Authors: Violet Summers
It was a longer wait than he wanted, but he liked Michael’s subtle maneuvering, so he agreed readily.
“What boundaries do you have?” This might be a battle of wills, but Rob wasn’t going to be irresponsible about it.
“No scat or golden showers. I’m not adverse to pain if it’s for a purpose, but I’m not into hurting just for the sake of hurting.”
Rob nodded. He was on board with all of that.
“And no humiliation,” Michael added, blue eyes darker than usual and totally serious.
“Agreed. I’m not a fan of any of those things, either.” He’d hurt Michael enough, he thought. He had no desire to abase the man. He wanted to
…
care for him.
“Wednesday. Nine o’clock. I’ll reserve a private space.” The submissive’s eyes narrowed and Rob reconsidered. “Unless you’d prefer we do it on the stage?”
Michael paused, thinking about it long enough Rob was actually surprised when he gave his head an abrupt shake.
“No. This is between us.” Glowing blue eyes, full lips pressed tight, Michael was fucking gorgeous. “That’s how it should stay. Between us.”
“Done.” He didn’t even try to hide his satisfaction, and from the grimace on his face, Michael was totally seeing it.
It killed him, but Rob forced himself to walk away, to stop at the desk by the stairs and make his arrangements without looking back. It was the first time since finding him again that Michael wasn’t the one to walk away.
Chapter Seven
At 8:57 Wednesday night, Michael sat at the bar enduring the bartender’s sympathetic looks and sipping a glass of orange juice. He would have preferred something stronger but Janie, dammit, knew he had what promised to be an intense scene tonight, and had given him a screwdriver without the driver. She said she knew getting the screw wouldn’t be a problem tonight.
He’d thought about wearing hot-pants and eyeliner, just to see if he could make Rob squirm, but had discarded the idea. It so wasn’t his style, it was incredibly immature, and he had a sneaking suspicion that, rather than being uncomfortable with Michael’s way-out-there sexuality, Rob would be amused at his obvious attempt to be
…
bratty. Michael grimaced. He was
not
bratty.
Then he’d considered a simple t-shirt and jeans. But, while it was his unofficial uniform in real life, it was a world away from his usual club wear, and Rob had been stalking him long enough to know it.
He finally settled on a pair of fatigues in shades of black and gray, and a black leather vest worn open to frame his chest. He’d gone for loose knowing, even though whipping wasn’t necessarily on the menu tonight, spanking probably was, and he didn’t want something that would chafe already sensitive skin.
That thought, of course, led him back to the thought that had been obsessing him for the last three and a half days. What sort of scene was Rob planning for them?
*
Rob had arrived early. Really early. He’d immediately gone to the room he’d requested, checking and double checking to make sure everything he’d asked for was there and ready to go. This was a new kind of scene for him, and he wanted to be absolutely certain he had everything in order, from his tools and implements to his safety measures.
He’d also been keeping an eye on the bar area, so he knew exactly when Michael arrived. The sub had been early, too, though not as early as Rob, and it made him smile to see the man fidgeting with his hair, his vest, his drink. Rob knew the minute Michael saw him the submissive would immediately go all expressionless and serene, so he was glad to get this sneak peek that proved Michael was fighting nerves just as surely as he was.
Of course that admission burned. Rob never got nervous. He was supremely confident in every area of his life, from the courtroom to the racquetball court. So realizing he was on edge over this scene was a bit of a blow, not the least because it meant Michael was much more than a random submissive. Michael was much, much more, but knowing it and admitting it were two totally different things.
At exactly nine o’clock Rob sent one of the club employees, the one who’d brought several bottles of chilled water to their private room, to summon Michael. Then Rob left the room, standing on the invisible side of a two-way mirror. The directions he sent to Michael were simple: Come into the room. Strip, and make it pretty. Kneel and take a waiting position.
Michael followed his directions exactly. He moved into the room slowly, not looking reluctant, but looking like he was giving a show. His hair was in its usual queue at the nape of his neck, so when he turned his back to the mirror and let the vest slide down his arms, the width of his shoulders was revealed. Michael had always been slender, but even in high school he’d had muscle
—
long, lean muscle gained swimming and lifting weights. Time hadn’t changed that, except to make him more sculpted. Rob imagined running his fingers, then his tongue over the ridges of Michael’s abs, tracing the lines of muscle in his arms
…
The submissive caught his vest in one hand before putting it neatly on a hanger which had been provided for just that reason.
He was wearing combat boots. Rob laughed a little bit at himself, at how fucking hot he was finding all Michael’s “army chic”. The laces were already loosened, so all Michael had to do was kick them off. His socks quickly followed, leaving him barefoot and bare-chested, poised gracefully before the mirror. With a secretive little smile, Michael began picking at his pants, button and zip slowly giving way to his long, slender fingers. Still smiling he turned, giving Rob his back as he let the pants fall into a pool of gray at his feet.
When the submissive bent over, neatly picking up his pants to drape over another convenient hanger, the sight of that perfect, rounded ass had Rob’s mouth watering. He wanted nothing more than to charge into the room and pounce on Michael, bite those gorgeous cheeks and mark the man from head to toe. From the lazy stretch the slender man gave as he stood, reaching his arms high over his head and emphasizing every one of those mouthwatering muscles, Michael knew exactly what was going through Rob’s mind, too.
Michael kept his back to the mirror for a moment longer; long enough for Rob to drink in the deep groove of his spine, the way the small of his back curved into the tempting swell of his ass. Long enough to tease, the little bastard.
When he finally turned, the little half smile remained. Clearly Michael knew he was gorgeous. The lines of his chest were hard and sculpted and the titanium barbells glinted. His abs were as carved as cobblestones. He was shaved or waxed bare, not a hint of hair on his chest or pubes. Not even a happy little trail to follow to his heavy, half-hard dick. That was okay, though. For now smooth skin suited Rob’s purposes. If he had his way, after tonight he and Michael could discuss little details like manscaping.
Michael stood for a moment, giving Rob the show he’d commanded, then dropped gracefully to his knees. Eyes trained on the mirror, the submissive stretched, limbering up shoulders and arms before moving his hands behind his back, fingers clasped firmly around opposite wrists. The pose threw the lean muscles of Michael’s chest into sharp relief. Those naughty little barbells glinted, begging for attention. Michael gave one last, challenging smile, letting his eyes flick from the mirror to the covered worktable along the wall and back, then lowered his head, training his gaze on the floor like a good submissive. Rob’s dick throbbed. His submissive was a beautiful man, but seeing him like this, on his knees, head bowed and hands clasped behind his back, tantalized Rob in a way nothing else ever had, or ever could.
The challenge, the way Michael’s whole body seemed to dare Rob to master him, just added to the thrill.
He studied the man before him, taking time to savor every inch of the submissive,
his
submissive, from head to toe. Michael just knelt easily, looking for all the world like this was something he did every day. Rob pursed his lips. This probably
was
something Michael did every day. When he’d looked his fill
—
or at least as much as he wanted to from behind treated glass
—
he took a breath and opened the door.
*
Michael could literally feel Rob’s gaze on him, tangible as a physical touch even through the window. It tingled over his skin, making his dick stir, which in turn made him want to growl. He hated the fact his body reacted to Rob even after all these years; hated that the submissive in him wanted Rob’s Mastery as much as the wounded teen still living in his soul wanted another taste of his first love.
When the door opened, he risked a quick glance upward, a mere peek through his lashes, and bit back a curse. Rob was in full Dom mode, dressed in snug black vinyl pants, shirtless, bare chest gleaming in the bright lighting of their room.
He wondered what Rob had planned for him. He couldn’t make out what tools rested under the cloth on the covered table. The cloth was raised at both ends so it hovered over the surface, giving no clues to what it concealed. The massage-type table situated nearby gave no clues, either.
Rob walked around him, dragging a finger lightly over his shoulder and raising goose bumps in his wake.
“Very pretty, Mikey.” Michael wondered how such a silky smooth voice could raise such a prickle on his skin. “You follow directions nicely when you want to.”
Michael very carefully kept his expression neutral. Honestly, he really hadn’t tried to show Rob the respect he’d normally show any Dom to visit the club. He’d looked at Rob and seen the high school jock sucking face with Cheerleader Barbie, and had focused on the scorn to avoid the hurt.
Still, it was disrespectful, and with any other Dom or Domina, it would never have occurred to him to push the way he had with Rob. Michael wasn’t particularly happy with himself when he considered that his bad behavior was a reflection on him, not Rob.
“Are you curious about what I’ve planned?”
Expression, neutral. Voice, low and even. He would not let Rob know how much he still got to Michael.
“Of course I am.” He flicked a glance toward the table, looking through his lashes in a way he knew from past experience was winsome and alluring. At least, previous Masters and Mistresses had said so.
“Of course you are
…
?” There was a pregnant pause before Michael gave in and gave Rob what he wanted.
“Of course I am, Sir.”
Another glance from beneath his lashes revealed a slight smile on Rob’s generous, sensual mouth.
“Remove the cloth,” Rob directed. When Michael moved to stand, Rob’s big, hard hand wrapped around the back of his neck. “Oh, no, Mikey. Crawl.”
Neutral. Keep it neutral.
Michael stretched forward, crawling slowly toward the table set up along the far wall. Once he’d arrived, he pushed up to his knees and reached to take hold of the cloth suspended over the surface.
“Use your teeth.” Rob’s voice was faintly amused.
Fuck neutral. Rob was pressing his buttons on purpose, and if he was any kind of Dom he’d know how to deal with an irritated submissive.
Michael lifted his chin and gave Rob a direct look. “Really?” Nothing more than that. Just
really
?
Rob’s eyes glittered, his jaw set, and for just a moment Michael was afraid of what beast he might be poking. Then Rob tilted his head, looking Michael over from head to toe, and sighed.
“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded, eyes glinting with laughter. “I’d hate for anything to be knocked over because you were being clumsy.”
Oh, that bastard.
“You may stand and remove the cloth.”
Michael ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached, but he managed to keep silent as he stood and carefully lifted the black cloth to unveil the implements spread across the table.
He probably should have been prepared. After all, he and Rob had reconnected at a wax play workshop. Still, the crock-pot of melted paraffin wax seemed to almost throb in time with Michael’s heartbeat.
Letting his gaze travel down the table, Michael felt his pulse pound with anticipation. Rob hadn’t prepared any colored wax. In fact, there was only the crock-pot and three melting jar candles. What caught Michael’s attention were the accessories.
A large thermal bowl filled with ice sat next to the crock-pot. In front of them both lay a wide assortment of tools. There were picks and sculpting tools, and various instruments meant to manipulate soft, warm wax. At the very end of the table was a large knife.
Actually, Michael realized, it was not so much a knife as a modified sword. A sword very like the one Achilles had used to spank Petroclus so soundly.
Oh.
Oh
.
His hand was lifting before he even realized it, and Michael quickly lowered it to his side. He didn’t have permission to touch.
“Go ahead, Michael. Explore a little bit.”
Michael wanted to look at Rob
—
wanted to see if the amusement in his voice was visible on his sculpted face
—
but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from the sword.
He raised his hand again, running one finger the length of the blade like one in a trance. He
was
in a trance, hypnotized by the candlelight shimmering on the melted wax, on the surface of the blade.