Mistletoe and Submission

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Mistletoe and Submission ISBN # 978-0-85715-356-2 ©Copyright Kim Dare 2010 Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright December 2010 Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz Total-E-Bound Publishing This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing. Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution. The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork. Published in 2010 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

MISTELTOE AND SUBMISSION Kim Dare

Dedication To getting what you really want for Christmas.

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Chapter One

“Bloody hell—leave the man be. If he doesn’t want a blowjob, there’s no rule that says he has to have one!” The front legs of Sloan’s chair slammed into the floorboards as he stopped balancing precariously on the back legs of the fine mahogany antique and suddenly leant forward to rest his elbow on the green baize. “Now, are you in or not?” While everyone else’s attention seemed to turn back to the poker game, Carl Jenkins glanced down at the submissive kneeling at his feet. Shaking his head, he offered the rather confused looking sub an apologetic smile. “Nothing personal.” The guy silently crawled away, towards the next dominant sitting around the table and quickly set to work. Within seconds Mike’s fly was unzipped, and the sub had his lips wrapped around his third cock of the evening. As the bets were placed, Carl barely looked at his own cards before he folded. His mind wasn’t on the game right then. He mentally rolled his eyes at himself as he stared at the tiny stack of poker chips that remained before him. He supposed he should be used to placing his bets blind. There was only one thing he’d ever managed to think about on any of their regular poker nights, and it was never the sodding cards. As he took a sip of his beer, Carl glanced, as subtly as possible, towards Sloan. The older man’s attention was all focussed on his cards. His hair was longer than it had been when Carl had first met him a few months before. The ragged blond strands fell forward into Sloan’s eyes as he studied the game, sharp blue eyes quickly taking in every detail. He increased the stakes, pushing several extra stacks of chips into the pot. Carl’s eyes followed his every movement with as much rapt attention as they always did. Sloan had wonderful hands, strong and confident. It was so easy to imagine those hands— Quickly shutting down that line of thought, he tore his attention away from Sloan and all the amazing things he could so easily picture the other guy’s hands doing. Out of the corner of his eye, Carl noticed that Mike had finished enjoying the sub’s mouth and had folded out of the game too. Pushing back his chair, the other dominant left

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the room. A hint of a Christmas tune floated into the room from somewhere else in the club as the door was opened. Another snippet of a carol informed Carl of Mike’s return a few minutes later, just as Sloan scooped up his winnings. The moment the last chip was cleared from the centre of the table, half a dozen Christmas crackers were tossed down in their place. Carl kept his attention on Sloan as the older man raised an eyebrow and glanced from the crackers to Mike and back again. He didn’t need to actually say anything. His expression alone was enough to let everyone know he wasn’t in the mood for stupidity. Apparently far too pleased with his latest scheme to take the hint, Mike turned his seat around and straddled it, still grinning from ear to ear. “Very festive?” Ryan offered, somewhat warily, from the other end of the oval table. “Wait ‘til you pull one!” Mike said, eyes sparkling with someone’s future misfortune. “What happens then?” Todd asked from the seat next to him, leaning back in his chair a little, as if one of the garishly coloured tubes might leap up and attack him at any moment. “Then the lucky winner has to do the dare inside.” Carl’s gaze reluctantly settled on the crackers, wondering what chance he had of getting out of pulling one of the damn things. He could guess what sort of dares they would contain if Mike had written them. At best, it would be painful and humiliating. At worst… Carl glanced across to Sloan. He didn’t want to think about his worst case scenario right then. It would be far too much like tempting fate. “Carl, you’re first,” Mike announced. “Why Carl?” Sloan cut in, before Carl could scrape two words together. “Because he never does a damn dare!” Mike protested. He turned to Carl. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Scared of a little Christmas cracker?” Bloody terrified would have been closer to the mark, but Carl reached out and picked up one anyway. There wasn’t much else he could do. Any dominant worth his salt would rise to that kind of bait. If he backed down, he knew he might as well just skip straight to that worst case scenario anyway. Sloan held out a hand to pull it with him. Glancing up from the mishmash of reds and golds for a moment, Carl met the older man’s gaze. That was a really stupid thing to do. As their eyes locked, the younger man’s

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brain stopped working, just the way it always did when the vivid blue stare caught him in its sights. Muscle memory of year after year of Christmas dinners around the family dining table was the only thing that made him keep hold of his end of the cracker when Sloan tugged on the opposite side. Apparently Mike hadn’t just messed with the bits of paper in the crackers, replacing the traditional lame jokes with dares. The bang was more like a gunshot than a festive pop. A brilliant flash of light filled the room. Smoke made half the men around the table choke. “Bloody hell, Mike!” someone spluttered. Carl looked down at his hand. A few scraps of brightly coloured bits of paper and the slightly scorched end of the snapper were all he’d kept hold of. The middle section of the cracker rested on the table in front of Sloan, in amongst his poker chips. “Which one did you get?” Mike asked, practically bouncing up and down in his chair with anticipation. Sloan began to delve into the tube with his fingers. He stopped short. A glance at Mike and Carl saw the older man think better of that plan. Upending the cracker, he tipped out the contents onto the table. A piece of paper tumbled out, along with a condom that promised to glow in the dark and a cock ring decorated with a festive, and no doubt very painful, sprig of holly. Ignoring the rest, Sloan unfolded the paper. He glowered at Mike for a moment before he shook his head, apparently not in the least impressed with the other man’s stupidity. Crumpling it in his hand, he pitched the paper across the room, towards the bin that was usually reserved for the empty beer bottles. Mike and Todd jumped out of their chairs. Racing across the room, they scuffled over the bin until Todd finally succeeded in wrestling the piece of paper away from the other dom and holding it up out of the shorter man’s reach. They banged into the poker table as they returned, carelessly kicking against the sub who was now busy servicing Ryan. Carl only just managed to catch the beer bottles before they spilled across the table. Finally, Todd collapsed, breathless with laughter, onto his chair and unfolded the paper. “Stand under the mistletoe until midnight,” he read. “Naked, bound, blindfolded, and submitting to any dom who wants a piece of you.”

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Laughter raced around the room, but Carl didn’t join in with it. He felt the blood drain out of his face as the meaning behind the words sunk in. He could have won that dare. He could have had to… Carl tried to take a deep breath. The lingering trace of smoke from the cracker’s explosion almost choked him. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?” Sloan snapped. “You have to do it!” one of the other doms immediately protested. “What’s wrong, Sloan, frightened?” “A dare’s a dare.” Everyone around the table had something to say, except Carl. He stayed perfectly silent in the middle of it all, as even more chaos than usual descended on the room. “That’s a sub’s dare,” Sloan spat out. “Do I look like a sub to you?” “A dare’s still a dare,” Todd sing-songed. Mike started to make chicken noises. The fact that Christmas was just around the corner must have gone to their heads. That was the only explanation Carl could think of. They always wound each other up—that was nothing unusual. But they were usually far more cautious about riling Sloan. The older man glared at each of them in turn before he tossed back the dregs of his beer. “If you haven’t got the balls for it,” Ryan said, his voice lethargic with pleasure as he pushed away the sub kneeling at his feet and zipped up his fly. “Yeah,” Mike chimed in. “If you can’t handle it then…” Sloan slammed the empty beer bottle down on the table. Every eye in the room turned towards him as silence descended. Carl swallowed rapidly as Sloan’s eyes flashed with anger. “Um…” Todd hesitated. His eyes flashed around the room, as if searching for an escape route. Carl felt the other man’s gaze fall on him and zoom in on the other end of the cracker still in his hand. “Carl should do it!” Todd shouted. All four of the other younger doms might have been idiots, but they were idiots with survival instincts. It only took them seconds to jump on Todd’s bandwagon and use it to flee out of range of Sloan’s building anger.

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“No, I’ll do it.” Sloan’s voice cut through all the commotion with ease. For several long seconds no one said a word. Finally Todd managed to find his voice. “What?” “I said, I’ll do it,” Sloan said, with the kind of calm that generally meant he’d gone straight through his normal anger and emerged into the cold fury that existed on the other side of it. “You want to see what happens when you give a real dom a sub’s dare?” Sloan nodded, apparently to himself. His hair fell forward into his eyes again, but he didn’t reach up to push it out of his way, he just glared through the blond strands in that way which always rushed straight to Carl’s cock. “Let’s get on with it.” Carl was vaguely aware of the other doms exchanging worried glances across the poker table. They’d opened the can of worms without a thought, but now they seemed to be wondering if they were worms after all. The can’s contents looked a lot more like poisonous snakes as they writhed and curled around their feet, dangerous, unpredictable and impossible to get back in the sodding can now. Carl’s own gaze never left Sloan. He watched, mesmerised, as the other dominant’s expression turned colder and harsher than ever. The older man met his eyes for a moment, before turning towards the sub who still knelt on the floor at their feet, ignored while they all gawped at Sloan. “Get out.” “Sir?” the sub asked. “You heard me,” Sloan bit out. “Go on. Bugger off. We’re finished with you for the night.” The submissive only hesitated for another second before he scrambled to his feet and hurried towards the door. Bare feet making no sound on the floorboards, he snatched up a jacket to go with the tiny pair of leather shorts he was wearing and rushed out of the room. Carl‘s grip around his beer bottle tightened until he half expected the glass to shatter and cut into his palm. Dismissed with no more than a passing thought, discarded the moment something else caught Sloan’s attention. Poor little sod. The sub had probably been waiting for weeks, maybe even months for Sloan to take an interest in him, and that was how he was treated for his trouble.

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“What the hell? I hadn’t had my turn with him yet!” Todd protested from one side of the table. “Yeah, and I brought my new paddle, I was going to—” Ryan began on the other. “He doesn’t stay if I go,” Sloan cut in, silencing them all for a whole two seconds. “What? Where are you going?” Mike demanded. “Under the mistletoe,” Sloan bit out as he collected up his chips. “You’re really going to submit?” Ryan babbled, his voice raising an entire octave. “No. I’m going to do the dare,” Sloan corrected. “If you think that’s the same as submission, you’re even more of a fool than I took you for.” He strode towards the door leading back into the club. “Come on, Carl.” Scrabbling up his few remaining chips, Carl pushed them into his jacket pocket as he hurried after the other man. “See if you can scrape up some mistletoe from somewhere—there should be some left over from when the subs put up all their damn decorations.” “You’re really going to do it…” Carl whispered. Sloan glared over his shoulder at him as he strode along the wide, carpeted hallway that led back to the main lobby of the club. “A dare’s a dare. Have you ever known me to back down from one?” Carl automatically shook his head. Sloan never backed down from anything. “Then I’m going to need some mistletoe,” Sloan reminded him. Snapping back into reality, Carl obediently rushed off to see if he could track some down. In a previous lifetime, the club had been an entirely vanilla, high-class hotel. Evidence of its last incarnation still lingered in places. As Carl strode in the direction of the bars and dining rooms, looking for a service sub who might know where those decorations that were yet to be put up were stored, he glanced through a half-open door and hesitated. What had probably once been a conference room was now one of the big public playrooms. At some point Victorian splendour had given way to black leather and bondage equipment, but more importantly, Carl realised there were several sprigs of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, ready for the Christmas party that was due to take place later that week. Stepping up to the door, he wondered if he could get away with nicking a bit while no one was looking.

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“Can I help you, sir?” Carl spun around, guilt rushing through him, just like it had years ago when he’d been a kid reaching for the sweetie jar. He automatically pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as if that would hide what he was contemplating. A collared submissive stood before him, carrying a box of tinsel. “Do you know who’s in charge of the decorations?” Carl managed to ask. To his relief, his voice came out perfectly level. “I am, sir.” The man was some years older than him, too old in Carl’s opinion to be calling him ‘sir’ just because he’d ticked ‘dom’ on the damn application form. Shuffling his feet slightly, smiling to hide his slight discomfort, Carl raked his mind for a name. “It’s Paul, right?” “Yes, sir. I belong to Mr. Harrison.” He waited for a moment, as if willing to give up the floor should a dominant want to speak, but when Carl failed to say a word, the older man tried again. “Is there a problem with the decorations, sir?” “Can I have some of your mistletoe?” Carl blurted out. The submissive didn’t even blink, he simply walked into the conference room, set his box on a table and delved into another cardboard box that rested on a chair to one side of it. A moment later, he held out a sprig of mistletoe to Carl. No questions, no hesitations. A dominant had given him an order and he’d obeyed it. As Carl took it from him, he couldn’t help but think it must be a very simple way to live a life. He couldn’t help but be a little envious of the kind of certainty it must bring a man, when he knew what his place in the world really was and— “Is there anything else, sir?” As his thoughts scattered, Carl shook his head. He looked down at the mistletoe once more. “No, that was all. Thanks.” “You’re welcome, sir.” Carl offered him a slightly embarrassed smile over his shoulder as he strode back into the corridor. By the time he tracked Sloan down, the other man was in the main lobby of the club, signing for the key to one of the private playrooms on the second floor of the club. He looked up from his task as Carl stopped next to him. “Get it?” Carl held up the sprig of green leaves and white berries as proof of a mission accomplished.

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Within moments, he was trailing after Sloan as the older man stormed up the stairs towards the playrooms. The door slammed back against the wall behind it as Sloan took out his anger on the unsuspecting bit of woodwork the moment he’d unlocked it. Carl caught it just in time to stop it hitting him in the face as it bounced back towards its frame. “Tie it to one of the hooks up there,” Sloan ordered, with a nod towards the line of hooks fastened to the heavy wooden beam that ran the full width of the room. Part of Carl was bitterly aware that he shouldn’t be so quick to do as his friend commanded, but it was bloody difficult to keep any semblance of his own supposed inclination towards dominance when he found it so damn easy to follow the other man’s instructions—and when he found it so satisfying to obey his friend too. The mistletoe seemed to have a mind of its own. It took Carl forever to fasten it in place beneath the beam. But at least that gave him time to think. By the time it was secure, Carl had his arguments all worked out and lined up in the front of his mind. There was no way Sloan could go through with it. He couldn’t submit to anyone who wanted a piece of him. That wasn’t the way the world worked. It couldn’t be allowed to happen. The very idea of it made Carl sick to his stomach. He turned around, determined, just this once, to win an argument with the more experienced dominant. Every single word died before it even reached his lips. Each thought disintegrated inside his head. Naked, blindfolded and bound. He’d been far too worried about the latter conditions to pay too much attention to the first one. Naked. Sloan had tossed his clothes across the bars of the cage in the corner of the room. His jeans, the black T-shirt that had stretched so gloriously across his body, even the highly polished boots. They were all gone. Naked. Top to toe, bare arse naked, every inch of him. Sloan turned to face him. Bare cock naked too. Carl’s eyes travelled slowly up and down the other man’s body, taking in every perfect detail. Among the lines of muscle, his eyes were drawn to several scars. One lay above his appendix. Another ran down his arm. Carl knew about that one—a motor bike

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accident from years ago, but he hadn’t seen the jagged line that decorated the older man’s right pec before. It cut a clean path through the pale blond hairs that grew over the rest of his chest. The younger man’s tongue sneaked out and moistened his lips as he imagined tracing that line with his mouth. He could almost feel the hairs on Sloan’s skin caress his cheek as he pictured himself moving down the larger man’s body, until he found the little happy trail that led straight to the older dominant’s cock. Sloan stalked across the room towards him, and Carl couldn’t do anything but stare. His friend stepped forward again, until they were barely a foot apart. Their shoulders brushed together as Sloan kept going, straight past him until he stood directly beneath the beam. Dropping a couple of toys onto the floor at his feet, he kept two sets of cuffs in his hand. It only took him seconds to have them fastened to the hooks on either side of the mistletoe, but by the time Sloan turned and looked over his shoulder at him, Carl had succeeded in pulling himself together a fraction—a very small fraction. When the larger man offered his hand up to one of the cuffs, Carl managed to step forward and do it up without making a complete idiot of himself. If Sloan heard Carl’s heartbeat pounding faster and faster against his ribcage, he made no mention of it as Carl fastened the second cuff around the taller man’s other wrist. And suddenly Sloan—Sloan Davies, the hottest dominant Carl had ever set eyes on— stood bound and helpless before him. “Ankles.” Carl stopped staring at his friend’s wrists and gazed at his lips instead. He had a bloody beautiful mouth. His lips weren’t full, or feminine. But they were stunning and— “Ankles,” Sloan repeated. The word kicked a few brain cells into action. Carl looked to the ankle cuffs his friend had dropped onto the floor by his bare feet. There were hooks set into the floorboards, ready to accept whatever bondage a dom might want to attach to them. A few slightly clumsy movements on Carl’s part and the restrains were neatly fastened in place, holding Sloan’s ankles wide apart. He was pretty sure that was the final detail that should have made the picture before him perfect. Any red-blooded dominant should have been desperate to get out the whip.

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Carl tried not to wonder what the leather felt like wrapped around his wrists. Still kneeling before the older man, Carl cleared his throat. “I’ll stick around and make sure things don’t get too far out of hand,” he promised. “Like hell you will!” Carl concentrated on checking the ankle restraints then, unable to look up and meet the other man’s eyes. He couldn’t just tie him up and leave him to the other dominants’ mercy. He couldn’t. Even if it was becoming more and more clear to him he had no interest in dominating Sloan, he couldn’t let the other guys loose on him. He knew how they’d act once Sloan was blindfolded and they thought there was a chance they could do whatever they wanted to him, without him ever finding out exactly who’d done what so he could make them pay for it. “Someone needs to—” Carl began. “No.” For the first time, a hint of how he really felt about the bet crept through. The pure hatred in his voice took Carl’s breath away. He held the taller man’s gaze for a moment. He couldn’t blame a man like Sloan for wanting to keep whatever was about to happen to him as private as possible. He was a proud man. Proud enough to go through whatever it took to prove no man could make him submit, even if they had him bound and naked from the start. Carl turned his attention to the floor. It didn’t matter which of them was wearing cuffs. He couldn’t demand to be allowed to stay in the room. Whatever way he’d thought he swung when he first joined the club, it wasn’t in him to disobey his friend. Pulling himself to his feet before he could lose what was left of his nerve, Carl strode across to the toy cabinet on the far side of the room. Right there, at the back of the top shelf, he found what he was looking for. He marched back to Sloan’s side and pushed the device into his friend’s hand before the older man could realise what he was about to do. Sloan tilted his head back to stare at his palm. The moment he spotted the dead man’s trigger, fury flashed across his face. “What the—?” “Just in case,” Carl muttered. “It’s a safe word,” Sloan snapped. Carl didn’t meet the other man’s eye as he turned his attention to the toys laid out on the table to his right. Whips and paddles stared back at him.

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“Don’t be too stubborn.” Even as the words left his lips, Carl knew it was a bloody stupid thing to say, that there was no chance Sloan would take his advice. Carl pushed his hands into his pockets in an effort to keep them to himself. “A stupid bet isn’t worth getting hurt over,” he reminded the dominant. Sloan stared over his shoulder, apparently not listening to a single word he said. Eventually, not knowing what else to do, Carl turned away. “Blindfold.” Carl turned back to him. His gaze fell on the strip of black that had remained on the floor at their feet after the cuffs were put in place. He crouched down and picked it up. The leather was buttery soft. Carl could even imagine what it would feel like held tight against his face, blinding him to everything that happened in the world around him. “You’re sure you want to—” Sloan’s glare was enough to silence him. Stepping behind the taller man, Carl reluctantly brought the blindfold up in front of Sloan’s face. He hadn’t thought it would be possible for any more tension to exist in the other man’s muscles. He’d been wrong. If being bound pushed stress into him, being blinded doubled it. “Can you see anything?” Sloan shook his head. “Should I adjust it a little so—?” “No.” Carl hesitated, not sure what to say. When Sloan’s lips parted, Carl wasn’t sure what he would say either. “Get out.” Carl walked around in front of him and stared up at his blindfolded face. “What if I— ” “This isn’t your problem, Carl.” It would have been if he’d won the cracker pull. If he’d won, Carl would have been in bondage and Sloan would have been the one who— “Let me put it another way,” the older man bit out. “If I find out you stepped into this room before midnight, I’ll make your life a living hell in ways you can’t even imagine.”

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Except Carl could imagine it all too easily. He’d seen the kind of games Sloan liked to play. There was a wide streak of sadism in the dominant that hadn’t escaped Carl’s attention. Hell, he’d been damn near fascinated by it ever since he joined the club. The equally wide streak of bloody-mindedness wasn’t quite as much to his tastes, but that didn’t change the facts. Carl turned towards the door, knowing that Sloan’s decision had been made and there was nothing else he could do for his friend now. When he stepped outside, several of the other junior doms from the poker game were already there. Other men were mixed in with them too, filling the space where the corridor widened out at the top of the stairs. There were even a few of the more established dominants in the crowd. Mr. Harrison, one of the most senior dominants who ran the club, stepped out of the group as Carl pulled the playroom door closed behind him. “The stupid fool’s really going to go through with it?” Mr. Harrison asked. “It was a bet,” Carl offered. Mr. Harrison made a distinctly unimpressed noise in the back of his throat. “If he’ll insist on remaining on the fringes of the club, I suppose…” he trailed off as he seemed to realise he was speaking out loud. “I assume he’s failed to do anything so sensible as to set any limits?” Carl shook his head. “I made sure he had a dead man’s trigger, just in case…” Mr. Harrison looked him up and down. “That makes one sensible one out of the lot of you. Not a particularly good showing for an entire room full of junior doms.” With a sigh, apparently at the state of modern dominance, Mr. Harrison turned to face the crowd. Dressed head to toe in leather, with just a touch of grey around his temples to add an extra touch of authority to his expression, as he stood in front of the playroom door, arms folded and legs shoulder-width apart, he instantly had everyone’s attention. “Whatever label he usually plays under, any man who’s bound and blindfolded in this club is going to be treated with the same respect as any other submissive.” One of the younger doms whispered something to his neighbour. They both chuckled, and promptly turned the sound into muffled coughs when Mr. Harrison caught their eye. “There’s more than one dom you’ll be answerable to if anyone steps over the line tonight. It may be the season of goodwill, but any man who disobeys me is going to be looking for a new club to play in come the New Year. Understood?”

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Heads nodded all the way around the room. As Mr. Harrison strode down the stairs and left them to it without another word, Carl remained by the door leading into the playroom. Everyone else stayed exactly where they were too, each of them waiting for another man to move first. Several seconds passed. Mike stepped forward. Ryan did the same. By the time they reached the door, they were in the middle of a group of a dozen men, all pushing and shoving against each other like children rushing towards a promised Christmas treat. Carl stepped back just in time to stop himself getting caught up in the scrum. He stared at the confused mass of men, not even sure who to pray got in there first. The door into the playroom crashed open. A second later it slammed closed again. Carl looked quickly from one man to the next, then to the next, frantically trying to work out who was missing. Todd. He double-checked. Todd wasn’t there. As the other men began to fan out, Carl leant back against the wall just to one side of the door. The walls of the building were thick. He strained his hearing, but he couldn’t make out a single sound from inside. He’d be able to hear the alarm go off if Sloan released the dead man’s trigger, but nothing else made it through the stone. Todd wasn’t the most unpleasant of them, and he knew Sloan well enough to be scared of doing anything too extreme with him. If Sloan had to start with someone it could have been worse. Carl folded his arms across his chest. The grip his one hand took on his opposite arm was sure to leave a bruise under his skin the next day. He stared at the white on his knuckles and his fingertips, but he couldn’t convince himself to slacken his hold. There was no such thing as a good man to have in there with Sloan. Carl closed his eyes for a moment and let his head drop back against the ornate plaster work behind his head. Who the hell was he trying to kid? There was never going to be a good time for him to think about another man with Sloan. Touching him, kissing him, whipping him, screwing him. Carl forced his eyes open. It didn’t make it any easier to stop imagining what would be going on just a few feet away from him. Part of him wished that he’d never seen how the other man looked, bound blind and vulnerable. Another, rather more honest, side of him knew damn well that he was going to bring the memory of his naked friend out over and over again during the coming weeks—

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every damn time he reached for his cock, and probably whenever anyone else reached for his cock too. Carl shook his head at himself as his fingers bit into his arm harder than ever. A few minutes later, a very happy looking Todd strode out of the room. Another man quickly took his place, then another, and another. Carl glanced into the playroom every time it was left unoccupied for a few brief seconds. Sloan didn’t look happy, but his hand stayed around the dead man’s trigger as he stubbornly refused to say his safe word and bring an end to it all. Obstinate sod. Carl took a deep breath and let it out slowly, stepping to one side, he let the next man into the room. The disgusting taste in the back of his mouth only got worse as the night went on. There was only so much of his hatred for the situation he could swallow down before it really did turn him sick. There was only so long he could just stand there, watching other men take their turns with him.

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Chapter Two

Sloan Davies listened very carefully as the door leading into the playroom swung closed once more. No booted footsteps rushed towards him. In the darkness behind the blindfold, he listened to the room as it fell completely silent. For just a few minutes, it seemed he’d have time to catch his breath between pillocks. His head dropped forward as he pulled a deep lungful of air into his body. Even breathing caused an extra shockwave of pain to shoot through him. Submissives and dominants were designed differently. Sloan may have known it all his life, but he’d never been as aware of that fact as he was right then. Anyone who could enjoy this wasn’t just a different kind of man—he had to be a completely different bloody species. His back burned across the lines where the whip had struck him. His stretched balls ached with a pain that seemed to seep up through his whole body. His cock screamed with frustration. His jaw throbbed. If there was a single part of him that wasn’t suffering, he couldn’t find it among the jumble of screaming nerve endings and protesting muscles that made up the rest of his body. Even his fist wrapped around that bloody stupid dead man’s trigger that Carl had shoved into his hand was cramping and adding its own little touches of misery to the mix. He closed his eyes a little more tightly behind the blindfold as the image of Carl’s expression just before he’d covered Sloan’s eyes crept into his mind. For a moment, concerned brown eyes stared up at him from beneath that mop of chestnut curls. Silly little fool… Still, it was far better that Sloan took the bet than see the younger man do it. If Carl were the one in the chains then… Sloan shook his head, pushing that image out of his mind as quickly as he could. That was no way to think of another dominant. If he gave in to that particular temptation then— Without any warning, a man’s fingers stroked slowly across Sloan’s chest. Lifting his head, he tried to curse the sneaky little bastard who’d made him think he was alone in the room when he wasn’t. All he managed was a series of muffled syllables. The

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gag one of the previous visitors to the room had forced into his mouth easily consumed the rest. The fingertips stilled against his chest. Sloan instinctively tried to pull away. The bondage made it impossible. The dominant tossed his head back, as if he might actually be able to catch a glimpse of the guy past the bottom edge of his blindfold. No hint of light reached his eyes. Whoever designed the damn thing had a special kind of genius. It was impossible to shake the strip of moulded leather off. In a different situation, Sloan would have given it his whole-hearted approval—in any scenario that put him on the other end of the toy, he’d have loved it. Seeing a submissive squirm was one thing. Being the man wriggling on the end of another guy’s hook was quite another. Every scrap of dominance in Sloan’s soul howled its displeasure at being restrained and forced into a role he’d never had any interest in occupying. A lone fingertip traced its way down Sloan’s chest, crossing the lines the whip had left when it wrapped around his body as it went. The guy’s fingernail felt short, but its touch still sent an extra burst of adrenaline rushing through Sloan’s body each time it passed over a sensitised strip of skin. The dom who’d wielded that particular whip had been singularly incompetent. He hadn’t liked being informed of that fact either. Sloan gave a mental shrug—the guy had needed to be told. If he wanted to even try to dominate a dominant, he’d have to do a hell of a lot better than that. The fingertip’s touch faltered as it reached the base of his rib cage. Sloan tried to imagine what kind of dominant stood before him now. Clueless little sod seemed to have stopped short as if he’d never seen an erection before. If it hadn’t been for the damn gag, Sloan would have let out an impatient sigh. A whole night wasted tied up and surround by fools—by men who seemed to think you could bully a dom into being a submissive with a bet, that a little bit of pain could actually break him. Or perhaps that he was as nice a guy as Carl, someone who could probably be bullied into playing a submissive if a dom gave into the temptation to be a complete bastard. Something brushed against the back of Sloan’s head, just where the buckle on his gag tangled in his hair. Sloan instinctively pulled away from the unexpected contact. The fingers

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fiddling with the catch followed his movements. The straps holding the gag in place fell loose. Sloan pushed at the gag with his tongue, trying to force it out of his mouth until he realised he didn’t actually need to do that. Whoever stood next to him quickly retrieved the cock-shaped gag from between his lips. As Sloan worked his jaw back and forth, pain shot through the joint. There was no way to avoid that. After wearing the gag for so long when he wasn’t used to it, pain was going to come. If the only way he could express his dominance right then was to rush it along and make sure it arrived on his time-scale rather than someone else’s, he’d take it. The moment his jaw began to function with some kind of normality, Sloan parted his lips. Something immediately brushed against his mouth. Another bloody gag. Sloan twisted his head away and gritted his teeth before it could be forced back between his lips. With infinite slowness compared to instincts, thoughts arrived inside Sloan’s head and certain facts presented themselves for his consideration. It wasn’t a gag, it was a fingertip, he realised, and it was merely pressed gently against his lips. It wasn’t a demand or an order to be silent. It was far more like a request. Sloan twisted his head away from the other man’s hand, but he kept his mouth shut as he once more tried to work out exactly who, or what, stood before him. Sloan frowned behind his blindfold as the most recent visitor to his playroom began to examine some of the marks the previous guests had left on him. When the inspection reached the nipple clamps the very first guy had screwed onto him, Sloan had no doubt the other dom was going to tighten them, or pull on the connecting chain the way the others had. But he felt the clamps being carefully undone. The feeling shot back into the tiny buds of nerve endings. Sloan ground his teeth in an effort to stay silent. Above his head, his fists clenched tighter than ever. The dead man’s trigger bit into his palm. The other clamp came off. Gentle fingers began to gently roll the nubs between them, massaging and soothing the abused flesh. The breath caught in Sloan’s throat. He’d seen subs come from him just playing with their nipples after they’d been clamped. Suddenly he understood how a man could actually do that. A pleasure-filled moan threatened to escape from the back of his throat. He coughed and redoubled his efforts to stay completely silent, more than willing to be damned before he gave whoever stood before him the satisfaction of hearing such weakness from him.

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A dom was a dominant even when he was trussed up in leather and chains. It was about time the other men who sat around the poker table with him learnt that. Fingers continued to dance and play against his nipples until the pain finally dissolved away. They left him then, but just a moment later a soft, agile tongue took their place. As Sloan held his breath, lips caressed one sensitised nipple and sucked it into a hot, wet mouth. The guy blew against the damp skin as he pulled away, making the little peak of skin tighten. The same process was repeated on the other side of his chest, but all too soon the lips left him again, having done all they could do to kiss him better. A moment passed without any contact between Sloan and the other man. The atmosphere in the room changed, as if the guy was hesitating, not sure what to do with him next. Then came another kiss, placed very gently at the tip of the scar on his chest. Very slowly, the stranger’s lips traced their way along the healed wound, as if he thought that needed to be kissed better too. A certain kind of dominant might just get away with doing something so blatantly soppy in private with a man who wore his collar and needed to be fussed over that way. But Sloan didn’t feel the slightest trace of dominance in the guy’s touch. More than that, he didn’t even feel an attempt at it. When the kiss ended, and the other man’s mouth left him, Sloan turned his head from side to side as if he might somehow be able look around the blindfold and see where the guy had disappeared to. He saw nothing, and received no warning before a hand wrapped around his cock. Sloan’s hips jerked forward, trying to push his shaft against the stranger’s palm as all thoughts vanished and a far baser instinct took over. For the first time since he set foot in the club, a man managed to push all thought of Carl out of his head. A thumb rubbed back and forth across the glans, smearing the pre cum leaking from the slit over the head. Pleasure rushed through him. Sloan bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. Determined not to react, he stayed perfectly silent as the stranger’s hand moved over his erection again and again, twisting gently on each up-stroke and gradually speeding up his movements until Sloan was right on the verge of coming. The cock ring one of his previous visitors had placed around the base of his shaft trapped more and more blood in his

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erection as it all rushed to his shaft to share in the pleasure that coursed through the responsive flesh. The angle of the hand fondling him altered. Sloan tried to picture what that meant, in what way the latest visitor to the room had moved. He knew some subs could track a man’s movements blindfolded. He didn’t have their experience. And he didn’t want to have their level of experience either. He just wanted to know where this one man was. The blindfold was far more a curse with this man than it had been with any of the guys before him. The only reason Sloan had wanted to see the others was so he’d know who to throw a punch at when he was finally released. But this man—there might be more interesting things that could be done with this one… The weight that some bastard had hung from his ball sac, vanished. A second later, Sloan heard the sound of something heavy and metallic being dropped to the floor to his left. He breathed his relief as he realised it wasn’t going to be replaced with anything else. Both the man’s hands stroked over Sloan’s bare arse then. It was a far more tender touch

than

he’d

received

from

anyone

else

that

night.

It

was

almost

soft,

almost…submissive? Sloan refocused as the thought crept into his head, giving his companion his full attention as he looked for other hints and clues in the stranger’s behaviour. The other guy’s fingers left his arse. They came back a few moments later, coated in something. Sloan’s first thought was lube, but it didn’t feel like lube and the guy didn’t go for his hole. Whatever it was soothed the fire the whip had set in his buttocks. As the guy’s hands stroked over Sloan’s body, gently working the cream into his back and his thighs, everywhere the heavy whip had landed, Sloan closed his eyes as if he wasn’t blind, and relished the first really glorious sensation that had come his way in what felt like a lifetime. As pleasant as it was to feel the pain fade from his skin, the dominant was just about to make it perfectly clear that he wasn’t some silly little submissive that needed to be fussed over and tended to that way, when he realised something important. The other guy’s touch didn’t feel like a master’s care. It felt far more like a submissive’s service. Sloan allowed himself to accept it as such.

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By the time the other man’s hands left his body, Sloan was quietly desperate to reach out and test how the guy would react to a dominant’s hands on his body, for more evidence that his guesses were correct. Sloan pulled at the cuffs around his wrists and his ankles, but his attempts to free himself were as useless as ever. His hand clamped down more firmly than ever around the dead man’s trigger, refusing to give in and release it no matter what the provocation. Just a moment later, a pair of hot willing lips wrapped themselves around his cock. There was no doubting the guy’s position then. He was kneeling in front of him. One of the guy’s hands moved to cradle Sloan’s abused balls, tenderly fondling them as he took Sloan’s cock deeper into his mouth. If Sloan had harboured any uncertainties about the real way his companion swung, they vanished in that moment. Doms could give head—they could even give really good head if they were so inclined, hell, even he could do that. But get down on his knees without even the slightest prompt and worship another man’s cock? The guy before him was all sub. Sloan had no idea how the man had got in the room, but he knew without any shadow of a doubt that a submissive had somehow managed to sneak past the other doms and get a turn with him. The sub swayed back to lap gently at the head of Sloan’s cock. He’d been hard for so long, on the edge for so many consecutive lifetimes, Sloan couldn’t process it as mere pleasure. It was more than half pain, but that didn’t matter right then. The fake submission, the bondage, and the blindfold could all go to hell. Sloan rocked his hips. The man kneeling before him made no attempt to pull away. A second or two passed and Sloan felt the submissive still completely, allowing him to thrust into his mouth while he simply knelt there and accepted whatever a more dominant lover wanted to do with him. Definitely a submissive. A little whimper of pleasure vibrated around Sloan’s cock. If he hadn’t been able to feel both the guy’s hands resting against his sides, he’d have thought the cheeky little sod was jacking himself off without permission. Because the guy kneeling before him needed his permission to come—if not at that very moment, then he bloody well would as soon as Sloan could get out of those cuffs and look him in the eye while he explained that to him.

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Thrusting forward, pulling at his bonds as he tried to gain more leverage, looking down as if the blindfold might conveniently disappear at any moment, Sloan thrust his cock deeper into the other man’s mouth. After so long perched on the edge of his orgasm, his body hovered on the point of bliss and stubbornly refused to jump. The world was full of sensations—pleasant and unpleasant ones in equal measure. The whip marks the other doms had layered onto his skin burned, his muscles ached from being held in the same position for too long. His wrists and his ankles railed as they were rubbed raw by the cuffs. His head ached with the hatred of being blind to a man he so desperately wanted to see. And through it all wound the pure ecstasy of such a talented mouth. Blood pounded through his veins, carrying endorphins and adrenaline to every inch of his body. Caressing hands, a willing mouth, and agile tongue. The guy whimpered again, a muffled sound to let the whole world know he was as thoroughly gagged as Sloan had ever been. There was nothing he could do to keep Sloan silent then. Not when they both knew there was no way in hell he’d pull away without finishing what they’d started. Restraints or not, Sloan could do anything and say whatever he liked. He was a million times more free than the man who didn’t even have an inch of leather wrapped around his limbs. The submissive might technically have him in chains but, as the guy’s mouth moved with increasing desperation around his shaft, Sloan knew he was the one who held the other man in the palm of his hand. Another deep thrust and he spilled into the submissive’s mouth. Throwing back his head, Sloan yelled his pleasure up to the ceiling. Every muscle in his body tensed. White-hot perfection raced up his spine and exploded behind the blindfold. For the first time since Carl had pushed the dead man’s trigger into his hand, Sloan was driven to the verge of letting go of the switch and sounding the alarm. That couldn’t happen. That would bring the doms who were in charge of the club that night rushing into the room to rescue him—to rescue him from a sub. He could easily imagine the scene, picture other dominants’ hands grabbing the man kneeling before him and pulling him away. Other doms hands on his property—touching his submissive.

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As Sloan clamped his hand around the trigger he half expected the plastic to crumble within his fist. Even as pleasure turned him lightheaded and muzzy, he held on to it more rigidly than ever. No one was going to lay a hand on his submissive but him. And the guy was going to be his submissive. There was even a touch of the familiar about him, even though Sloan was certain the guy had never submitted to him before. But that didn’t matter. He’d be Sloan’s submissive soon anyway. The other man didn’t pull away as pleasure drained from Sloan’s body and he finally fell still. The sub stayed on his knees in front of Sloan, letting him soften in his mouth, without even needing to be ordered to do so, without even so much as a strong hand on the back of his head keeping him there. Finally, the submissive began to move away. Sloan let him. He couldn’t undo his new master’s bonds when he was kneeling there. He couldn’t undo the blindfold while he was on his knees either. Sloan sensed the man stand up. He felt the submissive’s eyes raking over his body and he wanted to be able to return the favour so badly he could taste it, even past the lingering taste of rubber from that bloody gag. “Start with the blindfold.” The sub didn’t say a word. He didn’t rush to follow the order either. Sloan frowned. “What’re you waiting for?” No movement. No sound. “If I give you an order I expect it to be obeyed,” he informed the sub. Air brushed against Sloan’s skin as the man in front of him moved. The dominant tensed, waiting to feel the hand on the back of the blindfold undoing the buckle. All he received was the sound of footsteps walking away from him. “Where do you think you’re going?” Sloan automatically tried to take a step forward and follow the submissive. The chains rattled around his ankle cuffs. His hands pulled at those stubbornly holding his wrists high above his head. The footsteps hastened their retreat. Sloan had no doubt they were heading straight to the door. For the first time that night, real fear rather than just petty annoyance sparked inside him.

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“Stay where you are.” No response. All he heard was someone fumbling at the door handle on the other side of the room. A moment later, a breeze from the outside world brushed over Sloan’s body. A second passed, and he heard the door close behind the guy. For several long moments, he just stood there, bound and helpless, unable to do anything but let the sub stride out of his life. He’d walked out on him. That was…it was something that just didn’t happen. It took Sloan several minutes to wrap his head around what had just taken place. The door opened again. It closed behind someone. Footsteps approached. Sloan stretched his senses in a frantic search for the newcomer’s identity. The scent of an aftershave, one which hadn’t been worn by his soon-to-be submissive, reached him. “Ryan?” Sloan demanded. The man hesitated before him. “Um…” “I bloody well know it’s you. Stop buggering about and untie me.” “It’s still five minutes until mid—” “Ryan,” Sloan warned with what he considered to be impressive calm under the circumstances. “But—” “You’ve seen what I’m capable of when I’m in a good mood and enjoying a scene. Do you really want to know what I’m capable of when I’m angry?” He felt fingers brush against his wrist as Ryan began to fumble with the cuffs. The moment his hand was free, Sloan tore off his blindfold, strands of hair were pulled out at the roots as they caught in a buckle he was in far too much of a rush to bother with. He blinked, but his eyes didn’t want to cooperate. He could barely squint at the playroom. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles as he lowered his head and ducked away from the harsh overhead lights, but his eyes still refused to be bullied into working any quicker. If they couldn’t be rushed, he’d have to find something that could be. He glared at the rather blurry looking Ryan. “Hurry up!” he ordered. “Bloody hell! What did he do to you?” “What?” Sloan snapped.

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Ryan just stared up at him, wary and awestruck in equal measure. “What was he into?” he whispered. “What are you talking about?” Sloan bit out. “I didn’t think there was any dom who could freak you out like this,” Ryan admitted, in that same hushed, reverential tone. Sloan rolled his eyes, pulling at the restraints more irritably than ever. “He didn’t—” he sighed. “He wasn’t a dom.” “A sub freaked you out like this?” Ryan sounded even more impressed. “I’m not freaked out,” Sloan spat. Ryan’s face finally came into focus. He looked more than a little sceptical. “I’m fine,” Sloan said. Ryan nodded. Apparently deciding that obedience was going to be a better course of action than courage, he turned his attention to the binding around Sloan’s other wrist. There was a wide red mark around the limb, where he’d pulled at the leather. Sloan glared at it as pain shot through his shoulder and down his arm as he lowered it to his side. Some little bastard was setting rows of fire in his muscles, but he didn’t have time to care about that. Shutting off the dead man’s trigger, he tossed it aside. Ryan dropped to his knees to undo Sloan’s ankles. “Who was the last man in here before you?” Sloan demanded. “No idea.” Ryan glanced up at him. “Seriously. I don’t have a clue. When I came back to the top of the stairs, the room was empty.” The second ankle cuff gave way. Sloan stormed forward. After being kept so still for so long, his legs were quick to make their views on attempting to walk quickly very clear. He only just managed to stop himself falling flat on his face. Every movement sent a shock of pain through him. Each one was far worse than any of the whippings the other men had tried to give him. It seemed to come from deep inside every joint and pound through his veins with each heartbeat. If he could have slowed his pulse down he would have, but everything that kept him from tracking the other man down just made it race faster and faster. He needed to find that sub. Somehow he managed to force his legs across the room towards his clothes.

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His fingers didn’t want to cooperate either. Suddenly, all those times he watched subs fumble after being released from their bondage weren’t so funny. From the point of view of the one who’d just escaped from the tangles of leather around his limbs, it was just bloody well annoying. He scrambled into his jeans and T-shirt, doing his best to ignore the way the fabric scratched each whip mark and each patch of skin that had felt the crop fall against it that night. The sub was the important thing. He could deal with the rest later. “What’re you going to do now?” Ryan asked. Sloan looked over his shoulder at the other man, as he suddenly remembered that he wasn’t alone in the room. “I’m going to find him.” He pulled his boots on and quickly set to work on the laces. As his fingers finally gave up playing silly buggers and cooperated with his demands, he pulled himself to his feet and stormed across to the door. “But what are you going to do when you find him?” Ryan asked, as Sloan’s hand wrapped around the door handle. Sloan paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder at the younger man. The answer should have been obvious, even to a dom of Ryan’s standard. “I’m going to collar him.”

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Chapter Three

Carl looked up as Sloan flung open the playroom door and stormed out into the hallway. A few of the other junior doms had wandered back and were lingering around near the top of the stairs, waiting to see what was going to happen at midnight. They all straightened up and stopped lounging against the banisters as they saw the older man emerge. “Who was in there before Ryan?” Sloan demanded, glaring at each man in turn. They all shook their heads, disclaiming any knowledge. When Sloan’s gaze reached him, Carl held his friend’s gaze and copied the gesture. Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t by the door?” Carl shrugged. “I thought everyone was done. Went to take a leak.” Sloan turned away from him. Carl remembered how to breathe, but he couldn’t make himself look away. As he stared at the dominant, Carl’s tongue sneaked out and licked across his bottom lip, in the hope there might be some lingering taste of the other man’s cum still left there. It was one thing to rush off and take care of his own erection in the scant privacy of the gents’ room. It would have been quite another to rinse the taste of his friend out of his mouth. Carl managed to look down at the bottle of beer in his hand, but he still couldn’t bring himself to contaminate his taste buds with a swig from it, not even when hearing Sloan questioning the other doms turned his mouth dry with nerves. “Carl!” He blinked, looked up and met his friend’s gaze. “Yes?” “Come on.” Sloan turned and strode down the stairs. Carl found himself trailing along behind the older man, the way he had so often over the last few months. “You ask the guys in there,” Sloan ordered, pointing in the general direction of the bar. “I’ll check the changing rooms and catch up with you.”

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“Ask them what?” Carl said. “If they saw the guy who was in there before Ryan,” Sloan snapped, as if that should have been obvious. “Oh.” “Someone must have seen him.” Carl was pretty sure no one had. He’d been really careful about that. “Get a name,” Sloan ordered. Carl glanced up from his beer bottle for a moment as they reached the base of the staircase. “Why are you so determined to track him down anyway?” Sloan met his gaze as Carl descended the last step. “He was a sub.” “You’re sure about that?” “I know a sub when I see one.” “But you didn’t, did you?” Carl blurted out. The taller man frowned down at him. “What?” “You were blindfolded—you didn’t see a sub, or a dom. You didn’t see anyone,” Carl reminded him. “I know a sub when I feel his hands on me too,” Sloan bit out. “Now, are you going to help me find him or not?” Carl nodded. “I’ll help.” Sloan clapped him on the shoulder as he stepped past him. Carl managed to smile. The expression drained away as Sloan moved out of sight. Carl barely held back a sigh as he meandered his way through the crowds of leather-clad men and into the main bar. If most of the rooms had lost all trace of their former incarnation, the bar still looked exactly like something transported out of an old-fashioned gentleman’s club, all dark oak panelling and rich leather upholstery. Over the last couple of days, it had become all tinsel and holly in there too, no doubt more of Paul’s handiwork. There were over a dozen men sitting around in there. Carl ran a quick eye over those subs who weren’t wearing collars. None of them seemed to be the kind of man who would be able to instantly distract Sloan. Silently resigning himself to helping his friend on his search until another sub turned up and caught the older man’s eye, Carl went up to the bar, determined to make a good show of it just in case Sloan might take it into his head to check up on him.

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A sub, not another sub, Carl mentally corrected as he reached the wide expanse of mahogany. There was no other sub for whoever turned out to be Sloan’s next crush to be compared to. The mid-ranking dom behind the bar looked up as Carl stopped in front of him. His eyes dropped to the full beer still in his hand and he raised an eyebrow in query. “Have you been near the upstairs playrooms tonight?” Carl managed to ask. The barman shook his head. “Been in here all night. Why?” “It’s Sloan Davies—he’s um…trying to find someone who was there earlier. Have any of the service subs working in here tonight been in that part of the club?” The dom shrugged and nodded to the corridor leading to the storerooms behind the bar. “Go ask them.” Carl made his way slowly down the hallway. It was unfamiliar territory. Even with the barman’s permission to be back there, he couldn’t help but feel that he was somewhere he shouldn’t be. It wasn’t just unexplored territory—it was submissives’ territory too. Three men looked up as Carl stepped into what looked very much like a tiny break room. They quickly rose to their feet when they realised it wasn’t another sub joining them. Carl hesitated on the threshold. It took all his strength of will not to apologise for interrupting them, not to act like he was as much a sub as Sloan had called the man who sneaked into his playroom. “Were any of you near the upstairs playrooms earlier tonight?” Carl managed to ask. Two of the submissives shook their heads. The third didn’t follow suit. “Yes, sir. I was.” Carl swallowed. “Did you see anyone going into the room at the top of the stairs?” “Room three, sir? I noticed Mr. Thompson and Mr. Sullivan go in,” came the slightly cautious reply. “Anyone else?” Somehow, Carl almost managed to make it sound like a casual enquiry. “No, sir.” “Did you see any submissives enter the room?” Carl nudged. The other man shook his head. “No, sir.” Carl nodded his acceptance of all their answers. “Thanks for your time.”

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He turned to go. Paul, Mr. Harrison’s sub, stood in the doorway. Suddenly realising he was completely unable to go through the same questions all over again with him, Carl merely nodded to the older man as the submissive stepped back and made room for him to pass. Carl stepped into the bar just in time to see Sloan storm through the doors on the other side of the room. The older dominant wasn’t the type to walk calmly around, and quietly ask each individual man the same question over and over again. Carl hung back near the door leading behind the bar as Sloan jumped up on a chair and proceeded to make it quite clear to the world in general that he’d take quick and painful revenge on anyone he found to be hiding information about the identity of the submissive from him. Technically, Carl knew Sloan was just a junior dominant the same as him, even if that was only because he’d only moved into the area a few months before and that was the rank every dom held when he first joined the club. But as he watched and listened, he was well aware that everyone in the room gave Sloan just as much rapt attention as they could have offered the most senior dominant in the club. As Sloan finally jumped down off the chair, the room became a babble of gossip. If anyone had seen Carl go into the room, he had no doubt Sloan would soon know all about it. No matter how careful he’d been, from that point on, Carl seemed to spend most of the rest of the night holding his breath, waiting for all hell to break loose and the first accusation to fly in his direction. But, somehow, it didn’t. Slowly, he started to realise he’d actually managed to get away with it. As Carl stepped out of the club at the end of the night, he took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he relished the cold winter air as it filled his lungs. As he exhaled, his breath instantly turned to mist before him. Lightheaded with relief at his lucky escape, he smiled, remembering doing the exact same thing when he was a little kid, and being delighted how grown-up he looked when he appeared to be smoking. In a strange way, as he stood on the kerb he did feel just a bit more grown-up than he had when he arrived at the club that evening. He was a hell of a lot more confused too, but the older he got, the more convinced he became that that was what being an adult was actually supposed to feel like. Pulling his gloves out of his jacket pocket, he tugged them on and turned his collar up for the walk to the taxi rank.

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“Need a lift?” Carl looked over his shoulder just in time to see Sloan shrug his beaten up leather jacket around his shoulders as he joined him on the pavement. “I’m fine. I’ll get a cab.” It was a perfectly reasonable response to the invitation, Carl knew that. Except, despite all his best efforts, he’d never really found reasonableness much of a defence against Sloan when the older man seemed to be inclined to make his decisions for him. Two minutes later, he was helping his friend clean the snow off the windshield of his low-slung sports car. It was all peaceful and silent until Sloan let out a string of curses as they finally clambered into the car. Carl’s eyes opened very wide as he remembered the state on the other man’s back. “Damn! You okay?” Sloan glared at him as he turned the ignition and checked that the car heater was on full. “Why wouldn’t I be?” As if there was no reason in hell why he should feel as if he’d been run over, reversed over, then run over again for good measure. Carl shrugged and fidgeted with his gloves. It wasn’t as if he could admit that he’d seen how beaten up his back was. “I just guessed some of the others would have given you a hard time once they had a chance to take a whip to you when you couldn’t strike back.” Sloan made a pissed-off noise in the back of his throat. “Bloody cowards, the lot of them.” He looked across at Carl again as he put the car into gear. “You’re the only one who had the balls not to take a cheap shot.” Carl swallowed. “Unwilling men have never been my thing.” “You really think I was a helpless little victim in all this?” A victim of his own stubbornness was still a victim, of sorts. “Yeah, well— unenthusiastic men have never been my thing either,” Carl said softly, heat racing to his cheeks as quickly as guilt ricocheted through his veins. Sloan laughed as he pulled out of the car park. “You’re too nice a guy for your own good. If you’re not careful, when you finally find a submissive who rocks your world, you’re going to end up waiting on him hand and foot.” Carl managed to fake a small smile at Sloan’s rather gentle teasing.

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There were worse ways for a man to spend his life than serving a man he loved. Even though part of him screamed that, he kept the opinion to himself and merely stared out of the window at the rows of houses between the club and his place. Everywhere was covered with a layer of fresh snow, and it was late enough that most of it was still pure and undisturbed. It looked almost other worldly. “What would you have done?” Carl finally blurted out as other, far less pure memories of how Sloan had looked in that playroom tried to sneak into his head. “What?” “If I…or if one of the other guys had won that bet out of the cracker—what would you have done with the man under the mistletoe?” Sloan seemed to think about it for a long time, his eyes never leaving the road. As they pulled up at a set of lights, he turned all his attention to Carl. “Depends who it was.” “Ryan,” Carl picked at random. Sloan chuckled. “Guy’s an idiot, needs someone who knows what he’s doing to take him in hand and show him what dominance really is.” “Someone like you?” Carl asked. Sloan shook his head. “Dominants aren’t my thing. Trying to push someone into playing the submissive when it’s not in them is a bloody sadistic thing to do, even by my standards. He’ll just have to sort himself out on his own.” Carl nodded, unable to risk asking what Sloan would have done with him if he’d been the one to retain the largest half of the cracker. It would have been too close to saying that he didn’t think Sloan saw him as a dominant—that Sloan might have good reason to think he wasn’t just a submissive, but the very submissive he’d been looking for all evening.  

**** “I won’t tell anyone.” Carl looked over his shoulder. Paul stood just a few paces behind him in the doorway leading out of the main lobby of the club and towards a service corridor. Carl blinked at the submissive, sure he must have misheard. “Pardon?” “I said, I won’t tell anyone,” Paul repeated mildly. “You can stop worrying about it. I’m the only one who saw you going into the playroom, and I won’t tell anyone it was you.”

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Carl stepped towards him. Pure panic racing through his veins as any kind of confidence he’d built up over the last week deserted him. Everything was not going to be okay. He felt the blood drain out of his face, but there was something else. There was something other than the obvious which was wrong, something that itched at the back of his mind despite all the bigger problems he suddenly possessed. Paul held his gaze as Carl studied the older man, and Carl realised what had changed. He had seen Paul around the club dozens of times. He wasn’t the kind of submissive who liked to meet a dominant’s gaze and hold it—not even a dom who was half his age. But another sub, that would be a different matter. He wouldn’t hesitate to look another sub in the eye—to look an equal in the eye. “Sloan’s an idiot. He wouldn’t know a sub from a dom if one got down on his knees and…” Carl trailed off. If one got down on his knees and begged to belong to him. He’d come so bloody close to doing that. It would have been so easy, when he’d knelt in that room. It would have been easy to give every scrap of dominance away for the pure joy of submitting to him. Harrison’s sub smiled slightly. He didn’t make Carl struggle to find a way to end a sentence he should never have started. Turning, he simply walked away from him without another word. Carl stared silently after him as he was left alone in the lobby. Once one guy in the club knew his secret, Carl knew it could only be a matter of time before it became common knowledge, before all the guys he’d sat around the poker table with knew, before Sloan knew… He closed his eyes for a moment, like a kid who thought hiding under the covers would make him invisible to the monster hiding under his bed. It didn’t make him feel the least bit safer—it just made the image of Sloan rush back to the front of his mind. Sloan in cuffs and a blindfold. Sloan whipped and abused by a succession of incompetent dominants who couldn’t resist taking a pop at him while he was helpless. Quickly leaving all that behind, his mind rapidly scrolled back to the moment when they’d first stepped into that playroom together. It could easily have been Carl who had won the dare in the cracker, him that had to accept the challenge and put on the cuffs. If Sloan hadn’t changed his mind and decided he was inclined to prove a point, it would have been him. And that made it so easy to imagine how differently the night could

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have gone if he was the one tied up and Sloan had been the one who was free to do whatever he pleased with him. A hand landed on Carl’s shoulder. “Any luck?” Spinning around, Carl flung open his eyes as he stumbled away. His back hit the wall just next to the doorway Paul had disappeared through. Sloan looked at him with that half-amused, half-pissed off expression he seemed so fond of bestowing on him, like an older brother who was thoroughly fed up with helping his younger sibling out of scrapes, but who still couldn’t help but rush to save him. “What?” Carl babbled. “What did you say?” “I said—any luck?” Carl blinked at him. “Did anyone know who he was?” Sloan prompted after a while. “You’ve been asking around about the guy who was in the room with me, right?” Carl nodded, then he shook his head. Sloan’s amusement seemed to deepen. His eyes crinkled slightly at the edges. Carl took a deep breath and tried again. “Yes, I’ve been asking. No, no one knows who he was.” It was impossible for him to keep his friend’s gaze when he lied to him. He looked down at the floor between them, as he hunched his shoulders and pushed his hands into his jeans’ pockets. Sloan sighed. “Come on. Might as well get a drink.” Carl trailed after him into the bar. As they sat at one of the tables dotted around the far side of the room, a service sub came across to take their order. Once the waiter was on his way back to the bar, Carl suddenly found himself alone with his friend. Small talk with Sloan had never been one of his talents. He’d never known what to say to him when he was ignoring his curiosity about submission and effectively living a lie. Now that he was apparently living a lie that other people were aware of, it was harder than ever. “You going to watch the match on the weekend?” he offered as an opening bid. “He wouldn’t have got in here if he wasn’t some sort of member of the club.” “What?” “The sub,” Sloan reminded him. As if he’d actually managed to talk about anyone else ever since that night. “Oh…” Carl slouched a little further down in his seat.

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“He’d have had to have been a member of the club, wouldn’t he?” Sloan pressed. “Right,” Carl mumbled. A member of the club—a junior dominant who’d become a member of the club only to find out he wasn’t as interested in tying anyone up as he’d thought he’d be. The service sub came back with their drinks. He gave Carl a brief smile before his attention was claimed by Sloan. “Bring me a full membership list for the club. Ask behind the main desk—they should have one.” “Yes, sir.” Sloan tossed back the first half of his pint without even stopping for breath. Carl watched his Adam’s apple bob and couldn’t help but wonder what the other man would look like if he was swallowing something other than beer. Except that would never happen. Sloan had never been shy about sharing his views on things like that. Blowjobs were what submissives were for. Dominants didn’t do things like that—not dominants like Sloan. Before Carl had a chance to make a fool of himself, the service sub saved him and returned to their table with several printed pieces of paper. “This is everyone?” Sloan demanded. “Yes, sir.” Carl watched his friend frown down at the printed list for several long seconds. Sloan frowned a lot, enough that he was starting to get some deep lines across his forehead. Carl quickly picked up his pint in an effort to stop himself reaching out to trace them with his fingertips. “It definitely wasn’t a dominant,” Sloan said. Carl took a sip of his beer and made no comment. Sloan’s frown deepened even further behind a shaggy blond fringe that Carl wasn’t allowed to stroke back from his friend’s face. He handed the list of doms to Carl. “Mark off the ones you’ve already questioned.” Carl half-heartedly did as he was told, but most of his attention remained on Sloan. “What’re you doing?” he asked after a while. “Crossing off all the subs I’m sure it wasn’t.”

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“Sure?” Carl asked, with all the innocence he could muster. “I thought you didn’t see—” “I can still rule some of them out.” “Oh?” Carl took a deeper swig of his pint before he picked up his pen and resumed crossing off names of dominants, more or less at random. “I know it wasn’t anyone I’ve done a scene with. Some subs might blur together, but this guy would stand out. I’d remember him.” Carl made an encouraging noise in the back of his throat. His fingers tightened around his pen until Sloan finally took the bait. “The sub who came into that room wasn’t one of those guys a man can pick up in any club on any night of the week. He was…” Sloan tapped his pen against the sheet, carelessly leaving a mess of smudges of ink in his wake, as he seemed to struggle to find the right word. “You think I’m as crazy as the rest of them, don’t you?” Sloan said after a while. His tone was half self-mocking, but there was a hint of seriousness underneath it, just a little touch of his habitual annoyance with the world. A vein throbbed along his jaw line as he clenched his teeth. “I think you’ve gone giddy over a guy just because he gave you a good blowjob,” Carl said, with as much cheerful good nature as he could muster. “Give it a few days and you’ll…” Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?” “What?” Carl forced a smile. “Because your obsessions never do last that long. Remember that little blond boy who—” “No,” Sloan cut in. “How do you know he went down on me?” Curses raced through Carl’s mind as alarm bells echoed around his brain, but when he spoke the words were amazingly calm. “Because you told me as much.” “No, I didn’t,” Sloan said, slowly, as if he was running every word he’d said to him over the last week through his mind as he spoke. “I haven’t told anyone about anything that happened while he was in the playroom with me. How do you know?” Carl shrugged. “It’s kind of obvious. You’d never go this loopy over a man who’d never even sucked you off.” He looked up and forced himself to meet Sloan’s gaze as if he had nothing to feel guilty about.

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His friend stared back at him, unblinking, unrelenting. Carl could practically see the wheels turning inside his head as the older man put the facts together. Sloan leant forward in his chair. Carl stayed exactly where he was, well aware that the slightest lowering of his gaze, the slightest weakness in his body language would be the end of it all. “You know who was in there with me,” Sloan accused. Carl took another swig of beer and almost choked on it. “If I didn’t tell you, then there’s only one man who could have. There was only one other man there!” Sloan stood up. A few men looked up as his chair screeched against the floorboards. Leaning his hands on the table between them, Sloan loomed over him. “If no one told you then—” Carl lurched to his feet, sending his own chair clattering backwards. He looked around the room. Not in there. He couldn’t have this conversation there. He grabbed his friend’s arm and tried to drag him out of the bar. A few moments of stubborn hesitation, and Sloan eventually let Carl tug him out of the room and into one of the big public playrooms on the ground floor of the club. Slamming the door behind them, Carl quickly strode forward putting some physical space between them. “Carl…” Sloan warned. “You’ve got this all wrong,” Carl began. Sloan merely glared at him, more anger flashing in his eyes than Carl had ever seen. Moving towards the centre of the room had been a mistake. Carl knew that the moment he realised he’d effectively placed Sloan between himself and the door. That knowledge forced everything he intended to say straight out of his head. “You could have told me that in there,” Sloan pointed out with ominous control. “And have you throw a fit and accuse me of God only knows what in front of everyone?” Carl demanded. “Since when are you so worried about your reputation?” Sloan asked. “You know how a rumour flies around this place,” Carl babbled. “A dom can go from—”

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“And what about a sub,” Sloan cut in. “Do they worry about their reputations too?” “Ask a sub,” Carl snapped. Sloan’s eyes narrowed further. “Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?” Carl swallowed as he spun away from him. He almost walked straight into a set of standing stocks. He looked at the room he’d dragged his friend into. It was the same room he’d first spotted the mistletoe in. A glance at the ceiling proved to him that he hadn’t left the subs doing the decorations short. There was a bunch tied over each playing station. As he dropped his gaze, Carl’s attention turned to the set up beneath the sprigs. If whoever bought the toys that furnished it was going for a theme, it was definitely a medieval one. Everything in sight was made out of heavy chunks of wood and overly grand metalwork. It could easily have graced the set of a medieval torture chamber on a lowbudget movie. Carl ran his palm over the top edge of the stocks. Make that a very high-budget movie. Like all the toys in the club, the restraint exuded quality. The club was all about quality. Respected dominants. Well trained subs. Hard-core sadists. Enthusiastic masochists. Everything there was high quality. It wasn’t the kind of place that would have any interest in claiming a man who didn’t even know if he was a dom or a sub as one of their own. His membership of the club was effectively over. Everything was over now. “Carl?” He could feel Sloan standing right behind him. There was nothing he could do, nowhere he could hide any more. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known for a long time that the day would eventually come when Sloan would guess at his shameful little secret. He took a deep breath. The scent of leather and sex filled his senses. His grip on the top of the stocks tightened. He forced his eyes open and stared down at the contraption. It wasn’t something designed for messing about with. Any man who was locked into those stocks would be trapped in there, entirely helpless until someone decided he deserved to be released. He wasn’t sure what the club considered the appropriate punishment for a submissive who pretended to be a dominant…for a dominant who pretended to be a…for a man who wasn’t even sure what he really was.

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He’d seen men punished for various infractions of the clubs rules, not just the subs but the doms too—when the senior doms believed one of their members had done something that warranted it. Rank was no excuse for failing to live up to the standard the club expected of a man. Carl took a deep breath. Some of the men who had been punished had been idiots, but without exception they’d been idiots who knew which way they swung, which side of the game they played on. He couldn’t even claim to be sure of that any more. Hell, not since he’d first laid eyes on Sloan just a week after joining the club. “Carl?” Sloan’s hand landed on his shoulder. If it were just a fantasy, it would have been so easy. In one of his daydreams, he’d have been in the stocks before Sloan even had time to give the order, jeans around his ankles and his arse offered up for the other man to do with as he pleased. But reality was reality. Carl spun away from his friend before he could give in to the temptation to rush down a path he wasn’t even sure he wanted to take a single step onto. Turning back to face the older man, he tilted his chin up and dared Sloan to give him his best shot. “You’re a sub, aren’t you?” Sloan pushed. “No.” Sloan ran his eyes up and down Carl’s body as if there was some way he might be able to tell what he was just by looking at him. Carl stayed perfectly still, but the longer his friend stared at him, the more likely it felt that a flashing neon light really would appear over his head proclaiming his own doubts about whether or not he really was as dominant as he’d thought he was when he first set about trying to join the club. “I’m no more a sub than you are,” Carl threw at him when the silence became too much to bear. Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no submission in me.” And he said it as if that was the absolute worst thing anyone could accuse him of. Sudden anger flashed through Carl’s veins, fast and furious. “You’re sure about that?” he goaded. Because Sloan sounded sure—and that just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair for the other man to be so bloody certain about everything when every clear thought that used to live in

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Carl’s head was becoming more like quicksand with every second they spent in each other’s company. “You think just because you saw me in chains once, that—” Sloan began. “What?” “If you think me playing my part in that stupid bet makes me a sub then—” “Shut up!” Carl yelled. Sloan blinked at him, shock flooding his expression, the same way it might if a pretty little kitten suddenly showed him his claws at the most unexpected moment. “Just shut the hell up!” Carl repeated. “Not every single thing in the sodding world revolves around you and that stupid bet!” Sloan said nothing. Carl didn’t know what to say either. He didn’t know if the accusation sounded as much like a lie outside his head as it did inside. The world might not revolve around Sloan, but Carl’s world had for months. He didn’t know exactly when that had happened, when the other man’s happiness became as important to him as his own, became more important to him than his own. But it had. And that had to stop now. Sloan took a deep breath. He straightened his stance. “You’re the sub from—” “I’m not a—” “You’re the man who visited the playroom before Ryan.” Sloan rephrased with a snap. It was stated like a fact and Sloan obviously already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear Carl admit it. Hands clenched into fists at his side, Carl couldn’t fight it any more. He slowly nodded. Sloan just stood there. He wanted to hear it. “Yes,” Carl spat out. “Okay? Happy now? I’m the guy you were so sure was your perfect sub. You were wrong. You’ve made an idiot out of yourself trying to track him down for nothing. Now, can we please—?” “You’re wrong.” Carl closed his eyes for a moment. “What?” “I said, you’re the one who’s wrong, not me,” Sloan said, stepping forward and closing the gap between them.

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Carl took a step back, straight into the damn stocks. Unwilling to run around and hide behind the contraption, he had little choice but to stand his ground the same way he should have from the start. “I might have made a fool out of myself, but it wasn’t for nothing,” Sloan informed him. “I got what I wanted. I found the man I was looking for.” “And what are you going to do now?” Carl asked, far more softly than he’d intended. “I told you what I was going to do,” Sloan reminded him. “I told everyone in the club what I intended to do once I found you.” The words got quieter as Sloan approached him. He was an inch or two taller than Carl, he had to dip his head to whisper into Carl’s ear. Sloan’s cheek brushed against the side of his face as he closed the final inch of space between them. “Isn’t it obvious, Carl? I’m going to collar you.”

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Chapter Four

Carl tried to jerk away from Sloan as if someone had laid a hot poker to his skin as Sloan whispered the words, but there was nowhere for the younger man to go. Sloan smiled slightly to himself as the last of his doubts faded. With his back to the stocks there was no way the submissive could retreat. Panic flashed through Carl’s eyes. His hands landed on Sloan’s shoulders. He attempted to push his soon-to-be-master away from him. Taking a step back, Sloan didn’t try to stop the submissive rushing towards the door. Carl wouldn’t actually leave the room. He wasn’t the type to walk away without a word. He was far too nice a guy for that. True to form, the younger man stopped with his hand on the door handle. Looking over his shoulder, he met Sloan’s gaze as squarely as any dominant ever could. He really did have stunning eyes. Sloan had been half aware of that fact for months, but this was the first time he allowed himself to imagine them looking up at him while the other man knelt at his feet in submissive anticipation. The change in his point of view made all the difference. It turned nice eyes into amazing ones. It changed a nice guy into a bloody fantastic potential submissive. “What happened in that room is no one else’s business,” Carl informed him. “I haven’t told anyone anything about it,” Sloan reminded him. He had no intention of muddying his memories that way. Carl nodded as if that settled everything. He turned and walked out of the room. Sloan didn’t let him get too far ahead. As he strode down the corridor after the submissive, his longer legs easily disposing of any head start the boy had, Sloan spotted a couple of the other junior doms from their regular poker game lurking about at the end of the corridor. “What were you two up to in there?” Todd called out as they approached. Carl’s steps faltered as he seemed to realise he was walking straight towards them. He’d been heading straight out of the club, Sloan had no doubt about that. Carl looked over his shoulder as he realised his escape wasn’t going to be as easy as that.

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The younger man’s eyes narrowed as their eyes met and Sloan held his gaze. A touch of mutiny made its way into his expression. He strode past the other doms and into the room set up for their poker game as if his life depended on it. Sloan silently brought up the rear of the party as they all traipsed in after him. Closing the door behind them, he quietly locked it and slipped the key into his pocket. Pure possessive instinct rushed through him, mingling with the relief at finding the man he’d been looking for and making him want to trap the other man in an enclosed space, to seal off any escape route so he couldn’t lose him again. As they all grabbed their first beers of the night from the ice chest in the corner of the room, Sloan noticed Todd looking at the floor around the base of the table, as if something was missing. Lifting his gaze, Todd frowned at Sloan. “Where’s the sub? You always bring a sub!” Ignoring him completely, Sloan met Carl’s gaze. He saw the younger man’s chest still as he stopped breathing. There was a sub there, but this one was very different to the ones Sloan had brought along to entertain them as they played. Picking up a pack of cards, Sloan tossed them to Todd. “Deal.” “But—” Sloan’s expression halted Todd mid-flow without him actually needing to say a word. He chose his seat. Carl was too slow in stepping forward to have a choice. By the time he approached the table, there was only one seat left and it was the one immediately to Sloan’s left. The boy had balls. Sloan would give him that. He doubted anyone else in the room would see how nervous the younger man was either. Carl sat there, and played his cards as if he wasn’t the least bit conscious of his soon-to-be-master sitting right by his side. For all his new-found acting ability, Sloan had already developed a far better read on him than any of the other guys would ever be capable of. He could see the tension creeping into the younger man’s muscles. He was acutely aware of Carl’s movements as they became jerkier and his playing became more erratic. An hour into the game, it was no longer possible for him to ignore how close to breaking point he was driving the submissive.

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As Sloan stared at his cards for a few long seconds, there was something even more obvious than the flush draw in his hands. He either needed to call off the chase or go in for the kill. It was one thing to enjoy the hunt with a stranger, to watch the quarry panic and descend into something akin to true terror as it floundered in a trap. But Carl… Sloan glanced towards the younger man. Carl was different, and Sloan couldn’t keep circling him forever. “What are you planning?” Ryan asked as he knocked back the dregs of his beer. Sloan raised an eyebrow at him. “I can tell when you’re planning something,” Ryan said, with a slightly tipsy chuckle. Sloan looked at each man around the table, starting with the man on his right and working his way around until his gaze finally came to rest on Carl. “Yeah, we could all do with a bit of play after the most boring week on the planet,” Mike chipped in from the other side of the table. “What makes you so sure everything will happen just the way he plans it?” Carl snapped. His eyes never left Sloan’s face. “There’s no such thing as a sub who can hold out against Sloan!” Ryan crowed. “Yeah, well there’s a first time for everything, right?” Carl bit out. “You think some pathetic little sub boy could really get the better of him?” Todd demanded, tossing back his head as he let out a burst of laughter. “That sounds like a challenge to me,” Ryan goaded. As Sloan watched, Carl blinked several times in quick succession. The submissive looked away then, as if he hadn’t really realised his words could be taken that way until it was already too late. But for once it seemed to Sloan that Ryan was actually right about something. Intentional or not, Sloan knew a challenge when he heard one. And the way a dom kept the respect of the men around him was to never back down from a challenge. If Carl started to doubt him now, there would be no going back. Abandon the chase or go in for the kill. Now or never… “Next one to fold fetches the next round,” Sloan announced.

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Carl’s cards were already halfway to the table as the words hit the air. His hand barely faltered before he finished tossing them down. Pushing himself up from his chair, he strode towards the door leading back into the club. “I ordered one of the service subs to stock the fridge earlier,” Sloan said, nodding towards the small kitchen set off the poker room before Carl had a chance to try the door handle and find it locked. Carl obediently changed course and walked across to the kitchen without a word. He disappeared inside. Sloan didn’t have much time to work, but he made the most of it. The other men looked on, their curiosity was clear, but none of them said a word. By the time Carl came back to the poker table, there were only five chairs around its edge. The sixth stood in the hallway, outside the locked door, out of Carl’s reach. The submissive didn’t seem to notice anything had changed until he’d put the six beer bottles he’d opened down. As he rounded the table, he looked down. One of the leather covered cushions provided for those submissives the doms wanted to offer relative comfort, rested on the floor where Carl’s chair had stood just a few moments before. The submissive’s eyes went straight from the leather to Sloan. Anger flashed in his expression, but Sloan simply held his gaze and accepted it, never blinking. Carl took a step back. He turned away from them all and strode rapidly towards the door. Hand around the doorknob, he pulled. Nothing happened. He tugged at it again. Carl’s fist released the handle. His fingertips brushed against the key hole beneath it. For several long seconds, he stared at the lock as if he had never seen one before. He turned around to face them very slowly. His eyes met Sloan’s gaze once more, dark brown eyes so full of emotion it almost took the dominant’s breath away. “Come here, Carl,” he said, his voice perfectly calm and level. The younger man didn’t move. Sloan stayed in his chair, waiting him out. It wasn’t only anger he’d seen in the other man’s eyes. There was desire there too. Carl wanted this. Maybe he didn’t want to want it. But Carl did want to submit to him. As their eyes locked across the room, Sloan would have bet every penny he owned that Carl wanted it more than he’d wanted anything else in his entire life. The only thing left to discover now was if Carl would prove to be strong enough to step forward and take what he wanted. Unwilling to repeat the order and unwilling to enter

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into any sort of deep discussion in front of an audience, Sloan remained silent, waiting for the other guy to blink first. Carl’s eyelids dropped down between them and Sloan didn’t dare move in case the spell should be broken. When Carl opened his eyes again, he didn’t lift his gaze. All the would-be submissive’s attention still remained on the cushion by Sloan’s feet. With glacial haste, the younger man finally took a step forward, then another, and another. Sloan followed every movement he made, his gaze taking in every detail from the way Carl’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, to the way his long sleeved T-shirt moved against his skin as he pulled deep lungfuls of air into his body. The younger man’s well-polished boots stopped at the edge of the cushion. Sloan knew he wasn’t the only guy holding his breath then. He was vaguely aware that every man around the table was just as mesmerised by the man before him as he was. Carl might have been the only one of them to have any real submission in him, but there was no doubt who held sway over the room right then. For once, they were all waiting on the submissive’s pleasure. The younger man’s knees began to bend. Without a single word, he lowered himself to kneel on the cushion where his chair had been a few minutes before. Sloan’s lips twisted into a satisfied smile as he reached out and stroked his fingers through the younger man’s mop of dark curls. For the first time since he’d originally set eyes on the younger man some six months before, he had Carl exactly where he wanted him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling a tension that he hadn’t really been aware of before drain away as everyone slipped neatly into the positions they were truly suited to and the world became a much better place than he could ever remember it being.

Carl kept his gaze fixed firmly on the floor beneath the table as his weight settled onto the cushion beneath him. There was no point fighting any more. It wasn’t as if he could come back to the club again anyway. It was pointless to struggle to convince Sloan that what he said was the truth, when it had always felt like more of a lie with every extra moment he’d spent in the dominant’s company. He forced himself to stay still as Sloan’s fingers stroked through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands in the process. There was no attempt to move his head or to signal a

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desire for him to do anything. It was just an expression of control, a reminder of who was dominant and who was submissive, of who the master was and who was the obedient pet he expected to kneel at his feet and come to heel with a click of his fingers. Under the table, one of the other doms shuffled his feet. Carl tried to remember who was sitting where, but Sloan was the only man he’d really noticed since he stepped into the room that night. He hadn’t paid that much attention to the other men’s boots before, but as he knelt there, desperate for anything to distract him, he noticed that one pair was more highly polished than all the others. Another man’s boots were a slightly different style, with the toe cap separated from the main part of the boot with a line of stitching. A third pair rose higher up their owner’s calves, the laced-up fronts almost reaching the guy’s knees. That was probably the kind of detail submissives were used to paying attention to. It wasn’t as if they were encouraged to lift their gazes and look the dominants in the eye whenever the hell they felt like it. When a man led his life that way, he probably got used to distinguishing between the guys who gave him orders from subtle little clues like that. Clenching his hands into even tighter fists, Carl swallowed down the foul taste in the back of his mouth. He wasn’t going to be one of the men who got used to it. He wasn’t going to stick around in the club for that. One night to say goodbye to Sloan and that would be it. Just one night. He couldn’t afford to give himself more than that. The chances were the older man wouldn’t be interested in more than that from him anyway. But still, Carl reminded himself very firmly, one night and no more. There was no way in hell he could kneel at Sloan’s feet twice and walk away afterwards. It would be too risky. He’d seen enough around the club to know that dominants like Sloan could be addictive if a sub wasn’t careful. Carl blinked, very slowly, only just stopping short of hiding away behind closed eyes like a child scared of the darkness that suddenly surrounded him. If a sub wasn’t careful… No! One night. After that, he’d find another club and make a fresh start, well away from Sloan. Just because some part of him had realised that Sloan was more dominant than him, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a dom in another club. Everything would be fine, he told himself, all he had to do was…

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“Carl!” The word broke through his daydream. Blinking his way back into the world around him, Carl registered the tone of voice. It obviously wasn’t the first time a man had called his name. It wasn’t Sloan either. Carl took a deep breath. Submissives couldn’t pick and choose who they submitted to during the poker game. When a sub entered that room he was there to serve all the dominants around the table, everyone knew that. Carl had known that when he walked in there. When a hand appeared at the edge of his field of vision, Carl forced himself to stay still. Seconds passed. No hand fell against his skin. A yelp filled the air. Carl snapped his gaze up. The hand he’d spotted was still several inches away from his head. Sloan’s fist was wrapped around the guy’s wrist, its hold on him so tight it turned the skin painfully white. Curses filled the room. Carl looked further up, his gaze moving quickly from Todd’s face to Sloan’s. The older man wasn’t looking at him. His attention was all on Todd, and the pain he forced into the other dominant’s wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?” Sloan snapped. For a moment, Carl could only assume Sloan was talking to him. Panic at the displeasure he heard in the more experienced dominant’s voice made his breath catch in his throat. Then his brain started to work again. It wasn’t him that Sloan was angry at. “What’s your problem?” Todd demanded as Sloan finally released him. He nursed the maligned limb against his chest as he glared at Sloan. “That bloody well hurt.” “Then don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you,” Sloan bit out. “Since when do you have a problem sharing?” Ryan asked from the other side of the table. “Since I didn’t invite any of you to share him,” Sloan snapped. Carl turned his attention back to the boots beneath the table. That’s why Sloan cared. Protocol. He didn’t like the idea the other men thought they could take what was his without asking first. It was just arrogance on Sloan’s part, nothing more. A full minute passed while Carl waited for Sloan to decide he’d made his point well enough and relent. Part of him knew that he’d go along with whatever the other man ordered him to do once the commands started to flow. He’d been fighting against his own

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curiosity for too long, spent far too many evenings in the other man’s company wondering what it was really like to kneel at his feet and obey his commands. It wasn’t in him to go at it all half-heartedly now. He could hate himself for it all tomorrow. Just for tonight… Sounds floated down to him from above the table. Cards were dealt, beers drunk. Minutes passed. Someone scooped up the chips from the centre of the table. The next hand was dealt. It was as if they’d simply forgotten he was there. Sloan’s hand came back to rest in Carl’s hair. Tugging at the strands, Sloan pulled Carl’s head towards his leather-clad thigh. Half glad that he wouldn’t have to continue kneeling there with nothing to distract him from his snowballing panic, Carl began to shuffle his way under the table. He remembered the taste of the other man so well. In some way, he was sure the world would be a better place once he had his lips wrapped around the dominant’s cock. Everything had been so simple then and— Sloan’s grip on him tightened until it edged on painful. Carl had little choice but to still his head or risk losing a large chunk of his scalp. When he changed tack and cautiously rested his head against the dominant’s thigh in the way Sloan seemed to want, the older man eased his grip and stroked his fingers through his hair as if in praise. Carl closed his eyes. Even when he had no idea what the hell was happening, he couldn’t ignore the fact that the part of him that had been besotted with his friend for weeks was happy simply kneeling at his feet. So pathetically happy… Sloan’s hand disappeared for a moment. When it came back, there were peanuts from the bowl on the table concealed in his palm. He offered them to Carl’s mouth. Pushing his embarrassment aside and letting his most basic instincts take over, Carl lowered his head and caught a few with his lips, kissing the dominant’s hand in the process. As he ate the snacks, his tongue brushed against Sloan’s skin. Traces of salt remained there long after the food was gone. He licked that up too. A hint of Sloan’s own taste was mixed in with it. The salt brought the flavour of his friend’s cum back to the front of his mind. When Sloan’s hand left him again he could barely hold back a whimper of regret at losing it so soon.

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The feeble little sound stayed on the edge of his self-control for what felt like forever but, finally, the game above him seemed to end. Sloan remained in his chair as Carl heard the other men leave. The older man just tossed the key to them so they could unlock the door without him needing to rise from his seat. There was no need for Carl to lift his head and face any of them. The door was open. Carl knew that in some strange version of reality that probably meant he could leave. Yet, somehow, he found himself staying on his knees until long after the door slammed behind the other men. Sloan’s grip on his hair tightened and encouraged him to look up at his friend. The dominant stared down at him for several long moments before Sloan finally moved his chair back, turning it to face Carl square on. His erection was already straining at the front of his jeans. Carl waited for the command, but none came. Sloan didn’t say a word, he simply undid his fly and freed his cock. In complete silence, he reached out and guided Carl forward until his lips were just an inch away from the head. Hands hanging idly at his sides, Carl opened his mouth and welcomed the shaft between his lips as Sloan pulled him closer and gradually fed his cock into his mouth. The taste of his friend’s pre-cum as it leaked onto his tongue took Carl straight back to that night. The fear of discovery raced through his veins once more, but as he slowly bobbed his head, it gradually began to fade away. The calm that crept into his mind to replace it was almost trancelike. There was nothing left to hide now. No secrets to be discovered. He had a crush on his friend. He’d wanted to submit to Sloan for months. It was all out in the open. It was all done. The worst had already happened, there was no point clinging to his fear any more. Lifting his hands, Carl wrapped his fingers around his friend’s shaft, steadying the length as he swirled his tongue around the tip of his cock before sucking the glans back into his mouth. He didn’t try to hold back his murmur of pleasure. This was his reward for being so patient, for hiding the truth for so long, and he was going to enjoy it. He was going to give himself something to remember when he walked away and left all this behind him. Carl dipped his head low enough over the dominant’s lap that he kissed the top of his own fist. He took his hand away, allowing himself to take yet more of his friend’s cock

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between his lips. He laved every inch of the hard length with his tongue, worshipping every bit of him with his lips. Some part of him desperately needed to memorise it all. Sloan’s taste, his scent, that sound the dominant made in the back of his throat when the man kneeling before him chanced to do something he particularly enjoyed. It was vital to Carl that he’d be able to remember exactly what it felt like when Sloan’s shaft filled his mouth and the grip the dominant had on his hair turned painfully tight. He had to be able to recall every snippet of information he could glean about his lover. Even as he knelt there, Carl knew he’d be surviving on those meagre scraps for a long time. He closed his eyes as he dipped his head even lower, until the tip of Sloan’s shaft nudged against the back of his throat. Sloan’s hand coaxed him on, but Carl pulled back without trying to take him to the root. He didn’t have the self-control to even attempt that level of skill right then. Hell, he barely had enough control of his own body to remember to breathe at the right moments. All he could do was bob his head quicker and pray that he might still be able to make the more dominant man come. Too on edge, too invested in what he was doing, Carl felt everything he knew and all his experience with other men fade away. All he had was instinct, and the instinct that came to the fore inside him was one that revolved entirely around a desire to submit. Carl whimpered at the realisation. Long before he was ready for it to be over, he felt Sloan tense. The dominant’s hips jerked forward. His shaft slid against Carl’s tongue as he came in his mouth. Carl could barely swallow fast enough to take everything the other man offered, but success still rushed through him as salt spread across his tongue. On his knees in front of a man who he knew had stopped giving a damn about him the moment he realised he was a submissive, he’d never felt better about his place in the world. Sloan’s fingernails scraped against his scalp as his grip on him strengthened further. Even as he fell still and started to soften between Carl’s lips, he held on tight to the strands— it almost felt as if Carl wasn’t the only man afraid that all the perfection he’d stumbled on could all disappear if he didn’t cling on to it hard enough.

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Minute after minute passed, and the only movement was Carl’s cheeks as he suckled gently around the dominant’s shaft. Finally, Sloan’s grip on him eased. Carl forced himself to pull away. The older man straightened up in his chair. Carl wiped at his lips. His gaze stayed on the floor as he found himself unable to look his friend in the eye, and unable to look straight ahead while Sloan’s fly remained undone. It would be far too tempting to lean in, take him back into his mouth and pretend the world really was as simple as it had felt in those few moments. One of Sloan’s hands returned to Carl’s hair. The other came to rest on the side of his neck. “You’ll need a collar.” Carl pulled away from his friend as he shook his head. Slipping from Sloan’s grasp, he pulled himself clumsily to his feet, before he forgot why that would be a bad idea. He turned towards the door. “Carl?” “I…” Carl swallowed rapidly. “No.” It was the only word he could say. “What?” Carl closed his eyes. He knew how it would be if he really did take Sloan’s collar. It wouldn’t be anything like any of those stupid fantasies he’d allowed to linger in his head since he joined the club. Any friendship they had was already gone. Sloan wasn’t the kind of dominant who counted submissives among his friends. And anything deeper than friendship… Carl forced his eyes open. That wasn’t an option either. When he looked back to him, their eyes met, and Carl knew there was nothing he could say, no explanation he could give. Another minute in the older man’s presence, and he knew he’d end up giving in to whatever the more dominant man wanted, no matter how badly he’d hurt himself in the process. He spun away from Sloan and rushed out of the room and the club as if the hounds of hell weren’t just nipping at his heels, but crawling up his back and trying to claw their way into his mind as well.

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With his fly still undone, Sloan couldn’t race after him straight away. Carl heard the other man curse that fact. He heard the dominant call out to him as if he thought he’d lost his mind too. As he raced out of the club and jumped into the taxi that had just dropped someone off at the kerb, he couldn’t really blame his friend for thinking he was crazy. He was pretty sure Sloan was right. As his taxi drove away, Carl was more than willing to believe his mind had disintegrated the very moment he walked into that club and promptly fell in love with Sloan Davies.

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Chapter Five

“Carl!” Sloan pushed his way through the crowds that crammed the lobby of the club as he called out to the submissive for the third time. After a whole week trying to track the boy down, he’d be damned if he’d let him get away again. There would be no standing in the middle of the road staring furiously at the tail lights of a taxi this week! A display due to take place that night in one of the public rooms had brought men out of the woodwork. Members of the club mingled in with the non-members, expensive bondage gear clashing with cheap copies. Despite the din, Sloan knew Carl had to have heard him. But, if anything, the submissive only increased his pace and moved away from him faster than ever. Sloan sped up too, leaving a trail of swearing and muttering in his wake as he stopped caring who he had to shove aside. Carl’s shoulders were narrower than his, but the submissive was far too patient with the people who got in his way to make a quick escape. Sloan’s hand landed on the other man’s jacket just before he reached the corridor leading out of the lobby into one of the members’ only sections of the club. Tightening his grip, he spun the submissive around to face him. “Where the hell have you been?” Carl stared straight past him as if he couldn’t even bare to look at him. That was easily solved. Sloan caught hold of his chin and tilted Carl’s head back, demanding the younger man meet his gaze. With one hand practically wrapped around the shorter man’s throat, Sloan didn’t miss the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to hide his nerves. “I’m not here to see you,” Carl bit out. Sloan’s blood froze in spite of the heat in the club. “Who?” He could guess how many doms would want a piece of him now that everyone knew what his nature really was. Carl stayed silent.

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“Who did you come here to see?” Sloan demanded again. Someone collided with his back, an elbow dug roughly into his ribs, pushing him forward until he almost trampled the submissive. It was too public, too loud. Grabbing hold of his friend’s shirt, Sloan dragged Carl in exactly the same direction as the younger man had been heading a moment before. Striding past the dom on duty by the door that led to the members’ only section, he hauled Carl straight to one of the meeting rooms that flanked the corridor. When he slammed the door behind him, it took all his strength to let more than a few inches of space exist between them. Somehow he convinced himself to push Carl towards the middle of the room before he forgot himself and held on so tightly he’d end up hurting the younger man in a way the submissive definitely wouldn’t enjoy. Relative silence surrounded them as the door blocked out the worst of the din. Sloan ran his eyes slowly over the younger man’s body. He was fine. That was something. After all the worst case scenarios he’d been imagining in the week since the boy had dropped off the map, it was bloody fantastic. “Where have you been?” he asked again, with far more calm than he felt. Carl folded his arms across his chest and said nothing. “I’m a damn sight more stubborn than you’ll ever be,” Sloan reminded him, automatically squaring up to him and adopting much the same pose. “I haven’t been anywhere.” “I called your landline and your mobile. I e-mailed you and texted you. I went to your flat.” Carl shrugged. “There’s no law against ignoring someone’s calls. I didn’t have anything to say to you.” Sloan opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. For practically the first time in his life, he really was speechless. Carl looked up and met his gaze for a moment. “I thought—” Sloan shook his head at himself as he cut his own response short. He’d cheerfully be damned before he’d admit that he’d actually been worried about the other man, before he’d display that kind of weakness in front of him. “I’m not interested in…” Carl finally said. “I’m only here because Mr. Harrison summoned me to the club.”

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“What’s Harrison got to do with anything?” Sloan bit out. Carl shrugged. “He’s one of the senior doms, isn’t he? I figured he wants to tell me I’m not a member of the club any more. And that’s fine by me.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. “I won’t be coming back again anyway.” “You’re running away,” Sloan realised. He was scared, and he was turning tail and racing away from it all as fast as he could. “Whatever.” Carl tried to step past him, heading for the door. “You can’t just pretend it never happened,” Sloan said as he blocked his way. “I can do whatever I want,” Carl informed him, with barely a tremor in his voice. “I don’t belong to you.” “Who are you trying to convince,” Sloan threw at him. “Me or you?” Carl stopped short. “I don’t belong to you.” His tone of voice was still off. “But you want to belong to me, don’t you?” Sloan pushed. He’d bet the submissive wanted to almost as much as his soon-to-be-master was desperate for that to be the case. “No.” “Liar.” Carl’s eyes flashed up to meet his then, anger burning in the dark brown gaze. “You’re really that arrogant?” “It’s not arrogance, it’s a fact.” It was also why the boy never won at poker. Carl was a bloody awful liar. “Yeah, well, here’s another fact for you,” the younger man said. “Even if I was looking for a master—and I’m not—you’d be the last man in the club I’d ever take a collar from.” Sloan’s hand tightened into a fist at his side. “What?” “Even if I was a sub, I’d have no interest in belonging to you.” “What are you interested in then?” Sloan snapped. Anger raced through him faster and more vicious than he’d ever known, as fear crept back into his veins. Carl opened his mouth, but his lips came together without a single word leaving them. He didn’t even know himself. “He wants a real master,” a deep voice cut in. They both spun around towards the man standing in the doorway. “What?” Sloan demanded.

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“I expect he wants a real master,” Mr. Harrison repeated. “Not someone who’s just playing at it.” Sloan turned away from Carl. Stepping in front of the other man, he squared up to the more senior dominant. The older man smiled as if he was quietly amused by him. “Dominance is more than dressing up in leather and barking orders. You might like to turn your attention to the more senior members of the club,” he added, as he looked past Sloan to direct his words pointedly at Carl. “He’s not interested,” Sloan snapped, as every part of his soul howled out its protests at any other man ever laying a hand on what was his. “The kind of dominants I’m talking about would have more sense than to speak for a man who hasn’t given him the right to do that.” Sloan took a step forward. It was one thing for the man to claim a certain status as an established dominant. It was another for him to start hitting on Sloan’s submissive right in front of him. “If and when he gives you his submission, you may say whatever you wish on his behalf, until then, shut up—there’s a good boy.” Mr. Harrison stepped forward until he was just a foot away from Sloan. Then, he pointedly turned his attention away from him, as if he was irrelevant. “Is he bothering you?” he asked Carl. “It’s fine. I’m leaving as soon as…you said you wanted to speak to me?” Carl said. The older man stayed perfectly silent for several long seconds, apparently waiting for something. “…sir?” Carl added, softly. Sloan tensed as he heard the honorific fall from Carl’s lips—aimed at someone other than himself. Harrison wasn’t the man Carl should be calling sir. Even if he’d never cared less about the title before, in that moment, when it was Carl saying it, it mattered to Sloan. “Running away from your problems rarely solves them,” Harrison informed him. “Sir?” Carl said again. Mr. Harrison turned his attention back to Sloan for a moment. “I suppose you’d better come along too,” he said, with what sounded suspiciously like a long-suffering sigh. He turned towards the door.

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Carl obediently followed the man as he left the room. Sloan quickly strode after them, not about to let the submissive out of his sight again. Another man quietly joined the procession as they made their way deeper into the club. Sloan glared at him until he spotted the collar around the man’s neck and recognised him as Harrison’s submissive, Paul. Heavy leather boots loud against the floor boards, Harrison led the way to one of the private rooms right at the back of the club, past the playrooms and the exhibition rooms and into the territory reserved exclusively for the most senior members of the club. Carl stepped into one of the rooms after Harrison. When Sloan would have followed him, he found the door swinging shut in his face. “You can wait out there for now,” Harrison informed him. For several long seconds, Sloan stared at the closed door. He was just about to push it open when he turned and saw three of the senior doms who worked there as bouncers eyeing him somewhat warily from a few yards down the corridor. “Would you like a drink, sir?” Paul asked, indicating the seats arranged in the corridor. Sloan forced himself to sit down. If he’d accepted the club’s invitation to rise through their ranks, he knew he’d have been welcomed into the room. By then, he’d have been one of those doms Harrison thought Carl deserved. Well, sod that. He wasn’t going to waste his time jumping through hoops for other doms. There was only one man in that club he had any interest in anyway, and as soon as he and Carl reached an understanding he’d enjoy telling all the senior doms exactly where they could shove their hierarchy. Leaning back in his chair, Sloan folded his arms across his chest and glared at the door as if that might somehow make it open more quickly.

**** “You wanted to speak to me, sir?” Carl managed to say. Much to his relief, his voice remained reasonably level throughout the entire sentence. Standing in front of the older man’s desk as Mr. Harrison stepped behind the huge expanse of mahogany, made him feel far too much like a schoolboy called into the

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headmaster’s office for his peace of mind—even if neither his old headteacher nor his old school could have dreamt of affording such an antique. Rather than sit behind his desk, Mr. Harrison picked up a file and carried it across to a less formal seating area on the other side of the room. Settling himself in one of the high backed leather armchairs, the dominant beckoned Carl and pointed to the sofa opposite him. “Sit down.” Carl did as he was told. Mr. Harrison smiled very slightly as their gazes met, just a touch of kindness in the pale blue eyes. “It’s more common than you think.” “Sir?” “You’re not the first man to apply to join the club as a dominant only to start questioning if that’s really where his talents lay after he’s spent some time with us.” Carl dropped his gaze. He felt the heat rush to his cheeks. He’d been wrong. The desk had nothing to do with the older man’s ability to make someone else feel like a silly little school boy. “The only men who gossip more than submissives are dominants,” Mr. Harrison said, with that same wry smile. “And yes, by now everyone knows that you were the man who joined Sloan in the playroom—the one he made so much fuss about finding.” Carl closed his eyes. He couldn’t make words happen. Silence descended on the room. He managed to lift his head from where he’d bowed it over his hands. His gaze went straight to the door. “Carl?” He helplessly looked back to the senior dominant. “I left him out there for a reason. Nothing said in here will reach Sloan or anyone else.” “Yes, sir,” Carl managed. “You’re a submissive?” Harrison asked. Panic spiked inside Carl as the question he’d been asking himself over and over again inside his head suddenly escaped into the real world and threatened to take on a life of his own. “I don’t know,” he blurted out. Harrison didn’t laugh, he didn’t even look surprised. He nodded, as if that was exactly the answer he expected. “Hardly the end of the world.”

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Carl just blinked at him. At that moment, the door swung open. Carl practically launched himself out of his seat, sure it would be Sloan bursting in, full of anger and dominance and the kind of perfection Carl was in no condition to deal with right then. Harrison’s submissive stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind him. Carrying a tray across the room, he calmly set it down on the low coffee table between Carl and Mr. Harrison. “Tea, sir?” he asked his master. He turned his attention to Carl. “Would you like a cup?” Carl just stared at him. “Paul doesn’t believe men should ever have stressful conversations without a plentiful supply of tea on hand,” Harrison informed him, a touch of tender affection in his voice as he looked at the other submissive. “Have a cup, or you’ll offend him.” Carl cleared his throat. “Yes…I… Thank you,” he managed. He wasn’t sure what the tea could do to turn the world into the kind of place he wished it could be. Tea couldn’t kill his interest in being anything other than the dominant he’d intended to be when he joined the club. It couldn’t make Sloan a different kind of dominant, one that might one day give him a collar and a happy ending. But still, in a strange way, the familiar process of milk and sugar being added to the cups did soothe something inside him. By the time he had a mug in his hand, he felt more in control of himself than he had since he rushed out of the club a week before. “Is there anything else, sir?” Paul asked his master as he handed the older man his cup. Harrison dismissed him with a slight shake of the head. The submissive retreated to the other side of the room, but he made no move to leave them alone. “Paul’s no gossip,” Harrison informed him, as he sipped his tea. “Yes, sir.” Some scared little part of Carl was quickly starting to fall in love with those two words. They made everything so simple. Even if some part of him railed inside him, screaming that a dominant shouldn’t be saying them. “A different question then,” Mr. Harrison decided. “Are you a dominant?”

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Carl blew across the surface of his tea as he wrapped his hands a little more tightly around his mug. He determinedly nodded his head. “Yes. I mean…I thought I was before…” “Before?” Harrison finally prompted. Carl stared at his tea some more. He’d never been sure how someone actually went about reading tea leaves. The rippling surface of the tea itself didn’t give him any clue what he should do next. “He treats his submissives like dirt.” “Sloan?” Carl nodded. He looked up to find the older man studying him carefully. “Is that the way he treats you?” “He thought I was a dom,” Carl reminded him. “I mean…I am a dom…I…” He shook his head at himself. “But now that Sloan thinks otherwise, the way he treats you has changed?” Carl took a deep breath. “He said he wants to collar me.” “And what do you want?” Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A few seconds passed. He put his mug down. “Can we just get on with why you called me in here today, sir?” “This is why you were summoned here,” Mr. Harrison said. Carl looked everywhere but at the other man. His gaze fell on Paul where he was attending to some paperwork on the other side of the room. “Paul never had any patience with silly little boys who don’t really understand what dominance means either,” Harrison said, as he seemed to sense where his attention lay. Carl felt the heat rush to his checks. He guessed he had that coming but— “I mean Sloan, not you.” Carl’s gaze snapped back to the dominant. “What?” “That’s the real problem, isn’t it?” Mr. Harrison asked. “It’s not that you don’t want to be his submissive or that you don’t want him to be your master, you just don’t think he’ll make a good master for you.” “I don’t know,” Carl whispered. He rubbed against his temple with his fingertips. He didn’t feel as if he knew anything any more. There was no certainty to anything in his world since that first moment he set eyes on Sloan. “Tell me what you want—what you’d want if you discovered that submission really is where your talents lie?”

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“Aren’t submissives supposed to want whatever their masters want?” “Only in porn.” The dominant’s lips twisted into a somewhat rueful smile. “The real world tends to involve a great deal more negotiation.” Carl swallowed. “If you did enter into a negotiation with Sloan, would you know what to tell him you wanted?” Turning his gaze back to his tea as he picked his mug up once more, Carl tried to make his head work. “I know what I don’t want, sir,” he offered after a while. Harrison nodded for him to continue. “I don’t want to be passed around his friends. I don’t want to be treated like I’m nothing just because I might prefer to be tied up rather than tie other guys up.” The dominant didn’t appear the least bit shocked by the bold admission. “I want him to look at me and see someone who wants to obey him because that’s what I want to do, not because I don’t have enough brains to think for myself, or enough balls to stand up for myself.” Harrison sipped his tea. “I don’t want to be thrown away when he gets bored with me,” Carl whispered to his own mug. “I want…” He closed his eyes. “If I was a submissive I’d want…something more than that.” It was a lame way to finish the sentence, but it was the best he could come up with. “What are your plans over Christmas?” Carl frowned at the sudden change in topic, but not answering Mr. Harrison’s questions didn’t seem like a possibility any more. He shrugged. “My sister moved to Canada when she got married. We were all supposed to be visiting her out there this year, but I couldn’t get enough time off work.” “So your actual plans are…?” Harrison prompted. Carl managed a smile. “Not much, sir.” “Should I bother to ask what you want for Christmas, or can I guess?” It took a moment for the implication behind the question to sink in. “Sloan?” he blurted out. Harrison considered the matter carefully, as if the only thing left to decide was what kind of wrapping paper and ribbon would best suit the younger dominant. “If not an actual

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master, then at least an answer to your question. By the end of the Christmas holidays, you could know one way or another if you’re interested in exploring your submission any further, and if there’s any point in you considering doing that while under Sloan’s protection.” Before Carl could scrape together enough brain cells to form an answer, Harrison spoke again. “Paul, you can show Sloan in now.” “Yes, sir.” The submissive…the other submissive, some part of Carl mentally corrected, was quick to obey his master’s order. The door leading to the corridor swung open within seconds. Sloan strode in. His eyes flashed around the room, seeming to poke into every corner and take in every detail. His gaze eventually fell on Carl. For several long seconds, he felt the dominant’s eyes rove over his body. “Take a seat, Sloan.” Carl shuffled closer to one end of the sofa. Sloan sat next to him. The heat from the larger man’s body immediately seeped through Carl’s clothes and caressed his skin as they sat close to each other on a piece of furniture that suddenly seemed far too small to contain two men. “I have a proposition for you both,” Harrison said. Carl looked up. “You’re both invited to spend Christmas here at the club. During that time, Carl, you’ll wear a temporary collar—” “What the—” Sloan rose to his feet. Harrison ignored him. “—which would mean you’d effectively belong to Sloan until Christmas day.” Carl couldn’t look at his friend as Sloan subsided back to the sofa seat next to him in sudden silence. “Sloan, you’d have until then to prove to Carl that you’re capable of being a competent master for him. On Christmas day, the temporary collar will come off. What you each do after that would be up to you both to work out for yourselves.”

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When Sloan would have spoken again, Harrison raised a hand and silenced him. “If you overstep a single limit that either Carl or I set on what you may do with him, you’re out of the club—out of any club in this city that’s worth belonging to. I know that you haven’t lived in the city for long, but don’t make the mistake of thinking that it can’t be arranged. This isn’t the kind of silly little game your poker buddies might enjoy. If that’s all you’re interested in, go back to them.” “I know what I’m doing—” “No,” Harrison cut in, impatiently. “You don’t. I don’t care if you’ve belonged to other clubs in other cities. If you really knew what you were doing, then you wouldn’t be so determined to remain on the fringes of the club as a junior dominant, playing out scenes without taking any real responsibility for what happens to any submissive outside a game. I don’t care if you or anyone else thinks you’re the best dominant to join this club in a generation. Until you’ve proven to everyone involved that you can be trusted to make good decisions outside a scene, not just for yourself but for your submissive as well, you’re nothing.” Carl looked from one man to the other and back again. Neither seemed willing to blink or to drop his gaze. Sloan finally looked away, but he didn’t look down, he merely turned his attention to Carl. “This is what you want?” Carl stared down at his hands. His knuckles were white, the fingers of each of his hands biting into the opposite one. It seemed to him everything always came back to the same question. What did he want? He always knew what he wanted when he lay in bed at night, and he couldn’t sleep for thoughts of his friend. In the darkness and his fantasies he wanted to belong to the older man, he wanted to wear a collar around his neck so the whole world would know who he belonged to as well. And when he opened his eyes in the morning he wanted to see the other man lying next to him in their bed. He wanted to feel the bruises around his wrists and the soreness in his arse and remember everything they’d done the night before. But when he saw Sloan blink open his eyes and look back at him, he wanted to see something other than contempt in his eyes—as if Sloan had ever looked at a sub with any other expression.

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Carl swallowed rapidly. He looked up. His gaze locked with Sloan’s. There was no disdain there right then, just a question. Every ounce of Sloan’s attention was focused on him with an intensity that stopped Carl’s mind in its tracks. It couldn’t last. He knew how Sloan was with his submissives, he knew he wouldn’t be any different just because it was him. But more than any of that, Carl knew in that moment he couldn’t walk away. “Yes. That’s what I want.” The words had a serene almost otherworldly calm to them as they hit the air. As success flashed through his friend’s eyes, Carl quickly dropped his gaze and looked down at his clasped hands. He remembered praying with his hands in that exact same position when he was a little kid. He dragged his gaze up again and met the other man’s eyes. He had the distinct impression he’d just passed the point where praying would be of any help to him.

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Chapter Six

“Hello, Carl.” Sloan watched as the younger man pulled his backpack more firmly onto his shoulder as he turned to face him. He’d never seen a more forced smile in his life. Sloan had already walked the last few yards down the snow-covered pavement and stopped at the submissive’s side by the time Carl finally found his tongue. “Hi.” The moment the word left his mouth, Carl turned back towards the door leading into the club. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, his hair blown into a mess of curls by the winter wind that whipped down the street. Sloan smiled to himself. Being half frozen suited the boy. Still, there was a certain attraction to getting him inside and warming him up too. The dom working on the door looked up from his clipboard as they reached him. He wore thick gloves and a brightly patterned scarf that he could only be tolerating because he genuinely loved whoever gave it to him. “Harrison says for you to go straight around back,” he informed them, stamping his feet in the snow, trying to work some warmth into his body. “He’s off-duty today and he’s gone up to his flat.” As Sloan led the way around the side of the building, and down the alleyway that separated the hotel from its neighbours, Carl trailed after him, like the page marking his king’s footsteps. Out of the boy’s line of sight, Sloan let his smile deepen. If the boy hadn’t been so obviously close to hyperventilating with expectation, anyone might have thought he was unenthusiastic about the time they were due to spend together. There was a door halfway along the back wall of the club. A holly wreath hung there, wishing everyone who approached it a Merry Christmas. As Sloan got closer, he realised the metallic glints that caught the light weren’t actually tinsel. All kinds of nipple clamps, chains and tiny locks had been wound in with the holly. A Merry and Kinky Christmas. Even better. Just as he raised one gloved hand to knock, the door swung open.

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Paul stood in the doorway. It took Sloan a second to recognise the older man in what were probably his normal street clothes. “Hello, sir.” The submissive stepped back to let them past. “My master is waiting for you upstairs. If you’d like to leave your coats here, I’ll show you up.” As he took off his thick leather jacket, Sloan ran his gaze over the submissives flanking him. He’d only ever seen Paul in what he guessed had to be his club clothes. His usual leathers were gone now, replaced by a slightly battered looking pair of jeans and a bright Christmas red long-sleeved T-shirt. His leather collar was still there though, worn proudly on display above the line of his shirt. By the time Sloan turned his attention to Carl, the younger man had taken his bulky winter coat off, but he showed no sign of relinquishing the blue hoodie he’d worn beneath it. It was warm. The younger man could hardly be afraid of catching a chill in there, but he still seemed reluctant to give it up. Paul made no comment as they picked up their bags and followed him up the stairs. He opened one of the doors lining the corridor of what Sloan assumed must have some sort of manager’s quarters back when it had been a hotel, and peeked inside. “Mr. Davies and Carl are here, sir.” He stepped back. Turning to Sloan, he held out his hand. “I’ll take your bag to your room for you, sir.” Sloan handed it over and waited for Paul to relieve Carl of his bag too, but the older submissive merely nodded to Carl to follow him down the hallway. “Wait.” Sloan caught hold of Carl’s arm when his friend would have stepped past him. “My master wishes to speak to you, sir,” Paul said, politely. “It won’t take us long to put your bags in your room.” “Fine. But just that, nothing more. I’ll unpack my own bag later,” Sloan muttered, not about to let anyone else see how soppy he’d been slipping a few presents for Carl in there before he left home. “Yes, sir.” Even when it seemed his secret would be safe. It was far more difficult than Sloan expected for him to let go of his friend’s arm and watch Carl walk away from him. “Paul hasn’t abducted any man who’s visited our home in the last twenty years. I see no reason why he should start with Carl. The boy’s hardly his type.”

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Sloan looked through the doorway. Harrison was watching him with rather obvious amusement. Sloan did his best to ignore that as he joined the older dominant in the oldfashioned sitting room. Harrison had abandoned his club clothes too. Jeans and a neatly pressed shirt didn’t actually make him look less authoritarian than his usual leathers did. And Sloan didn’t miss the fact he was still wearing his usual boots, or that they were as well polished as ever, either. He met the older man’s eyes. “Have you always been that protective of him,” Harrison asked. “Or is it only since you discovered he might be a submissive?” “Might?” Sloan demanded. Harrison took a seat on the sofa and relaxed back against the festive cushions someone had sprinkled over the expensive leather. “Few things are black-and-white at this point,” Harrison said. “He certainly has an interest in exploring his submissive side. As for anything else…” The senior dominant shrugged. Sloan glared at him. If Harrison noticed his annoyance, he didn’t seem too concerned by it. “Here are the rules,” he announced. “If he says his safe word, you stop. I don’t care what you’re doing. I don’t care what’s happening around you or who’s present—you stop. If you don’t, I’ll find out, and you’ll wish you only had the devil to pay for it.” Sloan opened his mouth about to make it completely clear exactly who would be in charge of Carl for the next two days, but Harrison held up a hand and stopped him short. “Aside from that, whenever he’s in this building, Carl will be your responsibility. You may set in place whatever rules and protocols you see fit, and exact whatever punishments you consider appropriate if he disobeys you. He’ll effectively be your submissive until Christmas day.” As he fell silent, the older man nodded, as if giving Sloan permission to respond. Before he had a chance, a tap sounded on the door and it swung open to reveal the two submissives. Sloan immediately stepped towards the younger man, instinct taking him to his friend’s side. “Come here, Carl,” Harrison cut in, before Sloan even opened his mouth. Carl glanced towards Sloan, but he obeyed Harrison.

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The older dominant looked pointedly at the floor at his feet. Sloan saw Carl follow Harrison’s gaze. There was a cushion set there. To his horror, Sloan saw Carl slowly begin to lower himself to his knees. “What the hell do you think—?” Harrison looked up. “Don’t make any more of a fool of yourself than absolutely necessary, Sloan.” He turned his gaze back to Carl. “You understand the terms you’ll be living by while you’re staying with us?” Carl nodded. “Sloan will have complete control over you. Your only out will be your safe word.” Carl nodded again. Paul silently approached his master’s side and offered Harrison a strip of leather. Sloan’s feet carried him forward several paces until he loomed over his kneeling friend. His hand shot forward and blocked the path between the leather and Carl’s neck. Harrison looked up at him. “I’ll do that,” Sloan bit out. Only one man was going to put a collar around Carl’s neck, and it sure as hell wasn’t Harrison! The older dominant looked down at the collar in his hand. Sloan followed his gaze. A tag hung from the collar. Temporary Collar. Property of Sloan Davies. The words didn’t make Sloan feel the least bit better about any man other than him placing anything around the submissive’s throat. “The collar will mean the same whoever puts it around your neck,” Harrison told Carl. “It’s your choice.” Sloan held his breath as he waited for the younger man’s response. He had no doubt what the answer would be. There was no way the submissive could make the wrong decision right then. It was little more than a formality. He waited impatiently for Carl to speak up and prove his soon-to-be-master’s opinion of him correct. “You, thank you, sir.” Sloan’s blood congealed in his veins the moment Carl’s word hit the air. He’d been looking at Harrison as he said it. Sloan had always been sceptical about phrases like heart stopping, but in that moment, the muscles seemed to freeze in his chest, as if someone had pushed an ice pick between his ribs and twisted it through his aorta.

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Spinning away from them both, he took several paces towards the other side of the room. The whole damn space was cram-packed with Christmas cheer. There was little escape from the festive mess of reds and greens and golds. Standing in front of the fire, he stared down into the hearth, unable to watch as another man placed a collar around Carl’s neck. It should have been him sitting above Carl, his hands stroking the younger man’s skin as the leather was fastened securely in place. It should have been him who his friend called sir…but it wasn’t. A movement on the other side of the room pulled his attention back to the three men on the opposite side of the fire place. Harrison was watching him with interest, but Carl wasn’t. His gaze was lowered. His body language screamed his discomfort. “We’ll go and unpack now,” Sloan said, almost calmly, all things considered. Carl lifted his gaze, but he looked to Harrison not his true master. Sloan quickly stepped forward and put his fingers on the submissive’s cheek, stopping him short. “No.” Carl’s eyes flashed up to meet his gaze as Sloan stood over the kneeling submissive. “You take your orders from me—no one else. And you don’t need to ask anyone else’s opinion on them.” He made no attempt to soften his tone of voice the way he had so often with the boy, even before he knew where his true nature lay. Very slowly, his friend nodded his agreement with his assessment of the situation. His cheek brushed against Sloan’s fingers with the movement. Sloan contented himself with nodding too, not willing to put off the moment when he could have his friend on his own for another second. The rest of the conversation could wait. He dropped his hand from Carl’s cheek and leant down to wrap his fingers around the submissive’s wrist instead. It only took him a second to pull the smaller man to his feet. They were already in the hallway before he managed to think about anything but his need to get his friend on his own. He looked both ways down the corridor, then to Carl. His new submissive silently pointed the way to the bedroom they’d been assigned. As they stepped inside and Sloan was finally able to close a door between them and the outside world, he breathed a silent sigh of relief and looked around.

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He half expected to see twin beds. That seemed like Harrison’s sense of humour. But there was a big double bed set against one wall, and it was accompanied by a four poster frame that had obviously been designed to take bondage. The entire room was furnished in the same dark, masculine style—all heavy wood and hard lines. Sloan nodded his approval. It wasn’t quite like having Carl under his own roof, but there were far worse places in which he could have begun to introduce him to his submission. When he turned his attention to the younger man, Carl was watching him very carefully, but he looked quickly away when Sloan would have met his gaze. Stepping forward, Sloan stood directly in front of the smaller man. Carl kept his eyes on the ground. For several long seconds, the dominant’s attention rested on his friend’s collar. Without his permission, Sloan felt his hand rise to trace the line of the leather around his neck. Carl’s eyes dropped closed as if he sensed how much he loathed it. Even though part of Sloan longed to demand what the hell he’d been thinking of when he let Harrison collar him, the words stayed inside his head. The question was far too weak to be allowed out into the real world. It made it sound far too much like he cared more than any dominant man really should. “You understand what wearing this means?” Sloan finally said, hooking his fingers inside the leather. Carl nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, moving against the dominant’s knuckles as the younger man tried to hide his nerves and failed. “Tell me,” Sloan ordered. “It means I’m agreeing to do whatever you say until Christmas morning,” Carl whispered. Not good enough. Sloan stared at the younger man’s downcast eyes for several long seconds. “Look at me.” Very slowly, Carl did as he was told. There were so many emotions in his eyes, Sloan didn’t even know how to start reading them. “It means you belong to me until Christmas Day,” he corrected. Carl didn’t say anything, he didn’t even take a breath.

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“That’s not the same as just agreeing to do as I say,” Sloan informed his friend. “You’re not a soldier who’ll take orders from any idiot that outranks him. You’re mine.” A shot of pleasure raced through Sloan as the words left his lips. It wasn’t exactly the first time he’d uttered them. There’d been dozens of scenes where they’d slipped out without him really thinking about it, but he realised right then that it was the first time he’d meant them, that he’d wanted them to be true and remain true for far longer than one brief scene. Carl was going to be his. Leaning forward, he took possession of his friend’s lips. As their mouths met, he immediately deepened the kiss, demanding Carl grant him access and allow him to do exactly whatever he wanted with him from that second on. A gasp brushed against his lips as Carl quickly gave in to his challenge. Sloan’s other hand tangled itself in Carl’s hair, taking a tight grip on the dark brown curls. Their bodies came together. Clothes still separated them, but that wasn’t important right then. Sloan could still feel every line of muscle on the other man’s body pressing against him. Carl leaned into the kiss and Sloan knew it wasn’t just his grip on the younger man keeping him there. There was no need for him to demand anything from Carl right then. In that moment, the younger man was more than willing to give everything to his temporary master as freely as any man ever could. Moaning his approval into the kiss, Sloan released his hold on the younger man’s collar and ran his hand down Carl’s back to pull him closer still. As he palmed Carl’s arse through his jeans, Sloan pressed their flies together and felt the submissive’s cock straining at the denim. Shoving the submissive’s hoodie and T-shirt aside, he slipped his hand down the back of Carl’s loose-fitting jeans and past his boxers. The younger man’s buttocks clenched as Sloan ran his palm over the firm, round muscles beneath the fabric, as if the submissive couldn’t decide if he wanted to press back against his hand or rub himself even more enthusiastically against his fly. Sloan slid his fingers down the cleft of the smaller man’s arse. Carl gasped.

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The boy’s body made its decision. He pushed back, encouraging his master to slide the digits further down, towards his hole. A whimper escaped from the back of Carl’s throat as, just that once, Sloan did as the younger man wanted. Barely a moment later, Sloan pulled back, breaking the kiss, eager to see the look on his friend’s face. Pure bliss. Carl’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back, his lips parted, there was just a touch of a five o’clock shadow on his jaw, and he was the most perfect thing Sloan had ever set eyes on. “When you belong to me—” Sloan cut himself short. Carl already belonged to him. Just because it was currently labelled as a temporary arrangement, didn’t mean he didn’t own him as thoroughly as any man ever could—that it wasn’t going to become permanent very soon. He met his friend’s eyes as Carl blinked and looked up at him. There were so many questions in his submissive’s gaze Sloan knew it would be pointless to try to tell him what things would be like between them. No, it would be much better to show him. That’s what this stupid little experiment was all about after all…

Helpless to do anything else, Carl could only stare up at the dominant as Sloan glared down at him. The entire world seemed to hold its breath with him, waiting for Sloan to decide what he wanted to do with him next. And he really could do anything with him right then. As Sloan’s grip on his hair tightened and the fingers of the older man’s other hand flexed against his arse, Carl knew in the deepest part of his mind that the dominant could do absolutely anything with him and he wouldn’t say no. And he wouldn’t say his safe word either. Carl dropped his gaze. He’d have to be a fool to give Sloan that much control over him in the real world. But maybe, just for the next few days, just while Christmas rushed towards them and it didn’t really count, he could give himself to the other man. Maybe he could simply let whatever was going to happen, happen. He could be Sloan’s submissive, just for a little while. And afterwards… Carl cut the thought short before it could gain any momentum. He wasn’t going to think about that. Without the slightest warning, Sloan suddenly stepped back, snatching his hands away from Carl’s skin in the process. For a horrible moment, Carl thought he was actually

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going to call it all off. He opened his mouth, with no idea what he was going to stay, but he didn’t have a chance to utter a single word. “State your limits.” It took Carl a few minutes to process the command, and even after he did, he couldn’t quite believe that he’d heard him correctly. “What?” “What, sir,” Sloan corrected. Carl swallowed. “What, sir?” Sloan stepped across to the old armchair set in the corner of the room and sat down. Leaning back comfortably against the brown leather, he crossed his ankles in front of him. “It’s a simple enough question. What are your limits?” I don’t know. The words hovered on the edge of Carl’s tongue, but he couldn’t let them fall. Sloan wasn’t the kind of dominant who had any patience with men who didn’t know what they were doing. “No bareback for anal, sir?” he suggested. Sloan calmly nodded his acceptance. That tiny gesture was all it took to throw Carl off his stride. Sloan wasn’t the kind of dom who’d just accept men’s limits. Hell, Carl had never even heard him ask another guy if he had any before. Frowning, Carl looked away from him unable to look at him for another moment. And suddenly it was impossible for him to stand there, alone in the middle of the room either. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, forget it.” He turned towards the door. His hand wrapped around the handle. The heavy brass knob turned in his grasp. It wasn’t locked. Carl barely had a chance to discover that fact before he found himself pushed forward. His hand slipped off the handle as Sloan’s body pressed him harshly against the woodwork, all strength and muscle and certainty. “What the—” Sloan’s hand clamped over his mouth. “Who said I’m not taking this seriously?” he demanded. His hand stayed where it was. There was no way Carl could answer him, and they both knew it. From then on, he’d speak at the other man’s pleasure, not his own.

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Eventually, Sloan released his mouth, but before Carl could say a word, the older man swung him around and pushed his back against the door again. Face to face with his master, all Carl could do was stare up at him, slack-jawed and speechless. “I am serious about this,” Sloan snapped. “That’s why I’m not going to do a damn thing with you until you tell me what your damn limits are!” The sincerity in his voice took Carl’s breath away. Maybe he was taking it far more seriously than he’d ever guessed. And if he was then— “Carl…” Sloan warned, his voice turning harsher than ever. If he was serious, then his submissive had to have an answer for him. Carl scrabbled for something to say, something that would make it clear just how desperate part of him was to take it seriously too. The expression in Sloan’s eyes changed as he seemed to lose patience. “I don’t know!” Carl damn near yelled the words at him in his rush to prove to the dominant he wasn’t being purposefully stupid and bloody minded in his refusal to answer. Sloan blinked. That was it. He offered no comment. Carl took a deep breath and let his head drop back to rest against the door behind him. The jolt of pain as his skull hit the hard wood failed to knock any sense into him. “I don’t know what my limits are,” he said, just a little more calmly. “Not as a submissive…” If there was any way for him to make it clearer that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, he didn’t know what it could be. A deep burning humiliation rushed through Carl, but while Sloan pinned him against the door, he had little choice but to hold his ground. Very slowly, he saw understanding dawn in Sloan’s expression. Lifting his hand, the dominant stroked Carl’s cheek with his knuckles. “No, you really don’t, do you?” The move was so unexpected, so gentle. “I’m not a complete idiot,” Carl bit out as he pulled away from it. “I’m pretty sure jumping into oncoming traffic or anything else that’s going to get me killed is outside my limits, but…” “But those are just the easy things,” Sloan finished for him, dropping his hand away from his face as his tone cooled. Carl nodded, just a fraction.

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“Tell me what you’re not so sure about,” the older man ordered, suddenly as calm and as confident as he always had been. Unable to look his friend in the eye while he made his admissions, Carl looked over the taller man’s shoulder at some random point on the wall behind him instead. All the things, good and bad, that he’d imagined his friend doing with him rushed through his head. The things he was sure he’d love, the things he was pretty sure he’d hate, they all blurred together until he was barely sure which were which. “Nothing permanent—no injuries that won’t heal, sir…” he hazarded. Sloan thought about that for a second, absent-mindedly hooking his fingers into Carl’s collar as he did so. “I won’t promise you won’t have a mark on you when Christmas dawns, but there won’t be anything that will last too far into next year.” Carl nodded his understanding. The collar rubbed against his skin with the movement. He tried not to get distracted by how much he already loved that sensation. It wasn’t easy, especially not when Sloan was still holding him against the wall with damn near every part of his body. That sensation was pretty amazing too. “Next,” Sloan prompted. Carl’s brain was already shutting up shop. He couldn’t work out what the older man would want him to say. “Other guys—” he began to say. “Not up for debate,” Sloan snapped. As easily as that, Carl felt whatever good will he might have built up with the dominant in the last few seconds disintegrate. “I understand, sir.” Even if Sloan seemed to be mollified by his quick acquiescence, Carl couldn’t imagine what had prompted him to blurt out such a bloody stupid request. Subs were for sharing. He was pretty sure that was what Sloan considered to be half the bloody point of them. Tilting his chin up slightly, Carl squared his shoulders back against the door panel. If he was going to do this then he’d do it properly. When the time came, he’d see to it that Sloan had no reason to be ashamed of his submissive’s behaviour. “Anything else?” his master asked. Carl shook his head.

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Fingers still hooked into his collar, Sloan took a step back, then another, leading Carl into the middle of the room by the grip the leather had around his throat. He let go, and took a few more paces back to stand at the side of the bed. “Strip.” Carl took a deep breath. There was no point trying to put it off. He shrugged off his hoodie, the one he’d chosen to wear especially because it was long enough to hide the hardon that inevitably tented his jeans whenever he was around Sloan. For several long seconds, he held the garment in his hand, unsure what his new master would prefer him to do with it. Sloan pointed over his shoulder to the arm chair behind him. Carl threw the hoodie across the room past the dominant. It landed just short and slipped onto the bare floorboards at the foot of the chair. Sloan made no comment. Lacking permission to cross the room and correct his mistake, Carl pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed that towards the chair too. Relief rushed through him at the simple fact it hit the target head on. Crouching down, he began to undo the laces on his boots. Being able to stare at the floor and not feel obliged to work out if he was supposed to meet Sloan’s eyes or not was a welcome relief in itself. It should have made things easier, but his fingers didn’t seem to be connected to his brain. He fumbled at the laces. It took him what felt like years to get the damn things off. Finally he completed his assigned task. He straightened up, and forced himself to look to Sloan. The dominant held out his hands to receive his submissive’s boots. Carl tossed them carefully to the older man, one at a time. Sloan deposited them at the base of the chair before turning back to him. “Socks too,” the dominant ordered. Carl dispensed with them and tossed the balled-up cotton towards the chair. The only things left were his jeans and his boxers. He undid his fly and pushed both garments down at the same time, desperate to get it all over with before his nerves completely disintegrated under the sheer force of the other man’s attention. Sloan’s eyes ran over every inch of his body as it was revealed for his inspection. As Carl tossed the last garment in the same direction as the others, his brain finally clicked into gear and pointed out that Sloan stood between him and the chair, between him and his clothes.

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It wasn’t just him that Sloan owned right then, he owned any chance Carl had of not walking around stark bollock naked for the rest of his time in the club too. And while panic swirled through the submissive’s mind, all Sloan did was stand there and stare at him. Instinct took over. Carl’s hands moved to cover his rapidly stiffening cock. “Hands on the back of your head,” Sloan barked, before Carl had the chance to hide himself away for even a fraction of a second. It wasn’t fear of punishment that made him obey the command. Carl wasn’t certain about much, but right then, he was sure of that. It was something deeper—some sort of desire to obey, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He wanted to obey, and to belong to Sloan, and he wanted his master to be pleased with him. As he laced his fingers together on the back of his head, for the first time in months, Carl didn’t fight the ideas that swarmed through his brain. Slowly, he felt his thoughts settle into some sort of order and become very simple. There was no pretending to be anything right then. There was no decision to be made on what he really was. He was trying out submission and all he had to do for the next few days was obey his master. There was something wonderful about giving in to those facts. His cock hardened further, rising to curve back towards his stomach. Sloan stayed where he was, running his eyes over Carl’s body for what felt like several consecutive eternities. Carl had seen him do the same with other subs. He’d watched other guys get nervous under the older man’s gaze. That should have made it easier not to be freaked out by his inspection. It didn’t. Within mere minutes he was half sure his knees would give way beneath him, even while his cock strived to become harder than ever. Just when Carl was on the verge of admitting he couldn’t take any more, Sloan started to circle him, his hands began to caress Carl’s skin as he moved around him. Any words Carl might have said died on his lips as his eyes fell closed and he swayed enthusiastically towards the dominant’s touch. “Move to the bottom of the bed,” Sloan ordered. “Keep your hands where they are.” The high posts that framed the base of the bed were obviously intended to take restraints. Even Carl could see that. Within seconds, Sloan had found some cuffs in the room’s toy box and had them buckled securely around Carl’s wrists and ankles. Each piece

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of leather was soon attached to a length of chain leading to the tops or bottoms of the solid wooden posts. Sloan knew what he was doing, Carl observed, as his mind wandered away to look down on the scene as if from outside his body. There was just enough slack to give him the tiny bit of movement that would enable the dominant to keep him there for hours rather than minutes before it became truly agonising. There was just enough slack to rattle every time Carl moved, to signal to his master every time he failed to stay still, too. “Damn, but you’re stunning like that,” Sloan murmured. His finger traced a line across Carl’s back. “Have you ever been whipped?” Carl managed to nod. “Who?” the older man snapped, all trace of admiration disappearing from his voice as something that sounded suspiciously like jealousy took its place. “In a demo when I first joined the club, sir,” Carl whispered. Sloan drew another line across Carl’s skin. “Did you like it?” Carl shook his head. “It wasn’t that kind of—” He cut himself off, knowing his friend’s views on subs who couldn’t keep their mouth shut and limit themselves to a simple ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir’. Sloan’s hand left his back. Carl closed his eyes as he waited for the other man to select whichever gag he wanted to use. “Keep going.” When Carl blinked his eyes open, Sloan was sitting on the bed in front of him. “You were telling me about the whipping,” Sloan prompted, pulling his feet up onto the mattress in front of him and crossing his ankles as he leaned contentedly back against the pillows. “It was just a demo. One of the senior doms was telling us about the protocols in the playrooms. He needed someone to demonstrate on.” “And you volunteered?” Sloan asked. Carl shook his head. “No, sir.” Sloan looked him over very slowly, almost as if he thought he’d be able to tell if he was lying from his body language.

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Carl closed his eyes for a moment. He was pretty sure the only part of him that had any kind of freedom of movement was his cock. And the only thing that it told the world, was that he liked being tied up just as much as he imagined he would. Every time he breathed the leather seemed to rub about his wrists and ankles, reminding him of their presence and just how little control he had right then. And with every breath, more and more pleasure seemed to rush through his veins. “Who was doing the whipping?” Carl forced his eyes open. “Don’t remember, sir.” Again, Sloan studied him for several long seconds, as if judging his sincerity very carefully before responding. Finally his lips curved into a smile. “You’ll remember who’s whipping you when I do it.” “Yes, sir.” Carl had no doubt about it. “You’ll know who’s screwing you when I top you too.” “Yes, sir.” Those words were just a fraction more softly spoken, as they left Carl’s mouth, just a tiny bit rougher with desire. Pushing himself off the bed, Sloan stalked around to stand behind Carl once more. A shudder ran down the submissive’s spine as the dominant traced another line across his back. He’d seen his friend whip guys before. There were no pretty little flicks of the leather with him. A whipping from Sloan was a real whipping—the kind that made men scream with both pleasure and pain at the same time. Carl tried to swallow down his nerves. His throat was too dry. He almost choked himself with the attempt. Finally, the dominant’s hands settled on Carl’s sides and stroked down to frame his arse, his thumbs caressing the cheeks and pulling them apart. The older man didn’t mess around when he was screwing either. Carl helplessly rocked his arse back towards the other man in offering. “I wanted to screw you the first moment I set eyes on you,” Sloan informed him as he slid a fingertip between his buttocks to caress his hole. Carl let his eyes drop closed, biting his lip to keep back a whimper. “I should have realised what you were right then. I’ve never wanted to screw another dom in my life.” The words were whispered close to Carl’s ear, making the skin there tingle. “Damn, but you have an amazing arse.”

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Sloan’s finger disappeared for a moment. Before Carl could protest, it came back coated with lube, and brought a friend with it. Helpless to do anything else, Carl pushed his arse back as much as his bonds would allow, in no mood to be patient with his own body. But with his legs held wide apart and his feet pulled out towards the far edges of the bed frame, there was little he could do to encourage his friend on or hurry him up. He was there for Sloan to do with as he pleased, not to make any demands of his own. The tube of lube must have been in Sloan’s pocket all day. It was warm and especially slick as Sloan’s two fingers quickly thrust deep inside him. The sudden stretch of the muscle took Carl’s breath away. A moment later they hit his prostate and any discomfort was quickly forgotten. Carl bucked as he tried to push himself back and lodge the digits more deeply inside him. The chains rattled and Sloan chuckled. “Do you like that, Carl?” Carl swallowed. “I don’t do rhetorical questions.” “Yes, sir,” Carl managed to whisper. “I like that.” Heat raced to his cheeks with the admission. It wasn’t as if Sloan could have missed how hard he was, or the way his body insisted on pressing back against every hard thrust of his fingers. But Carl couldn’t help but blush at being ordered to say so out loud, to admit just how much he liked everything about Sloan, and he felt an extra jolt of pleasure rush to his cock too. There was no hiding anything any more. Sloan added another finger, so three were stretching him wide open. Barely a second later the sound of a zipper being undone filled the air. Carl bit harder at his bottom lip. His hands formed into fists above the cuffs. He still struggled to keep the words back, to stop himself begging the other man to hurry the hell up. “You know, you’re the only guy who sat at the poker table who I hadn’t seen naked before today?” Sloan told him. Carl managed to make a noise in the back of his throat to indicate he was listening. It was the closest he could come to real words right then. “I think you knew how much I wanted you and you were playing the tease,” the older man accused.

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Carl shook his head. “I saw them all get laid. I watched them get sucked off. But not you.” Because I wasn’t interested in getting off with anyone but you… It was a minor miracle that Carl kept the sentence back. Then, any syllables he might have managed to force out became irrelevant, because Sloan suddenly lost all interest in talking. His fingers left Carl’s arse. The sound of a condom packet being torn reached the submissive’s ears. It was probably only seconds before the tip of Sloan’s cock pressed against his hole, but it felt like aeons to Carl as he hung helpless from the chains. Sloan’s hands came to rest against his sides once more, as if he still thought his lover needed to be held in place regardless of the bondage. His grip tightened as he pushed forward, sheathing himself in Carl’s arse in one hard thrust. The tight ring of muscle protested, Carl tensed as his body fought against an instinct to panic and almost failed. Scrambling for something, anything to distract himself, he gave all his attention to the man behind him. Sloan half moaned and half growled as he stilled, his chest pressed tight against Carl’s back. The sound seemed to force its way inside the submissive’s body just as determinedly as his master’s cock had. He’d never heard any man make a sound like that before. It was pleasure and possession all wrapped around each other—and it was screwing him that made Sloan sound that way. Success flew through Carl’s veins, chasing any lingering discomfort away. As he gradually relaxed around the Sloan’s shaft and accepted his master’s cock being buried inside him, he quickly became desperate for the dominant to move. He bit back any demand, knowing the older man was quite capable of deciding he was acting like a brat and stopping right then. Sloan wanted him, Carl had no doubt about that. But, in that moment, he was the one who needed the other man. He couldn’t risk doing anything that might make him stop. He couldn’t take control either—right then, that seemed like an even worse prospect than Sloan stopping. He’d waited so long for the chance to submit, Carl couldn’t ruin it all now. He just couldn’t… An eternity later, and entirely according to his own schedule, Sloan finally rocked his hips back and plunged into him once more. Carl groaned his pleasure. He’d bottomed often

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enough before, when his previous lovers had asked and he didn’t want to feel like a jerk for saying no to them. But as he stood, bound at the base of the bed, he knew he’d just been going through the motions then. It had been nothing like this. The leather around his limbs, the sheer fact that he wasn’t in control, it rushed to his cock just as quickly as each jolt of pleasure from his prostate. This was what it should have felt like. Sloan’s grip on him tightened again as the dominant’s breaths sped up. Carl dropped his head forward to stare down at where Sloan’s fingers bit into his sides. There would be bruises left on his skin the next day. He smiled as he realised it. The digits immediately dug deeper into his flanks, as if Sloan read how much he loved it straight out of his head. Another hard thrust and Sloan’s lips brushed against his neck. Carl quickly tilted his head to one side in acceptance of the kiss. He wasn’t sure if Sloan noticed how much he loved to be kissed that way. He wasn’t even sure the other man cared. Sloan didn’t kiss as if he wanted to please anyone but himself. He kissed just like he screwed—as if he owned the whole world—as if he owned the man he was with and as if he loved that fact. The older man’s thrust sped up again, becoming harsher, more vicious and more perfect with each moment that passed. His teeth scraped against Carl’s neck. He sucked against the skin in a way guaranteed to leave a love bite in his wake. When Sloan’s lips suddenly left his skin, Carl wanted to howl in protest. He didn’t have time. With the next thrust, Sloan butted his temple against the opposite side of Carl’s head until he finally got the idea and tilted his head to the left, exposing the other side of his neck. It would have been easy for Sloan to have simply snapped an order, but as his movements became rougher, he seemed to be past the point of orders and words. He growled his pleasure at finally getting his own way, a dark, feral sound that shot through Carl’s body and lodged in his cock. Carl realised right then that the kiss that had been applied to the first side of his neck hadn’t been a love bite. Sloan’s teeth sunk harshly into the other side of his neck and tugged at the skin just beneath the line of his temporary collar. This was a love bite. Carl whimpered his joy as pain and pleasure rushed through him in equal measure. As he pulled at his restraints, the tiny part of his brain that still seemed to be watching it all

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quite calmly from outside warned that he was going to be covered in more marks than he’d ever be able to hide. His wrists and his ankles would bear evidence of this night, but the friction burning against his wrists as the cuffs chafed his skin could have been created by anyone, they were as much due to his own struggles as anything else. But the marks on his neck… They would be a copy of Sloan’s own teeth, a simple statement of dominance and ownership. As the dominant thrust into him again, Sloan’s teeth bit down harder, until Carl was half sure they would draw blood, and far more than half convinced he’d love it if they did. Each thrust was deeper and harsher than the last, until Sloan seemed to be trying to rip his limbs from the very bonds he’d placed him in with every jagged movement. Carl’s whole body became nothing more than a mass of sensations that covered every inch of his skin—everywhere except his cock. A hand around his shaft—just for a few seconds… That would be all he needed to come, and he did need to come, so badly. It wasn’t a want any more; it was a soul-deep need. Another thrust and Sloan tried to yell out his pleasure as he jerked and came deep inside him. The sound of his orgasm was muffled by the skin on Carl’s shoulder as the dominant bit down against the tender flesh. The spike of pain made Carl shout out instead. The wave of pleasure that followed it ricocheted through his body like nothing he had ever felt before, tearing his own orgasm out of him. Pulling at his bonds, coaxing Sloan’s teeth even further into his neck as he moved without the dominant’s permission, Carl came, entirely untouched, spilling helplessly over the neatly made bed in front of him, long ropes of cum falling on the solid black fabric. Sloan kept thrusting into him through it, as if determined to draw out the last little bit of pleasure he could from being inside him. Even after he loosened his hold on Carl’s sides, his teeth remained, scraping against the skin on his shoulder with every breath. And, finally, he fell still. As Carl gasped for oxygen, that was the only sound in the room, until a tapping sound eventually floated into the submissive’s consciousness. It took Carl a long time to pull together enough brain cells to realise it came from someone just outside their bedroom door, even then he couldn’t raise the will to deal with it. “Who is it?” Sloan called out, as his lips finally left Carl’s neck.

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“Paul, sir. My master sent me to invite you both to go down for dinner—he’s booked a table in the main dining room for seven.” With his arms still around his submissive’s body, Sloan pushed back his sleeve to reveal his watch. Carl couldn’t see the face, but he heard his master’s muttered curses, and guessed they didn’t have long. “We’ll be there in five minutes,” Sloan shouted through the door. The sound of Paul walking away was the only thing that broke the silence, but it wasn’t the same as the stillness before the interruption. There was no longer anything comforting and companionable about the hush, it was just an absence of noise. Still, Carl forced himself to remain silent and cling to the memory of that perfect moment as Sloan slowly pulled away from him. When the older man didn’t immediately untie him, Carl eventually summoned up the energy to look over his shoulder. The dominant had already straightened up his clothes. He was hunting through his weekend bag for something now, his back blocking Carl’s view into the bag. Maybe he didn’t intend his submissive to go down to dinner with him, Carl thought. Or maybe he intended to take him down as he was. Possibilities rushed around Carl’s mind. He turned back to face the bed, as if him not looking at the dom could actually affect the choice Sloan would make. When something hard and slick pressed against his hole, Carl jerked away as far as his restraints would allow. It wasn’t far. Sloan’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, reducing his range of movement to zero. “It’s just a plug. You’ve worn a plug before, haven’t you?” Carl nodded. “Words.” “Yes, sir.” His reply was little more than a barely audible rasp. Sloan pushed the plug against him more firmly. The tapered end slid easily into him, its way eased by the residue of the earlier lube, until the narrow neck settled snugly within the tight ring of muscle to be held in place inside him for as long as the more dominant man wished. “Try to take it out without my permission, and I’ll have you in chastity shorts from now until Christmas.”

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“Yes, sir.” Finally, Sloan seemed to decide he wanted to reach for the first cuff around Carl’s right wrist. He unclipped it from the chain attached to the bedpost and allowed him to lower his arm. Fire burned in the muscles as his limbs protested their sudden freedom of movement. The inferno quickly spread to his other limbs as, one by one, the other three restraints were unfastened. Carl waited patiently for Sloan to direct his attention to the buckles that kept the leather wrapped around him, but he didn’t. Turning to the chair, Sloan snatched up Carl’s jeans and tossed them towards him. After a moment’s consideration, Sloan threw him his boots, followed by a sweater he’d retrieved from his own bag, but the rest of Carl’s clothing stayed where it had been thrown. Pulling on his jeans, Carl carefully tucked himself away. His shaft was still sensitive after his orgasm. The movement of the denim against his cock as he did up his fly informed him the friction would soon have him hard again, and it would bloody well hurt when it did. Crouching down next to the bed, Carl pulled on his boots. It wasn’t easy with the leather cuffs still wrapped around his ankles, but Sloan let him struggle without a word until he finally managed to lace the topmost section of the boot around the obstacle. The restraints Sloan had left around his wrists rubbed against his skin every time he moved. As he straightened up, the plug shifted inside him, reminding Carl of its presence as it pressed enthusiastically against his prostate. Picking up the jumper from the end of the bed, he pulled the soft grey wool over his head to hide his uncertainty and confusion. It was too big, but as he shrugged his shoulders it settled cosily around him. It had the feel of an old favourite that Sloan pulled out every winter. The scent of the dominant’s deodorant, his soap, and even of Sloan himself seemed to have seeped into the stitches over the years. It was almost like being wrapped in Sloan. Lifting his gaze, Carl glanced across at his friend, hoping for some word, some sign that he was right to submit to him. The dominant looked him up and down. Nodding his apparent acceptance of Carl’s outfit, he headed for the door without a single word.

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Chapter Seven

The sleeves on the sweater Sloan had loaned Carl were too long. As they walked down the stairway leading from Harrison’s private rooms into the main part of the club, the dominant noticed the submissive fidgeting with them. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, he’d pushed them up his forearms out of the way and absent-mindedly put his newly acquired cuffs on display at the same time. A shot of pleasure rushed down Sloan’s spine. The strips of leather didn’t just mark him out as a submissive, they marked him out as his submissive. And if the temporary collar around his neck didn’t scream that loudly enough, then the teeth marks below it certainly would. The neck on the sweater was wide, stretched by wear and time. A strip of bare skin was clearly visible between the wool and the leather. Whichever way Carl turned, everyone would be able to see evidence of Sloan’s ownership of him. Carl was his. That same thought rolled around and around inside Sloan’s head, not just sending peaks of pleasure through him, but coaxing a deeper sense of satisfaction into him too. As they stepped into the main part of the club, whispers and murmurs soon followed their progress towards the dining room. Carl was aware of them too. Sloan could feel the tension building in the submissive’s body every time another person turned to stare. Not for long, Sloan promised himself. He’d be damned if he’d have any man who belonged to him so aware of anyone who so much as glanced in his direction. The only man’s opinion Carl needed to worry about now was his master’s. The sooner he was brought to understand that the better. Sloan nodded silently to himself as he added it to the list of things they would have to work on as soon as he was able to start training the other man properly. The moment they stepped into the dining room, one of the service submissives rushed forward to show them to Harrison’s table. As he was introduced to the other dominant

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already there, a Mr. Proctor, Sloan found he could only give the older men half his attention. The rest remained on Carl as the submissive hung back, apparently not sure of his welcome. As soon as he’d shaken hands with the other doms, Sloan brought him forward. “Carl, my submissive,” he introduced, guiding the younger man to the seat next to him with one hand on the small of his back. Carl’s eyes flashed up to stare at him, as if he had no idea why the hell Sloan was referring to him that way. A touch of colour crept to his cheeks. “You allow your submissive to eat with you?” Proctor asked. “Yes.” Sloan settled his hand firmly on the back of Carl’s chair when it seemed as if he was about to rise and run away, as if what the other dominant said could make the blindest bit of difference. Well, sod that. He’d liked to keep an eye on his friend when Carl was still playing at being a dom, just because it was bloody well obvious that the younger man would be out of his depth mixing with his more sadistic contemporaries. Sloan was willing to be cheerfully damned before he’d let him wander off on his own now that he was well within his rights to keep him where he could see him. For a moment, it seemed possible Carl was actually going to try to do battle with him for control of his chair. Finally, he subsided meekly into his seat, as unwilling to make a fuss as ever. As the other dominants fell into conversation with each other, Sloan found himself unable to feign concern for the other men’s opinions on anything. It was far more interesting to study the submissive sitting at his left. Carl kept his gaze down on the tablecloth. He still had that touch of colour on his cheeks. Sloan tightened his hand into a fist as he fought against the urge to reach out and stroke his fingers across the line of his cheek-bone. Soppy, sentimental bull. Sloan mentally shook his head at himself. That was hardly the way to convince Carl that he’d prove to be an excellent master for him. Carl needed… Sloan ran his eyes over the younger man once more. He needed a master who would teach him not to take any of the crap the other junior dominants had been throwing in his direction ever since he joined the club.

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That hadn’t changed just because he’d realised he wasn’t one of them. It just meant that Sloan could stop buggering about and playing the part of the boy’s big brother while he taught him all the things he needed to know to survive in a club like that. And once he’d learnt that, then Carl needed… Sloan dropped his own gaze to the tabletop for a moment. He needed to know that the man who owned him was capable of making strong, confident decisions without letting silly emotions get in his way. To know that he’d be rewarded for good behaviour, punished for bad, and dealt with consistently, even if his master did find himself beginning to care for his submissive in unexpected ways. Despite Harrison and Proctor’s attempts to distract him from his thoughts several times as the meal progressed, Sloan’s mind kept returning to the same topic over again over again. Even when the two older dominants excused themselves at the end of the meal and left Sloan and Carl alone at the table, Sloan found himself quietly lost in his thoughts. He was the kind of man who could give Carl that sort of strength and dominance. He was— Carl cleared his throat. Blinking his way back into the real world, Sloan raised an eyebrow at the interruption. “Was it true what Mr. Harrison said, sir?” the submissive asked. “More specifically?” Sloan asked, wondering if he should have paid a little more attention to what Harrison was babbling on about after all. “That he invited you to move up the ranks in the club and you weren’t interested,” Carl hinted. “Dominants are dominants. Submissives are submissives. Adding any other labels into the mix is pure bull. I don’t come to the club to waste my time playing politics with other doms.” And the other junior doms would have eaten you alive if I’d left you alone with no one to protect you from them. He kept that to himself. There was no reason to tell the younger man any of that. Carl nodded. He went back to staring at the tableware for a few moments. He parted his lips several times before the silence finally seemed to weigh so heavily on him that he had to say something.

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“You didn’t have any other plans for Christmas, sir?” Carl finally blurted out. He seemed to regret asking the question as soon as it hit the air. Sloan watched the rapid sequence of emotions flash through his eyes in silent fascination before he finally decided to answer. “No, I didn’t.” “But you—” Carl cut himself off. “Yes, sir.” It was a perfectly appropriate, submissive answer to whatever his master chose to say to him. With any other sub, Sloan knew he’d probably have let it go at that. “But I?” he prompted. Carl glanced up at him. It took him all of three seconds to realise that he wasn’t going to be able to wriggle his way out of finishing the statement—two seconds longer than it should have. The younger man cleared his throat again. “You mentioned before that your family lives quite close, sir.” “Yes, I did.” And apparently Sloan hadn’t been the only man paying more attention to the conversations they’d shared with each other than to those he’d had with the other men in the club. Carl nodded and said nothing. For some stupid reason, Sloan found himself speaking again. “We’re not the ‘happy people all getting together around the Christmas tree’ kind of family.” The younger man swallowed, as if trying to build up the courage to press on. “You don’t get on with them, sir?” He seemed to expect to be knocked back for his cheek. “My family have very specific views on gay men,” Sloan informed him as he drained the last of the water from his glass. When he glanced at the submissive again, the younger man’s curiosity was clear in his eyes. “Too weak. Too sensitive. Too effeminate. Too easily swayed by their emotions. Too easily led.” “You’re nothing like that!” Carl protested. “If I ever find myself in need of your reassurance on that fact, I’ll let you know,” Sloan said. Somehow the words weren’t even half as light-hearted as he intended them to be when they hit the air.

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He muttered a curse inside his head, and in that moment, even Sloan wasn’t sure if he was aiming that at himself for being an idiot, or at Carl for getting under his skin and somehow prompting him to share the fact he was so idiotic with the world. No wonder he thinks submissives are pathetic… Carl looked down at the tablecloth for several long moments. When he looked back up, Sloan was still staring at him, a frown disturbing the skin between his brows. Just when he was about to bolt, Sloan’s hand came to rest on the back of his chair, as if he guessed what he planned to do and wasn’t prepared to permit it. “What’s your excuse?” the older dominant asked. Carl closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t personal, that’s what he thought all submissives were like and that was what his family had taught him to hate. Somehow, knowing that didn’t make it any easier to deal with Sloan’s contempt. “What happened?” He forced himself to open his eyes and meet the other man’s gaze. “Sir?” “You said a few months ago that your family was fine with it when you came out. What happened?” Carl blinked at him. Not an excuse for his weakness, an excuse for being on his own at Christmas. He managed to get enough words out in the right order to make it clear that he’d have been very welcome in Canada with the rest of his family if he’d been able to scrape together an extra couple of days off. “They really don’t give a damn which way I swing, sir,” he finished off, and promptly realised that was probably the very worst thing he could have said considering the other man’s relationship with his own family. Sloan merely nodded his understanding as if not the least offended. His hair fell forward into his eyes again, making Carl wish he had permission to reach out and push it back off his lover’s face. All at once, Carl found himself wondering what his friend would have looked like years ago, back when he first came out to his parents. He wouldn’t have had the same care lines around his eyes back then. He’d been seventeen, Carl remembered Sloan telling him that much before. His shoulders wouldn’t have been so broad. He’d have probably been a few inches shorter too.

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Six years younger than Carl was right then, he’d have been more a boy than a man. Perhaps even a boy who could easily have been hurt when someone he loved threw those kinds of insults at him. A wave of sympathy rushed through him. Carl had to look away before he risked Sloan seeing it in his eyes. In that moment, he was sure the dominant would see it as pity and be furious, or worse still, be hurt. Frowning slightly as he looked across the room, Carl studied that thought for a second. He’d never thought of Sloan being hurt. The older man had such a thick shell, it had never occurred to him to wonder how the hell he’d acquired it in the first place. Suddenly Sloan pushed his chair back. Carl sprang to his feet beside him. As Sloan walked away from the table, Carl followed him, his footfalls echoing his master’s every step. Sloan only stopped when the sound of Carl’s footsteps ceased. He looked over his shoulder. Carl glanced from his master to the gents’ room they were passing, not sure how to ask for permission, just sure he needed it. A moment later, Harrison rounded the corner, still with Proctor in tow. Sloan nodded his permission to Carl before stepping forward to speak to them. Slipping silently into the gents’ room, Carl had never been more relieved to find a space empty in his life. As he headed for the sinks opposite the urinals a minute or two later, he stopped short. For several seconds, all he could do was stare at his reflection in the mirror above the sink as if he’d never really seen himself before. And maybe he hadn’t—not like this anyway. Reaching up, he automatically ran his hand through his hair, trying to straighten it out and make it look slightly less like someone had grabbed the wild brown strands and held him by them for a long time, as if Sloan’s touch wasn’t somehow lingering on his scalp even after the other man had released him. But most of Carl’s attention lingered a little further down the reflection. Just as he’d suspected, there were bite marks on his neck. Not vampire movie-style dots of blood made by two neatly spaced incisors. There was nothing staged or airbrushed about them. The bruises were only just starting to come up, but the teeth impressions were clear, top and bottom and almost the full damn set.

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Carl ran his fingertips over them, very gently. His sleeve fell back, exposing the cuff around his wrist and the line of reddened skin just above it, where it had chaffed against him as he’d pulled at the bonds. His jeans fought to keep his cock at bay, but Carl half expected the denim’s seams to give way at any moment. For just one brief second he met his own gaze in the mirror, then he looked quickly away. Shock? Yes, he knew what that looked like. Confusion? No problem. But there was something else in his gaze now, something new mixed in with the more familiar emotions. Carl had the strange feeling the man he saw there wasn’t really him. The guy looking back at him was Sloan’s submissive, complete with his master’s marks of ownership decorating every scrap of him, from his disordered hair, all the way down to the cuffs still wrapped around his ankles. He was Sloan’s submissive. A quiet click followed by a movement in the corner of the reflection warned him that someone else was entering the room. Carl looked over his shoulder. Paul stood in the doorway. He had to look like an idiot, mooning over his own reflection. But the idea that everyone in the club had seen him walk through them looking like that called to something inside him. All the men in the dining room had seen him marked out as Sloan’s submissive too. They’d all seen who he really belonged to. There was no going back after that. The air caught in his throat as his head swirled with too many different emotions for him to process. He met Paul’s gaze in the reflection. Against all his expectations, he saw the understanding in his eyes, saw something of himself reflected back as he stared at them. The other submissive said nothing. It wasn’t long before Carl had to fill the silence. “He’s a good man,” he whispered. Leaning his hands on the edges of the sink, he dropped his gaze to stare down at the white porcelain bowl. Sloan was a good man. Carl had always known that. “But is he a good dom?” Paul asked, as he moved across to lean against the sink next to Carl. That was the question.

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“I think…” Carl trailed off, not sure what he really thought. “I think he…could be if he’d let himself?” he finally whispered, a full minute later. Saying the words outside his own head sent a scared little shiver down his spine. Even having the thought inside his head felt dangerous. If Sloan really could be a good master, then maybe there was no reason for him to run away from the other man come Christmas morning. Maybe he didn’t have to pretend he was trying out submission to see if he liked it. Maybe there wasn’t even any need to worry about falling in love with Sloan, because that would mean that Sloan was actually the kind of man who would be willing to give a damn about him in return. And maybe— The door swung open. “Carl!” He blinked as he heard his master call his name. While his brain struggled to find its way back to reality, his body took over. He was already halfway across the room, when he realised that he shouldn’t walk away from the other submissive without a word. Paul smiled as their eyes met once more. He nodded his understanding. The older man got it, got him—for practically the first time in his life, Carl didn’t have to explain to someone the way he was, the other submissive already understood. He managed a smile for the other man before he left. As soon as he set eyes on his master, Carl sensed the change in the dominant. He didn’t know what he’d spoken about with Mr. Harrison and Mr. Proctor. It didn’t really matter. He knew what that look in the older man’s eyes meant. Sloan was ready to play. Carl ran his fingers over the teeth marks again as he approached the dominant. He only wished he felt half as confident that he was ready for Sloan as the older man seemed to be for him.

Holding open the door leading into the bathroom, Sloan glanced past Carl, and spotted the older submissive on the other side of the room. Instinct made him run his eyes over Carl in a quick but through inspection of his submissive. The younger man was fine. There was no reason to worry about him just because he happened to be alone in a room with another man for a few minutes. Sloan took a deep breath and did his very best not to make a complete idiot out of himself over the boy.

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A good dominant didn’t go giddy over his submissive. Sloan reminded himself of that twice, just for good measure. And he was a good dominant. Sloan was sure of that if nothing else. He ran his eyes over Carl once more as the younger man stepped past him into the corridor. Closing the door firmly between him and Paul, Sloan turned to his submissive and deftly clipped one end of a lead onto his collar. For several seconds, Carl stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Sloan took little notice. He was well within his rights to want to keep him at heel by whatever method he wanted. “Come on.” Striding rapidly along the corridor, he led the way towards the playrooms without another word. Carl walked equally silently at his side, gaze lowered and all his attention on the strip of leather that led from his neck to Sloan’s hand. As they stepped into the public playroom, Sloan looked around and considered the options. There was a big crowd in that night with everyone making the most of the run up to Christmas, when so many of them would have to hide their kinks away while they visited their families for the holidays. All the play stations were already occupied. Sloan was pretty sure the same would be said for the private playrooms too. Resigning himself to not being able to tie Carl to a whipping post at that very second, Sloan strode across to an empty bench set against the far wall of the room and sat down on the dark wooden surface, denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him. Carl hesitated, staring at the seat next to him with a question in his eyes. Still, he made no complaint when Sloan directed him to kneel on the floor by his feet instead. Carl obeyed him without question, but he didn’t look Sloan in the eye as he did so. Gathering up the excess length of lead in his hand, Sloan tugged at the leather and demanded the other man tilt his head back and look at his master. Two more tugs and the submissive got the hint before his neck had a chance to get too sore. Their eyes met. Stunning… If Carl wasn’t entirely comfortable in his submission, he was certainly gorgeous in it. Sloan rubbed his knuckles against one of the sets of bite marks on the younger man’s neck. It was hardly the first time he’d left evidence of his dominance on a submissive’s skin, but even if it wasn’t something he’d risk admitting out loud, these were different.

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And he’d be damned if he’d let Carl wander off to be marked by another man in the future. His fist tightened around the lead at the very idea. Carl’s head tilted back further, gasping as the leather jerked around his throat. Settling his other hand on the submissive’s cheek, Sloan rubbed his thumb back and forth across Carl’s lips. There was something different about having Carl on his lead too. Perhaps if he could think of a way to say that without making himself sound just like one of those men his father had so much contempt for… Sloan pushed the idea away and turned his attention back to more immediate concerns. Carl had already proved that he gave really good head. It was a pity to have him kneeling at his feet and not make use of that fact. Increasing the pressure behind his touch, Sloan parted the younger man’s lips and slid his thumb into his mouth. Teeth scraped against the digit as it filled Carl’s mouth. Having them nibble against his thumb was one thing. But Carl was kidding himself if he thought that was all the digit represented right then. Sloan gave another yank on the lead. “Cover your teeth.” Carl looked up and met Sloan’s gaze for a moment, surprise filling his big brown eyes. But he did what he was told to do, and that was the important thing. The younger man’s lips thinned out as he pulled them over his teeth to cushion their contact with Sloan’s thumb. The dominant nodded his approval. Very slowly, he began to move his thumb back and forth, thrusting it between the submissive’s lips. A blush rose to Carl’s cheeks, but eventually he began to lose sight of his embarrassment, to get into the game and play along. He couldn’t bob his head while Sloan kept a tight hold on his lead, but the younger man licked the length of Carl’s thumb as it slid past his tongue. He doted on the very tip of the digit when Sloan held it still for him to do so. The submissive’s tongue swirled around his thumb, for all the world as if he really thought he just might be able to make his hand come if he was good enough. Sloan watched, enchanted, as Carl’s eyes fell closed and the submissive began to get lost in the game in earnest. He had long lashes for a guy, they fanned out beneath his eyes. He was still blushing a little, but as Sloan feasted his eyes on the man before him, the submissive’s cheeks also hollowed as he sucked on his master’s thumb.

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Pulling his hand away from the other man’s mouth, Sloan stroked across his lover’s five o’clock shadow. His thumb was still damp. It left a trace of moisture in its wake. Carl’s lips were damp too, and already slightly reddened from being trapped against his teeth. As Sloan dropped his attention even lower, he saw the sub’s tenting fly, and he noticed how Carl had tightened his hands into fists as he struggled for control. Perfect. Leaning back against the wall behind the bench, Sloan lifted one foot and pressed the sole of his boot against Carl’s fly. The submissive whimpered. His eyes opened very wide. He had a little bit more slack on his lead now. Enough for him to bow his head in pleasure as he moaned his appreciation of feeling another man walk all over him in that very special way. Applying enough pressure to stop just short of causing the submissive real pain, Sloan flexed his ankle, moving his foot against his lover’s crotch and massaging his erection through the straining denim. Carl opened his mouth as if he was about to say something. No words emerged. Sloan grinned as he felt the submissive’s hips rock beneath his foot as Carl tried to push himself even more firmly against his master’s boot. Studying his friend’s reactions very closely, Sloan carefully increased the pressure behind his touch until Carl’s teeth nipped harshly into his bottom lip. He tensed, on the verge of coming right then. A sudden cry cut through the air. The submissive’s eyes snapped open. He looked up at Sloan, wide-eyed and dazed. Sloan took his boot away and stood up. The yell had effectively signalled the end of a scene being played out in the centre of the room. The club had an impressive bondage frame set up there, the kind that allowed a dominant to place his submissive in almost any position he could dream up, and keep him there for as long as he pleased. Sloan had already taken a few paces, before he noticed something pulling back on his wrist, stopping him short. Carl remained kneeling on the floor, his eyes closed very tightly, every muscle riddled with tension. Sloan tugged at the lead again. Carl swayed slightly but he didn’t make any attempt to rise. Sloan was rapidly beginning to lose patience when the younger man blinked his eyes open. Even as the dominant’s hand tightened its grip on the lead, he allowed a little bit of slack to creep into the leather while he relished the emotions rushing across the other man’s face.

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Confusion. Desperation. Lust. And a little bit of fear too. Sloan’s lips twisted into a smile. Unless he was very much mistaken, the younger man’s greatest fear was that he’d come without permission if he tried to move and rise too quickly. Very carefully, Carl finally pulled himself to his feet and stood before his master. He made no comment as Sloan led him into the centre of the room. The device really was an amazing web of leather and chain. The possibilities were endless. As he prompted Carl to step forward into the middle of it, Sloan’s eyes flashed from one restraint to another as he worked out what he wanted to do with him first. His own cock strained against his fly just as hard as Carl’s. As much a part of him wanted to whip the submissive, just for the sheer joy of seeing line after line of pain and pleasure mark the man as his, his erection was far more interested in something quick and simple—in anything that would allow him to bury his shaft in the younger man’s arse as quickly as possible. There was more than one way to mark a man as belonging to him after all. Sloan looked back to his submissive as he strove to pick the best path for them, curious if the younger man had any visible preference. While he’d knelt on the other side of the room, the tension in Carl’s body was all the submissive’s attempts to control his own muscles. Now, a different form of anxiety seemed to rush through his veins. As Sloan watched, the submissive’s eyes flickered around the room, from one pair of watching eyes to another. While Sloan’s attention had been on other matters, the men around them had all turned to observe their scene. Sloan tilted his head slightly to one side as he looked the submissive over one more time. Part of him couldn’t care less about the guys watching. Another part only saw them as men who were about to see exactly to what depth Carl belonged to him. Then, just before he made a decision and clipped the first restraint into place, a quiet little voice in the back of his head spoke up. Carl would hate it. Sloan took a deep breath. Carl would hate being put on display in front of all those other men. He hadn’t been willing to dominate anyone in public play when he’d been pretending to be someone he wasn’t, and looking at him right then it was blatantly obvious that hadn’t changed when he admitted the truth about what he was really into. Sloan took a step forward. He had every right to do whatever he wanted with the boy, in public or in private. Carl was his.

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But at the same time, Carl would hate it. Another step forward. Carl lifted his eyes to meet Sloan’s gaze. He obviously knew what was going to happen, how public any scene would be if it took place in that room. Still, he made no complaint. He obviously intended to go along with whatever his dominant wanted. And as Sloan stood there in front of a whole club full of men, he realised that wasn’t good enough—not with Carl. He wanted him to whimper just the way he had when they were up in Harrison’s guest room. He wanted to see the younger man lose himself in the scene. And one day, he’d be able to do that no matter who was watching. One day, he’d trust his master enough that he could forget the rest of the world even existed once his master issued the first command. But that day wasn’t today. The only question then, was how to make sure Carl never found out that his master was changing his plans just because he cared for the man he was playing with far more than a good dominant should ever admit. Sloan took another stride forward, right into Carl’s personal space, until their bodies were almost touching. Then he took another pace. Carl had no choice but to move back and make way for him then. Step by step, Sloan marched his lover further back until Carl’s shoulder hit one of the supports of the frame. His body jerked, rubbing itself against Sloan as the shock rushed through him. Sloan leaned in, and pinned him in place with his whole body. The younger man might have been smaller than him, he wasn’t a great deal weaker. Even so, he made no attempt to push back as Sloan held him against the post. “Later tonight, after everyone else has left and we’re the only ones left in the club,” Sloan whispered, dipping his head so his lips were just a fraction away from the submissive’s ear. “You and I are going to come back down here. I’m going to tie you up, I’m going to screw you, and if you’re very, very lucky, I might even allow you to come.” Carl’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes fell closed. Sloan’s hand slipped between them to cup Carl through his jeans. The younger man let out a mewing little whimper as he arched and squirmed against the post, as if his body was unable to decide if it wanted to hump his hand or wriggle away from sensations that threatened to topple him over the edge.

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Sloan smiled slightly to himself as he increased the pressure behind his touch and quietly made it clear that that was no longer his choice. He might be inclined to be a bit soppy with the boy, but he wasn’t so far gone he’d let the younger man control every touch his master offered him. “Are you enjoying wearing that plug for me?” Sloan asked. Carl shook his head. “Pity. You’re going to be wearing one a lot.” The submissive’s tongue flickered out to moisten his lips that had apparently turned dry with nerves. Sloan’s hand began to work against his cock through his jeans in earnest then, caressing and massaging him as he smiled and dipped his head to whisper to him again. “Once you belong to me, you’re going to have to get used to wearing your master’s marks twenty-four hours a day. A real collar—one that means I own you,” he bit out, as the memory of seeing another man collar him sent a spike of anger through him. “A plug, because I’ll own your arse too. Whip marks on your back. Teeth marks on your skin. I’m going to lay claim to every inch of you, Carl. And I’ll see to it that you love every damn minute of it.” He moved his hand more quickly against Carl’s denim-clad cock as he leaned in and crowded the other man against the post. Was that too much to let on? Should a dominant really want his submissive to love everything? Should he really care that much? Should he have admitted it? Thoughts rushed around in Sloan’s head fast enough to make a weaker man dizzy. For a second, Carl froze and Sloan wished he could bite the words back. Then the submissive jerked. His hips thrust forward against Sloan’s hand, just once, as the younger man came. Watching the pleasure flash across Carl’s face, Sloan kept his hand moving against him. A moan that balanced right on the edge of pain and pleasure escaped from the younger man. Sloan kept up the pressure behind his touch. Carl was obviously too sensitive to enjoy it right then, but even after he blinked open his eyes and met his gaze, the submissive made no complaint.

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Entirely to his own timetable, Sloan took his hand away. Carl breathed a sigh of relief. It was only then that the submissive’s brain seemed to come back online. He blushed beautifully as he realised what had just happened. Sloan grinned as he stepped away from the bondage frame and nodded to the next guys waiting to use it. Carl followed along meekly behind him as he led him into the private area of the club, and from there quickly up to Harrison’s flat.

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Chapter Eight

The moment they stepped into the bedroom, Carl looked straight to the en-suite. The fact his jeans were black had prevented the cum stain showing through the fabric, but it hadn’t stopped everything turning sticky and unpleasant very quickly. He glanced towards Sloan, not sure if a submissive was allowed to ask if he could have a shower or not. Would it be better to wait to see if Sloan volunteered permission? In a way he still didn’t understand, the simple fact that he had to ask for permission, that it wasn’t a decision he was allowed to make for himself right then rushed to his cock as quickly as every other hint of the control he’d given up that day. He closed his eyes for a moment, as another hand grenade exploded right next to any chance he had of pretending he wasn’t really a submissive after all, adding a few more cracks to the already crumbling possibility. He was a submissive. There didn’t seem to be any point trying to get away from that any longer. All he had to do now was work out if he could risk being Sloan’s submissive. That, and get out of his damn jeans. The dominant was smiling when Carl looked up at him, as if he knew what sort of predicament his submissive was in, and he liked knowing it. The older man raised an eyebrow at him as if ordering him to speak up if he had anything to say. “Do you have any objection to my taking a shower, sir?” Carl asked, as calmly as he could. “None at all.” Breathing a sigh of relief, as much at being able to creep away, lock the bathroom door behind him and snatch a few moments on his own as anything else, Carl took a step forward. Sloan turned away to look for something in his overnight bag as if not the least bit concerned at what his lover was doing. Carl was almost at the bathroom door when the dominant spoke up again. “Leave the sweater and the boots in here.” There was a chair right by the bathroom door. Stopping next to it, Carl undid the laces and set his boots under the chair. Standing up, he pulled the sweater over his head, folded it

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and placed it neatly over the back of the chair. He was just about to reach for the bathroom door handle, when Sloan’s hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled it roughly behind his back. Before Carl had any chance to work out what the hell was going on, his other hand was yanked behind him too. A loud click filled the air and Sloan’s hands left him. Carl spun around to face the other man, but his hands stayed firmly behind his back. Looking over his shoulder he was just able to catch sight of the padlock Sloan had snapped onto the D rings of both his cuffs. Turning back to face Sloan, Carl stared across at the dominant as if he’d lost his mind. “Wh—?” was all he managed to say. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to ask. Why the hell did you do that? What do you think you’re doing? How the hell am I supposed to take a shower like this? None of the questions actually left Carl’s lips. He just stared at the dominant in silence. Sloan stepped forward to stand directly in front of him. “You can ask your master for whatever you want, Carl. If it’s a reasonable request, you’ll probably get it. But whenever I decide to grant your request, whatever happens next will happen on my terms.” The older man’s lips were just an inch or two above Carl’s when he said the final words. It took every scrap of control he could muster not to lean forward and try to steal a kiss from the dominant. “You can have your shower,” Sloan told him. Catching hold of one of the belt loops on Carl’s jeans, the larger man led him into the bathroom. It took Carl far too long to realise what his master intended to do. Sloan’s hand was already on his top button when he bought a clue. He tried to pull away, only to find out he was backed up against the edge of the sink. There was nowhere for him to go as Sloan unzipped his fly and pushed the fabric aside. Carl squirmed, even when he had no idea what he hoped to achieve with his wriggling. The only thing he was sure of was that coming in his jeans like a damn teenager was humiliating. It made him feel even younger and more clueless than ever. He couldn’t afford to let Sloan down by acting that way. “Coming for your master is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

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Carl kept his eyes closed and ignored the other man’s patronising attempts to make him feel better about his mistake, until Sloan gave a tug on his collar and shocked him into opening his eyes. “Do you really think I’d have let you get off if I didn’t want you to?” Carl shook his head. “No, sir.” He didn’t even have to think about it. The answer was already there inside his head waiting for him. “Stop being ashamed of following my orders,” Sloan commanded. “Yes, sir.” Even Carl himself was surprised how strong and confident his own words sounded as they hit the air. Sloan wanted him to come. He’d come. Cause and effect. Simple as that. There was nothing embarrassing about doing as his master demanded. Sloan merely nodded as if that was nothing more nor less than he expected of a man who belonged to him. He stripped Carl’s jeans away, to leave him standing in the middle of the bathroom wearing nothing but his collar, his cuffs, and a nice selection of marks. Turning on the shower set over the tub and adjusting the spray, Sloan nodded for Carl to get in. There didn’t seem to be anything Carl could do but obey the older man. Stepping into the bath, he moved under the hot spray. Tipping his head back, he let the water run through his hair and over his face, hoping it would somehow make its way into his head and wash through his mind at the same time, scrubbing away all his confusion. When he blinked his eyes open, he noticed that Sloan had rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. Knowing he couldn’t wash himself when his hands were behind his back was one thing, but Carl had never really thought about what the alternative might be. “Come here,” Sloan pointed to the opposite end of the bath. His expression changed as Carl hesitated. His master’s displeasure seemed to have a direct line to his feet. He quickly stepped forward, hoping that the other man might decide to be pleased with him again. Sloan said nothing as he reached for the shower gel and soaped his hands. While the shower continued to pour into the empty tub behind him, Carl stood dripping wet in the dry end of the bath. A shiver ran through him as he lost the benefit of the heat from the pounding water. Either his master didn’t notice, or he didn’t care. And within moments it didn’t even matter, because as soon as Sloan’s hands started to work their way over his body and soap

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him down, Carl found being too cool was the least of his problems. If anything he was a damn sight too hot and in desperate need of a cold shower. A whimper escaped him as Sloan’s hand wandered down to his cock and wrapped itself casually around his shaft. It was impossible to tell if the older man was trying to clean him up or jack him off. Carl whimpered with need regardless. Sloan chuckled as Carl continued to rock his hips even after the dominant’s hand left him. The guy spent just as much time soaping Carl’s balls as he’d spent toying with his cock. Cupping it in his palm and massaging the tightening sac with his fingers he easily managed to make the process just as frustrating as the abandoned hand-job. By the time he prompted Carl to turn his back on his master, the submissive’s body had given up asking his brain to verify any orders given by Sloan. The dominant’s hand slipped straight between his buttocks to the plug that was still lodged deep inside his hole. Pressing against the flat end where it nestled snugly between Carl’s cheeks, Sloan soon had it dancing inside him, rubbing against his prostate again and again. “Bend over.” Lost in a world where the only important messages flooding through his veins were issued by his cock, Carl did as the other man said without question or comment. Shuffling his feet apart in the bottom of the bathtub, he bent at the waist and silently offered his friend his arse to do with as he pleased. Sloan quickly took away the plug. Carl expected to be more than ready to sigh his relief, but as he was allowed to straighten up, he found himself clenching his muscles over and over again and regretting that there was nothing for him to clamp down around. He’d never felt so empty, nor so confused by feeling that way. A gentle nudge sent him to the other end of the bath to rinse the suds from his skin. There was no order to step out from under the spray again. When Sloan decided he’d been under there long enough, he simply turned off the water. Carl stood perfectly still as the heat drained out of the room and the steam seemed to turn cold against his skin. Finally the older man seemed to get bored with simply staring at him. Sloan snatched up a towel and pointed to the other end of the bath once more. The towel was rough against his body as Sloan rubbed it against his skin, from head to toe, paying particular attention to Carl’s cock and his balls. He flicked the wet fabric against

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his arse as he finished. Carl got the hint. He clumsily clambered out of the bath under his master’s watchful eye. A moment later, Sloan walked out of the bathroom. Carl followed along behind him, knowing he was still acting like a pup trained to heel even though the lead had been removed. Right then he didn’t care. He had the feeling Sloan quite liked him acting like that, and he loved being able to give in to the side of himself that had wanted to do little else since he first set eyes on the more dominant man, too. Sloan nodded towards the bed. “Get some rest, you’re going to need it.” Carl stepped forward. His master made no move to undo the cuffs. Scrambling awkwardly onto the bed, Carl quickly found that the only comfortable position a man could lie in when his hands were behind his back, was flat on his stomach. His skin was still slightly damp as he lay face down on top of the blankets. A tug against his ankles informed him that Sloan was doing something to the slightly soggy cuffs still wrapped around them. Carl managed to look over his shoulder in time to catch sight of a length of chain, just as it disappeared from his field of view. Another click and he could only guess that his restraints had been linked to the bed frame. It was far easier to observe Sloan’s actions as he turned his attention to his collar. Another length of chain was soon locked onto the frame above his head. Carl was so busy staring at it, admiring it and wondering how he could have failed to see how beautiful and erotic stainless steel links were from the submissive’s point of view, he failed to pay enough attention to his master. He only caught sight of the blindfold just before the world went dark. Suddenly left with nothing but his hearing to rely on, Carl strained for every sound his master made. For a few minutes, he seemed to potter around the room. Then something hard and slick pressed against Carl’s arse. Instinct made him pull away. Chains rattled around him, pulling at his neck and his ankles. He moved all of an inch or two before they halted his progress. And by then, he didn’t really need to move anyway. The plug was already inside him. It was bigger than the last one, stretching him open almost as wide as Sloan’s cock had just a few hours before. Carl took a deep breath. He was just starting to relax and get his heart rate back to where it should be when the toy whirred to life and started to vibrate inside him. Turning his

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face into the mattress, Carl did his best to hide a frustrated moan, just in case the dominant should take it as a complaint. The vibrations were gentle, little more than a slow, pulsating motion. There was no way in hell he’d be able to come from that. Sloan chuckled somewhere close by, obviously well aware of that fact. Carl soon heard footsteps walking away. A minute or two later, he heard the shower start up again. He’d have given anything to be in there with him, to see the other man under the spray, maybe even to serve and service him while he showered. But that wasn’t his choice any more. There wasn’t much he could do but lie there until Sloan decided to grant him permission to do otherwise. He hadn’t slept one sodding wink the night before. He’d been far too busy imagining what might happen that day. And he was as sure as hell he wouldn’t be able to get any that night either. Dealing with Sloan when he was wide awake and on his A game was like tightrope walking without a safety net. Doing it sleep deprived and anxious as hell was just stupid. In the darkness behind the blindfold, Carl closed his eyes—just for a few moments.

**** Carl tried to open his eyes. Something covered them, pressing against his lids and making it impossible. Still half asleep, he tried to turn over. Something else stopped him doing that too. He couldn’t even move his arms from behind his back. Survival instinct kicked in. He struggled frantically against a world he wasn’t awake enough to understand. Something moved against his face. Light flooded his world. Carl blinked rapidly until Sloan came into focus. Memories rushed back. A mental string of swear words followed hot on their heels. “I’ve known a few men who claimed to be deep sleepers,” the dominant informed him, as he tossed the blindfold aside. “But you’re the first sub I’ve known whose actually fallen asleep during a scene with me.” “You told me to rest, sir.” Carl wanted to snatch the words back the moment they hit the air, but Sloan just laughed. “And you’re always going to do as your master says, aren’t you?”

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Carl kept his mouth shut. He was pretty sure they both knew the answer to that one. Peering over his shoulder, he saw the corner of a blanket someone had thrown over him as he slept. He looked back to his master. Sloan’s expression remained completely blank, as if he had no idea who’d tucked him up so he could sleep snug and comfortable under the soft wool. Getting up off the bed, he moved out of Carl’s line of sight, and quickly yanked the blanket off him. A couple of clicks later, Carl’s ankle cuffs were no longer attached to the bed. A lead quickly replaced the one that fastened his collar to the bed frame too. “Get up.” Sloan emphasised the order with a tug against his collar. Carl slowly managed to lever himself off the bed and get to his feet. The plug the dominant had set vibrating inside him still whirred away. As he moved it shifted and pressed against his prostate, making him squirm. If the dominant noticed that, he made no comment on it. Sloan led him straight towards the bedroom door without another word. Carl followed obediently along behind him, until he felt the draught from the corridor caress his naked skin as the older man opened the door—against his naked skin. Carl stopped. Sloan kept going. The lead tugged against his neck. The submissive’s feet still refused to move. Sloan looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. Carl glanced from his master to his own naked body, then to the world outside the bedroom. “I told you I was going to take you back down to the frame when everyone else was gone,” Sloan reminded him. “Did you think I was joking?” “Everyone’s gone?” Carl strained his hearing. There wasn’t a sound from the building. Even the persistent thump of music that had seeped into the flat before he’d fallen asleep was gone. It had to be some sort of trick. He couldn’t have slept for that long. Sloan gave another tug on his lead, as if he couldn’t work out what the hell the problem was. Carl dropped his gaze as he took a cautious step forward. Of course the other man couldn’t see the problem. Submissives did as they were told. They were for showing off to whomever their master saw fit. Taking a deep breath, Carl followed his master down the hallway, eager to please his lover, even when his skin crawled at the idea of being put on display that way. A noise from

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his left made him jump and try to bring his hands in front of his body to cover his crotch. No one appeared, but there was a light shining out from under one of the doors along the corridor, from Mr. Harrison and Paul’s bedroom. As Sloan led the way down the stairs and into the main part of the club, the only sound was the dominant’s boots. Carl, barefoot behind him, made no sound at all as he followed in the older man’s wake. It was eerie down there without a crowd of men and music to fill the space. It was always dark and shadowy in certain parts of the club, in those hidden little corners where men could sneak away to when they found a lover who matched their kinks and wanted a private moment without the expense of a private room, but this was different. A shudder ran down Carl’s spine. He found himself walking a little closer to Sloan’s side in the gloom. Part of him knew it was a stupid and thoroughly pathetic thing to do. The knowledge didn’t stop him moving even closer to his master as they made their way further into the club, until he was in danger of trapping a bare foot under one of Sloan’s heavy leather boots. The main playroom was a mass of strange shapes and confusing shadows in the half light. Sloan marched forward as if that didn’t worry him in the slightest, as if he was born to roam around clubs like that and knew he was always going to be the top predator in any space he chose to explore. Carl stopped next to him as they reached the bondage frame in the middle of the room. He’d never felt more like prey in his life. Looking up at his master, Carl discovered there was just enough light for him to see his expression. Sloan’s eyes darted from one point on the frame to another, as if he was mentally running through everything in his head, planning it out as he began to decide on his submissive’s final fate. Casually hanging the handle of the lead onto a hook above Carl’s head, he set about arranging a network of chains and leather straps into a complicated web that joined in the centre of the frame. Carl watched it all, as fascinated by the other man’s movements as he had always been. “Come here.” Carl took a step forward without even thinking to check if the loop of leather hanging down from the hook his lead was attached to might get caught on anything as he did so. His

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feet disappeared from beneath him as the leather snagged against one of the bars that made up the frame. His collar jerked against his neck as he stumbled forward. “Careful!” Sloan’s arms wrapped around him, catching him before he could fall flat on his face and throttle himself in the process. Carl stared up at him, wide-eyed with sudden shock. “Careful,” Sloan repeated, slightly more calmly. His grip on Carl’s arms was painfully tight and it didn’t let up as they stood there in the middle of the deserted club surrounded by the silence of absent men. For a moment, the light in Sloan’s eyes looked suspiciously like fear, but it was gone before Carl could be sure, replaced by annoyance. “Since when do you care if your sub gets hurt?” Carl bit out as his master’s anger pressed panic buttons he hadn’t even been aware of possessing. For several long seconds, the older man just stared down at him, as if he was waiting for something. Finally Carl realised that was exactly what he was doing. “…sir?” some stupid little part of him finished, before the more sensible side of himself could call it to heel. “You think that’s what a sadist is?” Sloan asked as he released Carl’s arms. “Someone who wants to see anyone and everyone hurt as often as possible and in any way?” Carl swallowed. It seemed like a pretty accurate description to him, but he knew all of Sloan’s different tones of voice and what every single one of them meant. He knew when the dominant was inviting a man into a trap. It was only a pity he didn’t know how to scrape up the strength of will to avoid stepping straight into the snare, even when he knew full well it was there. “Yes, sir.” Carl had no doubt that Sloan was a sadist. Sooner or later, his friend would hurt him, and it wouldn’t just be with a whip. He could feel the other kind of pain it would be so easy for Sloan to inflict on him getting closer by the minute. And in some stupid way, the fact that he might actually be a good dom made it so much harder to face the fact that he wasn’t going to be his master by Boxing Day. “And now you want to know if I intend to hurt you?” Carl managed to nod. Maybe if he heard him say it then… “Yes, sir.” “I’ve every intention of hurting you,” Sloan said, as he stared down into his eyes. In the half light he looked more feral and perfect than ever. “I’m going to whip you, spank you,

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tie you up, tie you down.” The dominant brushed his knuckles against Carl’s skin as he said each word. Carl leaned into his touch, savouring it and every word the older man said to him. “I’m going to show you kinds of pain you’ve never even guessed at the existence of, and I’m going to make you love every minute of it.” He paused for a moment. “I’m going to push so much pain into your body you’ll hover on the edge of passing out from it. But you won’t pass out. You’ll stay conscious through sheer strength of will because you won’t want to miss a single second of it.” Carl whimpered as images of it all flashed through his mind. None of them came close to the perfection of the man standing in front of him. “But no,” Sloan said. His voice changed. He took his hand away from Carl’s cheek. “I’ve no interest in seeing you fall flat on your face. Do you know why?” Carl shook his head. “Whatever you feel, pain or pleasure, it‘ll be given to you as and when it pleases me. You belong to me and that means you don’t get to make that sort of decision for yourself.” “Yes, sir,” Carl managed to whisper. “And that means, you’ll get in just as much trouble falling over without my permission as you would for jacking off and coming without a clear order to do so. My submissive. My decision. Understand?” “Yes, sir,” Carl whispered again. When it seemed like Sloan might say something else, he turned sharply away from him and unclipped his lead. Carl was left staring up at him, almost afraid to move in case he should stumble upon some sort of sensation his master wouldn’t approve of. With his hands on Carl’s shoulders, Sloan turned him so his back was to the network of leather and chains behind. Carl swallowed rapidly. If he’d had doubts about Sloan’s capacity to treat a submissive with love, he’d never had any reservations regarding his ability to treat any man to the best night’s bondage of his life. As Sloan released his arms from the cuffs behind his back, Carl rushed to offer up his right cuff to the clip above his head that was obviously due to receive it. A harsh roaring sound echoed around the dark, empty space. It took Carl a moment to realise that the cry came from him. There wasn’t room for his mind to process anything bar

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the burning fire that shot down his arms as they were moved and the blood started to flow back into them more freely. The pain could have brought him so easily to his knees, but Sloan pushed him roughly backward into the cradle created by the leather straps. The bondage caught him, supporting him as his head spun, his stomach churned and more and more pain rushed into his arms. Before Carl knew it Sloan was behind him. The dominant’s hands came to rest on his shoulders. As Carl fought for his breath, Sloan’s fingers dug into the sensitised muscles across his shoulders. He tried to pull away, but Sloan jerked him back against the restraints, refusing him the freedom to escape the painful touch. As the seconds passed, the older man worked his way down his arms and Carl’s brain finally processed the fact that the dominant’s dexterous fingers were actually coaxing the agony out his muscles. Carl closed his eyes and took a series of deep breaths. The way Sloan stood behind him, he was as much supported by the dominant’s body as he was by the leather straps. He could feel the heat of the other man’s body soaking through the dominant’s clothes to caress his skin. The pain melted out of his muscles in response to the older man’s demands that it should do so. It wasn’t only discomfort that left him, it was every ounce of tension he’d ever had, and any desire to move. Eventually, Sloan stepped away from him and left him to the leather’s hold. Cradled in the bondage, Carl couldn’t help but think it was pointless for Sloan to bother about fastening cuffs around his wrists and ankles. He’d stay for as long as his lover was willing to keep him there. It still felt good though. Carl couldn’t ever remember anything feeling better in his life as Sloan finally moved around to face him. His eyes were very serious. “Next time, you’ll think twice about moving without my permission, won’t you?” “Yes, sir.” Sloan left him hanging there in the web of bondage as if wanting to give him time to think about that, but finally the dominant did turn his attention to the plug that was still vibrating away slowly in his arse.

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Carl’s legs were spread wide apart by the arrangement of chains and cuffs. He couldn’t have brought them together if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to. Sloan’s fingers soon replaced the plug, coaxing murmurs and whimpers out of him with every movement. Within moments, silence was no longer an option. “Please, sir…” he whispered. “No!” Carl flung his eyes open as the snapped word reached his ears. Sloan couldn’t mean that! He couldn’t stop now. “Don’t beg,” the dominant ordered. Carl blinked at him. “It makes you sound like you think anything you say will change my mind about what happens next. It won’t—not unless it’s your safe word.” Swallowing rapidly, Carl didn’t dare say a single word. “You’re mine now. I decide if you’re going to get screwed. I decide if you’re going to come. Mine.” Carl managed to nod. “Say it!” “Yours, sir.” Even though the words were little more than a hoarse whisper, they seemed to be enough to satisfy the dominant. Then, just a second later, Sloan took his fingers away. He moved half a step back, breaking all contact between them. Staring down at Carl, he seemed to dare him to object, to beg, to be stupid enough to risk everything by opening his mouth and saying the wrong thing. Silence filled the room. Not the kind of silence between two men standing in the middle of a noisy crowded club not saying a word to each other, but a hush that filled the entire club, that might even have filled the whole world. The entire universe appeared to be waiting on his master’s pleasure in those moments, and there was nothing Carl could do but wait along with it. Very slowly, Sloan reached for his fly and drew down his zipper. Never taking his eyes off Carl, the older man guided his erection out from the tangle of fabric and stroked the length.

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Carl dropped his gaze to his master’s cock, but he could still feel the dominant’s gaze on his face, taking in every detail of his expression, reading every thought and feeling that raced through his head. Please. The word echoed around and around inside his head, pleading with him to be said. Please. In every fantasy he’d ever had, Sloan had loved to hear him beg. He’d seemed to get off on hearing other subs beg often enough in the past, Carl had heard them himself. Please. Sloan pulled a condom out of his back pocket, tore the packet open with his teeth and slid it down his cock, before slicking the latex with extra lube. Please. Sloan could still change his mind. Carl wouldn’t have put it past the dominant. He had a cruel streak when it came to making sure everyone knew he was the one making the decisions. Stopping right then would be just the sort of sadism the dominant really got off on when he was in a certain mood. Carl had no doubt that Sloan was capable of teasing him to the very last moment, then turning and walking away from him, to leave him there until the first of the club’s customers found him the next day. Sloan, when in a certain mood, was capable of anything. And in that moment, Carl wanted every one of those things from him. Anything. Everything. He was his master’s to do with as the dominant pleased and he loved knowing that. As he stared up at Sloan, the begging faded away from inside his head. Whatever his master wanted… He hadn’t realised the sense of peace that would come with truly feeling that way. As the moments passed, he looked up and met the older man’s eyes. Carl had no idea how, but Sloan seemed to sense the change in him. Something sparked in the dominant’s expression as he closed the gap between them. He guided his cock towards Carl’s hole. One minute, it still seemed possible that he’d call it all off. The next, he was buried balls-deep inside Carl’s arse with one hard thrust. Carl bucked within the framework, pulling at the leather and the chains as a perfect mixture of pleasure and discomfort shot through him. Sloan didn’t give him even the briefest

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moment to adjust and relax around him. Gripping his shoulders, Sloan used Carl’s own body as leverage as he rocked back to plunge into him to the hilt once more. Tossing his head back, Carl could only whimper at the overload of bliss. His fists clenched and unclenched above his head. His back arched as he desperately tried to thrust back against the other man and found it impossible to gain any sort of movement within the frame. Again, seemingly harsher and more frantic with each moment, Sloan thrust into him ever more rapidly. As he stared down at Carl, he didn’t seem to have any thought to his submissive’s pleasure. It was all about possession, all about marking his territory. Carl moaned as the idea rushed to his cock faster than anything that any gentle, considerate lover had ever done for him. He almost came just from the sight of his master looming over him in the half light of the deserted club. The way the dominant pounded against his prostate was just an added bonus. Sloan shouted out as he came inside Carl with a series of hard thrusts. He almost took Carl with him into his orgasm. At the last moment, the submissive managed to stop himself short with a burst of self-control he hadn’t ever been aware of possessing. When his master finally blinked his eyes open and noticed that his lover was still hard and frustrated, he smiled, almost as if that fact amused him. But it pleased him too, Carl saw it in his eyes. Lethargic with his own satisfaction now, Sloan slowly reached out and wrapped his fist around Carl’s straining cock. His master wouldn’t bother with that if he wasn’t very pleased with him. As Carl looked up at his master, he knew that without any trace of doubt. Sloan’s hand worked hard around his shaft, pulling him to the edge and throwing him into the abyss beyond it with a careless sort of kindness, as he finally relented and nodded his permission for Carl to come. Yes! Carl didn’t even dare yell out as pleasure rushed through him, harsher and faster than anything he could ever remember feeling in his life. Every one of his senses screamed as they were overloaded. His eyes blurred. His ears rang. Every inch of skin on his body tingled. Deeper inside his muscles, every vein seemed to carry liquid fire through his body. He jerked in his bonds, rattling his chains.

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As he finally stilled and his muscles went slack within the bondage, Carl felt Sloan pull away and slide his softening cock from his submissive’s hole. There was nothing he could do then, but wait until Sloan decided to unbind him. Against all his expectations, Sloan didn’t make him remain there for too long. The chains were quickly undone. Carl automatically rushed to lever himself out of the frame. “Remember how much it hurt last time?” Sloan warned. Carl remembered, and he remembered who decided when he was allowed his pain and his pleasure. Nodding his understanding, he moved more slowly, more cautiously. It still hurt a little. He wasn’t used to being held immobile for so long. His muscles protested, but he made it as painless as possible and received an approving nod from his master as a reward. Clicking the lead back onto his collar, the dominant led him back to their room without another word. Their silence was almost companionable as they took their turns in the bathroom. Carl hesitated slightly when he automatically moved towards the bed, before it occurred to him he had no right to assume he’d be sleeping there through the night. Sloan simply caught hold of his collar as he walked past him en route to the bed, and tugged him onto the mattress alongside him. Seemingly sleepy with satisfaction now, Sloan was soon spooned behind him, fast asleep. Before he finally fell still, the last thing he did was rub his fingers across Carl’s still sore shoulders, as if his final thought was of his lover’s comfort. Carl took a deep breath and ran the last hour or two through his head very carefully as he found himself free to think without an audience for the first time that day. Oh, bugger. Carl closed his eyes. Convincing himself there was no way in hell he wanted to belong to Sloan while the dominant consistently acted like a sadistic bastard was one thing. But, as he remembered staring up at the other man and seeing the care he’d taken over him, seeing the attention the dominant had given to his pleasure as well as his pain, it was far harder to remember why he didn’t want to drop to his knees the moment they got out of that bed, and belong to Sloan for the rest of his life.

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So what if his kinks didn’t line up with his master perfectly, so what if he knew it wouldn’t last? Did any of that really matter? All in all, he supposed he should be glad that he’d managed to get a little sleep that evening, because he was sure there was no way in hell he was going to sleep that night.

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Chapter Nine

Sloan allowed himself to steal another quick look at Carl. The boy really was going to get soundly whipped if he was stupid enough to fall off that bloody ladder and get hurt without his master’s permission. He turned his attention back to the newspaper he was pretending to read as the submissive reached the floor at the base of the tree and stepped back to admire his handiwork. A minute or two later, he spotted Carl and the other submissives pick up the empty boxes which had contained the decorations they were putting up and carry them out of the room. A glance at his watch told him that the younger man wouldn’t be out of his sight for too long. He’d been given permission to spend an hour helping Paul with his final decorations and getting to know a few of the other submissives a little better. His time was almost up. Sloan had no doubt the submissive was well aware of that, and would no doubt be hurrying back to his master’s side very soon. There was no need to go after him. Shifting slightly uncomfortably in his seat, Sloan glared at the newspaper as if the headlines in it personally offended him. There was no need to go after him, he repeated to himself, just for good measure. Especially not when Harrison was probably lurking around watching him and would find it incredibly amusing if he saw him leave the room after Carl, as if he were the one being trained to walk at heel and not the submissive. Turning his attention once more back to the story he was trying to find some scrap of interest in reading, he glowered ferociously at each word. “So what’s the deal with you and Carl?” Sloan looked up. Mike and Ryan stood before him, instantly making him wish he hadn’t hoped for a distraction without making his preferences clearer. “What?” “You and Carl,” Mike said, as he took a seat to Sloan’s right. “He’s wearing your collar, right?”

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Sloan felt his hackles go up at the memory of watching another man collar his submissive, but he pushed that aside. “He’s my sub,” he bit out. That was the important thing. “You’re going to keep him then?” Ryan asked. Sloan set his paper aside. “Why are you so interested?” Ryan smiled. “When you’re done with him, I thought I might—” “No.” Sloan didn’t bother to add anything else to the answer. It was complete as it was. Ryan held up a hand in mock surrender. “When you’re done, not before—wouldn’t even think of it.” Sloan merely glared at him. “You’re not going all soft and soppy on us, are you?” Mike chuckled. Sloan’s grip on the arm of his chair tightened, as a far older memory came sneaking out from the furthest corner of his mind. “No.” “Of course, he’s not,” Ryan chipped in. “One sub’s not so different to all the others, right?” Sloan shrugged. “Subs are subs.” They were for screwing, whipping, and owning. He took a swig of his drink. Subs were for having fun with and walking away from when he was done with them. Except for Carl, of course. There wasn’t going to be any walking away from him. “Exactly!” Ryan said. Sloan stared past them at the decorations the subs had spent most of the day putting up. Rumour had it that Paul thought there were far too many men in the club who didn’t have enough happy Christmas memories and it was his job to compensate and— “So, what’s he like?” Sloan glanced at the back of his folded up newspaper, but he didn’t really see it. Carl was… Perfect. Glorious. Incredible. Annoying as hell in his ability to get under a dom’s skin and make a man forget why it was so important never to let his emotions get the better of him. “He’s not so bad,” he finally said. “That’s it?” Mike demanded. “That’s all you’re going to tell us?” Sloan shrugged. “What more is there to say? He’s a novice sub. Not much experience. Not much training.” Nothing to interest any of you. Stay the hell away from him.

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He took a deep breath in an effort to keep the words back and looked at his watch. The first thing they were going to have to work on in the New Year was the younger man’s timekeeping. “You can’t just leave it at that!” Ryan protested. “After all the fuss you made about tracking him down, you owe us a bit of detail!” “You said yourself that all subs are alike,” Sloan reminded him. “You’ve screwed a sub before, haven’t you? What makes you think Carl is so different once he’s in cuffs?” Ryan huffed his annoyance with his hedging. Sloan raised an eyebrow at him and the younger man fell silent. A minute or two later, Sloan looked at his watch again. When Carl had been pretending to be a dominant, the younger man had consistently turned up on time for everything. Sloan tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, not sure if he was more inclined to feel impatient and insulted, or concerned that Carl could have landed himself in trouble while he was out of his master’s sight. Turning away from the younger dominants, he looked over his shoulder towards the door. He half expected to see Carl rushing through it, babbling out an apology as he hurried to his master’s side. The doorway was empty. Leaving his seat without a word to either of the other men, Sloan strode through it in search of his property. As he stepped out into the corridor, he spotted Carl. The submissive was hurrying— but he was heading in the wrong direction. Sloan didn’t need to decide what to do then. His feet made the decision for him. When prey ran, a predator chased. Sloan called out, but Carl kept walking determinedly towards the back of the club. If anything, he just moved more quickly when he heard him. It didn’t matter. Sloan was still faster. His shoulders might have been broader than Carl’s, but he was also far less worried about knocking people over as he pushed them out of his way. Long before Carl reached the end of the corridor full of playrooms, Sloan was on his heels. He caught hold of his arm and dragged him to a halt. The submissive immediately tried to pull away from him, but Sloan merely tightened his grip on him. “Is there a reason why you’re not where you should be?”

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Carl turned towards him and tried to pull his arm out of Sloan’s hold more desperately than ever. “Let go of me.” Frowning down at the younger man, Sloan kept his grip firm as he pushed Carl back against the wall and pinned him there with his other hand against the smaller man’s shoulder. “What the hell’s got into you?” Carl pushed at his hand, but some of the fight seemed to leave him, even if the fury hadn’t. He glared up at his master and remained stubbornly silent. Sloan raised an eyebrow at him, but the gesture didn’t seem to unnerve him the way it usually did. “Get off me!” “No.” Sloan didn’t bother to explain why he wasn’t going to do that. He had the right to lay a hand on the younger man in any way he pleased, and they both knew it. Carl stared up at him, his eyes still mutinous, even though he had stopped struggling. “Don’t think the fact we’re friends will stop me from taking a whip to you and teaching you some manners,” Sloan warned.

“I’m not scared of you,” Carl snapped. At least, he wasn’t scared of being whipped by the dominant. That much was true. And as far as everything else was concerned, bloody terrified would have probably been a far better description. Average. Interchangeable. Inexperienced. Replaceable. The words he’d heard fall from his master’s lips as he’d approached the little group of seats Sloan had shared with the other doms quickly mingled in with all the other terms he’d heard him apply to other submissives in the past. Knowing there was no way in hell his time with Sloan was going to end the same way all his fantasies regarding the dominant did was one thing. But actually hearing his master dismiss him as if he was nothing… Carl took a deep breath. More fool him for falling in love with someone who he knew didn’t give a damn about anyone, least of all a sub. Sloan kept a tight grip on his wrist, just above where the leather still wrapped around the joint. Carl stared at the restraint as Sloan dragged him several paces down the corridor, trying several door handles and finding them locked. Finally, one gave way. The door swung open.

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Letting go of his arm, Sloan pushed him towards the open door. Carl stumbled forward a few steps before he came to a stop just outside it. “In there, now,” Sloan ordered. Carl stayed exactly where he was. “You can walk, or you can be carried. Make your choice now—you won’t be making many more tonight.” Carl looked from the dominant to the playroom and back again. Sloan was a few inches taller than him, a little wider across the shoulders. Carl was aware of those facts. He wasn’t so conscious that Sloan was actually strong enough to pick him up and carry out that threat without even straining himself—not until he found himself lifted over the older man’s shoulder and dumped unceremoniously in the middle of a playroom. He almost kept his footing. Almost. If he hadn’t taken a step back he’d have been fine, but the heel of his boot caught against the base of a whipping post as he rushed to put some extra space between them. His backside connected heavily with the bare floorboards. The playroom door thudded closed, sealing them in together. The rest of the club still existed, the men Sloan had been telling how average he was were still sitting out there. Harrison was still there. So was Paul, and probably all the other submissives he’d been slowly getting to know. Carl could hear the faint noise of the other men’s presence seeping through the walls. There was even the slight hint of a Christmas jingle making its way past the heavy wooden door that stood between him and the outside world. There was plenty of evidence to the contrary, but Carl couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that they were suddenly as alone in the club as they had been the previous night. Scrambling to his feet, he did what he could to keep his composure. “Strip.” Carl took a step back from his master and only just managed to avoid landing flat on his back twice in as many minutes. Sloan folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow at him. Carl considered his options. If he refused without invoking his safe word, he had the distinct impression that Sloan wouldn’t hesitate to take away his clothes himself, and that he’d be left without any whole garments to put on again when the dominant was done.

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But that wasn’t what made the decision for him. He wasn’t going to run away any more. He wasn’t scared of Sloan. It was about time the older man learnt that. Carl’s hand moved towards the hem of his T-shirt. Pulling the material over his head, he tossed it onto a spanking bench in the corner of the room. His boots and his jeans quickly followed. He soon stood naked before his master, but he refused to lower his gaze and display any kind of submission towards him. The bastard didn’t deserve him to fawn over him that way. Sloan didn’t deserve a damn thing from him. Sloan stepped forward, closing the gap between them until Carl had to tilt his head back to hold the taller man’s gaze. Every move very slow, as if he was purposely giving Carl a chance to try and run again, Sloan reached out and took one of Carl’s hands in his grip. Lifting his wrist towards one of the chains attached to the whipping post, Sloan soon had his cuff fastened to it. The other quickly followed it, securing him facing the dark wooden structure as his feet stepped up onto the slightly raised platform at its base. Carl’s pulse raced faster and faster as he felt the atmosphere in the room change. He wasn’t sure who that was down to, but, as he sensed every scrap of his master’s attention come to rest on his bare skin, Carl knew something settled inside him. It was all about proving that he wasn’t scared of Sloan… Yeah, right. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt the older man’s gaze caress a line down his back and over his buttocks. Carl closed his eyes, but found himself unable to hide from the truth. He wasn’t there to prove anything to anyone. He was there because it was exactly where he wanted to be, because he never felt average when his master had him bound to a frame and looked at him in that way. And maybe, just maybe, Sloan might think differently if he’d seen how well his submissive could take a whipping. Carl hated himself for thinking it, but…maybe? “Any particular reason you’ve decided you want to act like a brat?” Sloan asked, as he walked around the whipping post, and approached the cabinet where all the various implements of punishment hung. The whipping post blocked most of Carl’s view of the cabinet. He had to crane his neck to see around it. Sloan stood in profile to him as he took one of the whips out of the display and carefully inspected it. Frowning his dissatisfaction, he set it aside and took out another. That

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one didn’t seem to please him any more than the first. A third was soon extracted from the cabinet. “I asked you a question, Carl.” Sloan didn’t even look up from the braided leather in his hand as he issued the reminder. Carl ran his tongue over his lips, trying to moisten skin left dry with nerves. It did him little good while he couldn’t think of a damn word to say. His eyes fell to the whip in his master’s hands. Sloan seemed to like that one. He ran the long tails of it through his fingers again and again as he finally looked back to his submissive. Carl had always wondered. Every time he’d seen another submissive writhe under his friend’s lash he’d wondered what it would feel like to be the man he was laying his whip to. Sloan shrugged. Carl dragged a deep breath into his lungs, guessing that any opportunity Sloan might have been inclined to give him to beg for leniency had already passed him by. Sloan moved out of his line of sight. “Remember what curiosity did, Carl…” the older man whispered to him as he stepped past him to take up a position to the left of the whipping post. “Sir—?” The end of the word disappeared into a gasp as the whip fell against his back for the first time. An inferno exploded under his skin, racing from the left to the right. He tossed his head back as his wrists automatically tugged at the cuffs. A second passed, then another. He managed to drag another breath into his lungs. A movement out of the corner of his eyes was the only warning he received before the leather flicked against him again. The chains rattled as he pulled at them. His feet kicked against the little raised platform. And his cock rose and hardened by the moment. Sloan wasn’t holding back. He never held back. Carl had seen men baby their lovers with gentle little touches of a whip. Sloan wasn’t that kind of dominant. If he was going to whip someone, he was always going to bloody well do it properly. Carl whimpered as the leather fell against his skin again—he’d always loved that about Sloan. No silly little games. Just big serious games… The whip cut through the air, the noise it made had Carl’s breath catching in his throat in expectation.

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More and more heat built in his back as the leather kissed his skin again and again. Whimpering softly, Carl tried to make sense of the jumble of sensations and emotions racing through his veins. The endorphins and adrenaline mixed into a heady cocktail as pleasure and pain became so intermingled Carl lost the ability to remember which was which, and which he was supposed to crave and which he was supposed to fear. His cock rubbed against the smooth, polished wood of the whipping post in front of him as he rocked with the caress of the whip. His breaths came faster and faster. His heart raced. His head spun. Pure ecstasy danced across his back and seeped into his soul as his master laid claim to him in one of the most basic ways a man ever could. Up and up, the layers of bliss and awe the whip forced into his mind built higher and higher, until Carl could only hold his breath and pray his soul wasn’t crushed when they finally toppled around him and he found himself lost in the wreckage. Then, nothing. The room fell completely silent but for his panting breaths. Blood pounded in his ears as his heart continued to race. Carl strained his hearing to catch the presence of his master, but he didn’t have the energy to lift his head from where it rested against the whipping post. Finally, he heard a footstep. Sloan was still there. Another footstep, a little closer than the last. Carl forced his eyes open. Sloan stood next to him, his expression entirely unreadable. “Ready to mind your manners now?” Carl blinked up at his master as he tried to make his mind work. That was right, he remembered, Sloan had thought he’d acted like a brat. He’d been angry with him, disappointed with him. Carl had been angry with his master too. Caught between a desire to nod his head and just as strong an inclination to shake his head, Carl stayed perfectly motionless while he struggled to drag a series of deep breaths into his lungs. Sloan couldn’t stop now! A part of Carl that the younger man hadn’t even been aware existed a day earlier howled out its new-found love of the whip. Pleasure chased the pain through his veins and it throbbed along every line of his back where the whip had met his skin.

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But his master wasn’t pleased with him for mouthing off that way. A deeper, more instinctively submissive segment of Carl’s being quietly sobbed its knowledge of its crimes. He wanted to be a good submissive. He wanted his master to be pleased with him. He wanted his master to love him as much as he loved Sloan. Carl closed his eyes very tightly, knowing how impossible that was. Still, if there was a chance he could make the other man pleased with his behaviour for the little bit of time they had together then… “Yes, sir.” Sloan said nothing. When Carl blinked his eyes open and looked up at his master, Sloan was staring back down at him, his expression very serious. “I won’t disobey one of your orders again, sir,” Carl promised. And if the dominant chose to believe that was because he was afraid of another whipping, then he supposed he should be grateful for being able to keep that small part of his pride intact. Sloan’s lips twisted into a knowing little smile. Carl’s heart froze as real fear rushed through him. “You can’t hide anything from the man you’re submitting to. Not if he knows what he’s doing, Carl.” The younger man swallowed rapidly. “Do you think I know what I’m doing, Carl?” “Yes, sir,” he whispered. “Can you hide anything from me?” “No, sir,” Carl said, resting his temple against the whipping post as he finally gave in to the inevitable.

Sloan stared down at the submissive’s face, watching the emotions flood his eyes in a confusing mass of pent up desires and longings. “You like the whip, don’t you, Carl?” The younger man closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them once more, his relief was clear. His master knew the truth and he wasn’t really angry with him. Sloan saw it all in his eyes. Very slowly, the submissive nodded his understanding of the situation. “Yes, sir.”

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“Next time you get curious and want to be whipped, think twice about trying to make your master mad.” “Yes, sir,” Carl whispered again. Sloan lifted his hand and gently caressed the lightly whipped skin. Carl gasped. His back was obviously sensitive, but he still leaned into his hand rather than away from it. “You know this wasn’t a real punishment, don’t you?” Carl blinked as if he hadn’t known anything of the sort. Sloan laughed as he took his hand away and set the whip aside. “You really think I’d have let you enjoy your punishment if I thought you really deserved one?” The submissive slowly shook his head. “I know it’s Christmas Eve. I know you don’t have long before you have to make your decision. If you want to try something, I’ll humour you. But if you try that bull with me again, you’ll deserve whatever you get.” “Yes, sir.” Stepping up to the post, Sloan undid the clips on the cuffs. Carl started to slip down towards the floor the moment they were freed. Catching his shoulders, Sloan guided his descent and ensured a relatively soft landing as the submissive’s knees met the floorboards. The older man chuckled as he stared down at his lover. The whipping had obviously gone to his head. Sliding his hand into the younger man’s hair, Sloan guided him to tilt back his head and look up at his master. Carl did as he wanted. His eyes swam with bliss and submission. His cock was hard, curving back towards his stomach, and leaking pre-cum. He’d never looked more perfect. Apparently unable to hold his master’s gaze any longer, Carl looked down. His attention fell on Sloan’s fly. He quickly glanced back up to his master’s face, his request clear in his expression. His fingers still wrapped tightly in his submissive’s hair, Sloan nodded his permission. Carl’s hands were clumsy, his fingers uncoordinated as he fought against his master’s zipper in his rush to free him. A frustrated whimper escaped from the back of the submissive’s throat before he finally managed to push the material aside and curl his fingers around his master’s shaft.

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The whipping had gone to Sloan’s cock too. The sight of his lover writhing within his bonds, leaning into every touch of his whip… There was a simplicity to it, an instinctive understanding that he couldn’t help but glory in. He pulled Carl closer. The

submissive

needed

no

further

encouragement,

he

wrapped

his

lips

enthusiastically around the tip of his master’s shaft and lapped rapidly at the head. His whimpers changed until they were full of enthusiasm. There was no technique to the younger man’s attempts to please his master right then. As Sloan stood over him in the middle of the playroom he’d never been surer that a man was working entirely on instinct. Whether he wanted to apologise for acting like a brat and thought a blowjob might be a good way to do that or if he was just the kind of submissive who was always inclined to be affectionate and willing to please after a whipping, Sloan had no doubt the younger man couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be than at his master’s feet. Sloan’s fist tightened in the younger man’s hair, as he encouraged him to dip his head more quickly over his crotch. Carl moaned his approval of the order. His hands came up to rest on his master’s hips and steady himself. Slightly altering the angle of his head with every movement, the younger man worshipped his master’s cock with his tongue and his lips, thanking him for his whipping in the most basic way he knew. Sloan began to rock his hips, thrusting forward into the younger man’s mouth, pulling sounds of mewing bliss out of the submissive with every move he made. Carl blinked his eyes open and looked up at him, as if begging his master to come into his mouth, just for the sheer joy of being able to swallow his cum. For once, Sloan allowed a man he actually cared about to beg. He allowed Carl just a fraction of control—he granted his lover’s wish. One more thrust and he spilled across Carl’s tongue. Holding the other man close, he forced his eyes to stay open as ecstasy raced through him, almost threatening to bring him to his knees alongside his submissive. So much elation rushed through Carl’s face, Sloan fully expected to see a pool of cum on the floor at his feet when he stepped back and looked down at his lover. He stayed where he was for a long time, his cock snug and warm as it slowly began to soften inside Carl’s

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mouth, but when he finally moved away and did up his fly, his submissive was still hard and frustrated. “Stand up.” The submissive pulled himself clumsily to his feet. He made no attempt to bring his hands in front of him and cover his erection. Sloan smiled to himself as he casually took the younger man’s cock into his hand and stroked the length. His shaft was slick with pre-cum. Carl gasped as Sloan began to work his hand more rapidly around his cock, twisting his grip slightly on every up stroke and caressing the head before he quickly slid his fist back down to the base of Carl’s erection. The younger man’s hand moved to Sloan’s shoulder to steady himself. His breaths turned more ragged than ever. Tension flooded the younger man’s body. Sloan took in every detail as Carl raced closer and closer to the edge, to truly not being able to hold back for another second. Then, at just the right moment, Sloan forced himself to snatch his hand away. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared down at the younger man. Carl’s hand automatically moved towards his crotch to finish what Sloan had started, but as he met his master’s gaze he hesitated. “Next time, think twice about acting like a brat to get my attention,” Sloan advised. “If you’d had the sense to ask your master for a whipping, you’d probably have been allowed to get off on it.” His voice was as strong and as steady as Sloan wanted it to be, but he still couldn’t help but hear the little whispers from the back of his brain, the ones that questioned if he was being too easy on the younger man, showing too much weakness in front of him. Carl blinked at him several times, before he seemed able to wrap his mind around the fact he wasn’t going to be allowed to come that night, and that his master might well make him wait weeks before he decided he’d paid his penance and was allowed his orgasm. His lips parted as if he was about to protest, but no words escaped. Closing his mouth once more, Carl nodded his understanding. “Yes, sir.” Sloan smiled his satisfaction, pleased he had made his point in spite of his feelings for the younger man. Nodding towards the submissive’s clothes, he stood back and watched the younger man scramble into the garments with some difficulty.

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As he stared down at him, it was easy for him to mentally replace the temporary collar around Carl’s neck with a permanent one from his true master. Christmas day couldn’t come soon enough. It took all the control he had not to let on just how desperate he was for it to arrive. Like a little kid who thought that going to bed early would allow him to get his present more quickly, it would have been so easy to take the younger man straight back up to their bedroom and hide there until morning. Fully dressed once more, Carl looked up at him, a slightly strange expression in his eyes. There was more than a touch of confusion mingled in with whatever else Carl felt. Sloan silently nodded to himself. It had never been more obvious that Carl needed a master who was certain about everything. There was no room for soppiness in that. Biting back words that he had no intention of saying, he turned towards the door and led the submissive back into the club.

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Chapter Ten

“I think I’ve learnt everything I’m going to learn from this experiment, sir.” Sloan turned his gaze from the scene on the other side he was half watching and half resting his eyes on while he let his thoughts wander. He looked down at Carl. The other man had been sitting on a cushion at his feet in perfect silence for over half an hour as he got his breath back after his whipping. If he thought his master had any clue what he’d been daydreaming about during that time, he was very much mistaken. “Experiment?” “Mr. Harrison—he said that I should try submission to see if I liked it,” Carl cleared his throat. “I’ve tried it now. I don’t think the experiment needs to go on any longer.” Leaning forward in his chair, Sloan dipped his head a little in an effort to get a better look at the younger man’s expression. “Meaning?” “Meaning, I’m going to go home now, sir.” It was said with so much obviously fake confidence, for a few seconds, Sloan couldn’t think of anything to say in response. “No, you’re not,” he finally informed the submissive, very calmly. As soon as the words came into his mind, he had no doubt they were the right ones. Carl needed to know the boundaries. That was all. He’d needed to know what a whipping felt like, and now he needed to know what it was like to be called to heel when his confidence ebbed. Carl didn’t even try to look up and meet his gaze. “You offered me your submission. You can leave at the end of the scene, or when I tell you to,” Sloan told him, ruthlessly scrubbing every trace of emotion from the words. “Not before.” Carl took a deep breath. Sloan continued to stare down at him, wondering what the hell had happened. His eyes went to the back of Carl’s shirt. The whipping had been relatively mild—nothing that should scare any man who’d been wandering around the club for the last six months. And Carl had loved every lash.

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Very slowly, as if he was concentrating on every movement, Carl began to pull himself to his feet. He’d already risen as far as his knees when Sloan took hold of his arm. The younger man was still wearing the wrist and ankle cuffs Sloan had put on him that first night. The buckle caught the light as his arm moved within Sloan’s grip. Carl’s gaze went from him to the cuff and back again. With his free hand, Carl reached out and moved to undo the buckle that fastened the leather around his skin. Sloan quickly caught Carl’s left wrist in his other hand, and moved his arms shoulderwidth apart. “You know better than to try and remove whatever bondage your master—” “You’re not my master!” Sudden anger flared in the younger man’s eyes as he spat the words at him. Sloan automatically tightened his grip on the submissive, in case he should try to pull away in earnest. “You’re not my master, you’re just a dom I agreed to submit to so I could see what it was like. I’ve seen what it’s like, and now I want to go home.” Responding anger flew through Sloan even faster than it seemed to buzz within his submissive. A little bit of brattiness because he wanted to know what it was like to be punished was one thing. It wasn’t precisely acceptable, but it was tolerable. This wasn’t. Carl needed to know that from the start. Just because Sloan might feel a little more deeply towards him than he had towards other men, he couldn’t let that turn him into the kind of dom who let his sub do whatever the hell he wanted, into the kind of man who made a habit of such weakness. “If you ever intend to gain a real collar from me then—” “I never did!” Sloan frowned down at the man kneeling at his feet. “What?” “I said, I never really intended to accept a collar from you, sir.” Each word was clipped and strained, and they were obviously a lie. “Oh?” If Carl didn’t see the danger in the softly spoken enquiry, then he was far more of a fool than Sloan had ever taken him for. “You really think I’d take a collar off a man like you?” the submissive suddenly demanded. “A man like me?” Sloan echoed, his voice as calm as ever.

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“A man who—” Carl broke off as a burst of laughter flowed across the room towards them. Sloan tore his gaze away from the submissive for a moment and looked around them. As he rose to his feet, the dominant dragged Carl up with him. It was all he could do then to force himself to release his grip on one of Carl’s arms in favour of being able to haul him along more quickly by the other. Marching out of the room, he sought out some quiet space where he could fix whatever the hell had gone so wrong. Trying each door he walked past, he finally stumbled on a small storeroom. Striding into it, he pulled Carl in after him. Pushing the submissive towards the centre of the room, he slammed the door and leaned against it. “Do you really think I’d want to belong to you after seeing the way you treat the other men you’ve collared?” Carl demanded. Part of Sloan was sure Carl was trying to convince himself as much as his master, but that wasn’t the really important thing. “What the hell do you know about the way I’d treat any man I collared?” he demanded. “I was there, remember?” Carl snapped. “I saw the way you passed your subs around. I saw the way you walked straight past them without a word the next day. Did you even stop to think about—?” “What?” Sloan bit out, wondering what the hell the boy had to be on. “The guys you brought to the poker games!” Carl threw at him. “Them?” Sloan demanded. “They weren’t mine.” Carl tried to pull away from him and retreat further into the storeroom. “Could have fooled me.” “Well apparently I did,” Sloan snapped, as he caught hold of the smaller man and spun the submissive around to face him. “Because I don’t remember any of them wearing any collar, let alone mine. Do you?” Carl tried to push him away and put some space between them. Nothing changed. Sloan stayed exactly where he was. “Do you?” he demanded. The younger man huffed. He fell still for a moment. Sloan could almost see the submissive scrolling through his memories, no doubt searching for the recollection of a sub wearing a collar, so he could throw it back in his master’s face.

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A minute passed. Carl hesitated. A frown grew between his brows. “I…” He stopped trying to push Sloan away as confusion filled his expression. “No,” Sloan snapped, as he took a pace back. “You don’t remember it, because they weren’t.” “I don’t understand.” “They weren’t men I owned. They were subs I sponsored into the poker room. The two things are nothing like the same. Do you really think I’d let any other man lay a hand on someone who really belonged to me?” he asked. His tone of voice faltered ever so slightly on the last sentence. A trace of weakness crept in where it could never be allowed. Carl swallowed. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?” Sloan spat. The fact that he obviously hadn’t made as soppy a sod of himself as he’d feared wasn’t as much comfort as he’d thought it might have been. “I thought…” Carl’s hand went to his collar. “You thought?” Sloan demanded. He’d yet to see any evidence of a thought process from the younger man. “Yes, I thought!” Carl yelled back at him. “I thought I’d have to be crazy to care about a man who doesn’t give a damn about me, and I was right!” The submissive tried to push past him, but Sloan easily held him in check. “What makes you so sure I don’t care about you?” “Because I know what you think of submissives,” Carl bit out. “And—” The younger man cut himself off. “And?” Sloan demanded. Carl shook his head. Backing off, he soon had his back to the far wall of the little storeroom. “No!” Sloan pushed, as he followed him across the small space. “You started it, you finish it—And…?” Eyes fixed firmly on the floor, Carl finally spoke up. “And I’m sorry if the way your parents think about gay men is what makes you have so much contempt for me, but—” “What?”

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“That’s why you hate submissives so much, isn’t it—because they’re the kind of men your parents accused you of being?” Carl asked, just a touch of sadness creeping into his voice, as if he wasn’t physically capable of keeping it all inside him any more. “I don’t hate you.” Carl shrugged. “It’s okay. I get it. I’d probably hate me too, if I lost my family because—” “I don’t hate you.” Sloan caught the younger man’s face between his palms and made Carl look up and meet his eyes. “And I didn’t lose my family because I wasn’t capable of proving I was as strong or as dominant as any man they could ever hope their son could be.” Carl frowned slightly as if he couldn’t take it in. “Trust me, my family know just how much of a bastard I can be—they were really proud when they realised that my being gay didn’t change that.” Sloan held the younger man’s eyes as he took a deep breath and pushed forward once more. “I cut them out of my life when I realised that any man I brought into my life would be a submissive. I knew how they would treat a sub and…” he shook his head. “I…” Carl managed. “Do you want to know if I cared about the subs I brought to the poker games? No—I don’t give a damn about any of them, but—” Sloan stared down at the submissive in silence for several long seconds. “Do you really think I’d have kept going to those bloody poker games at all, if it hadn’t been so obvious you needed someone to keep an eye on you?” Carl blinked at him. “You thought I was a dom,” he whispered. “That’s why you were nice to me.” Sloan couldn’t hold back the burst of bitter laughter that rushed through him right then. “Have you ever known me to be ‘nice’ to another dom, Carl? Have you ever heard of me being ‘nice’ to anyone but you?” “To a mediocre submissive,” Carl whispered. “Untrained, inexperienced…” And suddenly, the pieces fell together inside Sloan’s head. “Any dominant who talks up a submissive he wants to collar when he’s speaking to other doms is a fool.” Carl blinked up at him. “What?” “No dominant in his right mind would bloody well invite other men to chase after a submissive he’s interested in,” Sloan bit out. “Praise comes when a dom already has his

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submissive under his protection and knows it’s too late for anyone else to make a play for him, not before. It comes when a master can feel smug about how fantastic his sub is, and know that other guys should feel jealous of him because they will never lay hand on the man he owns.” Sloan took a step away from the submissive then, before he could fall into the trap of saying even more. He’d admitted far too much already. Sloan took a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair and pushed the long blond strands out of his eyes. He’d be damned if he’d beg. It was a bad enough habit in a submissive. In a dom, it was inexcusable. “You need to decide what you want,” he announced, with every ounce of calm he could muster. “Sir?” The honorific did nothing to mollify Sloan right then, not even when some part of him caught hold of the word and clung to it like some sort of talisman that promised he still had some scrap of the younger man’s respect. “You need to decide what you want. If this was just an experiment, you’re free to leave. See Harrison about removing that collar before you go. If it’s more than that to you then…” Sloan looked the younger man up and down. He’d never been truly afraid of another man in his life, not until that moment. A right hook he could take. Even dirty fighting wasn’t a real problem. But Carl walking away scared him in a way he’d never even known was possible before he met the younger man. “You need to decide what you want,” he repeated. Carl said nothing. “I’ve made my interest in you clear. If you want a collar from me, it’s yours. I’ll see that you’re taken care of and that you’re trained to be a good submissive. I’ll do everything I can to make sure your life outside your submission makes you happy. I’ll make damn sure no other man ever lays a hand on you too.” He ran his eyes over Carl one last time, as if he might never catch sight of him again. “You were right when you said the experiment has gone on long enough. When you’ve made your decision, let me know.” Turning around, he walked out of the storeroom without another word. Carl made no attempt to catch up with him as he strode back into the bar.

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As he took up a seat on one of the bar stools, memories raced around and around inside his head. The image of Carl tied to the bed frame. That first time Carl had knelt at his feet. A million different moments, most of them almost too trivial to really remember—Sloan thought about every damn one of them. He ordered a drink. The submissive behind the bar seemed to think better of trying to speak to him while he served it. The other doms seemed to have grown a few brain cells and they decided to stay the hell away from him as well. Christmas carols filled the air. Decorations hung all around him. Sloan didn’t really notice any of it. Goodwill to anyone wasn’t really on his agenda right then. He finished his drink. Another was silently placed on the bar in front of him. He drank that one too. He’d said too much, displayed far too much emotion, far too much weakness in front of the younger man. With just an hour’s hindsight that much was obvious. He was vaguely aware of the crowd thinning out and other men leaving as Christmas morning rushed towards them. The bartender refilled Sloan’s glass before he closed up and left too. Being alone at Christmas wasn’t exactly new. Sloan hadn’t thought about it much in years. But, as Carl failed to turn up and it became more and more obvious that he’d already left the building without so much as a goodbye, Sloan felt alone for the first time in years. He tossed back the last of his drink and poured himself another.

**** Carl’s hand was halfway to the light switch when he spotted Sloan sitting on the other side of the room, by the bar. Whoever had switched off the lights when they left, they’d left the Christmas lights on. Hundreds of fairy lights twinkled around the room. There was enough light to see by, and no immediate need to announce his presence by flicking the switch. Reaching up to his neck instead, Carl’s fingers traced over the line of the collar Harrison had put around his neck, but his gaze never strayed from the man on the other side of the club. He must have sat in that silly little storeroom for far longer than he’d thought, as he struggled to work up the nerve to face the other man with his decision.

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As his teeth nibbled at his bottom lip, Carl ran everything the dominant had said to him over in his head once more. He’d done that so often over the last couple of hours, he barely needed to devote any conscious thought to the task. For better or worse, he knew what Sloan had said. He knew how the older man had treated him ever since they first met, and how he’d treated him since he agreed to submit to him too. Untangling knowledge of those things from everything he thought he knew about how his friend felt about submissives was far more difficult. Carl closed his eyes for a moment. The image of Sloan sitting at the bar was replaced by one of his master looking down at him as he knelt at his feet, by the sight of him sitting reading on the bed next to him as he woke up snuggled under that blanket. He took a deep breath. In the silence of the club, he was sure the dominant had to be able to hear his heart hammering in his chest, but Sloan didn’t turn around. Carl took a careful step forward, a pace closer to the dominant. His boot made no sound on the bare floorboards. Unsure he was ready to face his master, but unable to stay away from his side a moment longer, Carl risked another step forward, then another. He crept across the room as stealthily as he’d ever tried to be when he’d found silly excuses to linger at a dominant’s side while pretending he was as dominant as Sloan was. Before he’d decided what he should do when he reached his master’s side, he was there. “Do you intend to say something, or are you just going to stare?” Sloan eventually demanded. The words were spoken so suddenly after so much silence, Carl jumped. After so much sterling, silent service, his boots chose that moment to turn noisy against the floorboards. Sloan turned on his bar stool and looked him up and down. “The guys you’ve played with on poker nights, they really weren’t yours, sir?” Carl said, more because he couldn’t stand the silence than because he retained any doubts over that fact. “Correct.” Carl took a deep breath. His hands clenched and unclenched at his side. “When you said you wanted to collar me, sir…?” “You’d have been mine.”

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Another deep breath was out of the question. Carl was half sure his throat was too closed up to allow it through. “Would have…?” he managed to rasp. Sloan stared at him in silence for several long seconds. “Take a seat.” Carl levered himself up onto the bar stool, his knees literally shaking. Resting his forearm on the bar, he sat facing his master. Would have… The words kept racing around and around inside his head. “You’ve made your decision?” Sloan finally asked. Carl opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. Sloan wouldn’t make him say it, only to tell him it was too late. The dominant wouldn’t do that to him. Except Carl was well aware that Sloan had one hell of a temper. He had no way of knowing how that would manifest itself with someone he…cared about? But he had a pretty good idea it would be let out to play with a submissive who was stupid enough to misjudge him and insult him. Carl closed his eyes for a moment. When he finally opened them, the world around him hadn’t changed in the least, but his understanding of his current role in it had deepened a fraction. He knew what he wanted and he knew that he needed to tell his master the truth, no matter what would happen afterward. “I want to belong to you. I’ve wanted that since the first night I walked into the club. You had some guy on the St Andrew’s cross in the display on the stage. You were laying into him. He was screaming and…” Unable to hold the dominant’s eye when he made his confession, he looked down and studied the bar. “And I tried to tell myself that I only found you fascinating because you were obviously a natural dom, and I wanted to be like you, but…” Carl stared at the back of his own hand for a long time. At some point, his grip had turned too tight, his knuckles were white. “I want to belong to you, sir, I always have.” Picking up the bottle on the bar, Sloan poured out another glass and pushed it a little way down the bar towards Carl. His throat dry with nerves, Carl quickly took a sip. He frowned as he recognised the taste and realised it wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Cola?” Sloan shrugged the matter aside as if it didn’t matter, but Carl couldn’t take his eyes off the glass.

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It did matter. They both knew damn well that he only ever stayed off the whisky and the beer when he was going to do a really serious scene—one that was important to him. “You knew I’d say I wanted to belong to you,” Carl whispered. Sloan stared down at him, a slightly strange expression in his gaze. “I’ve yet to find a sub who acts in a predictable way.” Carl dropped his gaze. Of course. Subs were silly and illogical, and emotional and— “But I hoped you would.” Carl’s attention snapped back up to his master’s face. If he called him on it, he had the distinct feeling the dominant would deny saying it at all, but the look in his eyes was still there—the look of a man who cared about the guy he sat next to. Carl stared up at him for a long time. “Are you back?” “Sir?” Carl had a horrible suspicion he’d just daydreamed through part of the conversation and would find it impossible to pick up the thread again. “Are you back, or are you just passing through?” Sloan asked, perfectly seriously. Carl took a deep breath. Was he back? A few minutes ago he’d been sure he was, five minutes before that, he’d been sure the only thing he intended to do was run away as fast as he could. For once, Sloan seemed willing to wait patiently for an answer from a submissive. The only movement in the room was the dominant’s fingers as he toyed with a key chain resting on the bar next to his glass. Carl focused in on it. No, not a key chain. There were no keys, just a chain. A chain made up of thick silver links and which was just long enough to go around a man’s neck. A collar. Moving very slowly, Carl lifted his hand to his neck and clumsily fumbled with the buckle on the leather collar Harrison had put on him. It fell away from his neck. Hands shaking, Carl set it on the bar next to him. Leaving his stool, Carl lowered himself slowly to his knees without saying a word. He wasn’t going to ask for another collar to replace Harrison’s. It was his master’s choice if he gave it to him, not his.

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Sloan picked up the length of silver links and ran them through his fingers. “If you ever take off a collar I put on you, you’ll realise how playful the scene was last time I whipped you. A real punishment would be very different.” Carl still couldn’t take his eyes off the collar. “Yes, sir.” Sloan’s fingers slid into Carl’s hair and tugged his head back, so he had no choice but to look up into his master’s eyes. “This isn’t a game. This isn’t about giving you a chance to decide what you want to be when you grow up any more,” he warned. Carl swallowed several times in quick succession. “If you think I’ll let you walk away from me on a whim once I’ve put it on you, you’ll soon find out how wrong you are.” “I understand, sir,” Carl promised. Sloan stared at him, his expression entirely unreadable. But within moments, that didn’t matter, because the silver slid against his skin as Sloan fastened the links around his neck and within moments, he belonged to the other man—really belonged to him. The air disappeared out of the room. Even as he knelt there, Carl’s head spun. Sloan pulled him to his feet. He didn’t even give Carl time to get his balance before his lips covered his. His tongue thrust into Carl’s mouth, demanding and impatient as his grip on Carl’s body tightened and the larger man kept him upright when he’d have stumbled. He was vaguely aware of Sloan walking him backwards out of the bar, and half knew where he was leading him. Through the corridors, up the stairs, they were soon tumbling into a room in Mr. Harrison’s flat. A glimpse of his surroundings informed Carl it wasn’t the bedroom Paul had shown him to. A Christmas tree stood on the far side of the room. Trimmings decorated everything that hadn’t run away from the other submissive quickly enough. He assumed that his master was going to change direction, turn them around and seek out the right room, but Sloan pushed them forward as if he was well past the point of giving a damn where they were. A sofa was apparently close enough to a bed in the older man’s eyes. Slamming the door behind them, the dominant shoved Carl towards the expanse of leather. Stumbling forward, Carl put out his arms just in time to break his fall. His knee landed on the sofa, his hands slid against the Christmas throw draped over the back of it. He’d

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barely stilled when he felt his master’s hands go to his belt. Within seconds Carl’s jeans were around his knees, trapping his legs together as securely as any bondage ever could. The sound of a tearing condom wrapper filled the air. Carl looked over his shoulder in time to see his master slicking the latex, then Sloan was lined up behind him, the tip of his cock pressed against Carl’s hole. Leaning forward, Carl bowed his head over his forearms as he braced himself against the back of the sofa cushions. Sloan thrust into him in one unforgiving motion. Carl jerked as he almost collapsed. Sloan’s hands caught hold of his sides and steadied him. Another thrust, then another. Carl’s eyes fell closed as his body sang out in pleasure. A different sort of bliss mingled with it as he felt his collar sway against his neck each time his body rocked under the force of his master’s thrusts. He belonged to Sloan. Forget temporary master, forget experiments. He was getting screwed by his master. His master. Sloan’s cock hit his prostate and perfection ricocheted through Carl’s mind. A moment later he spluttered as the collar was pulled tight against the front of his neck. Sloan yanked him back so he knelt on the very edge of the sofa, his back pressed tight against his master’s chest as the dominant thrust into him once more. The mirror set over the back of the sofa had little pictures of Christmas elves stuck around it. As one caught Carl’s attention he realised the imp wore a chastity belt. Another held a whip. A moment later, they became irrelevant. The kinky decorations didn’t change the pure perfection of the reflection in the centre of the frame. Carl stared at the image of himself and his master, completely mesmerised. Sloan stared over his shoulder, apparently just as fascinated as his submissive. His submissive. Carl whimpered at the extra burst of delight the thought sent racing through him. His master tugged on his collar to get his attention. Their eyes met in the mirror and Sloan’s expression seemed to dare him to try to look away. Carl stared helplessly back at him as his master delivered thrust after wonderful thrust into his hole. Knowing words would do him no good, he begged his master with his eyes, as well as he knew how.

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Sloan’s lips twisted into a smile, but he offered no permission to come. Another thrust, another, he ploughed into him so hard, the sofa shook beneath him and Carl wondered if it would stand the strain. “Come.” Sloan reached around Carl’s body and took him in hand. It only needed a couple of strokes to have him spilling against the back cushions of the sofa. Carl screamed as he came, his shout mingling with his master’s yell as the dominant spiralled down into his own moment of ecstasy just a second after him. Slumping towards the back of the sofa, Carl braced himself on his forearms and just about managed to keep his head up and his gaze locked with his master’s until the dominant finally pulled away and separated their bodies. Permission to move came in the form of a rough shove to one side. Carl collapsed gratefully down onto the leather cushions, but he guessed he wouldn’t have much chance to get his breath back. For several seconds, Sloan did nothing but stare at him. Then he moved, but it wasn’t away. He lay down next to Carl, stretching out from one end of the sofa to the other. Just a moment later he seemed to change his mind and sit up, but he only fumbled against the back of the sofa. Sloan’s frown disappeared when the Christmas blanket finally tumbled down onto them. Sloan made some sort of half-hearted attempt to spread it out over them both. Carl remained silent as his master lay back and fell still. There wasn’t that much room on the sofa. It was perfectly reasonable to need to snuggle a little. He cautiously leaned his head on the older man’s shoulder. Sloan shrugged and tugged Carl into a more suitable position, where he could curl more comfortably against the larger man. His master’s breath soon slowed into a slow, relaxing rhythm. The heat from their bodies warmed the cocoon under the blanket. The world turned into a beautiful, safe, comforting place as he rested with his master. “I thought you were a sub.” Carl didn’t say anything. His master’s whispered words sounded far more like a confession than a conversation.

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“I wanted to master you the first time I set eyes on you. If I hadn’t been stupid enough to listen when some idiot told me you’d joined the club as a dom, I’d have had you in chains that first night.” “Yes, sir.” There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. It wasn’t exactly a confession of undying love, but Carl still smiled to himself as he curled a little more snugly into his master’s side, held the words tight and savoured them.

**** “Isn’t that the sweetest thing ever?” Carl slowly blinked open his eyes as the words pricked at the edges of his sleepsoaked mind. Mr. Harrison and Paul stood in the doorway leading into the living room. Carl looked from him to a rather sleepy looking Sloan, lying back on the sofa with him. The dominant raised an eyebrow at the other two men, as if he had no idea what they were talking about. Carl managed to wriggle around, straighten up his jeans beneath the blanket and stumble to his feet. Sloan sat up, lethargically, and rolled his shoulders. “Did we forget to show you to a bedroom when you arrived?” Mr. Harrison asked. “It’s my fault,” Carl said, suddenly desperate to dispel the tension in the air before it could spoil the companionable feeling that had grown between him and his master the night before. “Hush,” Sloan chided. He caught hold of the back of Carl’s jeans and tugged until he tumbled backward to sit at his master’s feet. He looked quickly up at the older man. He didn’t seem half as pissed off as Carl had assumed he’d be. The dominants talked quite pleasantly with each other, Harrison settling himself comfortably in the chair opposite Sloan and Paul quickly moving to sit contentedly at his feet. When Carl looked to the other submissive, he noticed that the other man’s attention was all on his collar. “A Christmas present from your master?” Mr. Harrison asked, as his eyes fell on the silver chain too. Carl looked to Sloan.

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“Yes,” his master said very simply, as if he wasn’t the least bit shocked to hear it referred to that way. Harrison nodded his acceptance of that fact. Unless Carl was very much mistaken, he was quite pleased to hear it. Within a few minutes, the other men excused themselves from the room to find a Christmas breakfast. Left alone with his master, Carl’s hand automatically went to his collar. He scrambled for something to say. “I really like my Christmas present, sir,” he offered, cautiously. “I’m quite fond of my present too,” Sloan said, his tone of voice slightly rough. Carl looked up at the taller man, not quite sure what he could mean. “I do own you now, don’t I?” Sloan demanded. “Yes, sir.” It seemed the safest thing to say to any question when everything still seemed so fragile between them. Sloan raised an eyebrow at him. “Your time, your energy, your obedience, yourself. Not a bad Christmas present overall.” Carl swallowed rapidly. “You didn’t think I just gave you a piece of silver chain, did you?” Carl ran his fingers over his collar, until Sloan roughly pushed them aside and replaced them with his own. “Protection. Possession. Discipline. Love…” Sloan cleared his throat. His tone of voice became harsher then. “A collar isn’t just a piece of jewellery. It means something. Forget that, and you won’t sit for a week.” “Yes, sir.” I love you too. Carl had more sense than to say the words out loud right then. There would be time enough for that. When he looked up, Sloan glared down at him, a slightly uncomfortable expression on his face. The older man’s lips twisted into a somewhat self-mocking smile, but he didn’t say anything else. Carl scrambled for something, anything to say to save his lover from his predicament. “Will you come to my parents’ house with me for Christmas, sir?” Sloan’s smile gained a touch of real amusement. “Making plans for next year already?”

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Carl shook his head. “When they get back from Canada—we said we’d have another Christmas together in January, since I couldn’t be there. You could come too.” Sloan stared down at him in silence, as if not quite sure what to say. “They’ll really like you,” Carl blurted out. “Well, I mean, my father will probably say you need a haircut—but he says that to anyone who’s actually got hair. And my mother will say you should eat more healthily—but she always says…” Well aware that he was babbling, Carl couldn’t quite stop the words tumbling out. Sloan still didn’t say anything as he brought them both to their feet, hooked his fingers into Carl’s jeans and pulled him close. As the dominant’s mouth covered his, Carl stopped thinking about anything except how much he loved kissing his master. Strong hands moved to his wrists and wrapped tightly around his skin as the larger man pinned his hands behind his back. “Christmas at your place next month,” he allowed. “Now—” “You’re both required at breakfast now.” Carl blinked as Sloan pulled away from him and turned to glare at where Mr. Harrison once more stood in the doorway. “What?” “You’ve seen how Paul decorates for Christmas,” Mr. Harrison reminded them. “He also cooks for Christmas. Attendance at meals is not optional.” “But—” Sloan began. “Anyway,” Mr. Harrison cut in. “I thought you’d have had enough mistletoe to last you a lifetime.” The older man looked up. Carl followed his gaze. So did Sloan. A sprig of mistletoe hung from the living room ceiling, right above them. As Sloan muttered a string of inventive curses at the sight of it, Carl bit his lip as he fought the urge to laugh. When Sloan looked down, their eyes met. He was going to get soundly spanked for his cheek if he so much as chuckled—Carl had no doubt about that. Sloan’s grip on him tightened, but that slightly self-mocking light was back in his eyes. He’d get soundly spanked—but his master looked inclined to make it the kind of spanking he’d probably enjoy receiving rather than a real punishment. “Something to say, Carl?” Sloan asked. “Merry Christmas, sir?” Carl hazarded. The first spank landed on the seat of his jeans before they’d even left the living room.

About the Author Kim Dare is a twenty-seven year old full time writer from Wales (UK). First published in December 2008, Kim has since released over thirty BDSM erotic romances. While the stories range over male/male, male/female and all kinds of ménage relationships and have included vampires, time travellers, shape-shifters and fairytale re-tellings, they all have three things in common—kink, love and a happy ending. Email: [email protected] Kim loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

Also by Kim Dare Collared: Imperial Topaz Collared: Turquoise and Leather G-A-Y: Gay-ish G-A-Y: Gay Day! Gay Day! G-A-Y: Gay Best Friend G-A-Y: Gay Friendly G-A-Y: Gay Man Seeks Same G-A-Y: Gay Pride G-A-Y: Gay Since Today G-A-Y: Gay Divorcee G-A-Y: Gay for Pay G-A-Y: Gay Until Graduation G-A-Y: Gay Like You G-A-Y: Gaydar Pack Discipline: The Strength of a Gamma Pack Discipline: The Mark of an Alpha Perfect Timing Bi Now, Gay Later Perfect Timing: Three Minute Man Perfect Timing: Time to Do Perfect Timing: Silent Night Perfect Timing: You First Threefold: Trust, Love, Submit Gaymes: Elliot’s War Night of the Senses: Whispers Voracious Vamps: Blood Slave Friction: Yes! Summer Seductions: In the Heat of the Moment Caught in the Middle: Between Tooth and Paw My Secret Valentine: Secret Service Christmas Spirits: The Gift

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