Authors: Violet Summers
Michael stood and backed respectfully toward the door, but Master Brady’s voice stopped him. “Mike,” the big man looked oddly uncomfortable, almost reluctant. “If there ever
is
a problem you’ll tell me.” It wasn’t a request.
Michael shivered, nodded his head and exited the room.
On the other side of the door, he leaned against the wall trying to quell his trembling. What the hell had he just done? Invited Rob into his world, that’s what he’d done. During the wax demonstration Rob had stripped him of nearly every bit of control. The Dom had taken him to another world and rocked him to the core, but Michael sure as Hell wasn’t about to let Rob know it.
He was a grown man and could deal with Rob being in the club. He’d just have to make sure he wasn’t around him. It wouldn’t be difficult to keep himself busy and out of the way whenever the other man was present. One thing was for sure
—
Michael would have to go into survival mode in the same way he had so many years ago, when Rob had broken his heart. But he was ten years older now, and ten years wiser; a well-trained professional submissive who could handle anything, and that included Robert Hilton.
He’d just keep telling himself that.
Chapter Four
Rob leaned back, elbows propped on the bar, and let his eyes wander over the public space of Velvet Ice’s third floor. It looked like a dance floor, and sometimes it was. As he understood it, there was only dancing three nights of the week. The other three nights the club was open were reserved for public play and performances.
The open space ended at a set of tall, smoked glass doors which he knew led to private and semi-private areas for staging scenes. He imagined that was where he’d do most of his playing. Beyond those areas Rob knew there were a number of private, personally owned rooms, as well.
He let his gaze travel around the room again. Velvet Ice was like a puzzle box, full of secret chambers and unexpected treasures.
His scan of the room stuttered and stopped, stalled at the sight of a slender, dark-haired submissive who was kneeling at the feet of a voluptuous blonde.
Funny how, even from behind, he knew Michael the second he saw him. The straight line of the man’s spine above his snug black pants. The almost-black hair, which he’d pulled back into a stubby tail at the nape of his neck. The sharp, elegant curve of his jaw.
And funny how just the sight of Michael from across the room triggered a flood of sensory memories. He could almost feel the satin of the submissive’s pale skin under his fingers, could almost taste the bitter-salt taste of Michael’s cum. He wanted more; more touch, more taste. He wanted to learn every sound the submissive made when he was flying, every gasp and moan.
He wanted Michael, plain and simple.
It pissed him off beyond words that Michael appeared to be occupied for the evening. And he didn’t know if it made it better or worse that it was a Domina who was monopolizing Michael’s attention. Better, maybe, because Rob knew which way Michael’s preferences went. Worse because he couldn’t stop thinking about how he could make Mikey fly so much better than she could.
He didn’t even attempt to force his gaze away from the pair, only giving a slight smile and nod when the Domina raised a brow at his scrutiny. He didn’t scowl, though he wanted to, when she reached out and ran a long, candy-pink nail over Michael’s cheek. He wasn’t so successful in keeping his expression blank, though, when Michael gave her a soft smile in return and rested his cheek against the silky skin bared by a short, cream-colored leather skirt.
Just about the time Rob was ready to move from beer to gin, another man joined the Domina and
Rob’s
submissive. This man had every appearance of being a major, scary-assed Dom, maybe even as intimidating as the big, bald owner of the club. To Rob’s extreme surprise, though, the big man knelt next to Michael and pressed a slow, sensual kiss to the Domina’s thigh.
Michael gave the big, dark-haired sub a wicked smile and said something that had both Mistress and submissive laughing. The luscious blonde ruffled Michael’s hair playfully, pulling silken looking strands loose of their band. Michael said something else, eyes now cast respectfully toward the floor. The beefy submissive gave his Mistress a questioning look, not resisting, but clearly not particularly excited to begin a three-way scene. Rather than answering, the Domina tipped Michael’s chin up with one slender finger, and turned his head in Rob’s direction.
Rob had already liked the woman just on the basis of her smile. Knowing she’d defer to his painfully obvious interest in the sub at her feet made him like her even more.
It was hard, but Rob suppressed his hungry smile
—
mostly
—
when Michael’s eyes locked on him. He realized just how little he’d hidden when those blue eyes went wide and a little panicked. The panic gave him hope. Michael’d done such a good job of hiding his emotions; Rob had almost begun to believe the submissive really didn’t feel anything for him. The hunted look in Michael’s eyes let Rob know he did affect the other man. Not only did he affect him, with that one look Rob knew he could push Michael past any number of boundaries.
The lovely Domina noticed Michael’s reaction, too. Standing, she hooked a finger in the plain, black leather collar Michael wore to proclaim his status as submissive and began to lead the slender man in his direction.
Michael should have looked awkward, or diminished. The woman was tugging him along behind her, on his knees. Instead of looking humiliated, though, Michael just looked vulnerable and fucking lickable. Rob’s mouth began to water.
The big submissive had risen and was following them, eyes on the floor as was proper. Somehow, in spite of his obvious submissive attitude, he managed to emote a sense of danger which only served to highlight the studied femininity of his Mistress.
She gave Rob a slow, sultry smile when they arrived at his table. Michael’s eyes were resolutely glued to the floor but the other sub, who’d dropped easily to his knees by his Domina’s feet, was examining him closely. Rob could practically feel that gray gaze slice through him.
“Introduce us, sweet thing.”
Rob had to smile. Her voice was honey and magnolias; sweet
thing
came out more like sweet
thang
.
“Mistress Megan,” Michael’s voice was the tiniest bit tight, and his eyes stayed glued to the Domina’s stilettos. “This is Robert Hilton. Rob, meet Mistress Megan.”
The Domina gave Michael a less than gentle tap on the cheek. “Don’t you mean
Master
Rob, sweetness?”
Rob could see Michael’s teeth clenching. He knew he should let the man hang, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let another Dominant discipline
his
submissive.
“Mikey knew me long before I was anything other than plain old Rob. I think it’s hard for him to wrap his mind around my being a grown-up, let alone a Master.” Shooting what he knew had to be a smug look in Michael’s direction, he added, “He’ll get over it.” He offered the woman his most charming smile and his hand. “It’s good to meet you,” he added.
“I just knew you and Michael must have some sort of history. I’ve never seen him ignore anyone so thoroughly.” Her laughter was rich and a little husky. “I thought, since the two of you seem completely caught up, and my sugar is here,” she stroked her fingers through her submissive’s short black hair, “it would be greedy for me to monopolize two of Velvet Ice’s most delicious subs.”
Michael was going to crack a tooth if he ground them any harder. Rob felt his smile grow. “You are too generous.” He kissed the back of Megan’s hand, noting with interest the way her submissive’s eyes darkened at the caress. “And I will happily accept that generosity.”
Mistress Megan gave him another smile, then led her brick wall of a man away, full ass swaying with every step. Rob watched appreciatively before turning to the submissive who was no longer on his knees, and who was now giving him a direct and rather unfriendly look.
“Come have a drink with me,” he invited casually, although everything in him was demanding he knock the legs right out from under Michael and get him back in an appropriately submissive posture. The urge grew even stronger as Michael took a visible breath before answering.
“I can’t tonight.” His gaze didn’t waver, but something dark seemed to lurk in those cool blue depths. “I’m working.”
Rob raised a brow. “But not working too hard to play with Mistress Megan and her sub?”
Michael shook his head. “No, playing with Mistress Megan and Gregori
—
or with whichever Dom or Domina I agree to partner with for the night
—
is
my job. I’m a club submissive. I’m available for unattached Dominants to stage scenes with.”
Rob nodded. He’d thought Michael’s job was something like along those lines. “Well, that fits in perfectly with my invitation. I’m an unattached Dom, and I’d love to share a drink with you, and to discuss maybe sharing more.”
Michael’s eyes widened for just a moment, then the smaller man blinked hard and shook his head. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, sounding just a little wigged out. “But this is my job, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring old baggage to work.”
With that, Michael walked away from him. Again. And again turning his back in a show of equality that rubbed every Dominant instinct Rob had in the wrong way. Rob watched him go with narrowed eyes. Plan A, approaching him openly, hadn’t worked. Time for a Plan B.
*
Michael leaned against the wall and watched the couples and trios on the dance floor. Lady Gaga pounded over the speakers, demanding a ride on his disco stick, and he found himself swaying just a little bit to the music. He let the music move him, smiling for what felt like the first time in weeks.
Rob had been fucking stalking him. It wasn’t bad enough that those dark green eyes chased him through dreams, which left him sticky and panting. No, now the man himself seemed to have practically moved in to the club.
And, while the undeniably sexy Dom could have had his choice of male or female submissives, both club subs and club members, he’d stuck to the lightest of play, sharing an occasional drink and an even more occasional dance. And all the time his eyes followed Michael, who couldn’t settle down into a scene when he felt that gaze like a physical touch.
Tonight, though, there was no sign of Rob, and Michael was hoping to find someone who would top the shit out of him so he could let go of some of the tension knotting his shoulders and get his head level again.
Lady Gaga gave way to Goldfrapp, who wanted to ride on a white horse, and Michael threaded his way onto the dance floor. He didn’t mind dancing alone; in fact, he almost preferred it. Short of a good scene, nothing let him blow off steam like dancing. Besides, he doubted he’d be alone for long; the club was full of men and women, Dom and sub alike, who’d be happy to rub up against him and lose themselves in the music.
Goldfrapp, Ke$ha, even Cyndi fucking Lauper. DJ Wicked was on a tear tonight, and Michael wondered who’d pissed the normally Zen rope master off. Then he let it go and went back to dancing, feeling better than he had since Rob walked into the wax play workshop.
Just about the time Madonna made her inevitable appearance, ticking the minutes away with Justin Timberlake, Michael felt a wave of heat along his bare back. It could be anyone, absolutely anyone who wanted to dance, but Michael knew without looking it was Rob. Something about the quality of the heat warned him even before one large, well-manicured hand slid around his hip to splay across his groin, bracketing his cock, which had taken an immediate notice of the attention.
He kept his back to the man, as if that would make the impact of his touch any less. If anything, it amped it up. He closed his eyes and let his other senses go, drinking in the smooth press of Rob’s chest against his back, the slide of crisp, starched cotton and the tiny bite of buttons against his bare, damp skin. He could fucking smell the man, a hint of sandalwood and citrus he’d recognize anywhere as Rob’s cologne, and a taste of spice underneath he suspected was just the scent of Rob’s skin.
The music kept going and so did Michael, letting Rob pull him back, grinding into the iron-hard cock pressed up against his ass like it had been designed to fit there. By the time Rob’s hand landed on Michael’s dick, Michael was more than halfway gone, erection pressing obscenely against the lace-up front of his black vinyl pants.
He didn’t resist when Rob guided his hands up and back, squeezing firmly to indicate they should stay locked behind the Dom’s neck. Then Rob started to play, sliding one hand over Michael’s chest, counting the ridges of his ribs, tracing the muscles of his abs, tweaking his nipples and tugging at the barbells piercing them while the other hand jerked roughly at his cock, playing with the cord holding his fly closed, teasing between the laces.
Fuck.
Fuck
. Rob was behind him, in front of him, filling his fucking head with static and his balls with fire.
They were against the wall now, out of the light and a little removed from the crowd. And it was the third floor, so no one was going to notice or care if Rob was unlacing his pants, delving in to fist his cock, bare skin scalding, while Michael hung helplessly against him, arms raised, hands clenched behind his Dom’s head, just letting Rob have him.