by Anna Zabo
Eli shrugged. “Yes.”
“Medium cappuccino,” Sam called from his office.
Eli gestured to the door. “You heard Sam.”
As Justin passed, he brushed Eli’s hand with his. “Can’t wait for tonight.”
“I didn’t just hear that, either,” Fazil said. “What would the boss man think?”
“The boss man thinks they’re cute. And he wants his coffee,” Sam said.
Cute? The heat in Eli’s face probably matched the shade on Justin’s. Well, if the rest of the office hadn’t figured it out by now . . . He gestured toward the front with his cane. “Go. Both of you.”
They filed out in front of him. “Remind me to mark this day down on my calendar,” Fazil said. “Eli’s buying, and apparently he’s capable of cute as well as scary.”
“Scary cute.” Justin looked back over his shoulder. “It’s a thing.”
“It most certainly is.” As Justin would discover as soon as he had him in private.
Chapter Thirteen
The suit fit Justin perfectly, which wasn’t surprising since it had been tailored to do so. He brushed his fingers over the sleeve. Fine dark gray wool. Italian. He’d never worn something so expensive in his life. The thought of how much this had set Eli back threatened to bring out a cold sweat in Justin.
Eli had the money. Justin didn’t. No way in heaven he could pay Eli back for this. With cash, anyway.
There are other ways for you to earn your keep, Justin. The voice in the back of his mind sounded like Francis’s had, right before he’d bent Justin over the dining room table.
He rubbed at his ears. Eli wasn’t like that . . . was he? No. Besides, Justin did want to see The Nutcracker. A childhood memory he’d never had. Justin straightened his tie and brushed his hair back into place and left the bathroom.
No one remained in the office other than him, Eli, and Sam. The faint sound of Sam’s voice and the resonant deep rumble of Eli’s laugh filtered up the hall. Justin paused, a line of fear wrapping itself around his heart. What was he doing? Oh honey. His mother’s voice took Francis’s place.
It’s not the same. He’s different. He’s— Justin shook his head and marched to the front of the office.
Sam whistled. “Nice. You’d stop a boardroom in their tracks.”
Eli didn’t say a word, just leaned on his cane and smiled his devilish best. Appreciation—and lust—shone there and ignited Justin’s desire.
To have Eli want him was always a trip. Please don’t let it be a bad one.
After a moment, Eli cocked a finger for Justin to come close. Already ordering him around, and with predictable results. Justin’s cock filled with every step he took and his heart skipped beat when Eli handed his cane to Sam. “Hold this, will you?”
Sam complied and Eli fixed some imperfection with Justin’s tie and smoothed down his collar, all the while staring into Justin’s eyes. “You look stunning.” A low murmur of words.
His reply was a whisper. “Thanks.”
Eli slipped his hand around Justin’s neck, his fingers finding the sensitive skin right below Justin’s hairline—then Eli pulled Justin in for a kiss.
He shouldn’t have been embarrassed to have Sam standing there. He’d seen more—far more—at the party weeks before. Heat rose, as did his dick. There was something sexy about being watched. And kissed. Eli teased open Justin’s lips, drawing him closer until their hips met, cocks pushing against each other through fabric that was worth a fortune.
Or at least a couple grand.
Eli broke the kiss. “Hungry?”
Yes. In every way. “Would be a shame to waste that reservation.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Please go before you set my office on fire.”
Eli’s chuckle was rich and dark. He took his cane back. “Shall we?”
“Sure.”
Justin followed Eli out of the office, but not to his Audi. Instead, there was a black Cadillac with a driver at the curb. “You hired a car?” How much did that run?
Eli looked a bit sheepish when he opened the passenger door. “I’m not fond of driving downtown, to be honest.”
Justin slid onto the leather seat, Eli close behind. “I could have driven.” The interior was plush, like a mini-limo, which was what this was, come to think of it.
“I know you could have, but I wanted this to be a gift. From me to you.” His grin was large and endearing. “Having you drive kind of defeats the purpose, eh?”
And there was the money word: purpose. Justin looked away. “I guess it would.”
“Hey.” Eli slid his hand over Justin’s. “If it bothers you, we can—”
“It’s fine.” He turned back and smiled as best he could. At least Eli noticed his discomfort. “I’m just not used to”—he waved his free hand to encompass the car—“this kind of thing.” At least not while dressed in a suit.
“It’ll be fine.” Eli leaned forward and tapped on the partition and the car moved forward.
Easy for him to say. Justin doubted Eli had ever knelt on the floor of a moving car while giving a blow job. Those weren’t memories Justin wanted to relive, even if it had been exciting at the time. Everything afterward hadn’t been.
Still, Justin had said yes to this night and had looked forward to it for weeks. What had changed? He studied Eli, who smiled back.
“Thank you for coming with me. First time I’ve ever had company for my odd winter habit.”
“Not even Sam or Michael?”
“No. This is . . . very personal. But I wanted to share it with you.”
Justin’s back unknotted. Good—that was good to hear. “I’m glad I can.” Maybe he was being too wary. This was Eli. Justin sat back. Enjoy the ride.
But he’d said that to himself last time, too.
* * *
When they pulled up to the Capital Grille, Justin’s heart dropped into his stomach. This place? They didn’t let people like Justin into restaurants like this. He glanced at his black nails. But the maître d’ greeted Eli by name and they were shown to a table without fuss. No one commented on Justin’s hair or his nail polish. Then again, Eli cut a figure that spoke of money and power.
The delectable aroma of good beef cooked to perfection overcame Justin’s trepidation. If Eli wanted to wine and dine him, who was he to argue?
After two steaks, several sides, and a bottle of wine that had to have cost half Justin’s rent, they were well and truly fed. Worry evaporated into a food coma sent from heaven.
“We still have a show to see,” Eli said, stifling a yawn.
They opted for coffee, no dessert, to finish the meal.
Justin picked up his cup and breathed in the aroma. “Kick me if I fall asleep.”
Eli chuckled. “You’d better not.”
Mild words, but the raised eyebrow and smile were anything but innocent. Justin’s heart thumped higher and his cock shifted. He was just about healed from the last scene they’d done, and he hadn’t spent much time at Eli’s since he’d called home. Maybe a good fuck would straighten his head out. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Their waiter brought the bill. Eli examined it before sliding a credit card into the folder. He pushed back from the table and grabbed his cane. “I’ll be right back.”
Bathroom. Justin nodded.
When Eli was out of sight, he grabbed the folder and flipped it open. An American Express Gold Card. Not too extravagant for someone at Eli’s level. The bill for their meal, though—Justin had expected three figures, but not quite this number. The wine alone had cost one hundred thirty bucks. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the waiter returning. He closed the folder and handed it over without a word.
This was a nice evening. Eli did have the money. The sharp stab of doubt joined with whispers of Francis’s lies and his mother’s warnings. What price would Justin pay? There was always a cost, be it pain or sex.
Or love? He glanced in the direction Eli had gone. Did a Dom like
Eli love, or did he possess?
He’s never harmed you in any way. Justin had wanted the pain, had asked for it, and the sex, too. Begged. Everything had been going fine. Justin tried to shake off the worry. If he’d said no to this date, Eli would have taken a limo downtown to the show anyway. You’re jumping at shadows again.
Ghosts and shadows. They seemed more real every day.
* * *
Eli leaned against the shower wall and let the hot water beat against his left leg. If he’d known ballet turned Justin on so much, he’d have taken him to a show weeks ago. They’d made love pretty much upon falling into bed, slow and delicious, and fallen asleep in a tangle. In the morning, Justin had begged Eli to fuck him mercilessly and hard—and he had. Each moan and cry pushing Eli higher until they’d both spent themselves senseless.
A sore leg was a small price to pay. Eli pushed off the wall and set about cleaning himself.
Justin had been quieter during breakfast, almost as ponderous as after his first night here. But coffee, bagels, and a few quips had teased out his beautiful smile.
The rest of the day? They’d play that by ear.
He shut the water off just as it started to cool and stepped out, grabbing a towel as he went. He’d just finished drying his hair when Justin appeared in the doorway, a blush tingeing his cheeks.
“I brought something up from downstairs.” He held out a finger. His collar dangled there. Justin’s lips curved into a grin that nearly made Eli lose his balance.
He beckoned with a finger, and Justin closed the distance, still holding the band of leather out.
Eli slipped it off Justin’s finger and set it on the bed. “I should dress.” He slid his hands under Justin’s shirt, caressing his trembling stomach. “And you should get naked.”
He kissed Justin while working his shirt up, breaking only to pull the fabric over Justin’s head. The shirt landed somewhere near the side of the bed.
“Leather pants,” Justin said against Eli’s lips. “The ones you wore . . .”
An order? Eli bit Justin’s neck. Not hard, but enough to turn words into a moan. Perfect. He stepped back. “Lose the jeans.”
Justin did, as well as his underwear. Good, very good. Already flushed from his chest to his neck, and hard, too. Probably had been since coming upstairs.
Justin knew what he wanted. Eli was more than willing to give it to him. He beckoned Justin forward again and picked up the collar. “Shall I put this on?”
A shiver quaked through Justin. “Please.” Such a wanton whisper.
Eli buckled the leather around Justin’s neck. “Stand there, like that, while I change.”
“Yes, Eli.”
His turn to shudder. He didn’t hurry, enjoying the lust in Justin’s body, the way his thighs flexed and cock rocked. His own dick ached, especially when he trapped it into the slick leather of the pants Justin had requested. He picked out a crisp white shirt. That was enough.
He wanted what Justin offered. Badly. He closed in and towered over him. “Ready?”
A smile like the sun. “More than.”
“Good.” Eli cupped a hand behind Justin’s head and devoured Justin’s mouth. A gentle nudge sent Justin moving toward the door.
* * *
They moved in a slow dance of skin and leather, fingers and tongues from the bedroom to the playroom, Eli hot against Justin’s naked body even through his clothes. Whenever they touched, world narrowed down to Eli and only Eli, and Justin forgot everything else.
A nip of teeth from Eli. “What do you want today?”
Something different. “Rope. Tight. I want . . . not to move.” Justin’s breath caught. Was he asking for this?
“You want to be bound tight against the cross when I whip you?”
“Yes.” His breathing stuttered.
Eli, once more in his gloves, cupped Justin’s balls and he couldn’t help thrusting. Bound to the cross by rope and not the cuffs Eli usually used. He shivered. Francis had done that. Once. Then left Justin there all night.
Two days later, Justin had left with only the clothes on his back and a one-way ticket to Louisiana. Left? Escaped.
He shuddered again.
Eli ran feather touches over Justin’s cock, leather soft as silk against his length. He tipped his head back to give Eli more of his neck. Kisses. Bites. He’d probably have a nice collection of bruises tomorrow.
Another sign to show how much Eli owns you.
They bumped against the cross. Eli pulled back, his face flushed and lips wet. “Do you want this?”
“Yes.” No. Maybe. There were differences and similarities. He’d never told Francis no—not been allowed. He’d not tried with Eli. Would he stop? Did he want Eli to stop?
“Turn around, please.” If he did as Eli asked, he would get what he wanted—pain, pleasure, release, oblivion. He pressed his body and his hard cock against the leather of the cross and stretched arms and legs wide, like he had so many times before. You deserve this. Need this. You’re mine. Francis’s voice echoed in his brain. Justin closed his eyes. Eli was not Francis.
Eli’s touch was gentle and soothing. That hated voice in his head subsided. He could do this.
“So much skin to mark.”
To mark Justin as his own. He squirmed against the cross, cock aching, and sought subspace. It usually came so easily with Eli.
No calm. No peace. He remembered the number at the bottom of their dinner bill, the price of the bottle of wine. The expensive seats at the Benedum Center. The limo ride.
Rope crossed over the back of Justin’s wrist. Swiveling his head, he watched Eli wrap red rope across flesh again, binding him down to the cross. The more rope Eli wound around Justin’s wrists and arms, the more Justin’s mind swirled—but not with pleasure. The lust was there, the physical desire to be restrained, to be hurt—but his stomach flipped and the creep of a headache and nausea replaced the high he’d had when they’d been kissing in the bedroom.
Eli moved to the other wrist, planting a kiss on the nape of Justin’s neck. “You’re so beautiful.”
The murmur of those words against sensitive flesh sent a shiver through him—but also curdled his stomach. He’d always been beautiful to Francis when bound. Kept. Tied up and fucked.
Francis was not as tall as Eli but much broader. Brown hair rather than black. But he’d had cold eyes and a huge wallet. Eli could be as cold, and his wallet was certainly as large.
Eli caressed Justin’s shin, and murmured something Justin couldn’t make out over the thumping of blood in his ears.
Rope around his left ankle. Up his leg.
He shouldn’t be thinking of Francis. But this weekend had been similar to when he’d told Francis he needed to fly back to Louisiana to see Mercy. She’d come back from Iraq and was critical in the hospital.
Francis hadn’t been happy, but he’d said he understood. Lied so hard and treated Justin to an elegant evening out in clothes Justin hadn’t bought, a night of carnal sex and a flogging the next day. Bliss. A perfect send-off.
But the words that came after that—when Justin had been spent and exhausted? I don’t give a shit about your sister. You are not leaving me, Justin. I own you. I’ve fed you, I’ve clothed you, I’ve paid for you. You’re mine now.
Francis had left him on the cross all night. Cold and alone. Like you’ll be if you step one foot outside this house.
He moaned against the sinking in his chest and the ice that spread to each limb. The hairs on his arms and legs stood on end. Eli was not Francis. He could leave—had left—this house.
Rope around his right ankle.
Hell, he had his own place—that he never slept in on weekends. A job—where Eli worked. Eli had gone to CMU. Had the same advisor. Was best friends with Sam and Michael.
There was no leaving Eli.
Not after the dinners and the clothing and the gifts. All to buy Justin. To keep him.
Bile rose to Justin’s throat, along with a whi
mper. Not again. He could not do this again. “Saturn.”
Eli sucked in a breath. “Justin?”
“Saturn.” He yanked at the bindings, twisting his wrists. “Did you hear me? Saturn!”
“Shit. Shit. I’m sorry. Hang on.” A scramble of movement and cold metal met Justin’s leg right before the rope fell away, ripping and rending suddenly.
Shears. Eli had shears. “Get me off this thing.”
A pained cry, but not from him. Eli snipped the rope on the other leg. Eli brushed Justin’s wrist. “I don’t want to cut you.”
Justin forced himself to stop fighting the ropes, but it was hard. The second one hand was free, he started working on the rope around the other wrist. “Fuck.”
“Wait!” Eli’s eyes were huge, his face the color of bone. “Just let me—” A flash of silver, the sound of shears, and Justin was free.
He pushed Eli away. “Don’t touch me!”
The sheers hit the floor, clattering against the wood. The open horror carved into Eli, the way his hands shook as he held them up and backed away . . . tore into Justin. It didn’t mater that Eli wasn’t Francis. Not anymore. This was over.
“I can’t do this. I need to go.”
His clothes were somewhere in the bedroom. The hardwood floor of the hallway cooled his bare feet and creaked against his weight.
“What happened? I don’t . . . Please wait!” Eli’s voice cracked. Anguish? No, no. Just a Dom suddenly losing what he thought was his.
Eli is not Francis. Only he might as well have been. “We’re done.”
When the scent of lavender engulfed Justin, his vision blurred and throat tightened. Why that scent? He’d have to avoid it now. And good coffee—though neither would be hard. He didn’t have the money for fine things. Wouldn’t have any money soon, once Sam heard of this.
He found his jeans and the rest of his clothes scatted underneath the suit Eli had bought him. He kicked it out of the way and pulled his clothes on. Backpack would be by the door. Justin turned—
Eli stood in the doorway. Gaunt and drawn, sweat beaded at his forehead. Everything about his stance, his expression, was at odds with the leather pants and gloves he wore—a scared man in the clothes of a Dom.