His finger still embedded, he finally closed his mouth once more over Ronan’s throbbing cock, lowering his head until his nose touched Ronan’s pubic bone. He expertly massaged the entire shaft with his throat muscles, cheeks and tongue.
“Yes, oh god, yes,” Ronan groaned, surrendering to the incredible sensations washing over him. He began to buck, nearly overcome with a pleasure so intense he felt his body was going to burst into flame. Heat radiated from his cock and balls and he came harder than he ever remembered coming.
He reached blindly, pulling Jack up onto the bed and into his arms. He felt as if he’d been shattered and miraculously reassembled within the space of these few amazing hours with the last man he ever would have expected. Though he wanted to continue their lovemaking, his limbs were heavy, his mind drifting. Jack was heavy and warm in his arms, his heart beating a sweet tattoo against Ronan’s chest. Giving in, Ronan let his eyes close…
~*~
Jack awoke with a start in the strange bed. Moonlight was streaming through the windowpanes, casting silvery squares across the floor. For a moment he was uncertain where he was, or who he was with. Then it all came back in a rush.
Ronan lay beside him on his back, an arm flung over his face. Ronan must have wakened at some point before him, because they were now beneath, rather than on top of the quilts.
Jack stared down at him. Whatever had happened between them had to be more than just a session between a pro Dom and a sub. The wild, aching sense of gratitude and adoration he’d felt just after the session had abated, replaced with…what? He felt raw and vulnerable, with no idea what the future held.
But at the same time, he felt found, if that was even a feeling. It was like he’d come home after a long time away. The experience Ronan had given him went well beyond anything he’d known was possible, even with Alexei.
He ran his finger lightly over Ronan’s lightly stubbled cheek. Ronan stirred but didn’t open his eyes. Jack snuggled back down beside him, resting his head against Ronan’s bare chest as he closed his eyes, a deep sense of happiness and peace pervading his being.
Tonight Jack had found something he hadn’t even known he’d lost along the way.
He had found himself.
Chapter 6
Jack lay in the bed, not quite awake, his face stretched in a way he wasn’t used to. It took him a moment to figure out he was smiling. He opened his eyes, his smile widening in anticipation as he turned his head to see the handsome man who had fallen asleep beside him the night before.
The bed was empty.
That figured. Ronan seemed like the kind of guy who got up at the crack of dawn. Probably worked out at his club before heading to his fancy office in some skyscraper on Wall Street. Jack realized he had no idea what the guy did for a living—only that he wore elegant suits to do it in. There was so much he didn’t know about Ronan Grant.
But there was one thing he did know—he definitely wanted to get to know him better.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded into the bathroom, a buoyancy in his step that made him grin. Ronan was sexy as hell, and exciting, and an excellent Dom.
He was falling hard for Ronan. No, even that wasn’t correct. He wasn’t falling. He’d already landed.
The bathroom was empty. For the first time since he’d opened his eyes, a sense of disquiet threatened Jack’s new, fragile joy. Had Ronan flown the coop? Was Jack’s incredible experience the night before only all in a day’s work for the pro Dom?
No. No way. Jack refused to believe that. Something amazing had happened between them. Something special and rare.
He used the toilet and washed his face and hands in the sink. He’d left his duffel and clothing in the powder room near the front door, so he headed that way to grab his stuff. Maybe Ronan was in the kitchen, making them a nice breakfast.
The living room was empty. As Jack moved toward the bathroom, he called out, “Ronan? You here?”
There was no reply.
Jack grabbed his clothing, the smile that had stubbornly lingered on his face falling away. He pulled on his underwear and reached into his jeans pocket for his phone so he could text Rusty.
He touched the screen, but it remained black.
Shit—the fucking phone was dead. He was always forgetting to charge the damn thing.
He wandered through the house, pulling on his clothes as he went. No one in the kitchen. Reflexively, he pulled open the fridge. There was a carton of orange juice in there. He grabbed it, shook it up and took a swig.
He returned to the front hall and pulled open the front door. It was snowing—small flakes falling fast in a thick curtain of white, an inch already accumulated on the ground. Ronan’s car was gone.
With a sigh, Jack closed the door. He was in no particular rush to be rescued. He wanted to stay in this house where, for a night at least, he had been happier than he’d ever been in his life.
He wandered over to the fireplace and poked at the remains of last night’s fire. There were still a few embers glowing in the ash. He selected some kindling from the wood stack near the hearth and set them in the grate. Grabbing a few sheets of old newspaper that was set there for the purpose, he crumpled them and tossed them onto the kindling. There was a box of long-stemmed matches on the mantle. He struck a match and lit the newspaper and then tossed the match into the grate.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket again, just in case it had miraculously found some juice, but it was still dead as a doornail. Maybe Alexei and Rusty kept a spare charger around somewhere. He was about to go on a hunt, when the St. Andrew’s cross caught his eye, plunging him back into the mind-blowing evening before.
Without even really knowing what he was doing, he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it from his shoulders. He kicked off his sneakers and shucked off his jeans and underwear. Walking to the cross, he faced it, lifting his arms and spreading his legs in cruciform against it. He closed his eyes, remembering…
~*~
Ronan drove slowly along the graveled driveway, heading around to the back of the house so he could go in through the kitchen entrance. The snow was coming down harder now, and he was glad he’d made it back before the roads became impassable.
He had woken up wrapped in Jack’s strong arms. Pulling carefully away, he’d leaned up on his elbow to examine the handsome guy snoring softly beside him. He’d run his finger along the crooked nose and the strong jaw, marveling that this big, tough guy had turned out to be such a graceful submissive.
More than that, though, Jack had done something no one had managed to do since Nicholas. He had melted through the thick layer of ice that had built up around Ronan’s heart over the years. Ronan should have been terrified now that there was no longer a barrier between his heart and the world, but he didn’t feel afraid. He felt exhilarated. And grateful. What had started out as a favor for an old friend might just be his own salvation.
He stamped his boots on the step outside the kitchen door and, balancing the cardboard coffee tray and bakery bag, he entered the house. He set down the food on the counter and dropped his coat on a chair. The note he’d left by the coffee maker hadn’t been disturbed. Lazy bones Jack must still be asleep.
Ronan hurried from the room, eager to wake his new lover so they could pick up where they’d left off the night before.
He strode through the front hall and was about to head back to the bedroom when something made him stop and look into the living room. He drew in a breath as he took in the handsome man standing naked at the cross, his face turned to the side on the headrest, his eyes closed.
Without speaking, he silently removed his clothing, his cock already stiffening into a full erection as he approached Jack. He stepped up onto the small platform behind Jack and lifted his own arms along Jack’s as he pressed his body against him.
Jack jerked up his head and started to turn around, but Ronan gripped his wrists, holding him still. “Shh,” he said. “Stay as you are, Jac
k. Just like that. You’re perfect.”
“You came back,” Jack said, wonder in his voice. “I thought you’d gone.”
Ronan took a step back, surprised. “Gone? As in never coming back gone?”
“Yeah.”
Ronan’s heart constricted with love and compassion as he took in the import of Jack’s statement. He’d thought Ronan had left him, but rather than storming away in a rage, or smashing a wall, as the old Jack might have done, he had taken his rightful place on the cross, perhaps reliving the amazing scene one last time…
Ronan had been planning on cuffing Jack into place and giving him a nice flogging before breakfast, but instead, he put his hands on Jack’s shoulders and turned him so they were facing. “I would never leave like that, Jack,” he said earnestly, looking deep into Jack’s blue eyes. Taking Jack’s face gently in his hands, he pulled him closer for a kiss.
Jack brought his arms around Ronan, drawing him into a tight embrace as they explored each other’s mouths, their hands roaming eagerly over each other’s bodies. When they finally stepped back for air, Ronan said breathlessly, “Snow’s coming down pretty hard now. We’re probably going to be here for a while. I brought back coffee and croissants. I put the stuff in the kitchen, next to the note I left you.”
“Oh, yeah? You left a note?”
“Yep.”
“And there’s coffee and croissants, huh?” Jack’s eyes were glittering, his huge cock sticking straight out from his flat belly.
Ronan’s own cock rose, his mouth watering as he stared at the gorgeous guy. “Yeah, but they can wait,” he growled, taking Jack into his arms once more.
Don’t miss all six novels in the Serving his Master series
Here’s a sneak peek at The Contract
It will take a Master’s control to set him free…
Out of work, out of love, and ready for adventure, Jace Thompson jumps at an opportunity to be a service sub at a private BDSM resort in the Florida Keys. As Jace works hard to please the dominant men he serves, he is challenged at every turn by a manipulative trainer who seems hell bent on his failure. Then Jace meets a true Master, and everything changes.
Master Quinn has rules, and the most important is never to get involved with the service subs. But when he’s asked to assess Jace for his submissive potential, the attraction between them is instant and scorching hot.
Against a backdrop of lush tropical beauty and steamy passion, Jace and Quinn begin a secret, powerful exploration of Domination and submission. But Quinn’s jealous ex-lover has other ideas. Hiding in the shadows, he weaves a tangled web of danger and deception, determined to catch Jace in its snare.
Chapter 1
Sweat glistened on the man’s muscular back, which was marked with a stippling of small welts left by the whip. He gripped the chains attached to thick wrist cuffs that lifted his strong arms taut overhead. The man grunted and jerked with each sonic crack of leather. Jace winced, his skin tingling with sympathy and longing.
“Beg me.” The whip curled like a snake in Brandon’s hands. Watching from the crowd clustered around the raised platform, Jace could feel Brandon’s dominance. As if sensing him, Brandon’s gaze flickered over the group, coming to rest on Jace. It should be you up here, he seemed to say with his eyes.
Jace’s heart picked up its tempo. Maybe tonight he would go up there. He’d been an observer often enough. What did he have to lose?
Brandon released Jace’s gaze as he focused once more on the naked, tethered man he’d chosen for the scene. “Please, Sir,” the bound sub moaned, twisting his head back toward his tormentor. “I deserve to be punished. Whip me. Make me bleed.”
The words sent a ripple of something through Jace he couldn’t quite identify—fear, desire, both? Brandon stepped back, his upper lip lifting in a cruel smile, white teeth glinting in the spotlight illuminating the platform. He snapped the bullwhip and once again Jace winced as the tip struck the sub’s back, this time leaving a shiny trail of blood in its wake. Jace drew in a sharp, involuntary breath, his eyes riveted to the scene.
“The ultimate submission,” a voice murmured close to his ear, the accent Spanish. “Complete surrender of the body to another to do with as he will.”
Jace turned toward the voice to see a man with dark wavy hair brushed back and silvering at the temples, his dark eyes boring into Jace's. “The scene moves you, even as it frightens you.”
“Yes,” Jace admitted, surprised at the man’s observation.
The man nodded, as if confirming something for himself. They both turned back to watch the action unfolding in front of them. Brandon whipped the chosen sub until his back was covered with welts, many of them trickling lines of bright red blood. The man cried out with each cut of the whip, but his cock stood at attention, bobbing in time to the strokes.
Finally Brandon lowered the whip and nodded toward a tall blond man who stood waiting just behind the platform. The man jumped onto the stage and together he and Brandon released the bleeding sub from his chains. The man took the sub’s face in his hands. They smiled at one another and shared a quick kiss on the lips. “You’ll have your lover back in a moment,” Brandon said as he gestured for the blond guy to step aside, which he did.
Turning his attention back to the sub, Brandon said, “Thank me properly.”
The man sank to his knees and lowered his head to kiss the tops of Brandon’s shiny black boots. Without a glance at the waiting partner, Brandon ordered, “Stand up and keep your eyes on my face while you jerk off. You have thirty seconds.”
With a glance at his lover, who smiled and nodded, the sub rose to his feet, his cock still fully erect. He fisted his shaft in his large hand, the other hand cradling his balls, seemingly oblivious of the gawking crowd. Brandon glanced down at his watch. “Go.”
The sub’s mouth hung open, his eyes fixed on Brandon’s face as he tugged frenziedly on his shaft. Stoked by the whipping, he almost immediately began to spurt. Long white ribbons of come erupted from the purple head that appeared and disappeared from the circle of his thumb and index finger.
Brandon’s smile was cruel. “Good boy,” he said. “Now get on your knees and lick it up.” The sub promptly dropped to all fours and lowered his head to the floor of the platform, lapping at his jism like a cat licking cream. He lifted his head and turned toward his lover, who held up a thumb of approval. He then turned toward the gathered onlookers, a broad, triumphant smile breaking over his rather plain face. The crowd broke into raucous applause and hoots of approval.
The blond lover helped the sub from the platform and led him toward the recovery room for aftercare while two staff members jumped up to clean and tidy the space for the next public scene. The man beside Jace spoke again. “I’ve seen you here several times before. I have watched you in a few scenes in the playroom over the months. You’re a natural. Born to submit, born for erotic suffering.”
Jace turned to stare at the Latino, still very handsome despite his age, which Jace estimated at about forty-five. Was he trying to pick Jace up? But the man’s expression wasn’t that of someone on the make. Instead he merely looked interested, and his eyes were kind.
“You’re usually with a redhead, am I right?” The man glanced around, as if Patrick were going to miraculously appear. His words were like a small knife twisting in Jace’s heart, the wound of Patrick’s betrayal still so fresh.
He gave a curt nod. “The redhead and I are history.” He tried to smile and nearly made it.
The older man nodded, a wise, sad look in his dark eyes. “This causes you pain.” It was a statement, not a question, and Jace didn’t bother to deny it. “I’m glad you came out tonight,” the man continued. “A good scene can be an extremely cathartic experience. I saw Brandon watching you. I have a strong feeling he’s going to ask you to come up next. I hope you will accept.”
“What? What makes you think he’d pick me?”
“Brandon and I are old friends. The way he was wa
tching you earlier—I think he’s chosen you for the next scene.”
Jace blew out a breath, trying on the idea in his mind. “I don’t know. I’ve never gone up there before. I’ve never scened with Brandon.” Yet he couldn’t deny that every nerve ending in his body pinged with anticipation at the thought of a public scene with the owner of the club. Now that the idea had been planted in his mind, Jace wanted to immerse himself in a scene so intense it would wipe away all vestiges of the worst week of his life.
He wanted to escape.
He wanted to fly.
“Brandon’s a pro. He will respect your limits,” the man said. “He has an uncanny way of giving a sub just exactly what he needs.” Something in the way the man spoke made Jace think he knew this from personal experience. He glanced sharply at the guy, but his expression gave nothing away. “Of course, the decision is yours. My name is Carlo, by the way.”
“Jace,” Jace replied automatically.
“I see the courage in your face, Jace,” the man said softly in his richly accented English. “I see the passion.” The words, his tone of voice and the intense look in his dark eyes all combined to send a shiver of longing through Jace so fierce it took his breath away. Yes, he wanted to go up there. But did he have the courage this man seemed to see in him?
Brandon’s booming voice drew their attention back to the platform. “Who’s ready for another scene?” The men whooped with enthusiasm. “I need a seasoned player,” Brandon said, his icy blue eyes scanning the crowd. “Someone who is strong and brave and not afraid to suffer. Someone who is ready to fly.”
Several hands shot up, and cries of, “Me! Pick me!” were heard. Jace held his breath as he realized Brandon’s gaze had fallen squarely on him, just as Carlo had predicted. Brandon raised his hand and pointed a finger. “You. The beautiful boy with the red T-shirt. I choose you. Come up here.”
Switching Gears (Serving his Master Book 7) Page 6