Vessel (Cutting Cords Series Book 2)

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “I need to get laid on a daily basis.”

  “I remember those days.”

  “Well, I’m used to having it like clockwork, and in the last few months, sex has been very sporadic. I guess it’s only natural that I’m attracted to Trent.”

  “It’s certainly understandable, Sloan. Trent is gorgeous.”

  “Cole would be devastated if he ever found out.”

  “And who’s going to tell him?”

  “Me.”

  Max made a moue of disgust. “Honesty is so overrated. Why on earth would you tell him?”

  “So he doesn’t hear it from one of the gossipy queens.”

  “Maybe a reality check will knock some sense into the guy.”

  I jumped out of the bed and paced. “There’s got to be a better way than having a fling. By the way, I’ve heard from the investigator. Noriko is a card-carrying whore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She comes from a long line of geishas.”

  “It doesn’t necessarily make her a whore.”

  “Aren’t they glorified party girls.”

  “No, it’s more complex.”

  “Whatever. I asked for more info.”

  “Still,” Max pondered. “How could she be a virgin, though?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Keep me updated, will you?”

  Chapter 17

  Trent was entering his bedroom just as I exited Max’s suite. He looked surprised.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” I said.

  “If you’d rather be in his bed than mine, it’s your choice.”

  “I wasn’t in his bed. Well, not really.”

  Trent grinned and his dimple appeared, resetting the challenging look into something much more attractive. I couldn’t help but smile back. “We were only talking.”

  “I’m not your keeper, Sloan.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why explain?”

  “I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

  “Why do you care what I think?”

  We gravitated toward each other, and when we were a few feet apart, I stopped, afraid of getting too close. He was still shirtless, and I couldn’t help but admire his physique now that I wasn’t pinned to the refrigerator. Trent was fucking perfect. His skin was light bronze, more than likely achieved on a tanning bed, with hardly any chest hair. If he was like most models, he’d been waxed within an inch of his life, although…there was the enticing love trail I couldn’t get out of my mind.

  Models had to be on the lean side or clothes wouldn’t hang right, but the emaciated look wasn’t trending anymore. Now, the public expected us to look more realistic, even if it was an illusion. Male models were encouraged to lift weights and work out, within reason. There was no market for overblown gym bunnies, but a skinny man with hardly any muscle wasn’t appealing either. I knew from experience. It had taken years for me to fill out and get to the point where I was comfortable removing my shirt in public. Trent had no qualms running around half-naked. There was nothing shy or withdrawn about him, and he exuded confidence, which rang every one of my bells. I suppose if I were honest with myself, I could admit there was a lot of truth to Max’s statement—I was attracted to strong men. The chemistry between us was definitely powerful, and I could feel the tug. Yet, despite Trent’s undeniable magnetism, I resisted.

  “You look troubled,” Trent ventured. “I hope it’s nothing I’ve said.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “Does the truth scare you, Sloan?”

  “How do you know what my truth is when you barely know me?”

  “Call it instinct. I’ve been around long enough to know when a guy is a natural submissive. You’re a perfect example of strength and vulnerability. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Why don’t you watch one of our sessions tomorrow?”

  “Won’t Jason object?”

  “Not if I ask.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  Trent nodded. “Look, if nothing else, we should be friends. We’re going to spend a lot of time together on this photo shoot. I don’t see why it has to be uncomfortable for either one of us.”

  “Agreed.”

  He reached for my hand and held it for a minute. It was completely innocent, but I felt the sparks. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to drag him into my bedroom, but so much had happened in my life since then. I would never start anything when there were so many loose ends. Not the least of which was my partner and the man I still loved. What Cole and I shared wasn’t going to be replaced by illicit sex, but I was sorely tempted. And if Trent wasn’t a mind reader, I’d eat my socks. He leaned forward and brushed my mouth with a soft kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.” I shut the door firmly behind me. I didn’t turn the lock, though, certain he wouldn’t force himself on me. A small part of me wished he would, taking the decision out of my hands. If he walked through the door, the onus of responsibility would be on him, and I could fool myself into thinking I’d been coerced. No such luck. I kept hearing the words “consenting adults” and “consensual sex.” It was one thing I had to admire about these Dominants, if Trent was anything like Max. They knew how to control their urges and had the patience of a fucking saint.

  I brushed my teeth and stripped, then climbed into bed with nothing on but my uncomfortable erection. It was torturing me, and I kept my hand away deliberately, willing it to subside, even though I’d brought a hand towel in the event I succumbed to temptation. It was a lost cause. My mind’s eye kept seeing Trent and reliving the scene in the kitchen, feeling the bulge underneath his lounging pants. I flipped over and groaned into my pillow, humping the mattress to release some of my frustration. I imagined Trent straddling my ass and bending down to whisper in my ear. I got goose bumps thinking of his husky voice commanding me to hold my orgasm. “Don’t come until I let you.”

  Moving the soft down pillow between my hips and the mattress, I thrust against it mindlessly, desperate to get off. The hand towel conveniently soaked up the mess when I finally shot my load.

  My heart slammed against my chest, and I rolled over and dropped the towel over the side of the bed. Although completely unsatisfying, the orgasm did its job, and I was finally able to relax. A terrible longing for Cole gripped me suddenly. I wondered what he was doing right then. Did he miss me? How was he managing without me?

  I couldn’t help but think about the earlier comments from Max and Trent. Was I really the “hop to” guy for Cole? Early on in our relationship, he did call most of the shots, but it was my choice. He had enough on his plate. He didn’t need a partner who fought him at every turn. In any case, there wasn’t much to fight about once my issues with cutting had been dealt with. Being in a loving relationship had done more for me than years of therapy and antidepressants.

  I loved serving Cole. There was a part of me that yearned to be under the guidance of a strong and confident man. It was something I did instinctively, and maybe this was what Max meant. Did wanting to please a lover make me a submissive? Was it the reason I got turned on whenever Cole took on a domineering role? He got off on my compliance and I liked seeing his confident and forceful side. It was far better than watching him struggle with his insecurities as he adjusted to being blind. Watching him trip on curbs or walk into walls was heartbreaking. If helping him feel whole in the bedroom was the answer to keeping him on an even keel, I was more than happy to oblige. In thinking back, the faster Cole had slid into the world of the sightless, the more aggressive he had become in bed. It was one area where he didn’t need his eyes to excel. His sense of touch was amplified, as was his hearing and his taste buds. He could easily reduce me to a quivering and malleable sex partner.

  Once in a while, we’d role-play. He was the warrior, my magnificent shogun, and I was always the slave boy. He had an authentic Japanese suit of armor, and he’d dress the part, while making sure I wore the simple cotton kimono of
a peasant, so he could rip it off my body without worrying about costs. We’d buy them in bulk from the Asian store in Queens and stash them in the linen closet. Whenever he pulled out the horned helmet, I knew I was in for a night of wild sex.

  Our games took on many forms. He was adept in the art of knot tying, a skill he’d acquired as a Boy Scout, but he put it to good use with the silk scarves we also bought by the gross. He’d tie me up, and I’d be his captive for the evening while he tortured me with loving kisses and Ben Wa balls, a sensory delight invented by his Japanese brethren. Cole made me do everything when I played the part of a slave. We’d start out with a ritual bath, and he’d allow me to soap his entire body and shave his face and groin, continuing the ceremony with a relaxing massage that always ended with a blowjob. He loved coming on my chest and face, smearing his semen all over me, and staking his claim in a primal way. Cole preferred to top because of my size, but he would let me fuck him if I begged. He seemed to get off on the pleading. Our sex was out-of-this-world intense when we role-played, but it was a game. Not a structured lifestyle.

  Yet, wasn’t BDSM one big adventure into role-playing? My association with Max had taught me a little bit about his world, although admittedly, not enough to know the subtleties. He’d shown me the sadistic side, but we’d never moved beyond that. What Trent was talking about was something completely different, more in keeping with my relationship with Cole. It was eye-opening to think I’d been in a D/s relationship all along without even knowing it.

  In the last eighteen months, however, things had changed. I was stronger and more assertive while Cole was retreating and not as forceful. The wheel was turning, and maybe this is what was freaking him out. Cole probably felt he was losing control. I hadn’t even realized it was happening. My career had been climbing steadily, ever since Max had taken me under his wing, and I was at the top of my game. I had more money than I ever dreamed of, and I looked good, judging by all the men who were constantly trying to lure me into their beds. Cole was aware of my success because he handled our finances. He was privy to everything except for the daily flirting I put up with, which was a part of the industry. Since I’d never looked at anyone twice, I didn’t see the point in upsetting him. I should have known he was keyed into the downside of being in the limelight. Cole was many things, but clueless or naïve weren’t adjectives I could attach to the man.

  I decided to watch part of tomorrow’s training session. For curiosity’s sake, and also in the hope I might learn something more about myself. Perhaps then I’d understand Cole better. Who knew? I was pretty desperate at this juncture and willing to try anything. Maybe it would help me come to grips with Cole’s decision to have kids and dealing with Noriko. Doubtful, but it was worth the attempt.

  The three Doms and Jason were already downstairs when I showed up for breakfast at nine in the morning. It was early, by any standards, but they were as eager to get on with this training as I was to watch. Jason was very quiet, most likely preparing himself mentally. I wondered what caused a person to crave pain. The few sessions I’d had under Max’s lash only made me cringe. Subspace was as nebulous as the ozone layer.

  Max and Victor were dressed in jeans and T-shirts, but Trent was in full-out leather regalia. His tight black pants were held together with bindings rather than a zipper. Strips of leather decorated with buckles and rivets wrapped around his upper chest, showcasing the well-developed muscles. He looked every bit the Dom, and once again, my cock stirred with interest.

  “Ready?” he asked, practically melting Jason with his imposing presence.

  “Yes, sir,” Jason said, keeping his head down.

  We followed Max down the stairs toward his wine cellar. In all the time I’d known him, I’d never been underground before. I expected something dark and dirty, not a finished basement with wall-to-wall carpeting and knotted pine walls. Off to one side, there was a temperature-controlled locker housing Max’s small collection of wine. The rest of the room was a monument to the BDSM lifestyle, complete with a spanking bench, a leather swing, and a St. Andrew’s cross. I was savvy enough to know the function of each, having experienced them myself, however briefly.

  “Please, strip,” Trent said, moving past Jason and heading toward a large bureau. He opened it and scanned the different instruments of torture. I turned away from him and observed Jason removing each item of clothing methodically, folding them into a neat pile. When he was completely naked, he knelt, clasped his hands behind his ass, and bent his head.

  “Very nice,” Trent commented upon turning and seeing his sub.

  Nice? What an understatement. Jason had a magnificent body, on par with Michelangelo’s David of Florence. His thighs were massive, as were his chest and arms. His groin was cleanly shaven, which only emphasized the daunting size of his semi-erect cock. He was more thick than long, and my brain short-circuited a little bit, imagining the stretch.

  “What is your safeword, Jason?”

  “Mulder, sir.”

  Trent smiled. “X-Files?”

  Jason’s blush was rather endearing. “I’m a big fan.”

  “What are your hard limits?”

  “No blood play.”

  “Soft?”

  “I’m not fond of ball gags, but I can deal with it if you insist.”

  “We can forgo the gag today. Do you have a preference on whips?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good,” Trent said, “because I do.” He hefted a rather scary looking piece of leather that split halfway through the length. Later on I’d find out this was a tawse, one of the more easily mishandled whips. Trent had chosen the perfect piece of equipment to showcase his skills. Too much force with this particular strap could seriously damage a man and cut right through the layers of muscle. I hoped to never see this in my lifetime. Reading about it was bad enough, and Jason was too beautiful to ruin because of an inexperienced hand.

  “Please, go and stand by the cross.” Trent picked up four leather cuffs and proceeded to attach them to Jason’s wrists and ankles. He then hooked them onto the clips at the end of the chains on the wooden X-shaped cross. “Do you expect to be fucked at the end of this session?” Trent asked, loud enough for us to hear.

  “If it pleases you, sir.”

  Trent caressed Jason’s ass, rubbing both hands around in circles, squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprints. I felt the excitement and saw Jason’s cock gradually filling out, getting thicker by the second.

  “Please me by not coming until I allow it,” Trent said, stepping back. “If you do what I ask, I’ll fuck you.” Trent glanced in my direction to see if I was watching. “If you come beforehand, I’ll put you in a chastity device for twelve hours. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then we’ll proceed.”

  Chapter 18

  It took ten minutes into the session before Jason showed any signs of discomfort. By then, I was shaking, experiencing his pain vicariously. Yet, I continued to observe in fascinated horror. The leather slapped against the vulnerable skin on Jason’s upper thighs, back, and buttocks making me cringe. I had yet to see the merits of this horrific form of sexual fulfillment. Trent’s upper body glistened with sweat, and the muscles in his right arm corded and stood out in relief as he landed the blows, avoiding the same spot each time to prevent any serious injuries. The craziest part of this was seeing Jason’s erection. The man was totally getting off on the flogging while I was freaking out. I shot a quick glance at Trent’s groin, and damn if his cock wasn’t about to burst through the leather bindings used to hold his pants together. He was just as aroused as his sub.

  Several heartbeats later, Jason groaned. At first you could barely hear him, but soon he was clamoring for release, begging to come. He shifted his weight from leg to leg, obviously trying to get comfortable. Trent stopped for a second and went up to the man, whispering something in his ear while he rubbed his hand around Jason’s reddened ass. I saw Jason nod, and his brea
ths evened out, calmed by whatever Trent was telling him. It was like watching a jockey taming a frightened horse. Whatever he said worked miracles―the moaning ceased, but Jason’s erection never subsided. Trent slipped a finger down Jason’s crack and must have inserted it into his hole because Jason pressed his ass against Trent and groaned. “Please,” he entreated in the most pitiful voice.

  “Hold on,” Trent commanded. “Submit to me, Jason, and I’ll let you come.”

  I had no idea what Trent was talking about. Wasn’t Jason submitting by allowing himself to be chained, flogged, and imprisoned by his lust? Trent continued to stripe Jason until he sagged, and his head sort of lolled to the right. For a moment I thought he’d fainted. I moved over to Max quickly. “Is he okay? Maybe we should call an ambulance?”

  Max held me back. “Don’t interfere. He’s in subspace.”

  “He is?” I watched Trent drop the tawse, grab a lubricated condom from the table close by, and untie his pants. My words of protest died in my mouth when Trent’s erect cock pushed out, released from its prison. He rolled on the condom, walked over to Jason, and plowed into his ass, without so much as asking. Jason’s keening set me off, and I almost ejaculated. Watching Trent rock against his submissive was a show in and of itself. The man was hot as hell, and I would have bent over for him if he’d turned his gaze in my direction. I was so horny I scared myself. What was I made of if I was excited by this sort of thing? Was I kidding myself when I said this was barbaric? The reality was I wanted to be on the receiving end of Trent’s forceful thrusts.

  I couldn’t stay another second. Heading for the stairs, I climbed them swiftly, plucked the keys to the Jeep off the hook in the kitchen, and headed for the garage. My wallet and cell were already in my pocket, so I didn’t have to backtrack into the house to retrieve anything. On the way to the ocean, I kept seeing Trent’s ass muscles, clenching and unclenching as he fucked the daylights out of Jason. Shit, I was so horny I hurt. I grabbed my crotch and squeezed, hoping to tame my dick into submission. All it did was make me hornier. When I saw the welcome sign to the public beach, I turned into the lot, parked the car, and ran toward the water. I found some protection behind a small sand dune, sank to my knees, yanked down my pants, and jerked off violently. I screamed when I shot, impressed by the load I sprayed across the sand like a fire hose. I was so spent I collapsed onto my back, huffing out an embarrassed laugh―I was certifiably insane.