Submissive Angel: A BDSM Romance Novella

by Joey W. Hill

  He closed the distance between them now, wrapping both arms around his sub. Ange was rigid in his arms for a second, then a little breath left him and he slid his arms around Robert. As Robert stroked his hair, Ange dropped his head onto his shoulder. Robert pressed his jaw against him. “There you are,” he said quietly. “It was bad enough it took away blocks of your memory, didn’t it?”

  “It didn’t take away enough of them,” Ange mumbled. “Or the right ones.”

  “Yeah. I get that.” Robert caressed the middle of his back, the tense shoulders, then eased back. “You can look at me now.”

  When Ange lifted his gaze, Robert cupped his jaw. “I’m here and I won’t disappear. Try to do the same for me. Okay?”

  Ange nodded, his expression troubled. “Today has been a really good day,” he said abruptly. “I just want you to know that.”

  “For me, too.” Robert tilted his head toward the truck. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Eight

  It didn’t leave Robert’s mind as they drove to the Salvation Army. Though he’d suspected it throughout the past six months, the past couple days had confirmed it. His boy likely needed some formal PTSD therapy to safely get to the bottom of what had happened to him. If Robert could talk him into that after the holiday, Ange might be able to fully heal the wound still open and bleeding into other parts of his life.

  They dropped off the furniture, then grabbed some Thai for a late lunch. When they made their final stop at Sully’s, the tailor banished Robert from the fitting. “I want it to have the full effect.” Sully tilted his head toward Ange. “In this, I overrule your Master. Get dressed on your own tonight, so he sees everything at once and is overwhelmed.”

  Robert lifted a brow. “I think you’re forgetting who’s paying the bill.”

  Sully snorted. “By the time you finish bartering with me over the collectibles I’m seeking, I will be the one paying. But I will recoup the loss. When people see him, they will be asking where he bought this wonderful suit, and I will sell ten of them.”

  Robert rolled his eyes but left them to it. He ran an errand at the bank, picked up some groceries, Then, thinking again of Charlie’s invitation and Ange’s interest, he stopped at a Lebo’s, which had a big selection of clothing for dance students. After that, estimating he had some time left, he ducked into an Adam and Eve store to browse. It was only one strip mall over, so it was convenient.

  When he found something that ignited his imagination, he didn’t let himself hesitate. He bought it, reasoning that even if they didn’t go to Patriarch, he’d enjoy the hell out of using it on Ange.

  Sully texted him when he was checking out. He’d finished the fitting session. Stowing his purchases in the trunk where Ange wouldn’t see them, Robert headed that way.

  Ange emerged from the store with a garment bag over his shoulder and a shoe box under his arm. As he crunched across the melting snow, the wind flapped open the coat and flannel shirt so the triskelions and angel-wing engraved buckle of the braided collar on Ange’s throat bore a sheen from the winter sun.

  Sully waved from the store window, including a serious look similar to Charlie’s parting expression. One that said, I am glad for your happiness.

  Robert had never forgotten he was blessed in friends, but at Christmastime in particular, it was nice to have the reminder.

  Back at the house, they put away the groceries. Then, since they had some time, they ascended to the roof deck. Sitting side by side in warm coats, they studied the view while sipping hot toddies Robert had put together. They talked of easy things, hands brushing often. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all, simply sitting, Ange’s shoulder pressed to Robert’s.

  “If I could choose a day to repeat over and over, it would be this one,” Ange said.

  “Yeah. Me, too. But you know what? I’m looking forward to tomorrow. And the next day and the next. Thanks to you.”

  Real love never ends. It’s not the flood of fickle rainstorms. It’s the endless current of a river.

  Theopolis had said that, at the funeral of Robert’s mother. The queens had attended wearing elaborate feathered hats, mesh veils, long gloves, sturdy but fashionable high heels. His mom would have loved it. Dallas had sung, “I Come to the Garden Alone,” the notes drifting out and lingering over the corner of the cemetery where his mother had wanted to be buried. Next to his father.

  Robert’s heart tightened. As good as things were, the days ahead could also bring the kind of change Robert didn’t want. Sully had said it. Life had a way of throwing a lot on the scales of happiness, unbalancing them. But Robert knew what stagnation felt like. He’d allowed it to take over a significant part of his life these past couple years. Maybe that pause had served its purpose, when his heart had been too battered and bruised to handle the risk of anything new. But he was ready to move forward. A healing heart needed nourishment.

  “Go grab your shower and get dressed in the second-floor guestroom. We can do our great reveal on the first floor, make Sully happy.” Robert consulted his watch. “Will an hour be enough time to make yourself pretty?”

  Ange’s eyes narrowed. When Robert reached out to give his head an affection smack, he was blocked, and the wrestling match was on. Ange was quicker, but Robert was stronger and had him on bulk. He just had to be patient and wait for the right opportunity to put him in a lock and hold on, take Ange down.

  A lot of laughter, good-natured cursing and scattering of fortunately sturdy deck furniture happened first. But when Robert seized his opportunity, they were conveniently behind the covered bar, a mostly dry space, and sheltered from the wind.

  As he got him down on the ground, Robert changed his grip, shifting smoothly to stretch full out on Ange. That, and his sudden squeeze on Ange’s throat, stilled his submissive. Told him that kind of playtime was over. Ange’s lips were already parted and trembling when Robert claimed them. He reached between them, cupped Ange’s cock and balls through the jeans, squeezed and stroked as Ange groaned against his mouth.

  “Hands above your head. You don’t have permission to touch. That liberty’s all mine.”

  Ange complied, his eyes glittering with need. Robert unhooked the button of Ange’s jeans, pushed his hand beneath the zipper and boxers to grab him in a cold hand, warming it against the convulsing rigid flesh. Ange’s hips bucked against the sensation, his hands opening and closing above his head. Robert worked him until he could tell Ange was just about to spew, then he pushed himself up to his knees and stood, opening his jeans.

  “Suck me off,” he ordered. “Then you’ll get to come.”

  Ange’s eyes filled with deep pleasure at being ordered so brusquely to serve, particularly when he was trembling on the precipice of his own release. Just the kind of sub Robert cherished. He injected steel into his voice.

  “Un-unh,” he said as Ange reached for him. “Hands behind your back. Only your mouth.”

  He used his own hands to guide himself in, holding the base of his cock. He savored the bliss of his submissive’s strong tongue and sucking lips, the urgent pull on his organ, the friction on the head. Fuck, Ange was good at giving head. The temptation of Robert getting this whenever he wanted it from his sub, stretching those beautiful, willing lips? Heaven on earth.

  He considered himself a civilized man, but the pure fantasy of having a slave, someone he owned completely, was undeniable.

  But that was the thing. Forcing Ange to be his slave, versus him seeking the position with eagerness, a desire to embrace Robert’s full ownership…there was no comparison. Willing submission was the gateway to every level of submission worth having.

  He pulled on Ange’s hair as his climax rolled up through his cock, pumped into Ange’s eager mouth. While his hips worked and vision grayed, Robert dropped his touch to Ange’s throat to feel him swallow rapidly, taking everything Robert had to give. His other hand braced him on the bar, keeping his knees from buckling. Christ, the kid might have an angel’s name, but h
e had the tongue of a devil.

  When the world steadied, Robert reluctantly drew out of that devil-blessed mouth to tuck himself in and refasten his jeans. Ange was staring at the movement of his hands, his lips still pressing together, wet and needy, his eyes glazed.

  Robert touched his ear, caressed the shell and the tender skin behind it, drawing those green eyes up to his. “Take your cock in your hand and stroke yourself to release,” he said roughly. “Don’t look away, and when you’re close, you ask my permission.”

  “Yes, Master.” Ange dug into the stretched boxers to comply. As he began to stroke his cock, his eyes held Robert’s. His mouth was rigid, then open, working as his hand moved faster, his shoulders twitching, knees splayed, his ass rocking on his heels.

  “Oh…God…” The words whispered out of him, pleas and entreaties. Robert watched, keeping his expression stern, expectant. “Master, may I…”

  “Eventually. Keep going.”

  Ange’s eyes widened, but he continued, his desperation mounting as he kept jerking off, but also holding back.

  “Stop.”

  Ange came to a complete halt, his body shuddering, trembling. Robert spoke low, menace in his tone. “I’ve changed my mind. You can’t come. You have to just suffer, hold it in. What do you say to that?”

  Ange’s whole body was a vibrating cable. His voice was a rough rasp. “I would say… Thank you, Master. For giving me the chance to prove my devotion to you. To prove I value your desires far more than my own.”

  Ange had said he’d only been in a Dom/sub situation that once, and even that was more of a teaching thing. Now Robert believed it. Because if someone had discovered this side of Ange fully, they would have locked him up in their personal dungeon and never let him go. They’d have kept him there with Pop-Tarts and the demand of full 24/7 service, all the things the boy obviously wanted.

  “That’s a good answer. One I’ll likely test way more than you want. But for right now, I want to see you come. Do it. Now. No. No hands again. Put them behind you.”

  Ange’s hand froze on his dick, then he took it away. As he locked his hands behind his back in a tight knot, it lifted his chest, made his back arch in a pleasing way. His exposed buttocks tilted within the loose circle of his jeans, his cock jutting out over his thighs. Robert bent eye-to-eye level with him, and hooked his fingers under the braided collar, caressing even as he tightened the hold of the buckled strap.

  “It’s not your hand making you come, but my will. My will is wrapping around your dick, rubbing it, flicking it, stroking it, teasing the head, lapping at your balls, sucking one in to roll it over my tongue. You feel it?”

  Ange nodded, green eyes bright like fire, his breath coming faster, hips jerking. “I’ve got it held tight,” Robert told him. “Just my will, but it’s like a collar and lock on your cock, squeezing tight, reminding you with every move you make I own your orgasm. I own your dick. I own everything around it. You serve me and no other. Now, tomorrow and always.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “I didn’t ask for your words. I asked for your obedience. Your climax. I’m rubbing the skin off your dick with my will, and it’s never going to stop stroking. You’ll feel it when you’re in the store, in my bed, walking down the street.”

  “Oh…oh.” Ange’s head dipped against Robert’s hand, his jaw pressed hard against Robert’s knuckles as his body undulated, jerked again. Translucent white fluid pumped from his slit, coating the head, teasing Robert with the desire to taste, to enjoy that salty, musky Ange flavor.

  The power of the climax toppled Ange forward, but Robert had him, a hand on his shoulder as Ange’s body humped air. A raw groan ripped from his throat. It became a short shout of desire when Robert reached down with his free hand and gripped the convulsing organ, made the spoken claim a physical one. Ange muffled his groans and cries against Robert’s thigh, pressing his face and mouth hard against the column as the climax worked through him.

  It wrung him out like a dish rag, leaving him twisted and limp against Robert.

  Robert slid his arm around his back, bent over him and squeezed him close, uttering his fervent approval and visceral male satisfaction in Ange’s ear.

  “That’s my boy. So good. Now you can get dressed. Once you can walk.”

  It hadn’t taken Robert as long to get ready, so once he was dressed, he passed the closed door to the guest room and went down to the first floor living room. His anticipation for the evening was building. While it was a good feeling, he wanted to be steady for Ange, who was sometimes a little twitchy in public situations. So to even out his own nerves, Robert started the gas logs, poured himself a glass of wine and took a seat on the two-person couch they’d moved to a less cluttered arrangement in the room. They hadn’t had time to decorate the pre-lit tree yet, but it was set up, throwing a nice holiday glow over the room with the multi-colored lights.

  He clicked on the music player, found the smooth jazz Christmas album he wanted, and let the tune add to the room’s tranquil ambiance. He imagined the changes Ange had suggested for the room, embellished with ideas Robert had himself, and was content with how it was shaping up. How it felt.

  Then he heard the door on the second level open and Ange descending the steps. The hard soles of the cowboy boots tapped against the wooden stairs.

  While he was sure he’d be pleased with the alteration results, Robert didn’t expect to be knocked on his ass as Sully had predicted. After all, Robert had seen the suit on Ange in the store.

  He should have known better than to doubt Sully’s prophetic powers.

  Ange had paused at the bottom step as Robert rose to face him. If anything proved his sub had been on stage, it was that subconscious pose, back straight, head tilted, all senses alert.

  The caramel color picked up and enhanced the lighter strands of Ange’s white-gold hair. The jacket was perfectly fitted to his upper body, outlining the handsome breadth of shoulders, narrowing along the waist, draping over the hips. As Sully had noted, the suit had a roguish cowboy outlaw look to it. The narrow and pointed lapels were edged with piping, the vest beneath held snugly with a row of wooden buttons over Ange’s flat stomach.

  The shirt with the pearl snap buttons was open at the throat, the sea foam color of the fabric bringing out the vividness of Ange’s gaze. Robert could see the black braid of the collar on his strong, graceful throat, the hint of silver working with the silver outline of the pearl snaps of the shirt.

  The whole outfit, including the leather braid of the collar, evoked the open range of romantic Westerns. Wide-open fields of golden wheat grass, dotted with green trees whose twisted branches had been sculpted by the elements. All of it overseen by endless, changing skies and rolling clouds.

  As Ange descended the last couple steps, the wide brown belt with its pewter-colored buckle moved provocatively with his hips. It drew Robert’s eye to the crotch of the pants, the fly creased and fitted over Ange’s endowments. From there his attention moved and dwelled on the lengths of his long thighs. It took a while, but Robert finally made his way to the masculine pointed tips of the cowboy boots.

  Ankle length for easy removal. For that walk on the beach with a lover.

  As he returned his gaze to Ange’s face, Robert noted his artfully tousled hair was still damp from his shower. He was clean-shaven.

  So absorbed had Robert been in his reaction to his submissive, he only now registered Ange’s reaction to him.

  Ange’s gaze clung to Robert, his lips parted in a distracting way. His stillness had increased, like a tuning fork where the vibrations couldn’t be seen, only felt. That intensity raised a reaction on Robert’s skin, flesh calling to flesh, even beneath the layers of clothes.

  Those layers were simple, severe. Robert wore a charcoal gray suit, his black shirt open at the throat. Black polished shoes finished the look. The suit was one of Sully’s offerings, more traditional than Ange’s, but fitting Robert’s personality and tastes. If Ang
e’s nearly open mouth and avid gaze could be believed, it worked on the Dom level as well as for the evening’s dress code.

  “What?” Robert asked.

  “You’re beautiful, Master,” Ange responded. Breathless. “Very authoritative. I want to do anything you desire.” He sent his Master an impish look. “Very Christian Grey.”

  Robert laughed; he couldn’t help it. The rich response earned an even deeper shine and fascination in those green eyes. “I don’t know about that. But get over here.”

  When Ange complied, Robert gripped his nape and brought him close to enjoy his sweet mouth. He finished it up with a sharp nip at the sensitive lips before pinning him with a hard stare. “But it’s good to know you feel that way. Comments like that make me want to stay here and put you through your paces.”

  “I’m down with that,” Ange said, his fingers curling over Robert’s wrist.

  “Tempting, but no. Don’t make me kick your ass. Your whole look says topping from the bottom without you saying one word. Sully knew the suit would get you in trouble, call up that vibe.”

  Switching tracks from the teasing, Robert gave Ange’s neck an extra squeeze. And offered his sub brutal honesty. “I want to give you this night. I started planning it back in October. Fantasized about it, backed away from it, let my own head fuck with me. Telling me I shouldn’t make that step. That being your Master in every way wasn’t what you needed from me. That what I was for you at the store was enough, and to leave it there.”

  Ange’s eyes darkened, and his own grip tightened. “If you had made that decision, something important would have been missing for me. May I say something, Master? Please.”

  “I think you just did.” Robert nudged him. “But yeah.”