by Anna Martin
“You just won’t let me take care of you, will you?”
“Oh.” I considered that. “How about we put some music on, take all our clothes off, and lay in bed together for a while?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Will put his iPod on and it was like being back in the bed at the club, sort of, although I was definitely more relaxed in this space that was just ours. After a session, we often spent time together like this, being quiet and aware of each other.
Because of the bruises that were surely forming under the surface of my skin, Will didn’t hold me too tightly. He stuck his arm out over the pillows and wrapped it around my shoulders while we both lay on our backs and drifted.
“Are you hungry?” he asked after a while.
I took stock of my body and nodded. “Yeah.”
He kissed my temple and rolled to the side of the bed. It was almost one in the morning, not that that would stop him ordering room service.
“Hi, yeah, can I get two burgers and fries? And two Cokes. Sorry it’s late.”
I was smiling when he rattled off the room number and hung up, then rolled back to me.
“What?” he asked, touching the corner of my mouth.
“Nothing. I love you.”
He smiled too. “Do you still want to get married one day?”
“Still yes.”
It wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation, and I doubted it would be the last.
“Someone asked me tonight if it was weird, loving you and being your Dom at the same time.”
“That old chestnut,” I said with a sigh, then kissed his finger, which hadn’t moved.
“I don’t mind talking about it.”
“You don’t mind talking, period.”
“Less of that,” he said affectionately. “I’ll just store up your spankings for another time.”
I ignored him. “Do you think it’ll be weird? Having your husband submit to you?”
“No,” he said slowly. “We’ve always been good at having pretty defined lines in our relationship. When you became my boyfriend, we had to work out what that meant, and I don’t think you being my husband would be any different.”
“It is different, though,” I protested. “I’m going to make this lifelong commitment to my lover, and yet the commitment to my Master is, by its definition, not permanent.”
“Are you asking for a permanent collar?” he asked, his eyes a little wide.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay,” he said, clearly going into “responsible Dominant” mode. I liked this version of him—it was very no-nonsense and solutions-orientated. Adorable, in other words. “There’s nothing to stop us bringing together the romantic and kinky sides of our relationship. As far as I’m concerned, you’re collared, though. You’re mine. We negotiate, but I don’t see your submission changing anytime soon… unless you’re thinking something different.”
“No, I’m not thinking anything different.” I combed his hair back from his face and wondered what I’d done to deserve someone so completely wonderful. “I think things have changed since you first collared me, and that’s a good thing. Serving you makes as much sense to me as loving you.”
“You’re not in a service-based relationship, though.”
“Oh, I am,” I said with a laugh. “So we don’t do the whole domestic-servitude thing, but my whole submission is about serving you. Like tonight. For me, it’s about being the best possible sub I can be. So when we’re playing in public, I give it all over to you so you can show off.”
Will grinned at that. “I suppose I see it in a different way. Not that that’s a bad thing, of course. I guess… even if the theory behind our thinking is different, the outcome is the same.”
“Yeah.”
“We were talking about permanent collars,” he said, bringing the conversation back on track.
“Yeah.”
“I like our arrangement with your collar at the moment. I think being forced to renegotiate every few years when your collar breaks is a good thing. It means we don’t get stuck in a rut or let things grow stagnant. How about,” he continued, “if I branded you.”
“No permanent marks,” I countered. It was one of the conditions of my contract.
“As a wedding present?”
A light knock on the door interrupted us, and I pulled a blanket over my naked ass while Will shrugged into a bathrobe to answer it.
It gave me a few moments to think.
I knew other subs, back in Seattle, who had been branded by their long-term partners. It was hardly ever done with heated metal, more like a tattoo machine, and the design was totally up to the couple. My friend Maddie had a rose on her wrist.
The thing was, nothing was certain these days. A tattoo wasn’t as difficult to explain away as a burned brand, but the fact remained, if the relationship ended, for whatever reason, you were left with that mark forever.
Then again, our marriage was going to be forever, and I couldn’t imagine a world where our relationship wouldn’t contain even a small aspect of domination and submission.
“You’re thinking very loudly,” Will said as he set the tray on the bed between us. The burgers looked awesome, and the kitchen hadn’t been stingy with the fries, either.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I didn’t realize I was this hungry,” I said as I dunked one of my fries in the little pot of ketchup. Will smiled and stripped out of his robe, joining me naked on the bed.
“Branding, Jesse,” he said gently while I stuffed my face.
“It’s on the table,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes, knowing he wasn’t joking about storing up the number of spankings I was due.
“If you want it, it’s going to be a small symbol on your hip.”
I ate another fry. “Okay. I sort of need to figure out what it means in terms of our relationship, so let me process, yeah?”
“Of course.” Then he smiled. “You have ketchup on your nose.”
I hated going to sleep right after I’d finished eating but as soon as my belly was full, the exhaustion hit me hard. Will moved the plates and set them on the dresser out of the way, forced me to brush my teeth, then crawled into bed next to me.
Sleeping in hotel beds was never my favorite thing to do. I could never quite get comfortable, probably exasperated by the fact I was in unfamiliar surroundings.
It took a long time for me to feel like I was ready to sleep, despite my exhaustion, the events of the night running through my head without any concern for my need to rest. Will was distracted by my fidgeting, I could tell. He pulled me into his arms and held me tightly so I was forced to stop moving.
Gradually, I started to relax, more so when he softly kissed my neck and shoulder.
“I know we’re not there yet,” he murmured from behind me, “but it feels like you’re my husband already.”
“I can’t imagine loving you any more than I do now.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
Whisper-soft: “Good night.”
In a soulless hotel room in Atlanta, the weight of my marriage started to settle around me.
Chapter 10
With Will working hard in his home office, I went grocery shopping with the intention of buying some fun stuff as well as the essentials. There was one little grocery store in town which was easier to get to than trying to cross town to the bigger supermarket, and I had a mental list going round and round: bread, bacon, milk, tea… bread, bacon, milk, tea… and ice cream… bread….
I had a coupon for the ice cream, so I picked up a big tub, knowing Will would tell me off and secretly love that I picked his favorite flavor. I was humming to myself, something stupid I’d heard on the radio, while I scanned the rest of the aisles, then made my way to the checkout.
I’d gotten a weird, prickly feeling on the back of my neck when I walked in and had ignored it. Mistake number one.
I set the basket down on the
counter and smiled at the guy. Mistake number two.
He crossed his arms over his chest, gave me a long, even stare, looked me up and down, and snarled.
“We don’t want faggots in here.”
“Excuse me?” I asked. Mistake number three.
“I said,” he drawled, “I don’t want no filthy, ass-fucking faggots in my fucking store. Get out.”
I blinked twice to make sure I understood, pushed my wallet into the pocket of my jeans, and left. My ice cream was abandoned, melting on the counter.
It only took five minutes to drive home. I would normally have walked to the store, but I hadn’t been sure how much stuff I’d have to carry back and milk was heavy.
Will was in his office when I got home, and I stood in the doorway, still in shock.
“I know you usually forget stuff, honey, but you haven’t gotten anything at all,” he teased. He saw the expression on my face, pushed back from the desk, and came over to me. Touched me lightly on the arm. “Jesse?”
“They refused to serve me,” I said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Yeah. He said he didn’t want any ass-fucking faggots in his store and to get out.”
“Oh, my God.”
He pulled me roughly into his arms, and I responded instinctively, holding him too and pressing our chests tightly together. There was a look on his face that scared me a little bit. Like he was about to go out and do something stupid.
We weren’t immune to homophobic abuse. Being out for so many years meant we were bound to run into it at times. This felt different, though. This hadn’t been a random attack from a faceless stranger. This was a man who obviously knew me, though I didn’t have a clue who he was.
When Will ran his hand over the back of my head and down to my neck to rub it lightly, I started to relax again. I was shocked, pissed, upset, and more. Because I could, I kissed my boyfriend.
He responded slowly at first, rubbing his lips over mine softly until I licked at his bottom lip and he swept my tongue against his. I wasn’t sure what we were trying to prove, or to whom, but kissing him like this, with an aching amount of sweetness and love, was making a point.
“Come on,” he said when we pulled apart. “We still need groceries.”
I rubbed my nose against his, enjoying the feeling of the scruff on my jaw rubbing against his. “Walmart it is, then.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t need to come with me, Will. I’m a big boy. I don’t need you to hold my hand.”
“I know,” he said and smiled. “I like holding your hand, though.”
This time when I kissed him, it was hot. He made me that way, the feeling where something was bubbling in my stomach, clawing to get out and climb inside him. He kissed me like there was something missing and pressing our lips together fixed that.
It was one of the many reasons why I loved him.
Since he was with me, we could do a full grocery shop, not just for essentials, because Will knew we needed more brown rice and should get some fresh parmesan to go with dinner and we were totally out of oatmeal.
And he did hold my hand most of the way around the store, and poked me in the ribs and made me laugh, and put his hand on my lower back when I paid. And I was pretty sure that if I‘d been paying attention to anything happening around me, he was giving evil glares to anyone who even dared to look in my direction.
From the whispers and stares when my dad and I walked into the bar, I guessed the news of my arrival and subsequent run-in with the dickhead in the grocery store had traveled. Will had gone back to Atlanta, and I was back to fending for myself. Really, it was like being back in high school where everyone knows everything about everybody else, and it sucked. I’d grown up a long time ago. Coming back to this environment was frustrating.
Dad got us a couple of beers while I found a spare table, one just slightly away from the crowd of people who were watching a football game.
“You all right?” Dad grunted when he returned.
I waved it off. “Fine.”
I’d filled him in on what happened, knowing if he found out from anyone other than me, he’d give me hell for it. Which I’d deserve. We were still tiptoeing around, not wanting to upset each other by saying something that reminded us too keenly of Mama. She’d been one of my most vocal advocates when I came out—not that she would have ever thought of it in that way. She simply changed from bugging me to settle down and marry a girl and start making grandbabies to settling down with Will and figuring out how we were going to have grandbabies. There seemed to be no difference, in her mind at least, and that was all the acceptance I could ask for. Sure, it had taken time, but I had expected that.
“If this isn’t a good place for you right now, Jesse, you can go back to Seattle. I don’t mind.”
I shook my head. “I’ve had to deal with a lot worse than some assholes who like to make themselves feel better by putting other people down. I’m okay, I promise.”
“You’re in that house by yourself, though, when Will’s up in Atlanta.”
“You worried for me, Dad?” I asked with a little smirk.
He grumbled. “Someone’s gotta.”
“It’s a good house.”
“Will be when we’re done fixing it up.”
“Yup,” I agreed. “Just the finishing touches left now. It’s weird… we’ve lived together in our house in Seattle for years and years, so it feels like home. Trying to recreate that here—I suppose it’s going to take time.”
Dad nodded, and I took another long pull on my beer. It was going down well. It was easy to slip into conversation about what was left to do on the house. It was one of our main areas of shared interest at the moment, and we were right in the middle of the process. Decorating and fine details would come next, and that’s where I’d start to get Will’s input. He really didn’t care much about what plaster we used on the walls or the stain for the floorboards.
When a tall, burly man wandered over, I recognized him as one of Dad’s old fishing buddies. He’d moved a few counties over, from what I could remember, after he’d had an affair and his wife left him. Chuck. His name came to me as he drew level with us, thumbs hooked in his belt loops.
“David,” he said with a nod, ignoring me completely.
“Chuck,” Dad replied. “You remember my son, Jesse?”
Chuck gave me a once-over and a tight-lipped nod before quickly turning away again. I tried to suppress my smile, guessing that he wouldn’t much like me laughing at him.
“Don’t know how you can stand it, David,” Chuck said, straightening his spine. I knew what was coming, sighed, and rolled my eyes. Both men caught it. I gave them an innocent look and reached for my beer.
“Moving in together like that, bold as brass,” Chuck continued. “Don’t want people like that round here.”
“There’s no law against two men living together,” Dad said calmly. “Nor what they do behind closed doors.”
“Not like they only do it behind closed doors, though, is it?” he said, and for one stunning, awful moment, I thought he’d seen us in the woods. “They were in Walmart the other day.”
“No law against two men going to get their groceries, either, despite what Billy Calder might think.”
“David,” Chuck said in a pleading tone. “Are you seriously gonna let him strut around here with his… with his… boyfriend?” He practically spat the word. “It ain’t natural. You should be ashamed of yourself, you and him both.”
Dad stood up. I was on the verge of doing it first, wanting to assert myself when Chuck probably didn’t expect me to. I drained my beer and stood too. If my father was going to take a stand for me, I’d stand with him, shoulder-to-shoulder. I was also aware that even if heads weren’t turned in our direction, people were definitely looking. And listening.
“I ain’t ashamed of him in the slightest,” Dad said coolly. “There are a lot of things my son could do that would shame me, Chuck. Loving som
eone’s not one of them.” He looked around. “Maybe y’all could do with a new lesson on what’s none of your fucking business.”
When he walked out, I was in step right next to him, even if the temptation to turn around and lewdly stick my tongue in my cheek and make a jerk-off gesture was huge. There was no need to invite anything more, though.
Back in his truck, I turned to him, shifting on the seat.
“You didn’t have to do that. I know they’re your friends.”
“Nah,” he said. “I don’t call them out on their daughters’ shotgun weddings ’cause they were stupid enough to get knocked up at seventeen. Or their sons who do same as you but in secret. Or their wives who fuck anyone and anything but them. So they got no right to call me out on the way my kids live their lives.”
He was already out of the parking lot and on the road back to his place. There were a lot of things I’d thought of my dad in the past. Like most kids, he was my hero growing up. For a long time, I’d thought Mama the strength in their relationship, mostly because of the force of nature she could be. It turned out, though, he had a backbone of steel there all along.
I wanted to tell him “thank you,” but for some reason that didn’t seem like the right thing to say. He wasn’t doing it—any of it—for thanks.
“I’d hate to sound like your Mama, God rest her soul,” Dad said with the kind of lightness I didn’t think him capable of, “but when are you going to settle down and marry that boy?”
I closed my eyes and laughed. The ridiculousness of the situation seeped through, and a moment later, Dad pulled over to the side of the road, unable to keep driving and hold in his laughter. By the time we were done, I was wiping tears from the corners of my eyes and my ribs hurt.
“Lord, Daddy,” I said with a big sigh. “You sounded just like her.”
He shrugged. “I can’t think of anything that would get up their noses more.”
“One day,” I told him.
“You gonna have kids?”
“I think so,” I said, playing with the frayed edge of my collar. It was looking worn. I guessed it might not last much longer. “We want to adopt, though, rather than getting a surrogate. Find a couple of kids—siblings, you know—who would otherwise be split up by the foster system. We want to keep a family together.”