***
Trace licked his lips and rubbed his cheeks in what he thought was an inconspicuous attempt to clear his head. His blood simmered, and his cock throbbed behind the fly of his pants. It had been months, if not more, since he had reacted so intensely to someone.
He’d watched Robbie the entire night, and he’d noticed the small clues to his need for submission. It was in the way he tilted his body toward Trace, or in how he took his cues from him, however subtly. Yet, there was something about him that kept Trace in check. It wasn’t just that he didn’t know how Robbie would react if he tried to spice up their interaction, or that they hadn’t even discussed the possibility of a scene together. It went beyond that.
He remembered Robbie’s reluctance to participate in anything at The Dungeon, despite his clear interest. Maybe he wasn’t really into the scene, or he lacked experience. But somehow, Trace was willing to bet money that wasn’t it. Not even once during the party had Robbie looked surprised by any of the interactions. Quite the contrary. But he wasn’t going to push Robbie into anything he wasn’t ready for. Not that he was better prepared for it, either.
He caught Robbie’s awkward glance at him and took advantage of it, stepping closer and rubbing Robbie’s arms. At once, Robbie leaned into him, his back resting against Trace’s chest. He trembled as Trace nuzzled at his throat. Tilting his head, he offered Trace better access.
Trace inhaled, enjoying Robbie’s scent. There was a hint of cologne—probably what he had splashed on in the morning, when he shaved—a little bit of salt, and something else, something fleshier, that was unique to Robbie.
The song on the radio switched to “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”, one of Trace’s favorites. Laughter rumbled through his chest as he recognized it.
“What?” Robbie sounded breathless.
“The song.”
Robbie stilled, a little frown coloring his features. “Vonda Shepard?”
“Yeah. I love this song.”
A joyful smile curved the corners of Robbie’s lips as he listened. He joined Vonda on the chorus, turning in Trace’s arms and singing the words directly to him. He had a sweet, warm voice that was perfect for the song. When the chorus ended, he rose on his toes and brushed his lips tentatively against Trace’s.
Trace kissed him back, pulling him closer.
Robbie gave another laugh, and rubbed against Trace. “I can see how much you like it.”
It was Trace’s turn to frown, until Robbie ground his groin against Trace’s, brushing their erections together.
“Oh.” Grabbing Robbie’s hips and holding him in place, as he ground back. “It’s not the song.” He bit gently on Robbie’s lower lip, enjoying the surprise widening his eyes. “It’s you.”
Robbie moaned, and arched into him. Before he could stop himself, Trace spun them, until Robbie’s back pressed against the wall.
“God, you’re so hot,” Trace whispered in Robbie’s ear, making him shiver.
It was like a dam opening.
Robbie cried out, and tangled his fingers through Trace’s hair, keeping him in place. His pull was rough—a bit rougher than Trace would have liked—and Trace fought the need to take Robbie’s hands and trap them in his own as he ravaged Robbie. Instead, he let Robbie have his way, even as his blood pounded in his ears.
Robbie’s palms wandered across Trace’s chest, over his stomach, to clutch at the hem of his sweater. He tugged at it, until Trace leaned back to allow him to remove it.
***
Muscles rippled over Trace’s stomach when he moved, drawing Robbie’s complete attention. He leaned in and kissed Trace’s chest, while running the tips of his fingers over the ridges of his lover’s abdomen.
Trace shivered and held his breath. When Robbie hesitated and removed his hand, Trace took it and placed it back where it had been.
“Oh God, you are so hot.”
It was Robbie’s turn to shiver at Trace’s praise. He moaned, face hidden in Trace’s torso. Strong arms went around him, pulling him closer. He pressed flush against Trace, feeling Trace’s warmth and scent seep into him—intoxicating.
Sinking his face into Robbie’s hair, Trace placed little kisses against Robbie’s cheek and temple. “You are so beautiful.”
Robbie didn’t think he was, but he couldn’t speak, his mouth dry and his hands trembling.
Then Trace took charge. The kisses turned hotter, more intense. His palms cupped Robbie’s face, tilting his face upward. Robbie trembled under the hunger he saw in Trace's eyes.
Trace’s mouth descended on his, demanding. Robbie opened up to him. Trace’s tongue swept his mouth, tasting, teasing, claiming. Robbie held onto him, his mind spinning and heart racing.
Strong hands grabbed his arms, and Robbie felt himself flying as Trace lifted him off his feet. Crushing Robbie against his chest, Trace carried him off. Turning at the last minute, Trace placed his body between Robbie and the wall, absorbing the shock, before switching them, so he was on top.
The wall was cold against Robbie’s spine. Cold and hard and unyielding. Trace took his hands and pinned them to the sides, his arms spread-eagled. Emotion flooded his system: arousal, shock, need, fear, more arousal. And beneath everything, a tiny voice was telling him that he was trapped. Trapped. Not able to move. Pressed between the wall and Trace’s equally hard body.
Arousal died, buried beneath the rising fear. He thrashed, trying to free his hands. Oblivious to his distress, Trace nuzzled the soft patch of skin beneath his ear and nibbled on the lobe.
“Stop. Trace, stop.”
The nibbling continued for another fraction of a second before the words finally registered with Trace. He pulled back, but his groin still pressed to Robbie’s, and the contact remained unbearable.
Robbie panted, his eyes not completely focused. Trace scanned his face, still holding him, though now the touch was closer to a comforting caress than anything else.
“You okay?”
Robbie could only stare.
“Talk to me, Robbie.”
Robbie jerked against Trace’s hold. Silently, Trace released him and pulled back, giving Robbie the space he wanted, confusion written clearly on his face.
“Robbie, is everything okay?”
“Yes.”
“Robbie—”
“Could you just go? Please?”
Trace regarded him in silence, his lips pursed. Eventually, he nodded and stepped back.
“If this is what you want…”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Though Trace looked like he wanted to say something more, he shook his head and went to pick up his discarded sweater. Donning it in silence, he kept his gaze averted, giving Robbie time to compose himself.
When he was dressed, Trace moved into the little hallway where he had left his boots and jacket, and pulled them on. Robbie followed, his step shaky.
“Just tell me one thing and I’ll go.” Taking Robbie’s silence as the agreement it was, he continued. “Tell me you’re fine. That’s all that matters.”
Robbie took his time answering, as he tried to process everything he was feeling. Finally, he nodded. “I'm fine.”
Trace nodded back, and while he didn’t seem happy to be leaving, he did it anyway.
Chapter 3
“Tony, I screwed everything up.”
“How?”
Robbie let himself fall back, until his head rested against the edge of Tony’s couch. He couldn’t get the previous evening’s events out of his head, and not even after a whole night and day of thinking could he understand his reaction. Trace had been great. He really had been, and nothing he’d done justified Robbie’s panic. Nothing. Hell, he’d only been doing what Robbie had wanted him to do just minutes before.
“I freaked out.”
“Why?”
Tony’s calm voice was becoming annoying. Robbie glowered at his friend.
“Don’t give me that look. As your friend, I’m entitled to ask qu
estions when I think you’re going crazy. Which, as it happens, I think is now.”
“I’m not going crazy. I really screwed up.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“We were kissing.”
“Nice.”
“He went for my hands and held them out to the side. I couldn’t move. I panicked.”
“Did he do something to you?”
“Oh God, no.”
“Okay, why then?”
“I don’t know.”
“You are into kink, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Did he do something unsafe?”
“No, nothing.”
“You will have to explain it to me, then, because I really don’t understand what’s going on.”
“I haven’t played in months.”
“Don’t you want it?”
Robbie glanced over at Tony, to find him warming his hands around the mug of coffee, looking pensive. “Yes. No. Maybe.”
“Don’t you think you should make up your mind first?”
“I can’t. I want it. Or, at least, I wanted it with Trace. He was so hot and sweet and attentive. Then I freaked, damn it. It was like I was blocked and I couldn’t breathe.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“No. I freaked out like an idiot and asked him to leave. He must think I’m such a mess.”
Tony paused, sipping at his coffee. Robbie stared at the ceiling, not really seeing it.
“Did you call him since?”
“No. What can I tell him?”
“The truth.”
“What is the truth?” But Tony had him thinking, replaying everything in his head. He went over the party, remembering his reactions to the scene on display, and then over the feelings Trace had begun to awaken in him. Yes, he was still into kink. He was sure of that. So what had prompted his panic? Was it the fact that Trace seemed to be the perfect Dom for him and Robbie was afraid to let himself fall for him?
“Pass the marshmallows.”
Tony snorted, but offered the bowl to Robbie. “So, how about a movie?”
“Sure.”
While Tony pulled up the Netflix Christmas selection, Robbie couldn’t help but think of Trace. What was he doing? Did he think about Robbie at all?
***
This sucked. Two days had passed since his date with Robbie, and Trace had barely slept. He kept wishing he had handled the situation better, or that he had seen the signs earlier, before Robbie panicked. What did it say about him that he had missed it? What kind of experienced Dom was he?
After much consideration, he knew it hadn’t been something that he’d done. Or at least, not on purpose, but it was still his fault. He should have paid better attention to Robbie. And, damn it, he shouldn’t have left. Not when Robbie’s emotions were all over the place. But then again, what else could he have done? His presence might not have improved Robbie’s condition, if anything, it could have messed it up further.
He downed his mug of coffee, hoping it would bring a much-needed jolt. After all, it was a triple espresso. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he wrinkled his nose. The beep alerting him to an upcoming meeting made his head ring.
Damn it, he was so not in the mood for another scrum meeting. Not when he’d barely written ten straight lines of code in the last two days, and he was willing to bet money that those ten lines weren’t even any good. Not when his thoughts were all over the place, his mind consumed with worry about Robbie. And, for fuck’s sake, they’d had two dates. That was it. Two dates. Why couldn’t he get Robbie out of his head? He knew it wasn’t just Robbie’s reaction to him, or the way Trace had left him. It was the man himself.
But instead of running over everything in his mind again, he followed his colleagues into the meeting room. Once everyone was seate—on damned beanbag chairs, no less—the supervisor called the meeting to order.
They went through each issue the program was experiencing, everyone adding their two cents. Until it came Trace. He mumbled something about modifying the source code to allow definition of a certain variable by more than two decimals, and in the silence that spread through the room, he went back to staring at his empty mug.
“Goddammit, Trace. Do you know how much time this will take? Not to mention that the Dev department will tear us a new one if we go to them with this.”
“And it will push back the new release by days.”
Trace shrugged. “More like weeks.”
He could feel the pressure of all the gazes in the room trained on him, and could almost hear them thinking. Initiating the change he’d suggested, though it made sense, would prove to be a real nightmare for all involved. Various curses sounded around the room, some more inventive than others, as Trace’s concerns sank into each of their minds.
“I looked over the source code. It will take weeks to modify, assuming we have all the information or know where to get it. I couldn’t find any sort of manual, so I’m assuming we’ll have to get through the entire thing before we can even begin to think about making those changes.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Trace shrugged again, meeting his supervisor’s gaze. He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but after all, that’s why the scrum team, and him in particular, had been hired. This was a monster banking program, with millions and millions of code lines and variables, not to mention several versions of the final product in use in hundreds of branches and companies, which made updating the source even more difficult.
“Are you sure? Can we change their minds? Or at least find a way to keep the input as it is?”
“I don’t know. You can try to pitch it as a fact of life, but I doubt they’ll go for it. We’ve received this particular query from two different clients. Not sure what prompted it at this particular time, but it is what it is.”
His words were met by general groans of disappointment.
“You do realize we need to make the changes and send the patch to the test team within the next two weeks?”
“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen.”
“What if we get the whole team working on this?”
Trace paused, considering. While technically a good idea, it was not really feasible. Sadly, this wasn’t the only change they had in the works, and the others were all just as urgent as the one he was working on. Before he could voice his concerns, the supervisor shook his head and swore.
“I can’t put the whole team on this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Is there anything else urgent?”
Various headshakes answered him, none of the guys daring to voice their thoughts out loud. Not when any word uttered could be returned to them with additional tasks, or, God forbid, make them part of the variable change team.
“Okay. If there’s nothing else, let’s wrap this up. We’ll pick it up again tomorrow.”
Trace rose and headed for the exit.
“Not you, Trace.”
Groaning to himself, Trace turned and sat back down.
“What’s your suggestion?”
As he was expecting the question, Trace had the answer ready.“Get the developers to join in. Preferably someone who worked on this for more than a few months, if you cannot find someone who was part of the original team.”
“From the original team? Over ten years after it was launched? Yeah, good luck with that.”
Chapter 4
“Hi, I’m Tony Allweather. I was at your Christmas party.”
Lucas Brentwood gave him a little frown, most likely trying to place Tony. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”
Tony waved him off. “Not important.”
Surprise registered on Mr. Brentwood’s face, followed by polite interest. “What can I do for you, Mr. Allweather?”
“I need the contact information for another guest.”
“I’m sorry, but all guest information is confidential.”
“It’s not for me, it’s
for a friend of mine.”
Mr. Brentwood shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t disclose such details. It’s against the club’s policy, and my better judgment. Just as I wouldn’t disclose any personal details about you either.”
“Damn it.” Tony sighed. This was futile. He appreciated Brentwood’s honesty, and his morals, but that didn’t help his cause.
“What is this about? Did something happen?”
“Yes.”
At the thinning of Lucas’s lips, Tony realized that his words might have been misunderstood.
“Nothing bad happened.” Tony paused, looking for the best way to explain his predicament. “My friend and this guy kinda hooked up.”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed, head tilting a little to the side. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’re right. This is not your concern. That’s why I want to know where I can find him. The date went great, but they failed to share contact information. I wanted to talk with him about my friend.” It wasn’t exactly true, but Tony didn’t want to get into all the details—not that he even had all of them. All he knew was that his friend was beating himself up and he had to do something.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you with that.”
Tony sighed again, and got to his feet. “I understand. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”
Lucas opened a drawer. He pulled out a little notepad and a pen, and slid them over the desk toward Tony. “You can write a note though.”
“Huh?”
“To this guy. Write what you wanted to tell him, give me his name, and I will do my best to get it to him.”
“Oh, sure. That could work.”
***
“Yes?”
“Hello. This is Lucas Brentwood, from The Dungeon.”
Trace stared at the screen of his cell in confusion. At first, he didn’t put two and two together. Then the name started to sound familiar. But why was the owner of the club calling him?
“Is there something wrong?”
Trusting Trace: Christmas at the Dungeon Page 3