by L. E. Harner
“Oh fuck.” The moan was hot and Jeremiah’s chest rose and fell rapidly under my hand. So much for pretending.
There was no way Franklin could avoid spotting us from where he stood.
“No coming until I say so, boy,” I growled over his shoulder. I was loud enough to be heard too…as I’d said, it was show time.
“Master, may we have a third tonight? Will you teach me?”
It wasn’t the line he was supposed to say, but as improv, it wasn’t bad. I stared down at him, gauging his interest and ability in acting and realized I had severely underestimated this man. His lack of experience in BDSM did not translate to stupid. I should’ve known that Archer had selected the applicants carefully. When we were done I was going to go back and pull out Jeremiah’s application and study it more carefully.
“Hmm…might do you good to see how a well-trained sub behaves. If I can find me the right submissive…” I looked around, as if considering several options. “I want him,” I said, pointing toward Franklin. “Get him to come with us for a scene and I might let you come tonight. Otherwise I’ll bind your balls until tomorrow.”
Jeremiah smiled and the heat in his look left me breathing a little harder. I bet the little fucker was an actor. He went up on his toes and pressed a quick kiss against my lips before turning away. Then Jeremiah, who hadn’t displayed a hint of anything slightly feminine all week, bent his elbows, relaxed his wrists, and positively swished his hips when he walked. I watched as he closed the distance to Franklin and noticed several others turning to watch him as well. Where the fuck had that come from?
As they spoke, Franklin shook his head at the first question…whether anyone would be waiting if he went to a private party upstairs. Franklin had dressed for clubbing, and swayed slightly to the music as they spoke. Jeremiah danced his fingers up the buttons of Franklin’s shirt then flirted with the edge of his mask. Franklin smiled, glanced over to where I stood, arms crossed, flexing a little in the flicker of the lighting. He seemed to think a long time about the second question, then nodded.
Whatever Jeremiah’s words to Franklin, they worked, because the two of them linked hands as my very versatile new personal assistant led Franklin toward the back of the house and the stairs that led to the second floor. They moved through the crowd with several backward glances in my direction and what looked to be honest-to-god giggling. I shook my head, amused at the antics, and reluctantly impressed with Jeremiah’s success.
I trailed slowly behind the two men, waiting until I made eye contact with Archer from across the room, before I followed them upstairs.
The bedroom we’d converted for tonight wasn’t large, but the four-poster bed was perfect for what I needed. By the time I got to the room, the lights were dimmed and the sheets pulled back to clearly reveal the restraints at the corners of the massive bed. Both men were naked and kneeling with their heads bowed—more orchestration by my helpful assistant, I supposed.
Taking a riding crop from the umbrella stand next to the door, I stepped to where the two men waited. I stroked Jeremiah’s black hair for a moment before wrapping the spiky strands in my fingers and tugging his head back.
“Jeremiah? Did you remember to ask if this man is experienced in bondage and discipline?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What’s his name?”
Franklin started to speak, but I silenced him with a sharp snap of the crop against his hip. I heard his slight hiss, knew it was only a tease of what he’d be hoping for.
“He asked to be called Midnight, Sir.”
I barked a short laugh at the clichéd name. “Very well, Midnight. You may call me Sir or Master. My rules are simple. You do what I say, you take what I give, and you don’t come without my permission. Do you have a safe word?”
“Yes, Sir. Coffee.”
“Coffee? All right. If you say coffee, all action stops. No hesitation, no question. Just stops. Otherwise we go at my pace. Jeremiah is mine. I take care of his needs. For tonight, you will also be mine. Climb up on the bed face up, spread eagle. Jeremiah, I want you to fix the restraints.”
“Yes, Sir,” they replied in unison.
As soon as the first cuff was fastened, I relaxed—Hartfield wasn’t going anywhere. Jeremiah finished attaching all four cuffs, then stepped away from the bed with a satisfied smile.
“Nice work, Jer. You can go ahead and get dressed.” Turning my focus to the man on the bed, I grabbed the spandex hoodie that completely covered his head and yanked, none too gently. The mask pulled up with a crackle of static electricity that left his dark hair standing on end and almond-shaped eyes wide with surprise. Up close, the sharp cheekbones and shape of the chin gave him the look of a mixed race Asian. It was nice work. I’d have passed him on the street without a second glance. I smiled and grabbed his stubby left pinkie finger, twisting hard. “Hello, Franklin. How’s life?”
Chapter Six
Jeremiah is mine. The words continued to echo in my head long after we’d secured the money through wire transfers. Although Franklin had been clever in his initial distribution of funds, he’d gotten lazy, and only three banks held the bulk of the money. It took us a total of fifteen minutes to convince him of the error of his ways and another hour to transfer the money into one of Archer’s accounts.
Archer wasn’t totally heartless. Since Margaret’s original deal with Franklin was for seven million, our finder’s fee was a cool three and a half million. In the end, we left Margaret her full seven million. We took our cut from Franklin’s share, leaving left him slightly over two million in actual cash. Not perhaps the fortune he’d envisioned for himself, but far greater than what he could have been left. After all, once we obtained the passcodes to his accounts, we had the keys to his kingdom.
We had insurance, too. A fact that was brought home when we released Franklin, or rather Antoine Cranston into the safe hands of his lover…Mr. Clive Ferrell, most recently of Fidelity Life and Trust. Archer had personally escorted the investigator to our library for the obligatory fireside chat when all was revealed.
“How did you know?” Clive asked.
Taking his time, Archer removed his jacket, then loosened his tie. Next to me, Jeremiah shifted slightly, and I touched his arm lightly and shook my head. This was Archer’s show, now. We all watched and waited as he poured himself a drink. Still studying the amber liquid, Archer began to speak.
“Old D.W. Hartfield was a rich bastard who always tried to control his son’s life, even from beyond the grave. It’s inconceivable that he wouldn’t have stipulated an investigation into his son’s death before any trust monies were paid. An insurance payment—even one from a private trust fund—isn’t going to be paid without a body. Not without lengthy litigation or incontrovertible proof.”
Archer looked up and nailed Clive with his gaze. “The verification of death was the weakest part of the case, and had to involve either the local police constable or the investigator.” The silence in the room was deafening. Archer took a small sip as the clock ticked away the seconds, and still no one spoke.
“The good constable went home after the accident to his very pregnant wife. There was no change in standard of living, however his bank records indicated he received compensation from the trust for injuries sustained during the boat accident. A slightly unusual move, since he was no longer on Hartfield property at the time of his injuries, but not unprecedented. A sum of five thousand British pounds deposited during the weeks following the accident—you got off cheap, Franklin.”
As if he’d received news of the death of a loved one, Clive’s dark eyes stood out like sooty smudges on his pale skin. “So, if you had evidence against the constable, why look for me? I thought it would stop any investigation—not point to another partner. We could have been gone in another week—”
“Ahh, but you underestimated Franklin’s greed and the wrath of a woman scorned. If you two could have settled for your half of the insurance money, we wouldn’t b
e sitting here tonight—”
Franklin jumped a little, then leaned forward in his chair. “Taking the money from Margaret wasn’t my idea! I told you, Clive. It would have been enough—”
“Shut up. Don’t say another word.” A nasty flush climbed up Ferrell’s neck, and his hands clenched the arm of his chair. I pushed back my jacket and rested my hand on the butt of my gun. Obviously understanding my not-so-subtle message, Ferrell leaned back into his chair, his mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.
“That explains so very much.” Archer sounded amused. “As I was saying, Margaret knew Franklin had a lover in Atlanta and that he’d had some plastic surgery here, as well, so it made sense to start our search locally. Given the intricacies of trust and insurance payouts, someone with inside knowledge of Fidelity’s procedures had to be involved. You were their lead investigator—your reputation above reproach. Tell me, Ferrell, how long were you planning this?”
Ferrell relaxed his grip on the arm of the chair, leaving damp imprints of his fingers. His face seemed to crumple and tears pooled in his eyes, just before he dropped his head into his hands. “It—it—it just happened.”
Usually I let Archer do the honors, but that little performance was more than I could stand. “Oh fuck me, Clive. Word of advice…don’t quit your day job. Oh wait—too late.” Ferrell’s head whipped up and he blinked owlishly at the unexpected rebuke. The twitch of Archer’s mouth told me he’d found my reaction amusing. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into Archer’s arms, taste that mouth, push away all thoughts of nasty little men whose lives were nothing but one lie after another. It was time to finish this long night.
“Let me share a little secret with you,” I said. “I have a copy of the driver’s licenses, passports, and birth certificates the two of you had made for your new life together in Aruba. The funny thing is…I also have it on good authority that a second set of documents was made for a man named Phillip Oberon—a man who bears a remarkable resemblance to you, Ferrell. I’d hate to think you were planning to double cross your partner.”
Clive paled. “I can’t imagine—”
I lunged at his chair and slapped my hands on the armrests, my face just inches from his. “If anything were to happen to Franklin—or Antoine or any other identity he chooses to assume—I imagine those papers might become public. In fact, I imagine I would hunt you down like the animal you are. Do I make myself clear?”
*
Ten minutes later they were gone and Archer was pouring three glasses of our finest whisky. “To a successful case and a first week as partners.”
I stiffened as if slapped. “Partners?”
“Well, I meant partners in crime, love. After all, you and I have been at this a while, but it’s probably Jeremiah’s first felony.” Archer laughed then took a sip of his drink.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the look on Jeremiah’s face. I don’t believe he’d thought about what we’d done as a crime, but we’d effectively stolen fifteen million by not reporting to the trust that Franklin was still alive. Not to mention we were keeping a damned large chunk of the money for ourselves.
“Well…hell,” Jeremiah said at last. He tossed back his drink and held his glass out for a refill.
The moment spun out while I studied my drink, and pretended I wasn’t aware of the rising tension in the room. Finally, I blew out a breath. “I suppose we should talk.”
“I’m a little confused about what happens next,” Jeremiah admitted.
“You aren’t the only one,” I muttered. Then I blew out my breath and took a good long look at Jeremiah. He’d changed into jeans and a dark shirt that hung loose, but I couldn’t help but remember the look of him in the fetishwear. Long, lithe muscles, cut abs—
“It’s been a quite a week and we’ve all been preoccupied with the Hartfield case.” I looked at Archer. He was calm and graceful as he lounged on the long leather sofa. His right brow rose a fraction of an inch as he waited for me to continue. “I think you should go first, Archer.”
“Really, Zachary. I thought I was clear when we had this discussion last week. You know that I've been worried for some time about not meeting your needs.” He dismissed my automatic denial with an imperious wave of his hand and smiled at Jeremiah.
“I wanted to give you something special. I contacted Tristan and attended an auction. The auction was quite different from what I envisioned. Although there were a few full-time slaves on the block, there were mostly professional submissives—men who sought a longer commitment without the hassles of a relationship. However, selecting someone from the catalog and bringing him home felt a bit like giving you a puppy. Since you’d hired people from Tristan in the past to work at the club, I spoke to him about our needs and he had the perfect solution. I had no idea that his employment services extended to long-term contracts. It's an elegantly simple arrangement, matching skill with a perceived need. Supply and demand, so to speak. Zachary, I perceive you have a need. It’s my job to make sure those needs are met.”
While I tried to wrap my mind around his words, Archer stood and moved to the drink cart, filling his glass once again. Rather than returning to his seat, he came and sat down next to me on the smaller sofa. He cupped the back of my head and crushed our mouths together. When he finally released me, there was a little buzz of need running through my brain. God, what this man could do to me.
“Archer, don’t you know that I love you? I love what we have together. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I needed to make him understand that I was okay with the way things were.
His palms soothed my cheek, my eyebrows, my jaw. “Actually, Zachary, I do know. But you do have needs that must be met before you start to resent what we have. Trust me, love. Do you really think I would introduce another man into our relationship if I wasn’t absolutely sure our love was strong enough?”
I blinked in surprise. That made such sense in an Archer kind of way.
Archer turned to face Jeremiah. “I find you to be a charming young man, and I confess, I'd hoped that Zachary would select you among the candidates, but this had to be his decision. I won’t interfere in whatever relationship Zachary chooses. You are here for the next year as a personal assistant to help us with our daily affairs. Appointments, banking, however Zachary chooses to assign you is perfectly fine with me.”
Turning back to me, Archer continued. “Zachary, I know you…and I know you probably had some idea in the back of your head that you could scare Jeremiah away with some of the more extreme examples of BDSM, particularly as we had this party to arrange. Obviously, Jeremiah performed exceedingly well. Above and beyond the call, I’d say.”
I recognized the shift in his voice, knew an order was coming. Brow furrowed, Archer studied Jeremiah again, before turning his attention back to me.
“You will continue to use Jeremiah as your personal assistant. That is an order. I won’t force you to go beyond those boundaries, however. I have one request. Jeremiah came to us in good faith and under contract, but there was no doubt he had a fair expectation of receiving training as a submissive. I would like Jeremiah to watch us do a scene someday. I believe he deserves that much.”
I turned to Jeremiah. Despite the fact that we’d been working for nearly thirty-six hours, his dark hair was still stylishly spiked. Add the stubble of beard that darkened his jaw, and the way he captured his lower lip between bright white teeth…gorgeous. God, he was so fucking young. I felt gray and washed out next to his youthful good looks. I wanted nothing more than to hustle off to the bedroom with Archer, to fall against him, and after being well-used, we would both sleep for a week. But we had Jeremiah here, now. Looking fresh and interested. Shit.
“Can I ask a question?” Jeremiah spoke up from near the fireplace, surprising me and drawing my attention back to the present situation. “That might have been my first club scene with Doms and Masters, but I don’t—I mean…” he paused. I had a feeling I knew where this was going, but I w
aited. Jeremiah moistened his lips, looked down at his drink as if surprised to find he was still holding a glass. He tossed back the liquid courage and shuddered. When he met my gaze, I saw desire…and maybe a little loneliness haunting those lovely green eyes.
“Zack? I watched you out there…you were one of the most popular Doms in the room. All those subs kept presenting—kept asking for you. But if I understand the arrangement here…what you and Archer…so why not—” his rambling question broke off.
The need practically vibrated from the boy—shit—from Jeremiah. Still I hesitated to give in to the temptation he presented. Then Archer’s hand slid up my back, and I knew what I wanted…what I needed for tonight. I shifted my gaze to look into the swirl of blue-green of Archer’s eyes, the familiar crinkle at the corners as my lover’s gaze met mine. I smiled just for him, and felt the familiar tug in my chest. After a long moment, I looked back at Jeremiah and caught him watching us, a hungry look on his face. Jeremiah still waited for an answer.
I gave the young man what I hoped was an understanding smile. After all, there was much we needed to discuss since I hadn’t managed to scare him off. I wanted to know why he chose to be contracted for a year of service. What did he expect from me? What would those lips feel like wrapped around my cock? All questions that needed answers. Someday—soon, maybe—just not today.
“Jeremiah, will you excuse us? Monday will be here soon enough and we can start dealing with things, then. Have a good weekend—boy.” I hoped he understood the promise of that word.
Then as of one mind, Archer and I left the room hand-in-hand, the weight of Jeremiah’s gaze on our backs.
*
Moving to our bedroom, we undressed with the efficient familiarity of an old married couple. Tonight wasn’t about games, tonight was for comfort, for a reaffirmation of what we meant to each other. Despite all our experiences, all our years together, the combination of Archer’s attempt to give me what he thought I needed, jumping back into the BDSM game, and having Jeremiah in our home, all left me unsettled. He knew me well enough to realize I didn’t want a scene tonight. Tonight was for us, friends, lovers, partners.
