by L. E. Harner
“I don’t understand. Is this an assistant like in work? Or a slave you want to watch me train and fuck?” Yeah, I sounded bitter.
Archer sighed again. “The man you choose is here to be anything you want him to be for the next year. He is yours. You are mine. You will always be mine. But you have a powerful need to dominate at times, and I cannot fulfill that—”
“I’ve told you it’s enough—”
I finally interrupted—something he hated and he cut me off with a wave of his hand. Archer moved to stand so close I was forced to bend my neck to look up. With his feet shoulder width apart, he had both balance and leverage. As he pulled me to my feet, everything about him changed from partner to Master and I understood this conversation was now over.
“You may have this room to conduct the interviews in any manner you choose. You have two hours to make your selection and report the results to me.”
Chapter Four
The night of our party, I bypassed my typical club leather and opted instead for a dark jacket over blue jeans. I wasn’t really a suit type of guy—that was Archer. The jacket gave me a little bit of class and allowed my holster to remain mostly out of site. Being officially licensed as an investigator and bodyguard had its advantages. I stepped into the room, and the first thing I noticed was the smell, an olfactory memory that had my dick paying attention and my mouth watering. Man, sweat, and leather. Fucking hot. Archer was right—I did miss some parts of our former life.
Although our house wasn’t the biggest in the exclusive Tuxedo Park neighborhood, most people would describe it as a mansion. Tonight’s party was in the seldom-used ballroom. The realtor might have used a little poetic license to call the room a ballroom, but it was big enough to support a stockade, a Saint Andrew's cross, a couple of cages and bondage chairs. Nothing particularly elaborate, but there was enough variety once the other toys were employed. Basically, when set up as it was for tonight’s party, the room resembled a small, but well-equipped club, with multiple conversational seating areas for more intimate exchanges. There might have been an ulterior motive for hosting the party, but no one could fault either of us on our planning.
The snap of flogger against bare skin drew my attention to the seating area to the right of the main doorway. George Delaware. As usual, he was holding court, this time with three men who were all new to me, and from the rapt expressions on their faces, they were probably new to the party scene as well. George was gesturing with one hand and idly swatted at the ass of his kneeling, hooded slave with the other. He was a self-proclaimed expert on all things, including the lifestyle. Seeing him reminded me there were things about managing a club I didn’t miss at all. I walked over and dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, George,” I said and gave the narrow shoulder a squeeze. He might have his uses tonight, but when we’d had Wilde Sides, George bore constant watching. A Dom with a predatory habit of claiming and training a slave only to abandon him after six months didn’t sit well with either Archer or me. The squeeze to his shoulder was just enough to remind George that our place—club or home—should not be considered a safe hunting ground.
Turning, I resumed my scan of the room. The party was already in full swing, with about fifty guests and a handful of security plus the waiters, the room was filling up nicely. Good and bad news, when you were trying to unobtrusively identify a felon. I caught sight of Archer speaking to a masked pair near the door. Although it was no secret that we were a couple, we’d decided early on to run the party much as we ran our club. That meant Archer served as both host and Master and left me as the manager, free to roam, inside and out, which was why it appeared I was only just now arriving.
“Zachary? What do you want me to do?” Ah…for a minute I’d almost forgotten my new assistant.
Turning, I did a slow scan from bottom to top, appreciating long expanse of tanned leg, the leather breakaway shorts, and the surprising hint of cut muscles tantalizingly revealed underneath the mesh and leather shirt. I had to admit, when I’d called Sadronne’s Specialty Shop and told them I was sending a new submissive over for outfitting, I hadn’t expected quite this much. Jeremiah was fucking hot—even if he was a decade too young. And I really wasn’t interested. I repeated the phrase in my mind, just in case my dick wasn’t paying attention the first time.
“Hey, that looks better,” I said. It was probably the first nice thing I’d said to Jeremiah since we’d hired him last week, and I couldn’t help noticing the pleased flush. His earlier khakis and black polo shirt might have been okay if we were throwing a barbeque, but it was hardly suitable for a sex party. Although to be fair, I had deliberately selected the least experienced man in the applicant pool, in an underhanded attempt to scare him off before the first month was out. Tonight might go a long way toward accomplishing my goal. Or it might show me what our black-haired, green-eyed college boy was made of.
“All right, kid, you’re with me.” That wiped the smile from his face. He hated when I called him kid. “We’re going to make our way around the room. Remember, if anyone asks, you’re posing as my new trainee—but only if I’m not here to answer for you. Otherwise keep your mouth closed and eyes lowered. We might have Franklin’s current description, but he’ll wear a mask tonight. You’ll make nice window dressing and provide a distraction in case someone is watching.”
“Is that likely? I didn’t get to hear much about your case this past week—”
“No. But you were useful to me in other ways.” I’d been busy as shit with the arrangements for tonight’s big event, and to my surprise, having Jeremiah around to take care of some of the details had proven more helpful than I’d anticipated. As far as bed play or sex games—just not what we needed in our relationship.
Maybe I really was just getting old—as good a reason as any to explain my reluctance. Archer and I had played with a third plenty of times, particularly during our early club days. Ménage was fucking hot. But somehow this felt off to me…maybe because Jeremiah lived in our home and presumably would sleep in our bed. I shook the thought from my mind. I felt Jeremiah’s sidelong glance, but he didn’t say anything. In the week he’d been with us, I hadn’t made much of an effort to get to know him. Archer’s patience would wear thin and he’d probably order contact sooner rather than later. Until he did, I would keep my distance.
For now, we had work to do. We’d moved away from the others to ensure we weren’t overheard, but I leaned down to speak closer to Jeremiah’s ear. Catching a whiff of his clean, outdoorsy soap made me think of an oversized shower for three. Not going there.
“Okay, this is a very straight-forward case. You know Franklin Hartfield stole from his wife. He’s obviously got good connections since he had top quality false identification and plastic surgery to alter his appearance. We know he was in Atlanta in the past month because of the contact with his wife and with the man who created his false ID. We also believe his lover may have helped him cover up the scheme to fake his death. Figuring out his motives and how his mind works is what Archer’s good at. The very best. I’m not bad at tracking down the rest of the details. Together we make a good team.”
“And you don’t need me…I get that, okay?” Jeremiah turned to look around the room, his gaze settling on the stockade, and the group of people watching Master Cartier work the bullwhip over Cliff Goling’s back. I smiled. Cartier was as impressive as always in his full leather facemask, the straps crossing his chest and back, and skintight pants. Cliff had always been Cartier’s favorite subs. I’d always suspected they had a regular gig set up between them outside of our club, but for their own reasons, they preferred to meet at the club as casually acquainted members—and they were in no way exclusive. Cartier stood at a distance that gave him maximum extension with the snap of his arm, and the crack of the whip was impressive.
“Isn’t that going to tear open his skin?” Jeremiah asked. I glanced over gauging his actual interest. He didn’t look repulsed, merely c
urious. Points for Jeremiah, but Jesus, this man was inexperienced. I thought back to his questionnaire. He’d participated in occasional casual spankings during sex, hand only. I expected that meant a partner slapped his ass once or twice. It would be interesting to see his reactions tonight.
“Watch for a minute. Cartier—he’s the Master—maintains a safe distance, so that the blows are delivered with the right amount of force. He’ll lay a pattern of stripes over the sub’s shoulders, back, and ass.” We watched as Cartier delivered two more blows then he walked over to Goling and stroked his hand over the bright red of the other man’s ass while he checked the skin under the welts he was drawing up. Cartier moved around front to make eye contact with Goling. They held a brief conversation before the Master once again took up the whip and moved into position.
“The Master will check on his sub constantly throughout the scene. Nothing he does will cause permanent damage, and the sub can safeword if it gets to be too much.”
Apparently finished with the momentary lesson, Jeremiah turned to face me—back to work. “How would Franklin wrangle an invitation to this party and assuming he’s here, how do we find him?”
“Good questions. Wilde Sides was always the best, most exclusive club, but there are a few people who were members who could put the word out and draw in the dabblers and the out of region players. Archer managed to let the necessary information slip to someone we feel would have the same contacts as Franklin. It’s why security is deceptively lax around here tonight. We’re letting everyone in because we want Franklin.”
“Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly…”
“Exactly.”
Jeremiah nodded. “Makes sense, so what am I looking for?”
I wanted to laugh at his enthusiasm for the hunt. “Slow down. You’re the boy Friday…remember? You’re supposed to mind the paperwork while I do the heavy lifting.” His head snapped back as if I’d struck him and I wished the words back. It wasn’t his fault Archer put us in this awkward position. He was doing his best and I wasn’t making things easy on him.
“Jeremiah—”
“Will there be anything else, Sir?” I hummed a little. Sir. It had been awhile since anyone other than a store clerk had called me that. I knew it was just a sarcastic response to my comment, but… Damn.
“All right, that was unnecessary, I’m sorry. It’s just—Jeremiah, your eyes are a little wide, here. Look around the room. There aren’t any innocent tourists here. If I let you wander around in that outfit, I guarantee some Dom is going to snap you up and have you on your knees in no time.”
Jeremiah’s tanned face turned an interesting shade of rosy as the blush crawled up his neck. He opened his mouth, but we were interrupted before Jeremiah could voice his protest.
“Need some help with your new sub, Master Zach? I could take him off your hands for a while, you know, break him in?” Master Peter moved in behind Jeremiah, a wolf scenting prey. Peter slid his hands over Jeremiah’s ass, and I fought an unreasonable urge to growl possessively.
“Lower your eyes, boy, or you’ll get more than an introduction tonight.” I snapped the words at Jeremiah, willing him to follow orders. He seemed to understand because his gaze dropped to the floor. “No, thank you, Master Peter. Perhaps another time. I’m evaluating whether I have sufficient interest to take Jeremiah on as my new pet project.”
Peter patted me on the shoulder. “I can’t blame selfishness. He’s delicious. I’m looking for a new project myself—so if young Jeremiah doesn’t meet your needs, let me know.” He looked around the room. “What about him? He looks familiar…but I can’t place him.”
I followed his gaze to where a good-looking man in an expensive suit leaned with apparent ease against the wall. Despite my earlier assurances to the contrary, this man was indeed a tourist and had no business being here.
“Sorry, Peter, he’s not on the market for your type of play, either. In fact, he definitely doesn’t belong here. If you’ll excuse me…” I nodded to Peter, then crossed the room with Jeremiah close on my heels.
“Cannon?”
Blue eyes flashed defiantly at me from under the fall of black hair. Frowning, I scanned the room again, in case I’d missed something. “What the fuck are you doing here, alone? Where’s Chance?”
“It’s been five years. I would have thought he’d told you we're not…together.”
I leaned in close, invading Cannon’s personal space. “Chance told me. I thought maybe you forgot. You used to forget a lot of things. How’s that wife of yours?”
Cannon’s mouth went tight, his face visibly paling even in the dim lighting. “Classy, Zach. I should have known. You all stick together, don’t you? I think I’ll go now.” Cannon brushed past me and I followed him to the door. Cannon Malloy was definitely not the sort of trouble we needed here tonight.
Jeremiah’s expression held a question, but I forestalled the discussion with a brief explanation. “He’s the closeted former lover of an old friend. I have no idea why he’s here.”
Strong arms wrapped around me from behind and I momentarily leaned back into the comfort of Archer’s embrace.
“How is it going, lovers?” he asked. “You look positively delicious, Jeremiah.”
I ignored Archer’s use of the plural and pretended I didn’t see the shift in Jeremiah’s posture. “I’m not sure. George is here with a small entourage hanging on every word, plus a slave. The slave isn’t Franklin—all fingers present and accounted for—but I made him very uneasy.” I smiled. “Leaking word of the party to George was a definite plus. He never could keep a secret. I also saw a friend of friend who shouldn’t have known about the party—but who obviously did, so the word is definitely out in the right places in Atlanta.
With a quick check of his watch, Archer nodded. “Yes, I’ve just come from a long conversation with the former mayor. He was passing through on his way to DC and heard about our little shindig—his word—from the friend of a friend. If Franklin is anywhere near Atlanta, he’ll be here tonight.”
“I’ve hinted around that I’m looking for a sub for an intense session to demonstrate to the boy.” Jeremiah hissed, but kept his gaze down.
“Mmm…there are quite a few subs tonight who are well-trained and would enjoy your attention, Zachary.”
“They’ll have to come to me. That should give me plenty of opportunity to look for Franklin.” I smiled into those blue-green eyes. “Are you enjoying yourself, Archer?”
“Not as much as I intend to once everyone leaves and we finish this business. Considering we have everything we could possibly need.” Meeting my gaze with a heated look, he stroked my face with his long fingers, and my response to him was an immediate hunger that had nothing to do with our surroundings, and everything to do with him. With his lids half lowered, Archer slipped a finger into my mouth and I sucked greedily. Then his gaze drifted lazily over my shoulder. To Jeremiah.
Chapter Five
An hour later, I was still chafing from Archer’s apparent decision to take Jeremiah after the party. I’d tried to shrug it off, but it had burrowed into my subconscious like a splinter and I couldn’t seem to stop picking at the wound. For his part, Jeremiah proved to be as efficient in leather and mesh as he was in his usual khakis. Although I was drinking club soda—I was working after all—my glass was never empty. With his gaze lowered and walking behind me, Jeremiah managed to anticipate my direction, my needs.
Despite the hour, a few late arrivals still trickled in, and the crowd pushed at maximum capacity as we moved toward midnight. I recognized a significant number of our guests from our club days, but I noticed many were strangers, definitely people we hadn’t invited. Good news for us.
Over the course of the evening several subs had presented themselves and requested my attention, however, none of them were Franklin, so I passed without explanation or excuse. A small commotion near the door drew my attention and I looked up in time to see two masked men talking w
ith the doorman before they entered and moved into the crowded room. The mask actually made it easier to recognize Franklin—I wasn’t distracted by the new face or hair color, all I saw was the familiar slender frame. It was hard to disguise a backside that you’d striped with a riding crop.
The man with him was exactly who I’d expected. Good to know.
“Showtime,” I murmured.
“Found him?” Jeremiah leaned in to whisper his question, and his breath tickled against my cheek. I turned to face him and our gazes locked for a long moment.
“Put your fucking eyes down, boy.”
“Yes, Sir.” Jeremiah’s response was immediate and damn if my dick didn’t notice. Turning my back on my young assistant, I scanned the room looking for Franklin and worked at shoring up my determined indifference. I sternly reminded myself that these scenes, the smells, the public sex, were not for me tonight. For fuck’s sake…this was a cover story designed to draw in our target not an actual training session for the boy. Fuck. For Jeremiah.
Franklin stood near the bar, but pressed up against the wall, observing the crowd. There was no sign of his companion.
The next thirty minutes were the most critical part of our strategy. Would Franklin risk discovery by doing a scene with me? We‘d decided to make it nearly impossible to turn down, but I was worried about putting Jeremiah in over his head. I thought about making a last minute change—it would be simple to walk over to Franklin and with some covert prodding from my thirty-eight, convince him to leave the room with me.
I stopped short of the bar and pulled Jeremiah into my arms so that his back was against my front, my hands on his hips. As we swayed to the music, I rapidly whispered a review of our plan. Apparently Jeremiah thought it was a better idea to get into the mood of our little role-play, and he ground his ass back against my aching dick. The little shit. Of course, I knew a lot of tricks that just might send the boy running. I traced one hand over the mesh front of his shirt and slipped the other inside the tight leather shorts. With a quick twist of his nipple and a tight grip on his balls, I supported Jeremiah as his knees gave way.
