Submissive Angel: A BDSM Romance Novella

by Joey W. Hill

  Sully’s gaze sparkled and he withdrew, returned to his measuring. “This one still blushes,” he noted.

  “Don’t take advantage,” Robert said.

  Sully had been well aware of Robert’s attention to the intimate touch on Ange’s nape. Another man touching what was his. It was Sully’s nature to touch, and Sully loved his wife, so it was all good, but even so, Robert couldn’t help tossing out the reminder.

  From the string of Dom and sub intimates they’d encountered in only one morning, Robert suspected Ange was starting to realize how much of his private life had once been about the BDSM scene. Many Doms found a newbie sub’s behavior irresistible to play with.

  Sully shot him a droll look as he scribbled measurements down on a pad. “There are apps I can use to do this now,” he told Ange. “But I don’t trust the numbers, and always measure myself, so why do two steps? Go into the dressing room now, and take the coat and shirt, plus these slacks.”

  He plucked the pants off another rack after examining the sizes. “Put everything on so we can do the next step. Robert, I have coffee and a tray of Turkish delight. A mixed variety, some with nuts and a hint of Bergamot orange, which I remember is your favorite.”

  As Ange went behind the curtain of Sully’s dressing area, Robert agreed to the coffee and considered his choices on the tray of sweets. Sully’s wife prepared them weekly for his customer’s consumption.

  At Sully’s insistence, he took a seat on a cushioned bench. As he settled, Robert realized why the proprietor had deliberately pointed him to it. It offered a direct view through the side crack of the curtain, which Robert fully exploited while talking with Sully and drinking his strong Turkish coffee.

  His submissive had stripped off the flannel shirt, tank and jeans. Knowing Ange might be trying on different pairs of pants, Robert had loaned him a pair of boxer briefs, the elastic making them only a little loose in the waist. As Ange straightened and reached for the slacks, he discovered Robert watching him. Robert let his attention deliberately slide over every inch of Ange’s skin, and Ange shivered, as if his Master’s regard was a breeze lifting the tiny hairs on his arms.

  Without words, he understood what Robert wanted. He straightened and stood still, so Robert could look his fill. While Ange didn’t lower his eyes, since the interaction was non-verbal, he kept his gaze politely fixed on Robert’s shoulder, so he’d see when Robert gestured to him to continue dressing.

  Robert took his time doing so, intrigued by how Ange’s cock stirred, testing the stretch fabric of the boxers. He knew their seemingly insatiable desire was probably due to the newness of it, of consummating what had been between them for so long. Even so, desperate amusement and a soul deep contentment filled Robert, at how marvelously overwhelming it could be.

  Sully was still talking to him, Robert decently managing his end of the conversation. He sent Ange a slight nod, though, giving him permission to get dressed. While Ange obeyed, his gaze kept flicking Robert’s way. The rakish angle to the look made Robert think of what Sully had said, and smile. Billy the Kid.

  The pale green shirt had silver outlined pearl snaps. As Ange tucked the shirt into the pants that hugged his hips and thighs, Robert saw what Sully meant. The slacks were dressier than khakis, but had that khaki casual look to them, creasing in the right places. Sully had paired the pants with a wide brown belt. When Ange slid it through the loops, his head dipped, hair falling over his brow to focus on the task. Robert easily imagined stripping the belt back out and applying it to his drum-tight backside.

  The dull gleam finish of the jacket did make it look leather-like, though it had the give and shaping of fabric. Robert wouldn’t have picked the suit out for Ange, but even without the planned alterations, he could tell the ensemble would offer a mouthwatering presentation of Ange’s attributes. Sully’s judgment was as infallible as always.

  His savvy tailor had also known it was best for him to see Ange in it before talking about price. Dolce and Gabbana meant at least four figures.

  Robert could cover it. He’d haggle it down, negotiating with the iron die-cast toys Sully wanted.

  As Ange emerged, shrugging into the coat, Sully’s white teeth gleamed from the frame of his black beard, making him look like a pirate. “Yes. I am a genius.”

  Robert chuckled. “Your talents are exceeded only by your modesty.”

  “Why be modest about one’s talents? I have a wife to detail my faults.” Sully flashed him the same smile and closed back in on Ange. “Mm-hm. As I expected. A slight lengthening of the sleeves, a taking in of the side seams so the trim shape of the man beneath is more obvious. A suit fit correctly highlights the parts that delight the interested lover’s eye. Not from being too tight or, God forbid, too loose. Accentuating, framing the positive, brings forth the best features. What makeup is to women, a suit is to a man.”

  “Sully’s philosophy of life comes out in his tailoring,” Robert told Ange.

  “Putting in the work to achieve one’s passion is rarely a moderate pursuit.” Sully shot Ange a considering look. “You are a dancer. Robert’s store is not just a store. I do not simply sell suits. Serving what we love with our whole selves means we give something of value—perhaps even unforgettable—to others.”

  Sully dropped to a knee to check the fit of the pants, measure some more, add some markers as he’d just done to the coat. “The work is never done, because life is always throwing new challenges at us that must be added to the scales. Good and bad.”

  Sully’s phone resting on the counter began to buzz. The tailor shot Robert a glance. “My apologies, my friend. It is my love, and I dare not leave it unanswered. When she calls instead of sending a text, she is requesting my voice and opinion right away.”

  “Or your instant obedience to the general’s further commands,” Robert noted, and won another of those rich laughs from Sully.

  “Today you are correct. I will exact my punishment on her in the future. When I am more likely to survive the attempt. Maybe even receive a warm thank you for it.”

  Sully winked and picked up the phone, disappearing into the back. Robert rose, and approached Ange. His submissive’s lips parted, as if to speak, but Robert shook his head.

  “Not a word,” he said, sliding a hand to Ange’s waist. “Think about dancing. Hold my gaze, but turn your mind inward. Think of dancing.”

  He saw a puzzled flash in the green eyes, but then Ange displayed that perfect trust that was so miraculous and addictive to a Master. For so long, Robert hadn’t dared a soul-deep appreciation of it. He’d feared dependence on it would make his whole world realign to that axis. If ever he lost it, his world would spin off into chaos.

  A stupid fear. As if fear of loss could ever nourish one like the gift of love, however temporary. Now more than ever he understood one of his mother’s stout adages, “Not dying is not—and never will be—the same thing as living.”

  “Master?”

  “Think of dancing,” he reminded Ange, coming back to him with the soft command.

  “Can I put my hand on you?”

  “Yes.”

  Ange settled his palm on Robert’s chest, and an easier look crossed his face. His eyes, holding Robert’s as he’d ordered, lost focus, but only externally. Robert saw the emotions drift, felt tiny twitches go through Ange’s body. He wasn’t wearing the boots yet, so a glance down saw him flexing his toes in his socks. Those small movements were the mind translating Ange’s thoughts, sending signals to the physical body to obey his Master’s commands.

  “Now,” Robert said, a quiet push, “Inside your head, dance in your favorite place.”

  “Should it be outdoor or indoor?”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s the air. You love being in the air. I see it every time you leap or spin. Every time your feet leave the ground.”

  Unexpectedly, tension rippled through the body under his hands. Shadows clustered in Ange’s eyes, his mouth tightening. His hand on Robert’s chest curle
d, dug in, and his head dipped.

  Looking too deeply into his sub’s soul could bring storms. Robert stroked back the thick strand of hair that fell forward, tugged. “Hey. Come back to me.”

  He wondered what demons had interfered with the thought of soaring, in ways they didn’t when Ange was talking about dancing in a tornado, or actually leaping into the air. But to pull Ange out of that dark place, Robert changed direction, drawing on his earlier musings. “Can you ballroom dance?”

  “I can do any kind of dancing,” Ange responded, relief evident in his voice.

  “Good. There’s a place I’ll take you after the holidays. Gay men’s dance club, specializing in 1940s décor and ballroom dancing. It’s a satellite club from its original sister club in New York. It’s been doing really well in Charlotte.”

  Moving closer, he tipped up Ange’s face, capturing his mouth with his own. Not gently either. Aggression surged, his thumb hooking the collar around Ange’s throat as he clamped his free hand on one buttock. He pressed Ange’s semi-turgid cock against his leg as he plundered the heated inside of Ange’s mouth.

  Come back to me. Don’t you dare cut yourself adrift. You keep your ass right here. Mentally. Physically.

  A Master’s kiss, his touch, could convey all of that, and Robert made sure it did. He knew when the message had been received, because his sub was gripping his sides, his waist. When Robert pulled back to gaze into the fevered eyes, he felt the sheer pleasure of a conqueror. “Watching you dance with Bradford made me want to fuck you, right then and there.”

  The clutch of Ange’s hands increased, reminding Robert of the man’s strength. “Anytime, anywhere, Master. I’m all yours. Doesn’t matter who else puts their hands on me.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Robert agreed. “But you have the right to tell them to keep their hands to themselves, too. No matter what I do or don’t say about it. You get that, right?”

  “Yeah.” Ange offered a sheepish smile. “There was no harm to it, and you didn’t seem upset, so I figured it was okay.”

  “Yeah, it was, and you were a good sport about it.”

  It took Robert back to that very first meeting in the alley. Ange had made it clear he would fight someone who would try to take what wasn’t theirs. Whatever broken parts he had, his will on that issue wasn’t one of them, thank God.

  Returning things to a less intense bent, Robert lifted a brow. “Doesn’t mean I won’t strap your ass later for allowing it, though. Just as a reminder.”

  Ange’s quick grin, the heat in his gaze, told him he was okay with that, too.

  After Sully returned, he completed the pinning and markups on the suit and shirt, and told them he’d have all of it ready later in the afternoon. Robert and Ange headed off to the shop to pick up the truck. At his direction, Ange packed up his few sets of clothes in his Army surplus duffle bag. The kid looked pleased at the confirmation that Robert wanted him at the house for a prolonged period, not just for last night.

  While Robert couldn’t imagine how Ange would doubt it, it reminded him once again how Ange didn’t take anything for granted. As a strict Master, Robert appreciated that caution about anticipating the wrong things. But he also wanted Ange to understand down to his heart and soul how much he meant to Robert. That kind of confidence took time, though.

  After they returned to the house, Robert changed into jeans and T-shirt. Then he and Ange set themselves to the task of moving the sectional sofa and other superfluous pieces of furniture out of the living room and down into the panel van.

  When Robert drew in those Master’s reins, Ange could be docile, spirited, passionate, offering a breathtaking desire to serve. But when they worked side by side at the store or on something as simple as moving furniture, that was when the truth formed a complete vessel, and filled it to overflowing.

  Sex was sex, and a Master/sub relationship was limitlessly complex and satisfying. But finding they worked well together and enjoyed one another’s company, never tiring of it, no matter what they were doing? That was something he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced as easily as he did with Ange. He sure as hell hadn’t had it with Freddie. Having Ange in his home drew a big circle around it, indicating this relationship had a balance and satisfaction to it Robert couldn’t imagine doing without, ever again.

  After they wrestled the pieces of the sectional into the truck, they sat on the tailgate. Ange brought them out a couple bottles of water. As they sipped on them, Robert had him put his coat back on. Ange wore the open flannel shirt over his tank, but Robert didn’t want him to get a chill as the sweat dried on his flesh. Ange smiled at him. “You’re such a dad,” he said.

  Robert chuckled, surprised, but then he lifted a shoulder. “I like watching after you. Let’s get this to the Salvation Army, then we’ll grab a late lunch and go pick up your suit.”

  “No hints on where we’re going tonight?” Ange asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.

  “Nope. It’s going to be a full-on surprise. There may even be a blindfold involved until the unveiling moment.”

  Robert saw Ange sift the possibilities, most of them temptingly sexual. “A BDSM club?” Ange asked, confirming it.

  “No. Not tonight.” Robert nudged him. “If we do that, it will be with your eyes wide open, and we’ll talk about it first. But just off the cuff, what would you think of that?”

  “Did you used to go to them with Freddie? Or other people?” Ange’s expression and voice were neutral, except for the natural distaste he didn’t bother to hide while uttering Freddie’s name.

  “Yeah. I was a regular at one. When I was single, I’d pick up a willing sub for the evening. I haven’t been for quite a while. Since Freddie and my parents.” Robert took another swallow of water, considered. Decided. “They have a Christmas Eve party, an early evening thing. Charlie was suggesting we should drop in.”

  “Will we?”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Robert tapped the bottle against Ange’s inner thigh. He had one leg braced, the other bent and swinging, curling and uncurling, under the tailgate. “Have you ever been to a BDSM club?”

  “I think so.” Ange’s brow creased in a curious way as he thought about it, then he nodded more decisively. “With friends. One of them was into it, and had the membership, so we went with him as his guests, curious. I watched, mostly. There was a Dom…he invited me to do a rope tying thing, and I did that, but I didn’t lose myself in it. My friends were watching, and we were all laughing, so it didn’t get really intense. It was just play, checking it out.”

  He shifted so he was facing Robert more squarely. “But it took hold of my head. A lot. That night, after he untied me, the Dom answered my questions one on one, told me what it was all about. I guess he realized I had it in me and so he was patient. He pointed me toward the right information to look up on my own. Which helped me figure things out and learn how to stay safe, if I went that way again.”

  “Sounds like a good Dom.” Robert was glad the man had been around for Ange, to help provide that guidance. He wondered why Ange had initially seemed confused over the memory. It was like watching a dim bulb behind his eyes grow brighter as the memory came more into focus.

  A person who’d endured a severe trauma could lose pieces of their lives that way. With a cold trickle in his stomach, Robert wondered if those bullet wounds had happened near or even at a club, but then he discarded the thought. Even if it had happened in another state, the BDSM world was closely knit. He would have heard about it through the grapevine.

  “Have you lived here all your life?” he asked.

  Ange shook his head, shifted again. Talking about the past was starting to unsettle him. Robert weighed the pros and cons, determined he could probably squeeze in a couple more questions. “Where else have you been?”

  “I was born here,” Ange said. “But my parents moved into my grandmother’s place in Atlanta when my dad lost his job and my mom’s wasn’t enough to pay rent. Once my dancing reached the r
ight level, Sharon—my grandmother—relocated me and her to her second home in New York. After she died, I stayed, lived up there with other dancers.”

  Ange rose from the tailgate, crushed the bottle into a pancake and held out his hand for Robert’s, which was also empty. “So, ready to go to the Salvation Army?”

  All the usual signs. Jittery, eyes shifting, body tense. Robert rose, drew close. “Be still. Look at my eyes.”

  Ange obeyed the command, with effort. As Robert faced him, he could tell the direct confrontation of body language was making things worse. “Drop your gaze,” he ordered, and Ange complied, relief lowering his shoulders a half inch.

  “May I say more about that other Dom, Master?”

  “Yes. Tell me.”

  “I recognized my sub side because of the type of men who attracted me.” Ange’s gaze remained on Robert’s feet. “Alpha males who had Dom traits, but they never took the reins in the way I seemed to want. I wanted something like what I found through the structure of dance. Inside those boundaries, the possibilities are endless, because of the discipline and commitment it takes to create them. Stuff deeper than I knew how to explain. I couldn’t tell them…”

  His gaze flickered up, made it to Robert’s knees and dropped again.

  “That you needed a stronger, steadier hand,” Robert said. “A very much stronger, steadier hand.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You found one.”

  Ange’s lips quirked, but his response was a little breathy. “Yes, sir.”

  Robert curved a hand against Ange’s neck, kneaded. “I know there are trouble spots,” he said. “I know there are dark areas inside you, Ange. I want you to work on trusting me.”

  Ange’s gaze came up fast. “I do.”

  “Eyes lowered,” Robert reminded him, in a mild tone, and they snapped back down again. “Don’t talk back. Listen to what I’m telling you. Giving yourself to me fully means unfolding every bit of yourself, even the parts that hurt or scare you. I won’t push for that too hard or too fast, but when I ask a question, I expect it to be answered honestly, even if the only answer you have for me is, ‘I can’t talk about that right now, Master.’”