took a long, hard swallow of his beer, not moving his gaze from Joseph, and set the

bottle down. He noticed that Joseph had also stared at him the entire time he’d drank the
brew up and it had him wondering. Of course, his parting statement had sounded rather
flirty. It could be a good sign.

“Yeah. Maybe you will.”
Stephen raised his eyebrows.
Guess I’m not the only one who sounds flirty.

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He nodded to the kid and strolled out of the door, imagining that Joseph stared at his

ass the entire time.

I need to make sure and pay this dump a visit again. It suddenly has a lot more appeal.

* * * *

Fuck yeah.
The bear of a man who had just introduced himself to Joseph had his mouth watering.

As the burly guy had left, Joseph hadn’t been able to take his eyes off his tight, muscular
butt. It had been nicely wrapped in a pair of dark jeans, along with his powerfully built
thighs. He didn’t even want to get started on Stephen’s biceps. He already had to hide his
boner by scooting all the way up to the bar.

The agent’s eyes were a nice hazel colour, he had light brown, close-cut hair, and he

sported a neatly trimmed goatee. He was a bit older than what Joseph typically went for, but
otherwise, he was the hottest piece of man meat he’d seen in a while. He’d certainly never
had the chance to be with anyone as fine as him—only ever admired it from afar. And he was
sure the big man was gay.

Is he interested?
It certainly seemed as if he could be, but their meeting and conversation had gone by in

a flash. There had been just enough to catch a little spark before he’d been called away by the
partner. Joseph was fairly certain that he was just buddies with the partner and nothing
more, but he was jealous that the guy got to spend time with the hunky Stephen.

He shook his head. What difference did it make whether he was gay or interested? This

was a three week active duty assignment, then he would be on his way back to Mesa,
Arizona, where he was from. He had some vacation time coming after which he would either
find out what his next orders would be or volunteer for another active duty assignment.

Maybe come back to the border? This border in particular?
He couldn’t do that to himself. He’d been so careful to stay out of trouble after what

had happened with Dorian. And relationships were nothing but trouble. This guy might
seem really wonderful—strong and protective—but he was also big enough that if Joseph
ever pissed him off, he could do real damage to him. The way Dorian had done.

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Suddenly, the whole idea of thinking or fantasising about the hot bear of a man lost its

appeal. The two years of being punched and kicked around by Dorian had been enough for
one lifetime. He needed to get with a guy that wasn’t so brawny. It seemed like a dumb way
to look at a potential partner—‘I could take you in a fight’—but he couldn’t help it. The
complete and utter vulnerability he’d experienced with Dorian was something he refused to
ever repeat.

He was in a different place now. He had risen above his circumstances in so many

ways. The experience with his ex-lover—the only relationship he’d ever had—combined with
being bullied and teased in school had taught him two important things. He needed to stand
up for himself and to not come off as vulnerable in any way.

Working out to get his naturally lean body stronger and defined had been a start.

Learning kick-boxing had helped even more. Finally, entering the military had not only
given him some direction, but had built his confidence. He also hoped it added to the
impression that he was not to be messed with.

Recently, he had become ashamed of the initial motivation he’d had for signing up to be

a guardsman. There had been some of the worst heavy flooding during the monsoon in
Arizona’s history a while back. It had occurred in a rural area with several small towns.
Many people had either lost their lives, their homes, or gone missing. The men from his
platoon had been sent to help sandbag, dig through debris to search for survivors and to
deliver medical supplies and food. The experience had greatly changed his outlook. He’d
begun to take pride in what he did, grateful for the opportunity to make a difference.

He took another swig of his beer and checked the bar out. The place was pretty empty

and his original intent of getting away from his fellow guardsmen seemed unappealing now
that his brawny agent had vacated the dive. Not socialising too much with his fellow
enlistees, helped him to avoid too many personal inquiries into his life for the most part. He
didn’t want to talk about babes, brag about bar fights, diss various groups of people or a lot
of the other stuff that the guys from his unit did.

So far, his love of basketball had been the only decent conversation he’d been able to

have with anyone. But even that had been sullied somewhat. There were two guys in
particular from his group who stuck together. Their predominant not-so-clever banter
involved using every gay slur known to mankind. Any basketball player that fucked up a

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play was either gay, a queer-mo, or whatever other slam they could conjure up. Even if the
rest of his unit didn’t openly go along with them, they didn’t do anything in the way of
opposing them either. It would just make his life simpler and more stress free if he kept to
himself. No doubt his bunkmates felt the same way.

He finished his beer and figured he might as well walk back to the house where he’d

been assigned for his stay. The guard kept a few places rented out near the Nogales Armoury
for the extra revolving troops, at least until the current local need was exhausted. Joseph had
his own fantasy that maybe it would get taken care of whilst he was on assignment. Being a
part of stopping the ruthless cartel plaguing the local area would be worth anything the two
assholes he was assigned with could dish out. Too bad he couldn’t throw in a little R&R with
a certain hunky bear as well.

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About the Author

I love all things book. I have a passion for creating stories—the more fantastic the

better—and used to spend hours as a little girl drawing pages of pictures and then

putting captions to them. I love reading and writing several different genres, but I

recently put my more mainstream paranormal romances aside for naughtier tales.

I also enjoy music from Imogen Heap and Nine Inch Nails to Mozart, and love horror

and sci-fi films from cheesy to terrifying. I must also confess that I am a huge LOTR

(Lord of the Rings) geek.

I currently reside on the northern coast of Oregon, where the constant rain and fog

reminds me of my visits to family in England and Scotland when I was a child.

Email:

morticiaknight@gmail.com

Morticia loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and

author biography at

http://www.totallybound.com

Also by Morticia Knight

A Spirit of Love

Uniform Encounters: Set Ablaze

Uniform Encounters: Arresting Behaviour

Uniform Encounters: Lust Emergency

Uniform Encounters: Guarded Desires

Gin and Jazz: Hollywood Bound

Gin and Jazz: Razzle Dazzle

Gin and Jazz: Tarnished Glitter

Gin and Jazz: Starring Role

Clandestine Classics: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

Clandestine Classics: The Fall of the House of Usher

All Together Now: The Perfect Third

Totally Bound Publishing