Submissive Angel: A BDSM Romance Novella

by Joey W. Hill

  Ange and Bradford took the space by the baby grand, an impromptu dance floor. Though Bradford’s hands did some wandering, this time they stayed mostly above the waist. Bradford shot Robert a wink that said he was aware of Robert’s hawk-like regard.

  As the lead singer of the Pussycat Dolls asked if you wished your girlfriend was a freak like her, Ange copycatted Bradford’s bump and grind. Yet in the graceful undulations, dips of the knees and close footwork, Ange’s innate talent was clear. When it came to dancing, he was as sure of himself as a cloven-hoofed Pan in the forest.

  His audience’s focus shifted from mischief to professional absorption and critical approval of how he and Bradford moved together. Even at seventy-six, Bradford, stage name Hot Pants, could still easily command a dance floor, and Ange complemented those skills impressively.

  The tender grief of the past few moments melted away before a wave of laughter and fun. When he was tugged to his feet, Robert joined the dancing. Though they didn’t let him have Ange back, that was okay. When his sub’s eyes met his on the turns, in the forward and back motion of the dance, Robert felt as if they were dancing heart to overflowing heart.

  They took their leave about a half hour later—the Southern version of the “we can’t stay long” visit. As they headed for the door to a warm chorus of holiday wishes, Robert was pretty sure Ange knew he had a second home if he ever needed one.

  His looks didn’t hurt with earning that invitation, but for all their irrepressibility, most of the residents had spent a good chunk of their lives fighting to be who they were. Robert had yet to meet the queen who didn’t have a raw and vulnerable soul, battered by wounds that didn’t always heal. Stage performance and solidarity helped them armor themselves. As he’d seen them recognize Ange’s subtly similar vulnerabilities, love for all of them had swelled in his heart.

  Good. The more ports in the storm Ange had, the better. But Robert wanted to be Ange’s first stop, always. For that reason, after the dancing, when his sub was allowed back within touching distance, Robert made sure his hand was on him.

  For his part, Ange hadn’t stopped glancing his way for cues, and the reminder of that bond between them. Maybe also to confirm Robert was doing okay, same as he was checking for Ange. But as a card-carrying Master who’d already exercised his one grudgingly allowed and mortifying vulnerable moment in front of others with his sub, Robert would ignore that. Even as he knew it only fueled the strength of the feelings between them.

  Charlie had noticed everything. When Robert made his reluctant but firm explanations for departure and they were headed to the door, Charlie drew him to the side for an additional word. Amos, surprisingly, had risen to escort Ange, though it seemed the reverse was true, since the former DJ was gripping Ange’s arm and leaning on him heavily for support. Since he was saying something earnestly to Ange, it ensured Charlie and Robert’s conversation was not being overheard.

  “Bring him to Patriarch on Christmas Eve,” Charlie said, fixing his gaze on Robert. “We’re having the usual small holiday party and gift exchange, followed by scene play. You’ve been gone a long time, Robert. We’d love to have you back.”

  “We’ll see.”

  In the past, the suggestion had caused a nervous, almost sick twist in Robert’s gut. Since Freddie, since his parents, the idea of coming back into a club environment, particularly by himself, had been met with a hard no. He’d been a well-respected and sought-after Master, and he’d known there would be overtures from unattached submissives, seeking his Dominance. But that inclination had gone fully dormant under the weight of grief and loss.

  Until Ange had woken it like a sleeping dragon.

  He was glad to find that sick feeling was no longer there. But he had a concern about Ange himself. Though Ange was a natural submissive, and evidence suggested he had some familiarity with BDSM protocols, there were things in Ange’s personality Robert needed to understand better, to avoid triggers.

  Even as he acknowledged that sensible caution, another sly mental voice reminded him that Dom/sub play, done right, could be useful in opening up parts of a person that needed to heal, in healthy ways.

  “Good. You’re thinking about it.” Charlie nudged him. “Your collar looks damn good on him, Robert. I’m glad you never put it on Freddie. It was never for him.”

  Charlie shook his head before Robert could answer that. “You know I won’t push. Do whatever you know is right for you and Ange, but no excuses for missing the New Year’s party here. And you know what I’m thinking? If you do show up at Patriarch, you should wear your full leathers. You’d knock that boy on his ass.”

  Robert chuckled, but shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Yet the idea made him think about how Ange responded to his strict side. Turning out for the club Christmas party in full leathers, maybe dressing Ange in just the collar and jeans… He’d put him in a borrowed leather jacket of Robert’s for warmth, until Robert peeled it off those pale shoulders and warmed him up other ways, binding him, showing his claim by marking his fair skin…

  He scowled at Charlie. “You’re terrible.”

  Charlie grinned. “I’ll wear mine if you’ll wear yours. Stern daddy bears like us keep the young’uns’ dicks in line. And at full attention.”

  Robert had said they were leaving, but he’d stopped to have a final word with Charlie. It gave Ange a few extra moments with Amos. He was sure his Master wouldn’t want him to cut Amos short, regardless. The older man had dropped down onto a gold-cushioned chair at the base of the curving staircase, beneath Mad Donna’s grand picture. The walk from the living room was as much energy as he had to give.

  Ange obligingly dropped to a knee beside him again. Amos touched his hair, seemingly fascinated with the thick strands.

  “To be young again,” he said. “You don’t know…it’s inside me. Just ready to leap out and happen. I can feel it close, and it’s a good thing.” His gaze slid away to the past. “I’ve lived a lot, seen a lot. A lot of pain. The eighties…there was nothing like it, losing so many friends, so fast.”

  Shadows crossed his face. “I was a young buck, hooked up with a man who’d served in Vietnam. He’d wake up screaming and needing to be held, but afraid to be touched, afraid he’d hurt me. Afraid he’d tainted his soul. It’s that way when the hard things of life take hold of you. I’ll be glad to see him again. He taught me to love music, got me DJ’ing.”

  He dropped his hand to Ange’s shoulder, gripped. “Closer you get to death, the clearer you see. Sometimes in life you can’t handle what you see. Gets unbearable.”

  He held Ange’s gaze, even when Ange’s faltered. Amos touched his knuckles to his face, a surprisingly gentle but firm contact.

  “Yeah. Sometimes it gets so bad you have to go to ground for a while, like a hibernating animal. Least until you realize you can’t love or live that way. You’ve helped him remember that, same as he’s helping you figure that out, I’ll bet. Robert is a good Master, a strong one. He’ll give you the steady hand you need, young man.”

  Amos’s gaze turned inward again. He didn’t seem to need a response, just Ange’s attention. “Back in those days, there were times the pain would just overwhelm me. How do we keep going when things are so difficult, when no one seemed to care except others going through it, drowning just like you? But we did. We held together and we did, and discovered just how strong we really are.”

  His look upon Ange sharpened. “There’s a difference between having a weak moment and being weak. It’s okay to look to others to take care of you in the weak moments. That has its place, but we shouldn’t forget our caregivers. The ones so strong they don’t seem like they need care until it’s too late. Charlie’s like that. So’s Robert. But they need someone strong for them. He looks happy, Robert does. He hasn’t, for a long time.”

  Ange turned his gaze to Robert. He stood, solid as a rooted tree, paying attention to Charlie with those steady brown eyes. “I’m trying to learn and gi
ve him everything he needs,” Ange said. “I want to do that, more than anything.”

  Amos studied him. “Good. Hopefully far better than that last piece of trash. We all hated him.”

  “I like you,” Ange said, with a smile that made Amos smile back, despite the weakness of the gesture.

  “Charlie says teaching history taught him hard times come and go. So do good times. Some things will test you in ways you can’t even imagine. But there will be other glorious moments. Worth all of it. And every one of them has to do with love, with the people you connect with. In the end, young man, that’s all that matters. Truly.”

  Those dark eyes searched Ange’s, probed deep, all the way to his shadows and scars. “The rest of it? It’s just history.”

  Chapter Seven

  As he drove toward their next destination, Robert noticed Ange was quiet. Not a bad quiet. Just thinking. As they pulled up to Sully’s store, his sub reached out, brushed Robert’s leg with a questing fingertip.

  “Will we go back to the New Year’s Eve party?”

  “If you want.”

  “I do,” Ange said simply. “I’d like to do the Hustle with Amos.”

  “I’d like to see that.” Robert closed his hand over his, rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. He expanded on the image Charlie had planted in his head, Ange on his knees, taking a paddle. The sharp slap of it against his denim-covered ass, then Robert reaching under him to pop the button, push the zipper down and pull the jeans off those sweet buttocks.

  Robert moved Ange’s hand to curve over Robert’s cock beneath the tailored slacks he wore. He used Ange’s fingers, molding them with his own to straighten the swelling shaft. “I haven’t had your ass or your mouth in a couple hours. I need to fix that.”

  Ange’s eyes sparked, and his strong fingers stroked. “I serve you, Master. Whenever, however you want.”

  A rattling drew Robert’s attention up. Through the windshield, he saw Sully unlocking the store for them. His desire to fuck Ange senseless wasn’t going to be fulfilled right now, but he was okay keeping it on simmer. He tilted his head down, studying Ange’s hand, then shot him a meaningful hard glance.

  “I put your hand on my cock for my own purposes. I didn’t give you permission to play with it.”

  Ange’s fingers immediately stilled, and Robert nodded his approval. “Keep in mind what I’ll be demanding from you later. When and where will be up to me.”

  “Always, Master.”

  No snarkiness in Ange’s response. Just pure obedience and desire to serve. The kid created want with nothing but words and a look.

  Robert covered that craving with a short nod and exited the car, joining Ange at the curb.

  In Robert’s opinion, Jack Suleiman was the best men’s tailor in Charlotte. He was a third-generation craftsman, having trained with his grandfather and father at their shop in Turkey. Sully had eventually migrated to the States and set up a place here. Since tailoring alone wasn’t much of a living these days—not in a modern-day world that bought most its clothes off the rack and tossed them when they no longer fit—his shop had evolved into a high-end men’s clothing store. Robert bought most of his dress shirts, slacks and more formal needs there. If cared for properly, the quality garments lasted decades.

  Robert also appreciated Sully’s shrewd professionalism, which meant he wouldn’t show any curiosity as to why, in the crisp cold winter air, Robert had decided to shed his jacket and carry it folded over his arm, concealing his erection until it subsided. He put his other hand on Ange, guiding him over the threshold into the warmer recesses of the store.

  “Appreciate you doing this so close to the holiday,” he told Sully. “This is Ange.”

  The tailor was a good-looking man approaching fifty, with a gray pepper beard, dark curling hair and deep-set eyes. His brows had a rakish crook to them.

  “You ask so little of me, Robert, and give so much. My customers know I close the week of Christmas, so they request their alterations and clothing well in advance. All of which means I had only a couple last minute things like this.”

  “But I’m still taking you away from your family.”

  “Pfft.” Sully waved his hand. “I was underfoot. My wife and daughters are in a flurry of activity at home, so I was quite enthusiastically banished.”

  “I thought you were the master of your household, the lord in your castle.”

  Sully shot Robert a droll look. “Such things mean nothing when a woman has an invading army of relatives. My dearest love is a hundred percent general today, my daughters her battalion of colonels. I’m grateful to be the lowly courier picking up the few items she is having catered.”

  He winked and glanced at Ange. “Ange. It is a pleasure. I expect you are the reason my friend Robert has an easier smile than I have seen on his face in a long time.”

  Seemed to be a common observation today, but unlike the queens, Sully didn’t dwell in the emotional territory. His gaze was already sliding over Ange critically. “Such a beautiful young man needs a suit in a tan or caramel color. Perhaps a tie with a touch of pink, like a sunrise hitting glass and turning it gold. All of it to make the most of that lion’s mane of hair he has. Yes.”

  Pivoting on his well-shined brogues, he moved to the several racks of suits on his showroom floor. His casual and inviting gesture drew them along with him. He pulled a coat off the rack and held it up to Ange, touching his shoulder to turn him toward Robert, let him see. “The caramel coat, the pink tie. The right clothes bring out what is truly within. Makes it impossible for your significant other to look away.”

  Sully’s dark eyes twinkled at Robert. “Not that I expect you have any desire to do so. You have love in your face, my friend.”

  “Sully,” Robert said, eyes narrowing.

  Sully elbowed Ange. “I am giving myself license to tease. He has been alone too long. Though not as long as I had thought. This is the young man you’ve mentioned so often, who works in your store.”

  “Yes. Now shut up and focus on the suit.”

  Sully laughed, a deep, rich sound that would have competed with Santa Claus. “So you like the choice.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Come over here and we will do some measuring.” Sully guided Ange to the counter and picked up his tailor’s tape. “You have a crease in your brow, my young friend. But…” He stopped short and studied Ange’s face, reaching out to cup his chin. “Look at me.”

  Surprised by the direct order, Ange obeyed, tightening things in Robert’s lower belly. Sully’s gaze sharpened. “I was an idiot to miss that,” he murmured. “The hair distracts. No pink tie for you. Nor this jacket.”

  He whisked it away, keeping them there with an upheld hand as he returned to the rack, rehung the jacket and came back with another style, though in the same color. He also held a dress shirt from another nearby display.

  “No tie. Instead, this green shirt, a shade slightly lighter than his eyes. Sea foam, they call it, though sea foam is usually a dirty ivory color, so I have no idea why they call a bluish green that. But see the jacket? It is Western style cut, treated fabric to give it the sheen of leather. The slacks that go with it are a remarkable cross between khakis and dress slacks.”

  Sully dipped his head toward Robert. “An interesting fashion decision from our Dolce and Gabbana designer friends. I thought it was misguided when I saw it on the runway, but I think this young man of yours invaded their dreams and inspired them. There is a rogue Billy the Kid look in those intense green eyes.”

  Ange blinked as Sully’s attention returned to him. “Now, what was the furrowed brow about a moment ago? You have a question? Or you don’t like the suit.”

  “No, it’s not that. If my Mas—if Robert likes it, then that’s all I need. I was wondering… You said, the clothes bring out what’s truly within. What does that mean?”

  “The inner beauty. Truth of the soul, and who you are to the one looking at you with such hunger and pleasure.”r />
  “For some there’s no containing it inside,” Robert remarked. Ange’s words pleased him. If my Master likes it, then that’s all I need. “He’d look good after rolling in manure.”

  Sully laughed. “That is youth. Irrepressible. But if I may say, your companion is exceptionally beautiful in body. Like a dancer.”

  “He is a dancer.”

  “So as usual my wisdom is without compare.” While he mused, Sulieman had begun to measure, positioning Ange efficiently with a tap here, a gesture there. “For the shoes, I have a pair of ankle boots that look like a cowboy’s. It does not disrupt the line of the pants and makes them easy to take off, because I always allow for the unexpected moment.”

  He flicked a glance at the two of them. “Like driving to a beach after a special event, to walk along the shore. The man’s tie loosened, his lover’s hand drifting along the silk line of it, up to caress the early morning shadow on his face…”

  Suleiman’s eyes went dreamy. As Robert met Ange’s gaze, he could well imagine the scene, the sunrise touching his boy’s hair just as Sully had described it.

  “Sounds like we’re invading one of your memories, Sully,” Robert observed.

  “Not invading,” Sully said, eyes clearing and smile deepening. “Invoking. My wife and I, walking on the beach after our wedding. She is my angel, my demon, my conqueror and my slave. The definitions are so many.”

  He tipped his head forward, putting his hand on Ange’s neck, an intimacy that seemed so natural to his disposition, Ange didn’t appear startled. Sully also twitched aside the collar of the flannel shirt, eyes touching on the braided band it partially concealed. Robert was sure he’d noted it the second Ange had stepped through Sully’s doorway.

  “If Master is what he is to you,” the tailor said in a confidential tone, “you may feel free to call him that in this shop, just the three of us here. My wife is to me as you are to him, and Robert and I first met over a spanking bench, as it were.”