Only Keep You (Only Colorado Book 4)

by JD Chambers

  I look around at the others at the table, finding men and a few women – because it’s a kink group, not a strictly gay kink group – in a variety of attire. Some in jeans and t-shirts like Rohit and me after our workout, but some are even more formal than I’m required to wear at the bank. It’s an interesting – I’m not willing to admit to Terry and Rohit being right by calling it surprising – mix of ordinary-looking people.

  “This is Charles,” Terry says, indicating the man at the end of the table. “He’s a dominant, and I thought he’d be a great place for you to start with your questions.”

  I swallow the snarky comment that I didn’t need Terry to tell me that Charles was a dom. The man exudes it. To the point where I’m almost tempted to call him Charlie, just to see how he would handle it.

  “Nice to meet you. Are you in charge of the group?” I ask after giving my drink order to the waitress who approaches us soon after we get situated.

  “No, that would be Gracie.” He points to a quiet woman in the middle. You’d never pick her out of a crowd if you weren’t specifically looking for her. She seems like a human chameleon. “She and her master put the group together as a way to share knowledge and get to know other people in the lifestyle. Sometimes, it’s hard when you don’t have friends that you can talk about things without them getting judgy. And especially lately, there’s so much bad information out there. But I’ll let her give you the whole spiel later. She’s very passionate about it. I’m just here because I enjoy the people and the company.”

  “Don’t let him fool you.” Terry leans into me. “Charles loves to talk kink.”

  Charles raises an eyebrow at Terry, who squeaks and turns back to Rohit.

  “So, what drew you here?” Charles asks after taking a moment to place his order. There are two waitresses handling such a big group, starting at opposite ends of the table, so although Charles went first, I now have to wait for the other waitress to make her way down my side of the table where I’ll order last. “What are you interested in?”

  “I’ve recently been thinking about puppy play but as a handler,” I say, trying to ignore the sudden interest I feel radiating to my right. I know Terry’s going to grill me on this later. “Have you ever done that?”

  “Puppies are definitely fun. Right now, I have a sub that I’m exclusive with, but I’ve been a handler and a trainer-slash-master to puppies and boys before. I tend to go deeper into the S and M side of things though, so I’ve played with them because of that and not primarily the puppy play itself.”

  “Do you find that a lot? One of the reasons I’ve been so hesitant to come here is because I’m not into S and M,” I say, giving voice to my biggest fear in all of this. I want to find my tribe, not yet another group where I don’t fit in.

  “S and M is only part of BDSM. Each relationship is different. I think that’s the first thing you need to learn about any of this. That there is no right or wrong way to do it, as long as you communicate. Puppy play is all about fun. I know tons of puppies who want only that, and don’t have any interest in other kinks. And I know plenty of handlers who just want a pup to love and cuddle and be with. There’s nothing wrong with either way.”

  “See, I told you he likes to talk,” Terry whispers in my ear, then rubs at his right thigh where Rohit has pinched him.

  Charles laughs. “Sorry. And here I was saying that Gracie was the passionate one.”

  “Do you train handlers?” I finally get up the nerve to ask the question I’ve been wondering since the beginning. I do know I want to further explore this, but taking that first official step is still nerve-racking.

  “I’m going to say no, just because it isn’t my specific area of expertise. Now, if you ever want to learn ropes, I’ll be happy to help you out.”

  My mind wanders over the image of the beautiful brown-eyed puppy tied up, and I try to subtly adjust myself. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go unnoticed, either by Charles, who still keeps a straight face, or by Terry, who snickers beside me.

  “I know of a group for puppies and handlers in Denver. If you give me your email, I’ll send you the info. They do training sessions and have moshes. I know lots of pups really love it.”

  “Moshes?” Terry asks, because of course he’s been eavesdropping on our conversation, before I can.

  “Events where puppies play and wrestle together.”

  “Like a puppy orgy.” Terry laughs, and I once again have to adjust myself.

  “No,” Charles says with a hint of amusement. “They aren’t always sexual. It really depends on the host, but they will always let you know ahead of time what’s acceptable and what’s not.”

  Our waitresses must be used to this group, because they’ve set down our plates in front of us throughout this conversation and haven’t even batted an eyelash. That takes talent. I know I’d be looking each person over, trying to figure out their kink, picturing them as a pup or in leather or tied up. Or maybe it’s just that I’m almost as nosy as Terry.

  We eat, and I meet a few more of the folks around the table. They each have their own thing; some are together, and some are not in a relationship but still into the lifestyle. It’s laid back, and I can see why Terry and Rohit tried so hard to get me to come. It isn’t at all like I thought it would be, and they are all so incredibly welcoming, that I decide to continue coming, even if things don’t work out with my puppy.

  I should have known, though, that I would be accosted by my friend on the way out.

  “You want a puppy? How could you not tell me about this?”

  “Leave him alone,” Rohit says, setting a firm hand at the back of Terry’s neck. “Arthur doesn’t have to tell you everything, you know.”

  “But this is a big deal! This opens up a whole new world of possible dating apps I can use …”

  “And this would be why I didn’t tell you.”

  Not to mention, I’m still holding out hope for a soulful-eyed, hyperactive puppy.

  Another couple of weeks go by, and I go to the club, like normal, get laid, like normal, but I can’t help comparing those hookups to the adorable man that still populates all my dreams, asleep and awake. The others seem so fake and contrived compared to the earnest flailings of my puppy.

  When a text from an unknown number appears on my phone after dinner one night, almost three full weeks later, my heart and my cock jump with excitement.

  Unknown Number: What did you mean when you said firm hand?

  Arthur: Puppy?

  Unknown Number Puppy: Yes?

  I quickly save the number into my contacts like it’s the direct line to Beyoncé before continuing with a question that by now is second nature to me when dealing with my puppy.

  Arthur: Are you asking me or telling me?

  Puppy: Telling you?

  After talking with Charles the other evening, I’m even more drawn to puppy play than before. I had already devoured every piece of information I could online after meeting Puppy. After the kink dinner, I went back and devoured it all over again.

  Just in case.

  And now, based on Charles’ recommendation, I’ve contacted the Denver PAH, pups and handlers group. We’ve chatted back and forth, and they are amazing, answering all of my questions and putting me totally at ease. Again, there go all my kinky misconceptions.

  I want to do the same for Puppy.

  Arthur: Well, when I said firm hand, I meant that I could be a touchstone for you. A person who could help you relax when you’re stressed, focus when you’re distracted, reassure you when you’re doubting.

  Arthur: And when I said good time, I meant that I think you’re hot and I’d like to take you out. Have fun. See more of that handsome face. And hopefully body.

  No point beating around the bush. After all, I’m willing to take anything the man will give me, even if I hope it might be everything.

  Arthur: In case there was any confusion about my other words.

  Puppy: With me as a puppy? I’ve never b
een to a Pride parade, but I’ve seen pictures. I know what it entails.

  Puppy: Ha. Entails.

  I smile at the joke, but I know to tread carefully with the skittish boy. I have no clue what kind of experience he has or what he’s comfortable with, but based on our brief interaction at the bank, I opened up a can of worms for him that might just turn out to be caviar instead, but only if I play it right. I don’t want to scare him off by suggesting right away that the man don a leather hood and insert a butt-plug-tail.

  Puppy: And as for the other, I’ve never been with a guy before. But I want to.

  Well, that answers that question. I hadn’t been sure until the man had gotten so flustered at my flirting. Hell, his pupils had practically dilated on the spot, but he seemed so innocent and nervous that I wasn’t entirely trusting that I had accurately gauged his interest.

  Arthur: It can be however you want. The feelings and the comfort can still be there whether you wear the puppy gear or not. If it interests you, I would love to try it out. If it doesn’t, then that’s fine too.

  Arthur: And if you don’t even want to think about that part, then we can just be two guys, going out for dinner, or maybe drinks? The way two guys do when they’re into each other.

  Puppy: I don’t even know you.

  Arthur: We can remedy that. My name is Arthur Yuen. Would you like to go out on a date with me?

  My breath catches in my throat as I wait for the response.

  Puppy: Maybe. Okay?

  Was he saying okay to the date, or was he asking if it was okay to say maybe?

  Puppy: And I’m Dave.

  Arthur: How long have you worked at Game Over? It seems like a fun place to work.

  I hope that by changing the subject and chatting like a normal guy, I can put Puppy – Dave – at ease, and to my immense surprise and pleasure, it works. We chat for hours, about work and interests, everything but dates and puppies. By the time I realize that it’s well after midnight, and I have to be up early tomorrow so I unfortunately need to call it a night, I try one final time.

  In return, I get a definite maybe.

  Well, I’m nothing if not patient.

  Puppy needs to gain some self-confidence, and I can only hope that he chooses me to be the one to guide him.

  5

  Dave

  Sawyer and Emily arrive at my doorstep at five o’clock on the dot.

  Yes, that Emily, the one my mother has been trying to set me up with.

  Sawyer is my friend from all the way back in third grade, when my parents enrolled me at St. Christopher’s Prep. We used to be inseparable. But he went to Notre Dame, while I dropped out of CSU. And he works as a trial consultant, while I sell video games. And his family and mine still schmooze at dinner parties and cocktail fundraisers, while I stay as far away from them as fucking possible. It’s sad that we lost that connection, but honestly thinking back on high school now dredges up bad memories, and unfortunately, Sawyer is a part of that.

  That’s why when Sawyer called and said he wanted to come hang out for a weekend and bring Emily, using the excuse that my dad talks about me so much that she’s been dying to meet me, I knew it was a setup. But never let it be said that I’m not a good host.

  Sawyer tosses his bag down inside the doorway and pulls me in for a bro hug. The kind with back slaps and everything. His perfectly tailored clothes and slicked-back hair all radiate success. He even smells expensive. When we were teenagers, he usually smelled like beer and Axe body spray, and his parents used to beg him to cut his long hair. Sawyer has never been my type, but back then he did have a certain skater boy appeal.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said your place was small,” he says, taking in my efficiency apartment with a thinly veiled grimace.

  When I’d asked if they were going to get hotel rooms, Sawyer said no, they’d just crash with me. Of course, I’d agreed, but I did warn him that I lived in an efficiency. I have no idea what the word means to him, but I have a feeling we have very different definitions. And unfortunately, it means sleeping on a blanket on the floor is in my future.

  “Nice to see you too,” I say with an eye roll. I’ve been away too long for my mom’s society manners to still be habitual. Turning to the tall, slender woman standing tucked away behind Sawyer, I extend a hand. “Hi, you must be Emily. I’m Dave.”

  I take her designer bag in what is probably the season’s hot color from her shoulder and carry it into the apartment for her. It’s not her fault she’s a pawn in my family’s bizarre games, but she still looks incredibly out of place in my apartment.

  “Nice to meet you,” she says, her blue eyes wide in her porcelain face, but she hides her disgust better than Sawyer once she gets a good look around. The smile plastered in place to cover it up reminds me so much of my mother.

  “Where shall we go eat?” Sawyer says, rubbing his hands together. “I’m starved.”

  I’d like to go to the hippie restaurant with the excellent pizza and live blues, but somehow, I don’t think it’s their scene. “Well, Old Town is the main attraction here. There’s an excellent steakhouse, or a great fish place, depending on your preference.”

  “I could go for a steak,” Sawyer says, before taking in my attire. “Do you need to go change?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  I’m wearing baggy jeans and an old t-shirt, not the tight spring break one, and I have no intention or desire to change. Funny how none of my friends here have ever mentioned what I wear or tried to make me feel like it, or I, wasn’t up to par. But one visit from “friends” from back home, and I feel like every aspect of my life is suddenly under a microscope.

  When we arrive at the steakhouse, I hold Emily’s chair for her and then take the seat to her left. All of us piled into Sawyer’s Beemer once Emily got a good look at my Mazda, and the car ride over was filled with “Remember when?” stories, none of which seem quite so nostalgic now that I look at them through a different lens. Getting drunk and wrecking his dad’s Porsche or filling the Carpenter’s hot tub with red dye and detergent so that it looked like a boiling cauldron of blood when they turned it on was funny when I was a teenager. Now, I shudder to think of the cost of repairs due to all the damage we caused with our idiotic antics.

  “So, Emily,” I say after we place our drink and dinner orders, “What got you interested in my dad?”

  Emily’s eyes grow round and Sawyer chokes back a sip of his martini.

  “Sorry, I mean, interested in working for my dad?” Hey, if I’m dealing with another Kimberly situation, I’d like to know about it now. But either she’s as innocent as she seems, or she’s an excellent actor.

  Emily’s cheeks remain flushed from my earlier “slip,” but she forges bravely ahead, her petal-pink nails grasping at my forearm as she demonstrates her enthusiasm.

  “Your father is such a wonderful man. Everything that he has done for the community, well, Longmont doesn’t know how much they owe to your father. But I intend to make sure they do.”

  Thank god the food hasn’t come yet, or I wouldn’t be able to keep it down. She seems earnest in her beliefs, though, and I don’t want to disillusion her with my own bitterness, so I keep the placid smile pasted to my face. It’s one I’ve spent years perfecting.

  “My mom mentioned that you went to St. Christopher’s too?”

  Emily’s face widens with a bright smile, one that I know everyone at this table wishes I found attractive. “Yes. I was a few years behind you and Sawyer, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

  No, I wouldn’t remember. High school was a weird time for me. I think it is for everyone, honestly, no matter how much they try to pretend that they fit in. But for me, I was caught between what I wanted and what my parents wanted, who I wanted and who was acceptable to want. I remember hating the way everyone wished I would take charge and overflow with competitive urges and ambition – Sports! Grades! Lead! – when all I wanted was to blend in and belong so
mewhere.

  Sawyer, with his partying ways, meant I had a place where I belonged. Also, where I could get wasted and forget about the rest of my life. I was a good little soldier for my parents, but for myself, I partied so I could get through it.

  “That means you just recently graduated, yes?”

  Emily nods happily. “I went to SMU and got the job with your father right after graduation. He’s been so wonderful to work for.”

  “My mother hasn’t scared you away yet? I’ve heard she has a tendency to treat my father’s employees like her own.”

  “No,” Emily gushes with one hundred percent real enthusiasm. “Your mom has been wonderful. She’s helped me with the events, getting me connected with the right people, and she even took me shopping.”

  Well, that explains why Emily looks like a mini version of my mom.

  “What about you, man?” Sawyer cuts in right as our steaks and Emily’s salmon arrive. Conversation halts as we all take our first bites. It’s juicy and tender, and exceptionally flavored. Still, I’m not sure it was worth putting up with the sales pitch that I’m sure is soon to come.

  “What about me?” I finally ask when I’ve enjoyed enough of my dinner to risk being put off it for the remainder.

  Sawyer cuts off a dainty piece of steak and places his fork upside down in his mouth. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It’s a far cry from the guy who used to stab a beer can in the side and guzzle it in one go.

  “When are you coming back to Longmont? Your dad says that work commitments have been keeping you busy, but dude. I don’t see anything here worth staying for. Not when you know you’d be set up like a king with keys to the kingdom, or in this case, courtroom, if you returned.”