Yield

  There were few things I missed about being a priest, but joining a couple in the sacrament of matrimony was one of them. The setting might have changed, and I was wearing a suit instead of a cassock, but the warm feelings were the same. Witnessing the love and hope in the eyes of this couple who were now a part of my extended family—one which included Ethan and Rino, Scott and Robin, Susie and Adrian, and, of course, Lance and Ro— was an honor and a privilege.

  I’d never officiated a nondenominational ceremony between same-sex couples before, so I’d chosen the words carefully, determined to keep religion out of the mix.

  “Will you, Lance, take Roque to be your loving partner, to love and cherish above all others, in sickness and in good health, for the rest of this lifetime and whatever comes next?”

  “I do,” Lance said with a winning smile.

  “And do you, Roque, take Lance to be your loving partner, to love and cherish above all others, in sickness and in good health, for the rest of this lifetime and whatever comes next?”

  Ro bit his lower lip, but when Tony, his twin and best man, jabbed him in the ribs good-naturedly, his reply was a heartfelt “I do.”

  “Having expressed their intentions to spend the rest of their lives together, Lance and Roque have chosen to embody their commitment with rings. There are many metaphors for the wedding ring—an unbroken circle, a gift of valuable metal, a token of one’s love. I like to think of it as something representing another person, one who is with you at all times. The comforting presence of your other half.”

  “Lance, please place the ring on Roque’s finger and repeat after me.”

  “I give you this ring as a symbol of my love. Let it be a reminder of my constant support, now and forever more.”

  The words were spoken by a shaky Lance and repeated by Roque who was close to tears.

  “Lance and Roque have pledged their love and exchanged rings in the company of their family and friends, and it is my greatest pleasure to proclaim that, by the power vested in me by the State of California, I pronounce them legally wed and loving partners for life. You may now kiss, but make it snappy so we can get this party started.”

  The wedding guests clapped and hooted excitedly while Ro and Lance exchanged a long, drawn-out kiss, while giving me a side-eye. I laughed at their antics and stepped away to let the photographer do his thing.

  We were in Scott and Robin’s backyard, a modest plot of greenery Ro had converted into an old-fashioned English garden. A three-seater swing with a blue-and-white awning sat invitingly along the edge of the grass, with perennial bushes and trees in the background. Rectangular tables adorned in blue linen were abundantly covered with silver chafing dishes brimming with traditional Mexican food. The two-tiered tres leches wedding cake decorated with buttercream frosting and fresh flowers sat invitingly on its own table to the right of the buffet.

  Waiters in crisp white shirts and black trousers walked among the guests, passing trays with flutes of champagne, and for those who wanted something with a little more octane, there were margaritas and mojitos. The weather had cooperated on this late April afternoon, and most of the attendees didn’t have sweaters or jackets. It was a good thing because the place was packed, and I didn’t think they’d be able to squeeze all the guests into the house if the fog rolled in and the temperature dropped.

  The wedding venue had switched a few months ago after learning Ro’s nefarious twin, Tony, would be released from prison in time to attend the ceremony, but he couldn’t leave the state. Plans they’d meticulously laid out for their destination wedding in Provincetown, Massachusetts, were scrapped.

  Sami’s opinion on destination weddings—a time suck and only fun if you were in the wedding party—wound its way back to Ro somehow. I was surprised when he pulled me aside the next time we ran into each other at Heaven’s Gate and told me he agreed with Sami, saying he was more relieved than disappointed. The majority of Ro’s family lived in the Sacramento Valley and had voiced their displeasure at having to fly to attend a wedding—a dreaded first and tremendous expense for many of them—instead of driving into San Francisco. When I learned more about Ro’s humble background and the amount of time it had taken Lance to convince him marriage was in their future, I felt an instant kinship. He was a working stiff like me, who’d clawed his way to the top, still maintaining a grueling work schedule despite being in a relationship with a guy who could easily shoulder all the expenses and then some. That’s when I’d offered to officiate.

  As for my jaded boyfriend, not much had changed by way of romance. His idea of tenderness usually came in the form of thoughtful aftercare. Whenever he tore me apart and put me back together again, it was accompanied by heated words of love. I lived for those moments, but it would mean so much more if I could hear them during the course of a day.

  Sami had been determined to learn everything there was to know about being a good Dom. With this goal in mind, we’d become regulars at Heaven’s Gate. Ethan had paved the way for our membership, introducing us to most of his friends and turning us over to a seasoned Dom for guidance.

  I’d balked at public scenes, afraid I might run into a familiar face. My credentials had finally been accepted at USF, and I was able to get a full-time job as a counselor. They’d taken my experience as a priest into consideration, and my new career easily fell in step with the years I’d spent pastoring my flock.

  As such, Sami and I kept our scenes private until we grew more familiar with other members and our surroundings. Most of them were older, established professionals, although the subs tended to be younger. Thank goodness I hadn’t run into any college students so far. After a couple of months, I agreed to do a public scene with Sami, but attendees were screened and the numbers were kept low. I’d insisted on being blindfolded to keep my nerves in check. Once I felt the initial lash, I was transported to another place and easily forgot we had an audience.

  Weeks turned into months, and I grew more comfortable in my submissive role, drawing inspiration from Ethan and Rino. The ability to merge the independent thinker with the obedient submissive was an attainable goal now that I’d seen how it worked. Sami and I became something of a celebrity couple at the club. The forbidding Dom and his angel-faced sub—their words not mine—could always be counted on for some knife play.

  We’d talked about our kink, separately and in joint sessions with our respective shrinks, to figure out why we got off on such extremes, but there were no ready answers. In my case, was it my troubled childhood or the enforced celibacy that turned me into a masochist? The old riddle of chickens and eggs always came to mind. Sami had been somewhat of a sadist long before he stepped foot in the Middle East. There was nothing unusual about his youth; he had wonderful, caring parents and excelled at anything he’d attempted. Trying to come up with a defining moment that might have triggered his cruel streak was impossible. It was easier to accept our truths without understanding them now that we’d met dozens of people hardwired like us.

  It had taken over nine months and biweekly sessions with my therapist to learn how to become a responsible adult. Incongruous given my age, but since I’d never been given the opportunity to make my own choices, I grew up lacking this valuable skill. In the priesthood, mundane chores such as bill paying and grocery shopping were someone else’s responsibility. Even clothes were washed, ironed, and delivered to my door. If I had moved in with Sami back when he’d asked, he would have taken charge, and I would have remained helpless.

  Now, things were different between us. Sami could still be an unfeeling asshole on occasion, trying to seize control, as was his default, but he took a step back whenever I objected, listening respectfully to all the reasons I was pissed off, instead of dismissing me. This was a major break in our status quo, and I felt good enough about our progress to take a chance. It was going on two weeks since I had moved into his apartment.

  We decided up front not to have a full-time D/s contract like Ethan and Rino. We were too n
ew at relationships to even attempt something so huge. I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to be “on” 24/7. Although I loved Sami, he was inflexible with routine and expected me to conform to his high military standards. Neither of us had ever shared space with a lover, and it would take a while to adjust to daily living without throwing kink-on-demand into the mix. Sami was intractable when it came to sex, and I was usually a hot mess by the time we were finished with a session. A good counselor required a sharp mind, and it would be unfair to my clients if I fell asleep halfway through their appointments.

  Sami agreed with the decision, saying he’d never finish his book if we were constantly tearing each other’s clothes off. I knew this was not the case with Ethan and Rino, but I was so relieved Sami understood my objections I didn’t bother correcting him.

  One of my guilty pleasures was listening to Tom crowing about his new romance. We kept most of our conversations on campus as Sami wasn’t too keen on the continued friendship. Which was fine with Tom. He didn’t like Sami in the least bit. But life had changed since he’d become one of Ethan’s patients. Switching antidepressants had shown a marked increase in his libido, and recently, he’d begun a relationship with someone he’d met on a dating app. The hope in his voice as he shared the news was gratifying.

  Sami sauntered over when the toasts were over and the dancing began. I could tell he was done socializing. With an agent and a bona fide offer from a publisher based on three chapters, it was difficult getting him out of his writing cave.

  “I’m ready to go.”

  “Don’t you want to dance?”

  He shook his head.

  “Did you get enough to eat?”

  He bobbed an affirmative.

  “Have you swallowed your tongue?” I gave him a questioning look.

  “I’d like to go home,” he said in a low growl. “Peel off your clothes, stretch you out like a frog on a dissecting table, and carve my name on your chest.”

  In an instant, nerve endings dormant one second ago began to stir, and a shiver ran down my spine.

  I stepped closer so bystanders wouldn’t see the beginnings of a boner ruining the fall of my perfectly tailored pants. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Of course I am,” Sami murmured. “All this talk of love and marriage makes me think of the recent milestones we haven’t acknowledged. Don’t you think it’s time we sealed our commitment with a nice tattoo made out of your blood?”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Crimson droplets bloomed in my imagination, accompanied by blinding pain, making me lightheaded and wobbly.

  Sami must have picked up on my vibes and quickly wrapped me in his arms. “I’ve got you.”

  The steel in his pants rubbed against my cock and I moaned shamelessly.

  Robin called out. “Hey! If you guys are going to put on a show, I’d like to watch.”

  I lowered my head on Sami’s chest. “Busted.”

  “Me too,” Scott said, joining his Dom. They began circling us like a pair of vultures.

  “Look at me, Jay,” Sami ordered.

  I lifted my face and recognized the look which prefaced shenanigans.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  “You know I do.”

  “Let’s show these boys how it’s done.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  I didn’t realize I was starting to hyperventilate until Sami blew in my face, stopping the erratic rhythm. I sucked in a ragged breath. “I’m not sure I can do this with an audience.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, kissing me on the mouth. Turning to Robin and Scott, looking at him expectantly, he shook his head. “Sorry, boys. Maybe another time.”

  “No problem,” Robin said easily. “Thank you for officiating, Jay.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I was still dazed when we walked to the car and during the ride home. Be careful what you wish for kept repeating in a crazy loop. What we were about to do was as meaningful as a ring exchange or a collaring.

  “Sami?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  Babe? Okay, now my head was about to explode.

  “Err…”

  “Spit it out.”

  Never breaking his stride, Sami unlocked the front door, and let me pass. Once we were inside the house, he deactivated the alarm and headed toward the living room.

  He removed his jacket and tossed it over the back of the sofa, then loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes, and started unbuttoning his shirt. When he noticed I was staring, he paused.

  “Did you have a question?”

  “Do you love me?”

  “You know I do,” he said irritably.

  “It’d be nice to hear it once in a while.”

  “Get over here.”

  My hesitation over this impending scene must have triggered something, because Sami walked toward me instead of waiting for me to put one leaden foot in front of the other. His shirt discarded on the floor, he got right into my face, and I placed my palm in the middle of his chest and felt his heart thumping steadily.

  “This is a big moment,” I said. “I’ll carry your brand with me for the rest of my life.”

  “Now and forever more,” Sami said, repeating the vows we’d heard earlier.

  “Is this your way of asking for a firm commitment?”

  He gave me a filthy smile and moved my hand down to the hard bulge on his groin. “As firm as it’ll ever get.”

  I snorted. “Ever the romantic.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to wear my name on your chest if I didn’t want this for the long haul.” Sami frowned. “Don’t you get it?”

  “Will it kill you to say the actual words instead of using Sami-speak?”

  He shook his head before cradling my face and tenderly proclaiming, “I love you, Jay Blackstone. The rest is details.”

  Sighing happily, I leaned into him. “I love you, too, Sami Soros. May I carve my initial on you after I practice?”

  He didn’t say a word.

  “I’ll do a good job,” I persisted.

  “Hmm.”

  “Perhaps you’d rather have a piercing?” I suggested.

  “Where?” he asked, pushing me away and glaring. “My dick’s off-limits.”

  “Aww…I’ve never been fucked by a guy with a Prince Albert.”

  “And you never will,” Sami said. “Now, hop to it. There’s a brand-new scalpel waiting for you downstairs.”

  “How about a scrotum stud?”

  “Why don’t we postpone this conversation until I’ve had my way with you?”

  “You’ll do it?”

  “Whatever it takes to make you happy.”

  About the Author

  Mickie B. Ashling is the pseudonym of a multifaceted woman who is a product of her upbringing in multiple cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West. A little bit of this and a lot of that have brought a unique touch to her literary voice she could never learn from textbooks.

  By the time Mickie discovered her talent for writing, real life got in the way, and the business of raising four sons took priority. With the advent of e-publishing—and the inevitable emptying nest—dreams of becoming a published writer were resurrected and she’s never looked back.

  She stumbled into the world of men who love men in 2002 and continues to draw inspiration from their ongoing struggle to find equality and happiness in this oftentimes skewed and intolerant world. Her award-winning novels have been called "gut wrenching, daring, and thought provoking." She admits to being an angst queen and making her men work damn hard for their happy endings.

  Mickie currently resides in a suburb outside Chicago.

  Contact the Author

  Website

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  Email:

  mickie.ashling
@gmail.com

  Also by Mickie B. Ashling

  A Tangled Legacy

  Once Upon A Rainbow (NineStar Press Anthology)

  Third Son

  Enforcing Emory

  Gnarly

  Mayon

  One Pulse (Dreamspinner Anthology)

  Yesterday

  BASQUE TRILOGY

  Loving Edits

  Tono

  Momentos: Mick’s Journey

  BAY AREA PROFESSIONALS

  Impacted!

  Bonds of Love

  Fractured

  Forged in Trust

  CUTTING CORDS

  Cutting Cords

  Vessel

  Cleave

  Cutting Out

  HORIZONS SERIES

  Horizons

  Taste

  Daddio

  Chyna Doll

  Through My Own Lens

  Being With Him

  THE OPEN SERIES

  Open Seating

  Open House

  Open Case

  POLO SERIES

  Fire Horse

  Ride-Off

  The Sixth Chukker