“So, I can sign Marty in as your guest, Mr. Beauman. Have you explained that he’ll need to wear this?” Christian produced a strip of black leather from his desk drawer.
Marty stared at Beau in shock, then back at Christian. “I… He… Oh.”
“I may have neglected to mention it, Christian. Marty, you need to wear a club collar so that other members know that you are not to be approached. If you have it on, no Dominant will speak to you without my permission. I’m going to put it on you now.”
“Everyone wears one?” Marty felt proud that his voice didn’t tremble.
“All submissives who aren’t available to play,” Christian explained.
Beau didn’t ask permission, he just slipped the collar around Marty’s neck and fastened the buckle.
“Okay?”
“Um…yes?”
“You need to tell me if it’s too tight.”
“No, it’s fine. Comfortable.”
Why the hell aren’t I freaking out about this? He put me in a collar!
Beau cupped the nape of Marty’s neck. “It suits you perfectly. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s go and eat.”
Glad that he didn’t have time to overthink the situation any more, Marty followed Beau to a lift that took them down a floor, then out into a very plush lounge, which they crossed to reach the restaurant. The deep pile carpets and polished wood oozed quality. Classical music played in the background but wasn’t obtrusive. Each table had a delicate floral centerpiece and a chunky cream candle.
“Wow, this is lovely,” Marty said.
Beau beamed at him. “Isn’t it? You don’t get candles and flowers at lunchtime. They make an extra effort with the romantic atmosphere in the evenings. The food is fantastic—not too fancy, just really tasty. I’m glad you like it, this is a home from home for me.”
A server, wearing not very much at all, greeted them with a big smile and took them to a free table. Beau held Marty’s chair for him and invited him to sit. As Marty took everything in, he realized that not everyone used the furniture. Some men knelt on the floor while others sat in their partner’s lap. The outfits he observed were equally diverse, though there was a preponderance of leather. Some of the diners wore even less than the waitstaff. Marty stopped ogling everything and admired his dinner companion instead. Beau was very handsome in dark jeans and a crisp white shirt. Even though his hair wasn’t quite tamed, it suited him and there was just a touch of curl in the ends.
“Mr. Beauman.” A slight, white-blond server stopped by the table. “Good evening.”
“Good evening. It’s Ellis, isn’t it?”
The server nodded and bounced on his bare toes.
“I’ll have iced water please. Marty, what would you like to drink?”
Marty was tempted to ask for something that would act as a sedative because he felt like he was sitting on hot coals, but checking around he saw that there was no alcohol on any of the tables.
“Could I have apple juice please?”
“Of course.” Beau nodded to the server, who scurried away.
Marty picked up his menu, not because he wanted to examine the meal choices but because it gave him something to do with his hands. “What’s good here?”
“Everything. The chef is brilliant. I generally prefer the pasta. What are your favorites?”
Marty frowned a bit as he studied his menu. He didn’t want to say anything without thinking about it first, in case he made a fool of himself. “There’s not much I don’t like. Nothing too hot, though. I’m a complete wuss when it comes to chili or curry. Did you know that the hottest chili in the world is the Carolina Reaper
? It’s like a lumpy red golf ball. It comes in at two point two million SHUs. That’s Scoville heat units. The Scoville scale is the measurement of the spicy heat of chili peppers or other spicy foods. It’s also known as the Scoville Organoleptic Test.”
“I didn’t know that.” Beau grinned.
Marty couldn’t stop himself. Nerves kept him talking. “It’s fascinating. I
n Scoville’s method, an exact weight of dried pepper is dissolved in alcohol to extract the capsinoids then diluted in a solution of sugar water. Increasing concentrations of the extracted capsinoids are given to a panel of five trained tasters, until a majority can detect the heat in a dilution. It’s imprecise due to human subjectivity, depending on the taster’s palate and their number of mouth heat receptors, which varies greatly among people. Another weakness is sensory fatigue because as you can probably imagine, the palate is quickly desensitized to capsaicins after tasting a few samples within a short time period.” Marty paused and met Beau’s eyes. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry…” He slapped the menu down and hung his head. He was mortified that he’d let his enthusiasm for facts get away from him yet again.
“Don’t apologize.” Beau reached across the table and took Marty’s hand.
Marty tried to pull away, but Beau held him firmly. “Don’t ever be ashamed of how intelligent you are. I find it incredibly sexy and you just taught me something new. I wouldn’t want to be one of those tasters, though.”
“I like to learn things too,” Marty whispered. “I want you to teach me…”
“About what?” Beau squeezed his fingers.
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. Nothing happens without your permission.”
“I want you to show me all this—” Marty waved his free hand. “I want to find out what it’s like to be with a Dominant and I don’t want you to dilute anything, I want the real you.”
“It will be my pleasure, Marty. In fact, it will be a pleasure for both of us.”
Beau’s eyes had such a sexy twinkle. He exuded energy and mischief. Those eyes held Marty in a trance.
“Thanks, Ellis. We’ll both take the smoked chicken pasta please with a side salad to share.”
Marty hadn’t even noticed the server return with their drinks.
Ellis bobbed his head then skipped away toward the kitchen. Marty had never had anyone order for him before. Strangely, he liked it, but it also made him feel shy and nervous.
It’s no different from work. Becket orders me around all the time. I’m not crazy for enjoying this, I’m not.
His mental foot stamp gave him courage.
“You made the perfect choice. I adore smoked chicken and not many places serve it.”
“And I’ll bet you could tell me all about the smoking process, couldn’t you?” Beau teased.
Marty wrinkled his nose. “I could, but I’m not going to. It’s not that interesting.”
Beau stroked the back of Marty’s hand. “Tell me about yourself instead, Marty, your family I mean. I know you can’t really talk about your job.”
Oh God, it’s so hard to concentrate when he touches me.
“Okay, well…I’m an only child and I haven’t spoken to my parents since I graduated. They don’t like the choices I’ve made.”
“Because you’re gay?” Beau didn’t sound judgmental, just a little disappointed. Marty prayed that he’d never be the cause of that tone.
“Oh no, I think my mother knew that before I did.” Marty chuckled. “A teenage obsession with any sport involving Lycra was a bit of a giveaway. I always insisted on watching the swimming and diving events at the Olympics. Gymnastics too.”
“I can sympathize, though for me rugby players were the ones to drool over.”
Marty giggled, picturing a younger Beau leering at his TV screen. “No, the reason I’m such a disappointment is because of my job. My dad is a neurosurgeon, my mother is Head of Research at University College Hospital for Tropical Diseases. I was supposed to study medicine…but I elected to read mathematics. Then, an even worse sin, I became a civil servant.”
“They don’t know what you really do?”
“Nope. As far as they are concerned I have some low level analyst’s job in the Department for Work and Pensions. I am truly the black sheep of the family.”
“Oh, so you’re a rebel? I can see I’m going to have my hands full with you.”
“No! I’m no trouble at all, I promise,” Marty protested. “I hate arguments and confrontation.” He realized too late that Beau was teasing him again. “Sorry, I have a tendency to talk too much when I’m nervous.”
Beau kept petting the back of Marty’s hand. “Does it make you uneasy when I touch you?”
“No… I— Yes, a little.” Marty was thrown by the sudden change of subject but understood that Beau was trying to distract him from thoughts and memories that made him sad.
“Good.” Beau smirked, but had to release Marty’s hand when their food arrived so that Ellis could set the plates down. “I’d hate for our evening to be boring.”
Ellis served with quiet efficiency. The meal proved to be delicious, and Marty relaxed enough to enjoy it. Beau chose a simple dessert of vanilla ice cream with brandy snap curls, which came in a single bowl with only one spoon. Marty soon discovered that being fed by his date was a major turn-on and he was a little sad when the sweet treat was gone. Beau ordered coffee to round off the meal. It came served with handmade chocolates and the combined bittersweet flavors had Marty’s taste buds doing a dance of pleasure.
“I’m surprised you’re not the size of a house if you eat here all the time,” Marty said. He leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. “That’s the best meal I’ve had in an age.”
Beau patted his flat stomach. “The benefits of a physically demanding job and a local swim tank.”
“Swim tank, what’s that?”
“It’s a small pool that generates a current for you to swim against. It’s harder work than swimming in an ordinary pool and you don’t have to fight a crowd. I book a twenty-minute session four times a week. It’s a surprisingly good workout and much cheaper than a private leisure-club membership. The place I use is open twenty-four hours a day so I can go after my shifts, no matter what time it is. I find it a great way to wind down.”
Marty really wanted to see the results of Beau’s regime in the flesh. He could visualize washboard abs and hard pectoral muscles. He realized far too late that the tip of his tongue was poking from between his lips. He gave Beau an anxious glance and caught his grin.
“Sorry, I was just…” Marty didn’t quite know how to finish his explanation.
Beau laughed. “Thinking about my gorgeous, ripped body?” He gave Marty a cheeky grin.
Marty decided that honesty was the best policy and nodded.
“Well, play your cards right and I might just let you catch a glimpse later.” Beau stood up, rounded the table then pulled Marty’s chair back for him to stand as well.
Beau really enjoyed playing the gentleman. He hadn’t often had the opportunity. Marty had an air of vulnerability that kept Beau on his best behavior. He didn’t want to do anything that might stop Marty accepting a second date. Other than a few wide-eyed stares, Marty was dealing well with the unique surroundings of The Underground. Beau was proud of him. Marty’s curiosity was evident but he hadn’t freaked out or run away. That gave Beau hope that the cute young man would be happy to take the next step.
He had no doubt that Marty felt physical attraction toward him. He doubted that Marty could hide a single emotion he felt. His expression, his eyes, gave away everything he was thinking. Beau already felt ridiculously protective and, he had to admit, possessive. Covetous glances from other Doms in the restaurant hadn’t escaped his notice. Beneath his wire-framed specs, Marty was gorgeous, but seemed completely unaware of the stir he was causing. An aura of innocence surrounded him and it was like a siren call to half the club members. Beau wanted to attach a heavy chain to Marty’s club collar and stamp the word ‘taken’ on his forehead.
“Maybe not on a first date,” he muttered.
“Pardon me?” Marty asked.
“Nothing.” Beau covered his embarrassment at being caught talking to himself. “I was just wondering what you’d like to do next. If you’re up for it, we can go downstairs to the club proper and I’ll show you around. There will probably be a demonstration on as it’s Saturday night and I’m sure there will be a few people around who would love to meet you. But if you’d rather, we can catch a movie, go for a walk along the river…anything you like.”
Beau watched Marty’s face carefully. It was patently obvious that Marty got insecure when it came to making decisions. He fidgeted, sucked on a knuckle or let his glance flick anywhere but on Beau. This time he went for the knuckle. Beau was quite happy to take control and decide for him but he wanted to tread carefully. He still couldn’t be sure how Marty would react to more obvious dominance on Beau’s part, though all the signs indicated that submission would be a very comfortable state for him. Sure enough, Marty was true to type.
“I don’t mind, whatever you’d like to do is good with me.”
The light flush on Marty’s cheekbones told Beau which option Marty really preferred, even if he wasn’t prepared to say it out loud.
“Then we’ll stay.” Beau made sure his tone was decisive. He held out a hand to Marty who grasped it like a lifeline.
“There’s air conditioning downstairs, but it still gets quite warm. You might want to take off your sweater,” Beau suggested.
Marty immediately pulled it off as if he’d been ordered to do so, revealing a plain white T-shirt that clung to his lean form like a second skin. The V-neckline also served to make the club collar he wore appear more prominent. Beau wanted to devour Marty like the delicious morsel he was.
“Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Why?” Marty pulled at his T-shirt. “Is it too scruffy?”
“No, not at all. It’s just that all the big bad moths downstairs are going to be attracted to your pretty flame and I don’t like that idea one bit.”