plik

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are

used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any

resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or

persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Relearning the Ropes

ISBN: 978-1-926930-83-1

Cover Artist: Victoria Miller

Editor: Mason Lavin

or reproduced electronically or in print without written

permission, except in the case of brief quotations

embodied in reviews.

Breathless Press

www.breathlesspress.com

Marcus rolled over to stare at the clock. 3:25 AM. A month ago, at

precisely that moment, his phone had rung. He’d answered it, expect-

ing it to be the only person who ever called him that late, his friend Ju-

lius, but instead it was Julius’s lawyer. The man apologized for wak-

ing Marcus, but Julius was dead—condolences, of course—and Julius

left the care of his sub, Charlie, to Marcus, and could Marcus please go

over to Julius’s house and fetch Charlie?

At 3:45 that morning Marcus went and picked Charlie up, and,

for the past month, Charlie slept in the spare bedroom across the hall.

Marcus hadn’t slept since. Not that he didn’t like or want Charlie. He

did, on both counts. Loved Charlie, was quite in love with Charlie. But

if Marcus had wanted a live-in sub—which he hadn’t; his life was far

too busy and complicated, and he was entirely too set in his ways—he

wouldn’t have chosen one like Charlie. Charlie was a complex little

creature: delicate and high-maintenance. He took everything Marcus

knew about how to treat a sub and turned it upside down.

Relearning the Ropes

Marcus groaned and flipped over onto his other side, putting the

mocking glare of the clock’s bright red numbers behind him. Aside

from Charlie, Marcus had never dominated a man he’d loved. He had

no clue how to reconcile the two. Charlie needed clear boundaries, a

clear definition of their relationship, but how was he supposed to de-

fine their relationship to Charlie if he couldn’t define it to himself? He

tried to treat Charlie like any other sub, but the fact of the matter was

Charlie wasn’t just any other sub. Sold into sexual slavery at fifteen,

Charlie had been dragged all across the country before he’d landed in

Julius’s hands.

Marcus was all business when he served as a Dom at Anton’s

BDSM playhouse, clinical, almost. For most of the men he played with,

that was enough—the domination, the control. But Charlie, Charlie

needed more. The only question, was could he give it? He sighed and

squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself back to sleep.

***

Charlie pushed his breakfast around on his plate, tapping his fork

against the edge of the white china and frowning.

“Is there a problem with your eggs?” Marcus asked. He’d fol-

lowed Julius’s recipe exactly, right down to the Roma tomatoes and

fresh parsley. Since Julius’s death, Marcus had tried hard to keep life

normal for Charlie—to show him that nothing had changed. God

knew Charlie had been abandoned—physically and emotionally—too

much in his life. The fact that Marcus and Julius were polar opposites

when it came to how they treated their subs had been jarring enough.

Marcus had painstakingly cataloged the contents of Julius’s food

cupboard and stocked his own with the same items, going across town

for some things. He had even gone so far as to bring some of Julius’s

art pieces to his house so Charlie would have something familiar to

look at, though he had to admit, he hated the brightly colored, chaotic

abstract pieces. Although more than a few other Doms had warned

Marcus that keeping things status quo was the wrong tactic.

“No.” Charlie shook his head quickly. “They’re perfect. Thank

you for cooking them.”

Marcus nodded. Cooking. Another thing he’d had to learn. They’d

realized quickly that, unlike Marcus, Charlie’s temperamental stom-

ach simply couldn’t handle eating out for every meal. If Marcus didn’t

want Charlie to starve, one of them needed to cook, and Charlie was

far too timid and scatterbrained in the kitchen.

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“May I speak to you man-to-man, not sub to Dom for a minute,

please?” Charlie asked.

Man-to-man. A phrase Charlie had picked up from Julius. “You

may.”

Charlie looked down and shifted in his seat. “I’d rather not go to-

night, and if I have to go, I’d rather not go alone.” He turned his head

to the side in an age-old gesture of submission. “It’s just that, I used to

go out with Julius, even to work stuff. And now…”

And now, indeed. The fact that Charlie had dared such a question

spoke of how much he truly didn’t want to attend the party. He hated

such things—not only that, but feared them—to the point that Marcus

wondered if it were really some kind of phobia and how much of a

hand Charlie’s first Dom, that sadistic ass Stephen, had contributed to

it. But the question said something else too—how much Charlie had

relied on Julius, how much he missed Julius, and how much he need-

ed Marcus. “The party is a work function. You know it’s important.

The social aspect of a day job is just as meaningful as the nose-to-the-

grindstone part. Especially if you want to advance past entry level.”

Charlie nodded, his shoulders sagged. “I’ll go, of course, if you

wish it. I won’t defy you.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Not a question of Charlie’s loyalty to Mar-

cus, but of Marcus’s to Charlie. How far did he think he could push

his new sub? How far did he want to? “Are you asking me to go with

you?”

“I would prefer it.” Though the words came out as a mumble, and

Charlie refused to look at Marcus.

“I thought you wanted to remain in the closet at work.” Julius

had been able to manage his attraction for Charlie. Had been able to

disguise it, and vice versa. Charlie got rock hard when Marcus simply

smiled at him, a predicament to which Marcus couldn’t claim com-

plete immunity.

“I will control myself.” Charlie raised his head but quickly looked

away again.

Marcus chuckled softly and reached over to cup Charlie’s cheek,

turning his face up so their gazes met. “You are incapable of looking

at me with anything other than love and lust in your eyes. One glance

between us, and your secret will be out.”

Charlie smiled softly. “There is that.”

“Man-to-man, Charlie. Are you that afraid to go?”

Relearning the Ropes

“Yes.” Just a whisper past his lips, and he closed his eyes tightly,

a slight tremor running through him. “I’m terrified. I can’t do these

things alone. Julius was always there. He watched out for me. He

knew…” Charlie’s breathing hitched up a notch.

“I know.” Marcus pressed a kiss to Charlie’s forehead.

“I miss him.”

“Me too.” He wiped a tear from Charlie’s cheek, smiling at the

way Charlie pressed his face against the touch and leaned into it. Per-

haps man-to-man needed to mean something bigger. The sub in Char-

lie needed to be dominated—protected. But what if the man in him

just needed comfort and support? “I’ll go with you to the party. And

while we’re there? While you’re trying not to dwell on how much you

don’t want to be there? I want you to think about what you’d like to do

tonight, when we come back.”

Charlie nodded.

“We can do whatever you want. Anything. Or nothing.” He add-

ed the last two words quickly. He’d been Charlie’s Dom in the past,

at Anton’s playhouse and at Julius’s home; he knew what Charlie

liked—pain, pain, and more pain—but they’d never had any kind of

sexual interaction, hadn’t even shared a kiss, and the last thing Mar-

cus wanted was to give the impression that such was expected.

He thought back, remembering how, a little over two years ago,

Julius had phoned him in the middle of the night, music blaring in the

background so loudly that Marcus could barely hear himself speak-

ing, let alone Julius. Julius had gone down to his favorite club, spotted

Charlie, and Marcus had ended up lending him five hundred thou-

sand dollars to buy the battered and bruised sub out of the sex slave

ring he’d been held captive in. Charlie had come such a long way since

then, learning to live as a sub instead of a slave, and finding a niche

in the working world. Marcus didn’t want to do anything to set him

back.

“Would you like that?” Marcus asked.

Charlie smiled, and it lit up his eyes—a thing that rarely hap-

pened—and Marcus’s cock jerked in response. Damn, but Charlie was

gorgeous when he truly smiled.

“I would. Thank you, Marcus. Would you—” Charlie bit his low-

er lip and looked away quickly. “Before you go to work, would you

help me pick out something to wear, please?”

Marcus grinned. “I’d love to.”

***

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“And this guy right here!” A sleazy-looking, slender man with

thinning hair who reminded Marcus of Wormtongue from The Lord

of the Rings slid an arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “Is the best damn

record keeper this firm has ever had!” He gave Charlie a shake, his

giant hand squeezing Charlie’s upper arm.

Marcus flinched, anger boiling his blood. This was why he’d nev-

er wanted a full-time sub of his own—because he’d be forced to ac-

company them in public eventually, and seeing anyone touch what

was his made him want to kill someone.

Charlie watched him with wide eyes and an expression of apol-

ogy, apparently quite aware of his coworker’s effect on his Dom. “I’m

just an ordinary secretary. Nothing special.”

“Nonsense!” The man pounded Charlie on the back. “C’mon,

there’s someone I want you to meet.” He grabbed Charlie’s arm and

hauled him away.

Marcus frowned. What the fuck should he do about this? He

didn’t dare risk exposing Charlie as gay—whatever Charlie’s reasons

for wanting to stay in the closet, he had to respect them. But he didn’t

care for the idea of Charlie being paraded about like calf at auction,

especially after Charlie had already been sold twice in his lifetime.

And he damned sure didn’t like having to hide his status—he was

a Dom, goddamn it. Add to that, he could likely tear limb from limb

every man in this building, or at the very least have them pissing their

pants in less than five minutes. Marcus didn’t do passive. He was more

predator than anything when it came to these situations, so swallow-

ing down his natural instincts was painful.

He supposed this was a lesson every Dom should learn, though.

What was that line from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? “Only the

penitent man will pass.” Just a random quote from a random movie

he’d seen only once, but he found the words cropping up in his mind

often. Especially now.

Marcus moved through the crowd, keeping himself a few paces

behind Charlie and the insufferable interloper. The man reeked of

cheap cologne, even at a distance, and his suit—though he’d probably

argue otherwise—was a bottom-basement forgery of the real thing.

Marcus sneered and adjusted his own tie. His two-hundred-dollar tie,

thank you very much, which just happened to be the least expensive

thing he had on, right down to his Maurizio Amadei-designed cash-

mere briefs. God, he hated men who flaunted what they couldn’t back

up. His quarry stopped in front of a group of people, the man making

Relearning the Ropes

boisterous introductions and Charlie looking back over his shoulder,

eyes scanning the room quickly.

Marcus raised his glass and nodded, recognizing that deer-in-

headlights look. What would Julius have done? What had Julius done?

Marcus gave silent praise to his friend, who had apparently been a

much better diplomat than he.

“Fuck,” Marcus growled under his breath. The man had two wine-

glasses in his hand and was trying to push one off on Charlie. Charlie

didn’t drink—was just as afraid of alcohol as he was nearly everything

else. Charlie took a half step back, gesturing with his hands and shak-

ing his head. Marcus stood still, torn. On the one hand, he wanted to

save Charlie. Rescue him, take him home, tie him up, and show him

that his love and loyalty were well placed. On the other, Charlie need-

ed to lean to deal with these situations, in case he was ever truly on his

own. A prospect no one had even considered before Julius’s accident.

Across from him, Charlie held one of the wineglasses in his hand,

staring at it as if it would come to life and attack him. God, he was bad

at this, wasn’t he? Marcus frowned. Julius had never mentioned just

exactly how socially inept Charlie really was, and Marcus felt like an

idiot—and a failure as a Dom—for not realizing. Charlie was so very

submissive in all things, but he still hadn’t grasped how to decide

who deserved his submission and who didn’t.

Marcus strode forward, aware of the appreciative glances he at-

tracted from women and men both. “Ah, Charles, there you are.” He

took the glass from Charlie’s hand and deposited it in on a nearby

table. “Do pardon me,” he said to the onlookers. “I’ve a friend who

wants to pick his brain.”

Marcus took a firm hold of Charlie’s elbow and led him away.

The muscles beneath his fingers trembled, as did the rest of Charlie’s

body.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

Marcus nodded curtly, not ready to speak.

“I’ve angered you.” Charlie’s trembling turned into all-out shak-

ing.

“No,” Marcus answered, voice gruffer than he wanted it to be.

“I’m sorry.” Charlie’s eyes were sad, his lips curled into a pout. A

door opened nearby, letting in a rush of night air, and Charlie’s head

snapped around, nose sniffing like a wild animal. Which was exactly

what he was, Marcus realized. Feral, untamed. Untrained. Had Julius

been unable to acclimate Charlie to the real world, or simply unwill-

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ing? Admittedly, helping anyone overcome five years of mental, phys-

ical, and sexual torture, of being treated like a piece of meat—passed

around from abuser to abuser—was a daunting task. Let alone trying

to do so with someone as naturally submissive and timid as Charlie.

Marcus sighed. “Let’s mingle for a while.” But later, when they

returned home, they definitely needed to talk.

***

“I owe you an apology, Charlie,” Marcus began. He gestured

to the leather couch in his living room, unable to suppress a grin as

Charlie immediately took a seat and folded his hands in his lap. “I’ve

been coming at this all wrong with you. We need to set some ground

rules, I think. Let each other know what it is we need from each other.

I’d like you to go first. Let’s start with something simple. What didn’t

you like about your relationship with Julius?”

Charlie lowered his gaze and shifted in his seat. “There wasn’t

anything bad. I liked Julius.”

“I know you did.” Intent on putting Charlie at ease, Marcus took a

seat on the floor a few feet away. Even sitting next to Charlie, Marcus

would’ve towered over the younger man, and he was all too aware

of how intimidating his height could be, not to mention the football-

player-sized chest and his big-boned structure—both a blessing from

his father. “You can tell me. Man-to-man, remember?”

Charlie cocked his head, watching Marcus for a few moments,

forehead wrinkled, likely trying to digest what this seemingly sub-

missive posture of Marcus’s meant. “I liked Julius,” he repeated.

“Do you feel like if you tell me, you’ll be speaking ill of the dead?”

Charlie shifted again, his gaze skittered away from Marcus, and

he pursed his lips, frowning.

“Because that’s not the case,” Marcus began. “Nothing you say

will change what I think of Julius, or what you felt for him. I loved Ju-

lius like a brother; he saved my life more times than I care to remem-

ber. I respected him, but I also know that he could’ve been a better

Dom. And that’s what I want. I want to be a better Dom for you. But

to do that, I need to know what things Julius did, that perhaps you

agreed to, and in the end maybe even liked, but at some point, they

made you uncomfortable or sad or anything other than happy.”

Marcus waited for his answer. Waited quite a while, in fact, while

Charlie fidgeted and fretted, apparently working up the courage to re-

Relearning the Ropes

spond. But when he did, Marcus had to admit, the honesty impressed

him.

“With Julius it was, no, it wasn’t cold. I don’t want to say that.

And I know he loved me but not in the way a man loves another man,

you know? He loved me the way a man loves a pet. A puppy. I’m not

a puppy. I don’t want to be a puppy. I still want a Dom to be in control.

I’ll always want that. I just…” Charlie’s frown deepened. “I remem-

ber the day I met you. The day after Julius had…” He waved a hand.

“You know. I saw you, and I wanted to be with you. I wanted you to

Dom me. You had the look that attracted me, that made me want to

submit. And then when you actually spoke to me, when I saw you

interacting with Julius, all I could think was why hadn’t it been you

in that bar instead of him? But I knew the answer to that. A man like

you wouldn’t go anywhere near that place, and you’d never give two

seconds’ thought to a little tramp like me.”

“Charlie—” Marcus wanted to say that hadn’t been his impres-

sion at all, but Charlie wasn’t done.

“And I wanted to run after you and tell you that this isn’t who I

am inside. I’m just this way because…because no one’s ever given me

a chance to be anything else.” He fisted his left hand and hit it against

his right palm. “I wasn’t a smart kid—I was slow; I didn’t catch on to

things quickly at all. Kids made fun of me, and I didn’t even get it. And

then I got older, and I didn’t like the things I was supposed to like. My

parents didn’t give a shit; they gave up on me way before I ran away.

And everyone that came after them just accepted me as I was. And

that wasn’t bad, sometimes. Everyone wants to be accepted despite

their flaws. But nobody ever thought that maybe I could be more. I

don’t mean a Dom. I’m not a Dom. But I’m not a piece of trash either. I

can be better than I am. I can be more than I am. I have a brain—I think

about things a lot, and sometimes I think I have the right answers,

only no one wants to hear them.” Charlie finally paused for a breath.

“I want to hear them,” Marcus told him. “I’m very proud of how

far you’ve come, how much progress you’ve made. I remember how

uncertain you were when Julius first got you the job. But look at you

now. Even though I’d hate to admit that schmuck at the party tonight

could be right about anything ever, he was right about you.”

Charlie blushed and looked down at his lap, rubbed his shoes

back and forth against each other. “No one’s ever been proud of me.”

“Julius was.” At least, Marcus hoped Julius had been. He should’ve

been.

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“Maybe.” Charlie shrugged. “Sometimes, I felt like Julius tried

things on me or with me just to see how I’d react. Just to see how far

he could push me. Not because he thought I’d like them. Do you know

what I mean?”

Marcus nodded. “I do.” He’d seen that scenario before—Doms

who merely wanted reactions, regardless of the emotion behind them.

“I thought, maybe, that it would be different with you. When Ju-

lius let me play with you at the playhouse, it was different. You asked

me what I wanted; you asked me if I liked what you were doing. I

don’t think…” Charlie bit his bottom lip and cringed. “I don’t think…”

“You don’t think Julius always cared if you liked something or

not?”

“I don’t want to say that about him,” Charlie whispered. “Julius

was good to me, and I make it sound like he wasn’t. He wasn’t perfect,

but neither am I. I shouldn’t talk about him like this.”

“Then let’s talk about us.” Marcus steepled his hands together.

“What do you want from us? What do you want our relationship to

be like?”

“I want you to love me. I want you to see me as different. I want

to be special to you.”

“You are special.”

Charlie raised his head, and there was the tiniest spark of defiance

in his eyes. “Not because I’m a charity case. Not because I’m some

fucked-up broken thing Julius took in from the cold. I want you to val-

ue me for me. Not for my story. Not for what I was, but for what I am.”

“I do care for you,” Marcus told him. God, did he. Charlie’s in-

stant attraction to him had been a mutual thing—Marcus had wanted

to take Charlie off Julius’s hands that same day. In a moment of weak-

ness, he had offered to. Had even said he’d forgive the half-a-million-

dollar loan. But Julius had been fascinated by his new toy and had

refused. And it wasn’t like Julius had abused Charlie, after all. Be-

ing less than great as a Dom wasn’t exactly grounds for Marcus to go

stealing Charlie away.

In hindsight, Julius’s refusal had been for the best. When Mar-

cus’s head had cleared, he realized what he’d almost done—saddled

himself with a sub he really wasn’t prepared for. That alone had so-

lidified his determination to stay platonic with Charlie. “It’s difficult

for me,” he admitted. “I’ve tried to keep my distance from you.”

“So you didn’t get hurt?”

Relearning the Ropes

Marcus shook his head. “So I didn’t hurt Julius.” Because that

was a thing for which Marcus could never have forgiven himself. “Or

you.” The last thing Charlie had needed was to be in the middle of a

tug-of-war between two powerful Doms, both of whom he had feel-

ings for.

Charlie nodded. “I think I understand. When I was in the sex ring,

one of the drivers really liked me. Took time with me and tried to help

me through things. Cleaned me up…” Charlie’s voice broke, and he

cleared his throat. “He always said he wanted to steal me. Run away,

just the two of us, but he couldn’t, because the ring would find us and

take us back or kill us, so I’d be in even more danger if he tried to help

any more than he did. Is that what you mean?”

Marcus’s guts clenched. “Sort of.” He stood and crossed the room,

sitting down on the couch, took hold of Charlie, and held him at arm’s

length. “Look at me. I want to make a promise to you. I promise that

I’m going to be better at this. I still expect you to do as you’re told

without any lip. And there will still be punishments when you screw

up. But I promise to show you more of how I feel.”

“How do you feel?” Charlie asked, voice tiny and timid, eyes big

and round.

How, indeed. Somewhere between feeling fatherly—wanting to

protect Charlie from all harm—and wanting to turn him over and

fuck him until he couldn’t speak. Marcus moved forward and ruffled

Charlie’s hair. “I love you.”

“You do?” The grin that split Charlie’s face would’ve stopped

anyone’s heart flutter, and it nearly stopped Marcus’s.

“Like you, I felt something that first time we met, and again in

the playhouse. Every time I’ve played with you, I’ve wished I didn’t

have to stop.” He ran his hands through Charlie’s hair, then took hold

of Charlie’s chin and tilted it up. Marcus pressed their lips together

softly, thinking to keep it that way—light and easy—but the desire

that rose up in him demanded more. Charlie fisted his hands in the

fabric of Marcus’s dress shirt with a sweet little moan that made Mar-

cus’s cock rock hard.

A surge of dominance shivered through him, and he deepened

the kiss, thrusting his tongue into the heat of Charlie’s mouth, press-

ing Charlie down and back against the arm of the couch, head hang-

ing over. Threading one hand into Charlie’s hair and holding his head

tightly, Marcus snaked his other hand down between them to cup and

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squeeze Charlie’s cock through his slacks. “Mine.” He barely man-

aged to stop kissing long enough to growl the word.

Charlie trembled and writhed beneath him, wrapping his legs

around Marcus’s waist and arching his hips, seeking more contact.

Like the wild thing Marcus had realized he was, Charlie kissed and

licked, sucked and bit at Marcus’s mouth, little gasping grunts and

sighs escaping him, arms tight around Marcus’s neck. Marcus tugged

gently on Charlie’s hair, breaking the kiss to catch his breath.

“Holy shit,” Charlie whispered, wide-eyed.

Marcus chuckled. He stood and stretched his stiff muscles, feeling

suddenly much older than his thirty-two years. “Did you decide what

you wanted to do tonight?”

Charlie blinked several times, a look of starry-eyed wonder on his

face. “Tie me up and have your way with me. Do what you know I

like, and then fuck me.”

Another chuckle. Trust the kid to be blunt and to the point. “Are

you sure you’re up for the restraints?” Tying Charlie up was unpre-

dictable at best, dangerous at worst.

Charlie nodded. “I can take it tonight. I want it.”

“All right, then.” He held a hand out. “Shall we?”

“I take it back.” Charlie sat up quickly; his gaze flicked between

Marcus’s face and his hand and back. “I…I didn’t mean fuck me.”

Marcus arched an eyebrow. Strange after the way he’d just reacted

to a simple kiss, but Marcus would go as slow as was needed. “Just

the bondage?”

“No, I mean, yes. But…” Charlie wrinkled his brow, gnawing on

his lower lip. He swayed back and forth ever so slightly.

Recognizing the beginnings of a panic attack, Marcus sat back

down on the couch and took Charlie’s hand. “I’ll never hurt you. Nev-

er cause you pain you don’t ask for, understand? There’s nothing to

fear with me, Charlie. I know you’re unsure, but if you’ll trust me, I

promise you I’ll show you why I deserve that trust.”

Another quick, curt nod, and Charlie’s teeth started making white

indentations in the soft flesh of his lip.

Marcus traced his finger just below those teeth. “Don’t bite your-

self much harder. You’ll bleed.” And Charlie didn’t deal well with

blood. Not well at all.

The rocking picked up pace. Charlie let out a low, frustrated

moan.

Relearning the Ropes

“Easy.” Marcus ran a hand up and down Charlie’s spine. “Talk

to me. Finish your sentence. You said you didn’t mean for me to fuck

you. What did you mean?”

“I don’t. I don’t want you to fuck me.”

“I don’t expect anything from you,” Marcus assured. “We never

have to get to that level if you’re uncertain of me.”

Charlie rocked faster and shook his head frantically, long hair

whipping back and forth. “That’s not what I mean!”

Marcus slid off the couch and knelt in front of Charlie, taking

Charlie’s face in his hands and holding tightly. “Stop. Charlie? Listen

to me. Stop.”

Tears slipped down Charlie’s cheeks. “Can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You can and you know it. Take a deep breath. Look

at me,” Marcus commanded, pleased when Charlie’s gaze snapped to

his and held there. “Breathe.”

Charlie took several shuddering breaths, and gradually his move-

ments stopped; the wild left his eyes.

“Now talk to me. Explain what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me but not, not fuck me.”

Marcus frowned. Fuck him but not fuck him? What the hell did

that mean in Charlie-speak? “Are you saying you want me to make

love to you?”

Charlie nodded. “I want it to be nice. Slow. Mean something. Be

special.”

“Charlie.” Marcus slid his hands up into Charlie’s hair and gently

scratched his scalp. “It would mean something and be special no mat-

ter what, because it’s with you. I wouldn’t want it any other way but

nice and slow. For us both.” Marcus pushed to his feet and held his

hand out again. “Come.”

Charlie stood obediently and took Marcus’s hand, following a

step or two behind like he always had with Julius. The habit annoyed

Marcus more than a little—he preferred a sub walk beside him—but

that was a lesson for a different day. He guided them down the hall

and opened the door to his own bedroom, aware of Charlie’s stifled

gasp.

Julius had never allowed his subs inside his personal bedroom,

and that was something Marcus hadn’t understood. To Julius, a sub

was little more than a servant with benefits. Marcus, on the other

hand, thought that if a man was going to have a live-in sub, he might

as well share his life in all ways, so long as he was the one in control.

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He chuckled, Anton’s words of wisdom coming back to him. No Dom

is ever really in control.

He pulled Charlie into the room behind him, purposely leaving

the door open as a sign that he knew what a powerful thing being

there represented, and he’d understand if Charlie were a little uncer-

tain. “Welcome to my little sanctuary.”

Charlie took a step toward the dresser and stopped, looking to

Marcus for permission. Marcus nodded, pleased that Charlie wanted

to explore. Charlie took a cautious five more steps to the dresser. Ev-

ery movement seemed to be measured and thought out, not casual

and comfortable, as Marcus had hoped.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” Charlie cooed, picking up a small, faceted

crystal duck. He held it up and turned it over and over.

Marcus stood back for a moment, enjoying Charlie’s fascination.

He’d had the duck since his childhood—one of the only spots of beau-

ty in an otherwise black existence—and he could clearly recall do-

ing just as Charlie did now, twisting and turning it and watching the

sparkle of light and the little rainbows of color that danced inside it.

“I’ve had that for a long time.”

Charlie jumped, his hand opened reflexively, and he dropped

the duck onto the wooden top of the dresser with a loud clatter. He

groped clumsily after it, retrieving it and its unattached head. “Oh

no!”

“It’s all right.” Marcus came up behind him and took the duck

from him.

“I’m so sorry!” Tears threatened at the corners of Charlie’s eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.” Marcus fit the duck’s head and body to-

gether. “See? It’s a clean break. Just a little glue, and it’ll be back to

normal.”

“Like me, huh?”

He kissed a teardrop as it trickled down Charlie’s cheek. “Just

like you.” Marcus sat the pieces of the duck down and slid his arms

around Charlie’s waist, nuzzling the side of his neck. A month ago,

Marcus had awakened to the worst news he could’ve fathomed. But

maybe that had a silver lining. He had Charlie now; he had the chance

to show Charlie what a real relationship could be, what they could be

together.

Marcus maneuvered them to the bed and sat on the edge; Charlie

immediately knelt at his feet. He stroked a hand through Charlie’s

hair. “You needn’t kneel to me, unless you prefer to.”

Relearning the Ropes

Charlie raised his head, cocked his left eyebrow, and frowned. “I

don’t know if I prefer it or not. It’s always been expected of me. I’m

used to kneeling. It’s comfortable. I suppose I do prefer it.”

And thank God for that, because Marcus couldn’t deny he very

much liked the sight of Charlie on his knees. He wiggled his feet, hop-

ing Charlie would understand his request. Dom or not, Marcus didn’t

like having to order subs to do things; he preferred for them to pick up

on subtle clues and take their own actions. Still performing a service

for him, but under their own power.

Charlie reached for the laces of Marcus’s shoes and began slowly

untying first one, then the other. He slipped the shoes off gently, pull-

ing socks off afterward and bringing them to his face before stopping

and blushing brightly. “I, um…”

“You have a kink for feet, hmm?” Apparently there were a lot of

things he still didn’t know about Charlie.

Charlie nodded. “May I sniff them?”

Marcus chuckled with a wrinkle of his nose. “Sniff away.” So not

his cup of tea. Erotic, though, the way Charlie pressed the socks to his

nose and breathed in deeply, then slowly slid them up and down his

own neck.

“Thank you,” Charlie murmured, setting the socks and shoes

aside reverently. He leaned up on his knees to unhook Marcus’s belt

and unbutton his slacks. Hand hovering near the zipper, he paused

and looked uncertainly up at Marcus.

Marcus stood and gestured to his waistband. “Go ahead.” He

sucked in a breath and held it as Charlie instead used his teeth to

ease the zipper down. Marcus stepped out of his slacks, kicking them

across the room.

“May I undress for you?”

“If you’d like.” Marcus sat back down as Charlie started to slowly

undress, every shimmy of his hips, every piece of clothing that tum-

bled to the floor burning through Marcus. He took his time, keeping

his gaze locked with Marcus’s, his breathing slowly hitching, becom-

ing quicker, turning from deep, steady breaths to soft gasps.

He kicked his socks off at last, then reached for Marcus’s tie, un-

knotting it and letting it slither through his hand before he dropped it.

He started on Marcus’s shirt, unbuttoning each button with agonizing

slowness. Marcus shrugged, and the shirt fell back, leaving Charlie’s

fingertips just brushing the flesh there. He pulled the shirt from be-

hind Marcus, balled it up, and tossed it to the floor. When their eyes

DC Juris

met again, Marcus was shaking so badly he doubted he could even

stand.

He reached out and pulled Charlie into the space between his

legs, admiring the body before him. Though much shorter and slight-

er than Marcus, Charlie was firmly built, his muscles well defined,

but without the hulking, impressively powerful manner of Marcus.

Charlie had a lean, wiry look about him, entirely at war with those big

brown doe eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

Charlie blushed. “Julius never said that.”

“He should’ve.” Marcus tickled his fingers up and down Charlie’s

sides, pulling an uncharacteristically carefree giggle from Charlie. Ju-

lius should’ve done a lot of things. He stood and gestured to the bed.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

While Charlie pulled back the blanket and top sheet and snuggled

in on his back, Marcus went to his closet in search of his bag of good-

ies. He returned to the bed, deposited the bag on the end, and held

up a pair of ropes with leather cuffs attached. “Is this what you had

in mind?”

Charlie licked his lips. “Those will do nicely, thank you.”

Marcus climbed onto the bed and straddled Charlie. “You’re cer-

tain?”

“I can take it.”

He harbored doubts as to that statement, but he had to trust Char-

lie if this was going to work. Marcus tied the ropes to each post of the

headboard and secured the cuffs around Charlie’s wrists. They closed

with Velcro instead of a buckle, which he usually found rather ghetto,

but in this situation—where quick release might be a necessity—they

were perfect. He ran a finger under the edge of each cuff, assuring

himself that he hadn’t tightened them too much.

Charlie’s breathing hitched up a notch as Marcus backed away

and settled between his legs. “Are you all right?”

Charlie nodded quickly. “I know I don’t look it. I’ll use my word

if I need to, I promise.”

“Good. You don’t need to impress me in here. Not now, not ever.

Our bedroom has to be about trust, understand?”

“Our bedroom?” Charlie repeated the words with wide eyes.

“If you’d like that. I know I would.” The thought of having Char-

lie with him every night, whether they did anything or not, swelled

his chest and filled him with a sense of peace.

Relearning the Ropes

“I would. I really would. Thank you.” He tugged on the ropes,

pulling a startled, worried jerk from Marcus. “Just testing them.”

Marcus turned and dug into his bag, came up with a handful

of small, rubber-padded alligator clamps. “Any interest in these to-

night?”

A low, long moan was his answer. “Everywhere. Please.”

Marcus grinned. Slowly and carefully, Marcus applied the clamps

in strategic spots he knew Charlie liked. He started with Charlie’s nip-

ples, pinching each one gently and raising it up, slipping the clamp

onto the flesh under his fingertips. Charlie arched up off the bed and

let out a hiss that ended in another deep moan. His breath coming in

gasps, he kept his gaze riveted to Marcus’s hands as they moved over

his body.

Marcus added clamps to each of Charlie’s earlobes—chucking

when Charlie shook his head from side to side and shuddered—then

one to the little wall of flesh between Charlie’s nostrils. Charlie wrin-

kled his nose and snorted, grinning like a fool. More clamps followed,

to each side of Charlie’s belly button, and finally three on his bottom

lip. Charlie traced his tongue across those clamps, letting out a whim-

per.

“Doing okay?” Marcus asked. He moved one hand down to stroke

Charlie’s already dripping cock; with his other hand he traced wide

circles around Charlie’s right nipple.

“Yes.”

“Tell me your safe word.” Not that he didn’t already know the

word, and not that he didn’t trust Charlie to use it, but the application

of those last few clamps had brought a glazed look to Charlie’s eyes.

“Broccoli,” Charlie murmured.

“Good. Very good. God, you’re gorgeous like this. You please

me very much.” Marcus reached for the bag again, this time brought

out a leather cock ring, a bottle of lube, and a black paddle studded

with little silver metal nubs. He squirted a small amount of lube into

his hand and picked up the cock ring, pausing when his gaze finally

landed fully on Charlie’s cock. Charlie’s poor, scarred cock. A mag-

nificent thing in length and girth, it bore the marks of a long line of

abusive Doms Charlie had suffered through before ending up with

Julius. Marcus had heard about the damage from Julius but had never

actually seen it himself, even in the few sessions they’d had at Anton’s.

Marcus made a fist around Charlie’s cock and stroked his slick

hand up and down, trying to focus his thoughts and calm his pound-

DC Juris

ing heart and the rage swirling inside him. Charlie, like any other sub-

missive, was a thing of beauty; Charlie’s submission was a gift to a

Dom—a privilege, not a right—not a thing anyone should expect. No

Dom worth his salt would ever harm someone in his care. Doing so

was beyond criminal.

“Marcus?” Charlie raised his head off the bed and peered down

the length of his body. “Did I do something wrong?”

Tears stung his eyes, but Marcus shook his head and smiled up

at Charlie. “No, love. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was just en-

joying the feel of your cock in my hand.” The answer earned him a

momentary frown, but then Charlie sighed and laid his head back

down, rocking his hips. Making certain Charlie’s cock was good and

slippery, Marcus fastened the cock ring at its tightest and rewarded

Charlie with a nibbling lick at the head of his cock.

“Oh fuck.” Charlie whipped his head from side to side, moaning.

“More, please…”

But he didn’t mean more mouth, and Marcus knew it. If he un-

derstood one thing about Charlie, he understood that Charlie didn’t

just like pain—he loved it. Craved it. Craved being pushed over the

edge, having control ripped from him, having his limits tested—and

his limits were high. Which was why he’d stayed with so many ass-

holes over the years—Charlie had loved the torment and torture, just

not the abuse; but he’d been unable to tell the difference and unable

to leave the very thing that had torn him apart. Like an addict, Mar-

cus mused, knowing the problem but unable to take action against it

without help.

Marcus retrieved the wedge-shaped pillow he kept on the trunk

at the end of the bed. “Lift your ass.” Charlie complied, and Marcus

slid the pillow under him, smaller side first, so that his hips and ass

were elevated off the bed. “Keep your legs straight up. I want your ass

fully exposed.” Normally he delivered spankings with subs on their

stomachs, but he needed to see Charlie’s face and eyes.

Marcus grabbed up the paddle, rolling the handle between his

hands so that it spun around and around. “Time for a spanking, I

think.”

Charlie writhed and nodded. “I’ve been bad.”

“You have indeed.” Unlike how he normally began with other

subs, Marcus didn’t start lightly. Not with Charlie. Slow and light

only made Charlie angry, and an angry Charlie was nearly uncontrol-

lable. Marcus landed a solid, loud hit on Charlie’s right ass cheek.

Relearning the Ropes

Charlie howled—literally, sounded like a damned wolf—and

thrashed as much as the wrist restraints would allow. “More!”

Marcus gave three more smacks, then ran his hand over Char-

lie’s flushed skin as he leaned down to lick again at the head of Char-

lie’s cock. He pursed his lips and sucked just the tip, just enough to

taste Charlie’s saltiness. His own cock throbbed, engorged and hard,

swinging heavily between his legs. He wanted to straddle Charlie and

jerk himself to completion, marking Charlie with his cum.

Marcus shivered at the thought and dug his fingernails into the

paddle’s rawhide wrapped handle. No time to think of himself. Not

yet. These moments had to be for Charlie, had to last as long as Mar-

cus could make them. As long as he could push himself to hold out.

He rained down smack after smack, alternating between Charlie’s

ass and the backs of his thighs. Charlie bucked and cried out, begging

for more and more, and Marcus gave it to him. He stopped just short

of drawing blood; as it was, Charlie’s flesh looked like Marcus had

taken a meat tenderizer to it—bright red welts covered him. He’d be

sore tomorrow.

Marcus stretched out between Charlie’s legs, running his tongue

over the bruised flesh. Charlie’s entire body trembled as Marcus cir-

cled the tip of his tongue around Charlie’s tightly puckered opening.

Charlie let out a frustrated groan, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Marcus chuckled. So much for slow. “Lower your legs,” he in-

structed. He gave Charlie a moment to relax them before he squirted

a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and slid three of them

quickly inside. Charlie screamed and rocked against his hand; Marcus

nearly lost control as Charlie’s muscles clamped down tightly, sur-

rounding his fingers in tight, hot bliss.

He twisted his wrist, seeking and finding that little lump, tracing

his touch across it and trying to keep from panting as Charlie rode his

fingers. Just seeing Charlie like this—thrashing, crying out, so thor-

oughly caught up in his ecstasy—ripped the last vestiges of restraint

from Marcus.

With a growl, he withdrew his fingers, conscious of Charlie’s

mournful cry, and quickly lubed up his own cock. Marcus groaned as

he sank into Charlie’s welcoming warmth and Charlie’s hips rose up

to meet his downward thrust. He barely registered to unsnap the cock

ring before reality fled. Charlie called his name—moaned it, cried it,

whimpered it—and that was all it took. Marcus reared back, holding

tightly to Charlie’s hips, and thrust himself home again and again,

DC Juris

mindless of anything but the tingling racing up and down his spine,

the fluttering in his stomach, and the heat of Charlie’s body.

Vaguely, he remembered the wrist restraints, remembered that

Charlie couldn’t see to his own pleasure. Marcus forced himself to

slow the pace, though Charlie didn’t seem to want it slowed down,

just long enough to find a grip on Charlie’s cock. He sped up again,

working Charlie’s cock with one hand, holding on to him for dear life

with the other.

Marcus tried to focus on Charlie, focus on getting Charlie to that

same precipice and tumbling them both over the edge. But his vision

blurred, and his breathing hitched, chest constricting as orgasm ripped

through him, tearing a soundless scream from his empty lungs.

He heard Charlie cry out, but distantly, as if Charlie were a mil-

lion miles away. At length Marcus recovered, sucking in a great, gasp-

ing breath. Charlie lay motionless beneath him except for the panting

rise and fall of his chest. Charlie’s cum coated Marcus’s hand, and it

brought an odd sort of calmness to Marcus; he’d managed to see to

Charlie after all, despite losing his head.

Marcus crawled forward, releasing clamps as he went, and quick-

ly unfastened the wrist cuffs. “Charlie?” He put his hands on either

side of Charlie’s face and shook him gently.

Charlie’s eyes opened slowly, his tongue snaked out to lick at

where the clamps had left little marks on his lip. “Thank you,” he

murmured.

Marcus grinned. “I should say the same.” He’d never known a

sub—or another man—like Charlie, and he couldn’t imagine his life

without Charlie in it. Indeed, couldn’t remember his life before Char-

lie at this moment.

Charlie wound a strand of Marcus’s hair around his fingers.

“Hold me?”

Marcus nodded and settled in next to Charlie, holding him close.

He pulled the covers up over them both and rested his chin on the top

of Charlie’s head.

“Marcus?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.” Charlie slid his arms around Marcus’s waist and

pressed his ear to Marcus’s chest.

“I love you too.” Marcus sighed happily. This would work. He’d

wondered at Julius’s sanity, leaving Charlie in his care when Julius

knew a live-in sub wasn’t what he wanted. But Julius must’ve known