THE raw silk kept slipping through the loops as I stood in front of the full-length mirror attempting a half Windsor. The simple knot was eluding me, impossible to explain given my mastery in the fine art of bondage. Everything seemed a little off-kilter this morning, most likely due to the aftereffects of last night’s debauchery. A New Year’s Eve party at Wilde was always over the top, and once again, Max had not only exceeded last year’s celebration but had raised the bar for future parties. His table for twelve had simply groaned with delicacies from all over the world, and the men he’d lined up to serve were the perfect appetizers. Sloan had made a pig of himself with the caviar, accompanied by multiple shots of vodka, which had also been my poison for the evening in the spirit of welcoming 2011.
I let go of the stubborn tie when my concentration was completely ruined by the music coming from Sloan’s iPhone. The name that flashed on the screen didn’t help my mood, and the ring tone had the same effect as nails on a chalkboard. Sloan had assigned Queen’s “Love of My Life” to his ex. The poignant melody had never played since we’d been together, so hearing it now raised questions and disrupted my plans for the morning. I despised people who pried, but seeing Cole Fujiwara’s name on caller ID was reason enough to break my own rule. Not only did I want answers, I even considered canceling the meeting I’d intended to keep in an hour. Although modeling was fun and led to interesting perks, such as meeting gorgeous men like Sloan, it didn’t hold my attention. There was no challenge whatsoever, so I’d kept my investment business, and the handful of clients I’d retained made it lucrative enough to justify the time I split between my two careers. My potential investor was a player in the scene and a referral from Max, who’d insisted on the New Year’s Day meeting.
Love of my life - you’ve hurt me.
You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me.
Just hearing the refrain repeat in Freddie Mercury’s distinctive voice set my teeth on edge and elevated my blood pressure instantly.
There had been no news from Camp Fujiwara since the breakup in London nine months ago, and it had taken me that long to get my submissive-in-training to come to terms with the end of his long-standing relationship. Sloan could finally discuss his past without breaking down, and now our peace of mind was about to be disturbed by Cole’s reappearance. What in hell did the asshole want? And why in fuck did Sloan still keep his number, and more importantly, why hadn’t he ditched that particular ring tone?
Sloan walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and froze. He gaped at the phone in my hand and darted a quick look at my face to gauge my mood. When he saw nothing more alarming than a raised eyebrow, he heaved a sigh of relief and reached for the phone just as the caller disconnected. “I wonder what he wants,” Sloan mused.
“Are you going to return the call?”
“I suppose I should.”
Dove-gray eyes flared in defiance but banked just as quickly. “What if it’s important?” Sloan suggested.
“What if it’s not?”
“Please, let me call him.”
“Not yet,” I said, bracing for an argument. “Anything he has to say can wait until after your meditation.”
“Sir, it’ll only take a second,” Sloan protested, clutching the phone and looking slightly panicked. “He’s never called before.”
Shaking my head, I took the phone out of his hand and tossed it back on the nightstand. “The reason I have you meditate first thing in the morning is to get you in the right frame of mind.”
“Sloan, listen to me. I won’t have you disrupting your schedule over a phone call. I want you grounded before you talk to him.”
I could see all the emotions warring in Sloan’s expressive eyes as he wrestled with his decision, but I was satisfied when my boy took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and sank to his knees in front of me. Seeing him assume the rudimentary submissive pose?hands clasped behind his back and bowed head?was always a thrill, but this morning’s surrender was particularly sweet and deserved a reward. I lifted his chin and bent down to kiss him softly on the mouth. “Thank you.” He responded immediately, opening his mouth and allowing my tongue to slip in. Submitting did not come easily to Sloan, but that side of his personality I’d awakened had grown and blossomed under my care. I stepped away from him reluctantly and resumed my meditation stance.
The towel that encircled his slim waist fell to the floor in a puddle, exposing the body that was Sloan’s undoing. Despite the positive physical changes that had come with maturity and my very obvious appreciation, the mental image of an underweight and undesirable man continued to plague Sloan. He needed to be reminded that he was attractive and worthy of the adulation he received in the modeling world, along with the monetary and personal rewards. Part of his path of self-discovery was a daily mantra reiterating his worth.
“Take a deep breath and banish everything from your mind.” My voice acted as the trigger, guiding him through his morning ritual. “Inhale… exhale.” I repeated the words several times until I saw the subtle shift in body language. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest signaled his transition into a calmer space, one that didn’t allow outside influences or chaotic thoughts to intrude. I began with the usual questions. “Who are you?”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a successful model.”
“How do you know you’re a success?”
“The contracts I’ve acquired over the years and the financial rewards.”
“Do you believe you deserve the fame?”
“I’ve worked very hard to get here.”
“Are you beautiful, Sloan?”
“They say I am.”
“Why don’t you believe it?”
“Beauty is subjective.”
“You’re beautiful to me.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“Don’t you feel attractive?”
“When I’m with you, I do.”
“What about in front of the camera? I’m not the only one who thinks you’re special.”
“I’ve been lucky.”
“I think you give yourself very little credit. You work damn hard.”
“You’re very generous with your praise.”
“It’s the truth, boy, not flattery.” My body was reacting to the desirable vision in front of me, even as Sloan responded to my encouraging words. I couldn’t help but notice his growing erection. “Do you know how much I care for you?”
“I feel it in your voice and your touch, sir.”
“How else can you tell?”
“You’ve helped me find the special place where I can be myself.”
“Through physical pain?”
“And my surrender.”
“Good answer, boy. Open your eyes and look at me.”
Sloan blinked a few times. He appeared to be on a powerful hallucinogenic, when the reality was far more complex. He was in his subspace. To see him in this state was immensely satisfying, considering the long and somewhat rocky journey he’d traveled since we first hooked up. Taming Sloan was like trying to corral a wild stallion. As soon as I thought I had him, he’d slip out of reach, only to be subdued after an intense scene. It had taken patience and a lot of effort to finally arrive at this place, and I would be damned if one phone call from Sloan’s past would ruin it all.
“May I please you this morning?” Sloan asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“God, yes.” I sank down on an upholstered leather high back and spread my legs wide apart. My cock was throbbing, and watching my sub crawl naked toward me, with his massive erection leading the way, was making me salivate. Adding to the mix was the pungent odor of our mutual arousal. It enveloped me, and I leaned back on the chair and moaned in anticipation. I was dressed for my meeting, however, and I expected Sloan to work for his reward. He gripped my zipper in between his teeth and slid it down slowly, encouraged by my groaning.
“Take care not to soil my pants,” I warned. “I have an appointment in less than an hour.”
“Yes, sir,” Sloan said before engulfing my rigid shaft down his throat. He began to suck with due diligence, and I closed my eyes and sighed with content. When I felt my balls pulling up, I pushed the cloying mouth away abruptly.
Sloan looked confused. “Don’t you want me to finish you off?”
“To hell with my meeting,” I snarled, pushing my pants down my thighs while I toed off my shoes. “Get on the bed.”
Sloan beamed at me happily. His lips were shiny with saliva, and he looked loopy from a combination of lust and meditative reflection.
I stepped out of my pants and boxers, folded them at the crease, and laid them on the leather seat. Next off was my shirt, and instead of wasting time with the long line of buttons, I struggled with the top two before yanking it over my head and draping it over the back of the chair.
Sloan was already waiting in the middle of the massive four-poster bed that took center stage. I straddled him, reached for the leather cuffs, and attached the pair to Sloan’s wrists. I then clipped them to the chains that dangled off the wooden posts until Sloan was spread out and immobilized. “Comfy?”
Sloan nodded, trancelike.
“I want to play with your pretty cock.”
I rolled my thumb over his slit, spreading the emerging drops of fluid until his impressive cock head glistened. I leaned over and whispered. “I owe you a present.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I haven’t forgotten, even though Christmas has come and gone.”
“There’s only one thing I want,” Sloan replied hoarsely.
“Is that my present?” Sloan’s cock rose appreciably, encouraged by the possibility of an unexpected bonus.
My boy had been trying to top me for months. His fondest wish was to sink his notable cock into his “Highlander,” a nickname I’d earned after donning a kilt in London. That and the tawny locks I’d retained since the photo shoot had made me an honorary Scotsman in Sloan’s eyes. It helped that I was indeed part Scottish, and soon I ranked high up on his list of sexy men in kilts, alongside Captain Jack of Torchwood and the lunatic from Braveheart. Throughout our holiday in the UK, as we traveled from castle to loch, enjoying the magnificent views and exploring my ancestry, Sloan had pestered, begged, and cajoled. My continued refusal to allow any penetration had become a bone of contention, and Sloan was starting to take it personally.
I knew I’d have to overcome this personal hurdle if I wanted to win his heart. I could feel his admiration and respect, but the deep connection was impeded by this one obstacle. I’d always been introspective, and there were times when this characteristic frustrated Sloan, who was the most verbal and honest person I’d ever met. My insistence on holding back often left Sloan feeling rejected, which was the last thing I wanted. Still, it would be a monumental task to divulge the reason I had issues with anal sex. On the other hand, what kind of relationship was this if I couldn’t share my misgivings?
“I’ll do it in a scene,” I said, blurting out the words before I could change my mind.
“We’ll discuss it at a later time. Let’s talk about something I want for you.”
“Tying you up and dripping hot wax all over you,” I growled into his ear, making Sloan shiver in anticipation. “Then I’m going to cut my name into your shoulder with that lovely new knife you gave me for Christmas.”
Sloan gasped and closed his eyes. I did the same, picturing the hot wax dripping over my boy’s legs and torso, along with a trickle of blood. Instead of freaking him out, Sloan was on the verge of coming. “Please, Master, suck me?” Sloan begged beautifully, sending signals straight to my groin. Mentioning the knife play was a stroke of genius. It was still Sloan’s preferred method of achieving subspace whenever we did an official “scene,” and I wanted to accommodate my sub as much as possible. A happy Sloan was a wanton and uninhibited sex toy, and I loved this side of him.
Sloan’s hands were imprisoned above his head, but his legs were free, and he bent them, bracing himself on the bed. He dug in his heels, lifted his hips, and began thrusting in and out of my mouth, fiercely aroused by my vivid description of a future scene. I turned so my ass was in Sloan’s face. Spreading out, with one knee on either side of Sloan’s torso, I offered up a part of my body that I usually guarded closely. I moaned when Sloan lifted his head and began to tongue my hole with abandon. I loved this, and yet I always pulled away at the last minute. The thought of Sloan breaching me made me clench automatically, but it also made me dizzy with lust. I wanted to experience that hot burst of heat while Sloan fucked me raw and claimed me in a way like no other. It was a tantalizing goal I’d set for myself that had yet to be achieved. That vision increased the pleasure as I continued to suck Sloan’s cock, pushing me toward orgasm, and I spent in a warm splash across Sloan’s chest even as my mouth filled with my boy’s massive load.
After I released the bindings and threw the cuffs on the nightstand, I took Sloan into my arms and held him tightly.
“You realize,” Sloan whispered, toying with my nipples, “I’m going to be in a state of high arousal until we do the scene you talked about.”
“When is this happening?”
“Don’t be impatient, and stop doing that or I’ll never get out of here.”
“Why are you having a business meeting on New Year’s Day, anyhow?”
“Max set this up with a new Dom who has some disposable income he’d like to invest. I’d be stupid to pass it up.”
“I guess. Now back to my question.”
I pushed Sloan’s hand away from my erect nubs. “I know you can hardly wait.”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated, sir,” Sloan said, emphasizing the word. He continued to question the titles I’d demanded but used them because they pleased me. “The last thing I want from you is a pity fuck.”
“It won’t be.”
“Good… can we set a date?”
“You’re a persistent shit. You know that?”
“One of my better traits,” Sloan admitted. “I like to set goals.”
“Me too,” I agreed. “How about next weekend?”
“We’ll go out to Montauk and do it in a scene.”
“I think we’re both ready to throw away the condoms.”
Sloan buried his face against my neck. “Thank you, sir.”
Freddie Mercury interrupted our special moment, vocalizing angst through the small instrument beside the bed. “Fuck that phone!” I said, losing my patience. “Pick it up and see what that bastard wants, then delete the goddamn song!”
Sloan crawled over me and lifted the much-maligned instrument off the nightstand. My mood had turned black, and I would have cheerfully thrown the phone out the window, but I knew it would start a huge fight. Sighing dramatically, he said, “Hello, Cole.”