“Tell me what being a Dom means to you,” Marty said.
“Where did that come from?” Beau asked, buying himself some time before he had to answer.
“You’re sitting there, just eating breakfast, yet you have this aura of complete certainty about your place in the world. You want to punish me. I think you want to fuck me. Maybe both at the same time, but why? What makes you tick, Mr. Beauman?” Marty cocked his head to one side and waited for a response.
“Your need to know how things, and people, work is insatiable isn’t it?” Beau shook his head. “I’m not sure I can give you a straight answer, but I’ll try.” He sipped his coffee. “I only feel comfortable when I’m in control of a situation. That applies in my job and in my private life. I understand the need for discipline and hierarchy from the military and from the fire service. I believe it works on an emotional level too.”
Marty listened intently, his body language open.
“I want to be worthy of a man’s trust. Submission is the ultimate expression of that trust. As a Dom I want to give my submissive what he needs on every level—protection, fulfilment, even pain if that’s what he desires. Physical control of his body is part of that, through bondage, chastity, denial, torture.”
Marty’s eyes grew round but he didn’t speak.
“CBT, that’s cock and ball torture, can bring great pleasure,” Beau explained. “Nipple play can be seen as torture as can the use of hot wax, breath control, even spiked gloves or cock rings. Pain can be pleasurable in the extreme, Marty. I’m not talking about waterboarding a la Guantanamo here.”
“I know.” Marty batted his lashes. “You need to command. I, apparently, enjoy taking orders. It seems we are very compatible.”
“You also know exactly how to get a rise out of me, don’t you?”
Marty sniggered.
Beau sighed. “That’s not the kind of rise I was referring to, though it does seem to go along with it. That little exhibition you just put on with your food. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”
“It was an experiment,” Marty admitted. “I wanted to get an idea of your tolerance levels. They aren’t very high, by the way.”
“You can be a brat all you like,” Beau said. “Just be prepared to take the consequences. If I think you’re playing me because you want to be punished, I can guarantee you won’t always enjoys what comes next. There’s a big difference between a spanking for punishment and one for sexual enjoyment.”
Marty nibbled on his lower lip. “I like proof. I like statistical evidence. I think you’ll have to give me a demonstration to convince me.”
Beau smirked. “Then you should put some thought into how many times my palm will need to make contact with your bare ass before you come.”
Marty’s breath hissed from between his lips. “Velocity will be a key factor in deciding that.” His voice cracked as he spoke.
“It will, and if I get my timing right you won’t be thinking about anything but when, where and how hard the next strike will be.” Beau waved to Beryl and indicated that he wanted the bill. She brought it over straight away.
“Hope you enjoyed the food, boys. Will we be seeing you again soon?” she asked.
“No doubt, Beryl, though I’ll need to get some exercise in first. You won’t love me any more if I get fat and flabby, will you?” He patted his stomach and ignored Marty’s snort of amusement.
Beryl flipped her hair and stuck her hip out in an exaggerated pose. “If I was twenty years younger, you wouldn’t stand a chance, even if you do prefer men.”
“True, Beryl, very true.” Beau chuckled and slid out from the booth. He grabbed Marty’s hand and tugged him out too.
“Enjoy the rest of the day,” Beryl called as they escaped out of the diner onto the street.
Beau kept hold of Marty’s hand as they strolled along in the early afternoon sunshine, occasionally bumping together.
“Exercise, huh?” Marty said.
“Absolutely. We’ll walk off some calories on the way back to my place.”
“No romantic stroll along the river?”
“No. I have other plans for you that I don’t think should wait.”
Marty was quiet for a bit as they walked, and Beau worried that he was pushing him too fast. “Nothing happens that you don’t agree to, Marty.”
“Oh, I know… It’s just…well, my dick is so hard and you’re walking fast… It’s chafing. I don’t want to come before we even get started.” He finished the sentence in a whisper.
That made Beau want to get home even sooner. Perhaps they could jog? “How can I distract you, then?” He settled for a less energetic option.
“Well, Becket mentioned that you might have a serial arsonist on your hands. Why don’t you tell me about firebugs—how do you know when you’re dealing with someone like that? Apart from the fires themselves of course.”
That was something Beau could talk about. He slowed his pace out of consideration for Marty’s dick.
“I don’t pretend to be an expert, you’d need to talk to one of the fire-investigation teams for real insight, or someone like Joe Dexter—he’s a criminal psychologist, a profession that comes in handy when he’s dealing with his sub, Olly.”
“I can’t wait to meet this Olly, he sounds like a lot of fun,” Marty said.
“He’ll do nothing but teach you bad habits and lure you into mischief.” Beau grunted. “Fire is a far safer topic than that menace. Where was I? I suppose most people know the term ‘pyromaniac’ and associate that with fire starters, but that’s not accurate at all. Apparently, pyromania is a recognized clinical disorder and quite rare. Pyros act because of an incontrollable impulse. They can’t help themselves even though they know exactly what they’re doing, they don’t have any motivation other than a fascination with fire. Arsonists are a whole different ball game.”
Marty skipped a little to keep up with Beau. “So, that must mean that they do have motive then?”
“Yes, but unfortunately not one single motive. Arsonists start fires for lots of reasons, though personally I’d say they have one thing in common—they take enjoyment out of seeing things destroyed by burning. There’s malicious intent. Fire is their weapon of choice and just as lethal as any gun or knife.”
Beau felt familiar anger at the thought of how reckless and disrespectful of human life these people were.
“So, I imagine their motivations are no different from any other criminal. Greed, jealousy, revenge. Attention-seeking, covering up another crime…”
“Absolutely, but there are also the pseudo hero types, those who start fires so that they can rush to the rescue, and fire groupies, who just want to watch firefighters at work.”
“You have groupies?”
“Who doesn’t love a man in uniform?”
Marty went quiet. Beau waited for a while, expecting him to speak, but he didn’t. Beau came to a halt, circled his hand around the back of Marty’s neck and pulled him close. “What’s wrong?”
Marty’s expression was one of bewilderment, betrayed by the little furrow between his brows. “I…I don’t like the idea that other people get to drool over you. How can I be jealous? I’ve known you all of two days and I don’t want anyone else pawing you but me.”
Beau chuckled. “Feeling possessive? I thought that was my thing.”
Marty ducked his head. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I would never… Marty, you’ve known me for a lot longer than two days. More like six months… I hope I’ve had a little place in that pretty head of yours since the explosion. You’ve certainly been in my mind since then. You were mine from the moment you fought your way out of the debris to get help for Becket. You just didn’t know it.”
“You thought of me all this time?”
“I did. I even checked with Becket, in his hospital bed, that he had no claim on you. But I’m a patient man, Marty, as you will discover. It wasn’t the right time with Becket so badly injured and you busy clearing up the aftermath of the operation. I don’t play around, Marty. All my attention will be focused on you. You can be my groupie from now on.”
Marty buried his face in Beau’s chest. “The uniform is kind of hot,” he mumbled. “I thought about you too, you know… I just never thought that someone like you would be interested in a boring geek like me.”
“Geek, I can’t argue with. Boring, never, and I don’t want you to put yourself down like that. Do it again and I’ll assume you’re fishing for compliments, and that’s just another reason to punish you.”
Marty moaned and tugged on Beau’s hand. “Can we keep walking now?”
Beau’s building wasn’t much further. Within five minutes or so Marty stood before the imposing façade of a huge warehouse, right on the river.
“Wow!” Marty exclaimed. “This place is amazing. How on earth can you afford to live here? Oh…sorry, that’s none of my business. Ignore me. My brain and my mouth are not connected very well.”
“Think nothing of it. Sometimes I can’t believe I live here either. The landlord is something of a philanthropist. He rents these places out to underpaid, overworked public servants like me for much less than the usual rate for a place like this.” Beau squeezed Marty’s shoulder. “All my neighbors wear uniforms. Don’t let me catch you admiring any of them.”
“I promise not to ogle. The government owns my building… I get a subsidized rate too, but all my neighbors are boring civil servants. Well, most of them are probably spies, come to think about it, but they don’t wear uniforms.”
Beau laughed. “I love the way you talk so nonchalantly about espionage.”
“Only because you already know what Becket and I do for a living. As far as the rest of the world is concerned I’m a boring desk-jockey spending my days buried in tedious calculations.” He sighed. “Even if they knew the truth, I doubt it would make much difference. I’d still be a disgrace to the family name engaging in such a sordid profession.” He shrugged and smiled at Beau. “Are you going to invite me in?”
Beau pushed open the heavy double doors and led the way into an imposing lobby. A set of mailboxes was fixed to one wall, and opposite, a notice board overflowed with all manner of flyers and posters.
“The lift is a bit temperamental. I prefer to use the stairs, it’s a fireman thing,” Beau said, pushing open the door to the stairwell. “My place is on the top floor.” He set off at a jog, Marty close at his heels. Access to the top floor apartments was from a single corridor that ran the length of the building. “All the units are identical inside in terms of layout. Arnie, that’s the landlord, lets everyone decorate however they want. I quite like the industrial design, so I haven’t done a great deal.” Beau found his heart was thumping a little and it had nothing to do with the run up the stairs. He wanted Marty to like his home, to feel comfortable there. It seemed important. He unlocked the door then indicated to Marty that he should go in first. Beau pulled the door closed behind them. The latch engaged with a gentle snick.
Marty took a few paces forward and gazed around. “I love it!” He did a pirouette, taking everything in. “You were right to leave it in its original state. The exposed pipework is a distinctive feature and the brick is a lovely warm shade of red.”
“Thanks. There’s this living, dining, study space. One bedroom and a decent-sized bathroom. Not exactly palatial, but it suits me.”
“You could fit my place in here three times over,” Marty said. “I love the sense of space and those huge windows are fantastic.” He ran across to them. “You have a view of the river too.”
Beau wandered across to join him. “I’ve got the best side of the building. The flats on the back have a view of a meat-packing plant. Whenever someone moves out from the riverside, there’s a draw for the other tenants and someone gets to move across. New people in always get the back view first. I lucked out and got the river from the start—I was one of the first to move in. Had to put up with the racket of ongoing building work for a while, but this was worth it.” He stood at Marty’s shoulder, stroked his arms and gradually pulled them behind Marty’s back until he could restrain him with one hand.
Marty stilled. Keeping hold of his wrists, Beau slipped his arm around Marty’s slender waist and spread his fingers over Marty’s stomach. He kissed his neck.
“How does this make you feel?” Beau squeezed Marty’s wrists tighter. He moved his hand lower, sliding just the tips of his fingers beneath Marty’s waistband. The heat from Marty’s skin was intense.
“I…don’t know.”
“Yes you do. Tell me.”
“Vulnerable. Safe. Turned on… Confused. That makes no sense…”
“It makes perfect sense to me.”
“When you touch me, I can’t think.”
Beau took a step back and let Marty go. The foot of clear space between them might as well have been a mile. Marty swung around.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all. I just want you to have a clear mind when you decide whether or not to obey my next order.” Beau wanted to grin as Marty’s pretty eyes widened, but he kept his expression emotion free. “Strip.”
Chapter Five
Marty froze. Every limb locked in place, arms at his sides, legs shoulder-width apart. It was decision time.
Walk away or give up control?
The decision was far easier than he’d thought it would be. Marty toed off his shoes then bent to remove his socks. He at least had the presence of mind to realize that there needed to be an order to undressing if he didn’t want to come across as a complete idiot. He pulled his sweater over his head, folded it neatly and laid it on top of his boots.
“Good. Face me.” Beau’s voice was low and rough. It sent shivers down Marty’s spine. He did as he’d been told and found himself pinned by Beau’s stormy gaze. “Now you can carry on.”
Marty swallowed, his throat dry. He pulled off his T-shirt next and added it to the pile of clothes. His nipples ached as if they were clamped. At least Marty guessed that’s how they might feel. He wanted to pinch one, but didn’t. Instead he unbuckled his belt and slid it free of its loops. His jeans dropped an inch or so onto his hips even before he undid them. He took a deep breath and let them fall to the floor, stepped out of them carefully then rolled them up and set them aside. He straightened up, painfully aware of how his erection tented his underwear.