Sub Mission

by Ts McKinney

  I thought him bringing up his Mistress would make me jealous, but the way he said it left me feeling like I’d given him something she never had. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make myself dislike Mistress Samantha. Baker didn’t know, but we’d spoken on several occasions—beginning with that first introduction phone conversation to her following up on his progress and welfare since we’d arrived in Miami. Her questions and actions didn’t lead me to believe she felt anything more for him than a normal affection a Domme felt for their sub. Baker was one of many that she serviced. There was certainly no jealousy on her end, unless she hid it incredibly well.

  “Don’t dare try blaming me for your sass,” I retorted. “Favorite book?”

  “The Mortal Instruments series, of course,” he answered. “I bet you’re into science fiction.”

  “What in the hell is a mortal instrument?” I asked. Good Lord, I knew there was a small age gap between us, but I’d never heard of the book series he referred to.

  “Best books ever. Spill it, Seth. What’s your favorite?”

  “Harry Potter.”

  His head popped up. “Bullshit!” He shook his head. “Oh, man. You’re in so much trouble. My characters are totally going to kick your character’s asses!”

  “Impossible. My characters have an entire section of an amusement park designed after them. I’ve never ridden a mortal instrument roller coaster before.”

  We bickered back and forth a few more minutes, stopping only when the doorbell acted the referee ringing the bell for us to go to separate corners. It was fun bickering, though. Even exhausted, Baker was funny and animated when he talked. I went to answer the door, fixed our plates, and by the time I returned to the balcony, Baker had gotten out of the hot tub, found a robe, and was sitting at the intimate dinette set in the center of the balcony. He looked relaxed and completely at ease.

  “Chinese?” he asked hopefully.

  “Anything for my Screamer,” I answered playfully. I sat a plate in front of him, piled high with a mixture of everything I’d ordered, and he started digging in immediately. After sitting my own plate on the table, I put our bottles of water on the table.

  He frowned immediately. “You’re going to drown me with all this water, Seth. I like soda. I know they stocked the refrigerator with my sodas. Food doesn’t taste nearly as good with water.” He looked up and fluttered his eyelashes at me. “It’s scientifically proven—you can drown from drinking too much water, you know.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You aren’t anywhere close to drowning in water, Baker. Do you want a soda? They aren’t healthy but if you want one, I’ll go grab it.” When he started shaking his head up and down immediately, I held my hand up to stop him. “But, if you drink the soda now, you don’t get wine with our meal tonight. What’s it going to be? Your choice.”

  His frown deepened. “You said you were grilling steaks, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “How many glasses of wine do I get with my steak?”

  Smiling, I answered, “As many as you want, Tart.”

  “Hey! What happened to Sweet Tart? Are you implying that I’m only being Tart right now?”

  “Correct, again. You’re on fire today!”

  “So are you,” he countered dryly. “At being an ass, of course.” He studied the dilemma in front of him and finally answered, “I’ll hold out for the wine, but I get several glasses.”

  “You’ll get what I give you,” I answered and was delighted when his eyes darkened with arousal.

  “Okay, bossy ass,” he conceded. “Back to the question game. I’ve got lots more to learn about you, so I can hold shit over you and bend you to my will.”

  “Eat first. Chat online with some of your fans from Javier’s club next—just to keep the fire stoked for our perp. Questions…the rest of the evening. Deal?”

  “Questions and alcohol?”

  “Questions and alcohol,” I conceded.

  “Deal.”

  Baker Daley was going to break my heart.

  *******

  Baker

  “The Dark Room? This is where you planned our dance club date?” I asked in disbelief as we sat in the car outside the building. It wasn’t like The Dark Room wasn’t a nice enough club, it was probably one of the hippest clubs in Miami. The reviews were off the charts good and there were Instagram pics of celebrities partying in the posh venue all the time. I’d always promised myself I’d go if the opportunity ever presented itself. Well, here it was—presenting itself.

  It just wasn’t the night I’d planned in my head.

  “Yes,” he answered. “It’s one of the most popular clubs in the Miami area. Landon had to call in a lot of favors to ensure we’d be able to get inside. Obviously, he didn’t have faith in our abilities to charm the doorman with our awesome good looks. Weird.” He turned to look at me and his teasing smile faded. “What’s wrong? Did you have another club in mind? I probably should have asked you instead of assuming this one would be acceptable.”

  “No! No. It’s not that,” I quickly amended. How did I tell him I’d thought we would go to a gay club? Just blurt it out? Dance all around it and hope he picked up on my signals? Forget it and go into the club he’d chosen?

  “What is it then, Baker?” he asked calmly.

  How could he be so calm when my heart pounded ninety miles an hour?

  Taking the cowards’ way out, I said, “I just figured we’d go to a gay club. You know…since you’re gay.” Those were the words that tumbled out of my mouth. Inside my head, it sounded more like ‘since you’re gay and I’m clearly bisexual, at the least’.

  “Did you now?” His voice suddenly sounded flat. “Well, sorry to disappoint you. I do, however, assure you that gay people go to straight clubs and straight people go to gay clubs all the time, Baker. Alarm bells won’t go off as soon as my gay body passes through the doorway.”

  Well, hell, I’d made him mad. I shouldn’t be surprised. Being dishonest and deceitful to someone normally led to anger. “What I meant to say, Seth, was that I’d really enjoy going to a gay bar with you.”

  He stared at me so long I started to squirm in my seat. I’d been an idiot, acting like this was something more than what it was. No matter how many times I’d tried to remind myself that this was nothing more than a job to Seth, I kept forgetting. No, it wasn’t that I was forgetting the facts. I simply ignored them and tried to make it be what I wanted instead of what it actually was.

  “Still experimenting, huh?” he asked quietly.

  Experimenting? He thought everything I’d done was a fucking experiment? Experiments were letting another guy touch your dick or watching gay porn or jacking each other…hell, I didn’t know what all experimenting consisted of, but I damn well knew it didn’t involve me having fantasies about Seth’s cock in my ass. It sure the hell didn’t involve the things we’d done in the playroom. It fucking damn well didn’t involve the secrets we’d shared last night or the way I snuggled against his warmth when we were in bed. Experimenting wasn’t watching his hands perform simple tasks or memorizing his scent.

  Experimenting wasn’t wondering what his lips tasted like.

  “Sure. I guess,” I answered instead. No use making a fool of myself in front of my first real crush in life. “I’m good with whatever. I’ll dance and drink regardless of where I am. Tonight’s all about relieving stress before our big night tomorrow, right? I can party anywhere.”

  “Of course, you can,” he snapped then leaned forward and told the driver to take us to a club called Skittles.

  It would have been enjoyable making fun of the club name, but I’d already ruined the mood for the entire evening, it looked like. Seth’s jaw was clenched so tightly his teeth might crumble into sawdust at any given moment. Why did I do that shit? More importantly, why couldn’t he see what he was becoming to me? What he already meant to my heart?

  Not willing to throw the towel in on the evening, I asked, “Do you like d
ancing?”

  “Not really, but someone told me you did. I thought it would be a nice evening for you to relax and have some fun before we hit the stage tomorrow night.”

  He still sounded grumpy. Very grumpy. If his face froze like it was now, he’d forever be known as the grumpy hottie man. I’d go down in history as the SOB that put the grumpy there.

  “Hmmmm,” I answered, not having a clue what else to say. Skittles was a gay club. I’d read about it online and it had been the very one I wanted to go to. I supposed I’d gotten my way after all. I just wasn’t sure what the cost would be. “Are you going to dance with me?”

  He turned to look at me, a very bored expression on his face. “If you make me.”

  There was no denying that the thoughts of me making him do anything made my cock twitch—which wasn’t easy in the skin-tight leather pants he’d presented for me to wear tonight. He’d also brought in a mesh black sleeveless shirt, chunky black army boots, and a thick collar for my neck. After dropping the clothes on my bed, he’d mumbled something about the collar needing to be there in case we were still being watched.

  The whole telescope thing had died down to a low rumble when Landon’s men noticed that it never moved, nor could they see any movement in the room at all. From what the IT department had been able to dig up, the room was listed as vacant and for all intents and purposes, it looked like it was—other than the telescope. Landon’s men had taken picture after picture, had them blown up and analyzed, but there wasn’t anybody manning the equipment. We all assumed telescope man was a bust, but Seth and Landon both insisted we keep up appearances wherever we were…just in case.

  I didn’t mind. When I’d slipped the collar around my neck and fastened it into place, there was no describing the sense of calmness that washed over me. It felt perfect and if I had my way, I’d never take it off. Seeing that I wasn’t going to get my way in the whole Seth/Baker dynamic, I figured he’d make me remove it tonight when we returned home from the club. I would, however, get to wear it again tomorrow night.

  Seth had been right, my online chatting with the group that attended Javier’s club on a regular basis had been a huge hit. Comment after comment after comment. Most of them hot and explicit about what they’d like to see Seth do to me. I agreed with most of those. A few gutsy Doms had tried to entice me into a conversation but Seth had immediately logged on and shut that shit down. Even if it was all pretend, I’d liked how he’d stamped a brand of ownership on me. There’d been a few ‘haters’ but I chalked those up to other subs. I hadn’t had a lot of experience with making friends with other subs, but from what I’d witnessed, they were the jealous sort. My popularity had stepped on a few toes, but nothing sounded dangerous or threatening. It was all about the fact that their asses were better than mine. What. The. Fuck. Ever.

  Shit. I was falling into my own profiling.

  “Are you still with me, Baker?” Seth asked quietly. He’d moved closer to me in the back seat of the car and had a strange expression on his face. His eyes were dark, the way they turned when he was aroused or in complete and sexy Dom mode.

  “Uh…yeah. Why?” How long had I zoned out?

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because we’ve been sitting outside the club for about fifteen minutes and you’ve been doing nothing but sitting there, staring into space, and toying with your collar. Is it bothering you? Does it trouble you to wear someone’s collar, other than your Mistress, of course?”

  I frowned. I hadn’t even been aware that my fingers had been toying with the soft leather of the collar. “I’ve never worn a collar before,” I answered. “Never even come close. Before Mistress Samantha, I switched Dommes every year. It’s different with Samantha, though. There are other…things involved, so I’ve stuck with her longer than any of the others.” When I noted the darkness in his eyes turned to anger, I tried to tell myself it was jealousy. I’d like to believe that, at least. “With Samantha, it is more of a business arrangement.” Weird. I’d never referred to her as Samantha before. Before Seth, she’d always been Mistress Samantha.

  It was because she wasn’t my Domme anymore. My body and mind knew it. My heart still struggled. I could understand that, though. My heart didn’t usually participate in the games I played in the playroom.

  His eyebrow arched. “Business arrangement? When I spoke to her on the phone, she didn’t mention a business arrangement.”

  Yeah, I should have probably told him the truth regarding Samantha, but I couldn’t make myself say the words. I knew it would piss Seth off and I wanted to have fun with him tonight. I promised myself, however, to tell him the whole story before this mission ended. She should have told him.

  I shrugged. “You must not have asked the right questions. It’s strictly business.”

  “Like us, huh?” he muttered.

  His words crushed my heart. See, that’s why the fucker never wanted to be involved with what happens in the playroom.

  “Nothing like us,” I answered. “Whatever, Seth. Can we keep my Mistress out of the conversations tonight? I want to have fun. This isn’t fun.”

  Pouty sub! Pouty sub! Only Seth made me pout.

  He leaned back against the leather seat and rubbed his forehead. “Yes, I want you to have fun, as well. You’ve earned it. I’m sorry, Baker. Let’s start the evening over.” Turning to smile at me, he asked, “Hey, how about Skittles? It’s a great club. I come here every time I’m in Miami. I think you’ll love it.”

  And, just like that, my worries vanished when his smile came out. “I dunno. It’s okay, I guess. I kinda wanted to go to The Dark Room, but this will do.”

  His eyes went to the right shade of dark again and a thrill raced through me. He leaned up to the driver, who also worked for Landon, and whispered to him that we’d be a few extra minutes and then pushed the button that would make the privacy wall slide up between us and him. When it was only us, he flipped on one of the small compartment lights and said, “Pants down and over my lap, Tart.”

  The windows were tinted dark enough that no one would be able to see us…like I cared. My biggest concern was whether or not I’d be able to get the damn leather pants pulled down. Visions of Ross from Friends flashed through my head. At least that dude would understand my struggle with too-tight leather pants.

  “Problems, Tart?” he asked with a wicked smile.

  “Just, uh, wondering if I can get these motherfuckers off me in such a tight space.” I looked at him and smiled. “You should have seen me trying to squeeze all of me into the little bit of them.” When his eyebrow arched again, I squeaked out a late, “Sir.”

  “Not a problem. That’s what the zippers are for.” He reached for me and before I could yelp in surprise, I was draped over his lap.

  What zippers?

  “Uh, what are you…”

  The sound of said zippers unzipping reached my ears and the cold air from the car’s air conditioning system caressed my heated flesh. There were zippers back there? Twisting around, I could see that the zippers went down each side of my ass and across the top. With just a few movements of his wrist, my ass was completely exposed.

  “I should have plugged you for tonight,” he murmured as his hand caressed each globe.

  I could imagine a lot of things. Hell, I had imagined a lot of things since being introduced to Seth. But I just couldn’t see me getting my dance on with anything lodged up my ass. Of course, six days ago no one would have been able to convince me I would be craving a cock in my ass and mouth. Six days ago, I would have been wrong.

  “Count for me, Tart,” he ordered and then the first smack landed on my ass.

  “Fuck, Seth! One. Couldn’t you start out a bit softer?”

  Another smack, this one harder. I should have kept my mouth shut. “Two, Sir.”

  Chapter 9

  Seth

  He’d taken fifteen hard swats before we’d entered the club. Before I’d finished with him, his gorgeous bubble butt had been a brig
ht pink. With the last six, I’d had to grip his balls tightly to keep him from coming. He was so deliciously responsive. The spanking had been his punishment for sassing me, but he’d gotten the last word…and his punishment for me had been even worse.

  He’d made me dance. I hated dancing. I could swing a whip with the grace of an Olympic ice skater, but when it came to dancing, I’d missed the gene.

  On about the fifth song, he’d taken pity on me and told me I could grab us a table and some drinks. That was something I could do and do well. My size alone intimidated people to get out of my way. When I added an angry scowl to my face, they skittered like scared kittens. Before the next song had ended, I’d scored us a booth next to the dance floor and had me an Old Fashioned and him some fruity cocktail thing he’d asked for. I think he’d called it a Singapore Sling.

  He hadn’t noticed I had a table for us yet. Of course, how could he? He was surrounded by other dancers and having the time of his life. The dancers around him were girls—there were always plenty of straight girls at gay clubs and somehow, they’d managed to swarm Baker like bees would a honey comb. The thing was, I wasn’t sure if that made me jealous or just a tad angry. I decided to let it be neither and just be thankful that the girls were keeping the majority of guys away from him.

  Just when I congratulated myself on that accomplishment, two guys wrangled their way through the chicks and started bumping and grinding. I saw red. Pure red. And in my mind, it was their blood. When one of them reached out and touched Baker’s side, I stood up, ready to destroy the man who touched what belonged to me. Before I could take one step though, Baker’s head whipped around, and he smacked the guy’s hand away. There was a startled look on his face. Surrounded by women, who’d been touching him all night, I had no idea he’d known it was a guy, but apparently he had and it pissed him off. When he turned to rally against the first one, the second guy touched his side, just like the first one had, and he whipped around to face him. Both guys raised their hands in defeat, apologized, and stepped away.