Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “I never thought you’d do it!” Max blurted out. “All these years you’ve never looked at anyone else.”

  I saw him struggling for control. The different emotions were warring with each other, and I prayed that his common sense, and not his ego, would win the battle. This would be the second time I’d rejected him. Even the most confident Dom in the world would have a hard time overcoming the insult. Yet, I needed him to be my friend and continue as my mentor. Max was my anchor in this constantly changing sea of life, and I didn’t want to lose him along with Cole.

  He cuffed me on the head with a light hand. “Stupid boy.”

  “Max?” There were tears in my eyes, and his tender brown orbs were sparkling with moisture that he blinked away immediately.

  “Come here, darling.”

  I slid into his embrace, safe and confident that he would accept my decision. He was a mensch in the true sense of the word, and I loved him for it. My father had always been a kind person, but he never understood me the way Max did. The relief flowed through me like a drug. I relaxed against his chest and let him hold me close.

  “Are you sure you can deal with Trent? He’s no pushover.”

  “I honestly don’t know where this is going, Max. All I can tell you is that he makes me want to go on trying.”

  “He likes to play rough.”

  “I don’t think he’ll hurt me unless I ask for it.”

  “You don’t like pain.”

  “He knows.”

  “Will you let me talk to him at least?”

  “Only if you’re respectful.”

  “I would never insult him, but he needs to know I have your back.”

  “I’m sure he’s well aware of that.”

  “I would feel better if I had my say.”

  “Okay, you can be my official daddy.”

  “Blech! Don’t insult me.”

  I laughed and kissed him quickly on the lips. “I’m outta here.”

  “Stupid boy,” he said again, shaking his head. “Be careful.”

  Chapter 28

  WE HAD a traditional English dinner of lamb slowly roasted in wine, according to the description on the menu, and served with creamy mashed potatoes and thick gravy. Now that most of my immediate problems were dispensed with, my hunger pangs took over, and I ate like a prisoner on death row. Everything tasted as good as it looked, and I didn’t stop to say two words to Trent, who matched me forkful for forkful. When we were finally sated and sipping our coffees, heavily laced with whiskey, he asked me what happened after we’d parted ways earlier in the afternoon.

  “Where do I begin?”

  “How about telling me what made you cry?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes,” Trent said. “Talk to me.”

  I sighed, took another sip of the coffee, reached for a cigarette out of his pack, and played with it nervously. I knew smoking was prohibited in the restaurant, but it gave me something to do with my hands. He looked on in amusement. “I can outwait you any day, Sloan.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said, rolling my eyes. I stuck my tongue out at him for good measure.

  “And just in case you’ve forgotten,” Trent leaned in and reached for my hand. “I can see.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  Trent chuckled. “I’m sure it’s going to take some getting used to. You can start by getting rid of the eye roll. It annoys the hell out of me.”

  “Does it?”

  “Did you speak with Cole today?” Trent asked, gently steering the conversation back to a topic I wanted to avoid at all costs.

  I nodded and recounted the entire afternoon, starting with my new phone and the many messages Cole had left. Halfway through I had to stop. The tears were too close to the surface, and I refused to embarrass us both with a public display. He waited, calmly holding my hand.

  “It’s going to take some time,” he said softly. “It’s okay to grieve.”

  “I know.”

  “Did anything else happen to upset you?”

  “I told Max about us.”

  “Uh oh… is he going to blackball me?”

  “It was touch and go for a minute, but he came through with flying colors. Be prepared for a fatherly lecture, though.”

  “Fuckin’ A.”

  His reaction was surprising, but it occurred to me just then that Max would make a formidable enemy and could easily ruin Trent’s career. Even his entry into the Manhattan BDSM world could be blocked by Max if he wanted to get shitty. Trent had taken a leap of faith into my bed that I only appreciated at this very moment.

  “Did he warn you away from big, bad Trent?”

  “He said you liked to play rough.”

  Trent nodded slowly. “I do, but only if my partner is willing. I’m fairly eclectic in bed. What’s important to me is finding the right fit. It’s not always about pain, Sloan.”

  “You know that’s what turned me away from BDSM in the first place.”

  “So you’ve said. What you don’t seem to understand is that every D/s relationship is different. It can be as rough or as tame as you want it to be. Some couples get off on the physical signs of domination, no doubt there, but I’ve known of successful pairings that have never used a flogger. The exchange of power can be more mental than physical, but the underlying thread of submission and domination has to be present.”

  “You’d be content in a vanilla relationship?”

  “No, but I don’t necessarily have to wield a bullwhip to make me happy. The only thing I demand is your submission. Everything else can be negotiated.”

  “Will I need a safe word tonight?”

  Trent smiled, but his blue eyes turned a shade darker. My question seemed to have ignited something, and I could tell he was very much engaged. “That’s only if you want to play.” He’d switched to the dominant voice I could already recognize, and my pants were getting tighter with each word that came out of his mouth.

  “I’d like to discuss it further.”

  “Negotiation is a large part of BDSM.”

  “Is it?”

  “What would you like to do tonight?” he asked, shifting gears once again. His uncanny sense of timing was very much in play. He knew exactly when my comfort level was about to be disrupted.

  “What time do we have to get up?”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday.”

  “So it is,” I said, pleasantly surprised. “I’ve lost all track of time.”

  “You’ve been a little preoccupied.”

  “I’ll say. Do you want to go clubbing?”

  “I only do that when I’m alone and looking to hook up.”

  “I saw a park close by. Shall we check it out?”

  “That sounds good,” Trent said. “It’ll give us a chance to talk and get rid of these calories we’ve just consumed.”

  According to the waiter, Green Park was close enough for our purposes and, more importantly, safe, which was always a concern in a new locale. We split the bill and shrugged on our jackets. The sun had barely set, so it was still on the warm side as we strolled hand in hand toward the area. We found a clean bench and sat down to continue our conversation.

  “What are your plans after we go back home?” Trent asked, crossing his legs and putting his arm on my shoulder to draw me closer.

  “I’ll have to find a place to live. I can’t stay at the studio indefinitely.”

  “Good luck. Finding the right apartment in Manhattan is always a challenge. Do you know where you want to live?”

  “I’d like something near work. I don’t own a car, and I’d rather not spend a whole lot of time on the subway.”

  “Anything in Tribeca will cost you a small fortune.”

  “Cole helped me make some good investments over the years. Maybe I’ll buy something and forego rent altogether.”

  Trent whistled. “You must have done real well if you’re thinking of buying.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “What about you? Where do you
live?”

  “In the Village.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you been modeling?”

  “Three years, but this is a side job. I’m an investment banker. That’s how I met Max.”

  “Did he twist your arm like he did mine?”

  Trent laughed. “I handled some investments for him, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of his camera without a shirt. It’s been a wild ride since then.”

  “Tell me about it. Max literally dragged me into the modeling world, kicking and screaming, but I’m so glad he did. I’d never make this kind of dough anywhere else.”

  “Until someone younger and hotter comes along.”

  I shrugged. “We’ve got a while before that happens.”

  “What will you do when the merry-go-round stops?”

  “I’m a graphic artist. I can always fall back on that.”

  Trent turned to me and put his hand behind my neck, leaning in for a kiss. It was soft and gentle, a far cry from the heated frenzy of this afternoon’s encounter but just as good. “Sloan, spend the night with me.”

  “I had planned on it.”

  “I don’t want you to think it’s all about sex.”

  “As long as you still respect me in the morning.” I grinned.

  Trent’s laugh was loud and unrestrained, and it made me smile even wider. Knowing he enjoyed my sense of humor was very relaxing. Max’s warning about Trent’s fondness for rough sex hadn’t put me off. I felt I could speak my mind if anything he suggested was outside my comfort level.

  “Did you enjoy being restrained the other night?” he asked abruptly.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever been tied up with rope?”

  “Not recently.”

  “When?”

  “When Max was trying to induct me into his world about five years ago.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “He found out I was a cutter and assumed I was a masochist. He didn’t understand that it was simply a means of coping with my insecurities.”

  “Why were you so insecure?”

  “I had severe body image issues.”

  “From where I sit, there’s nothing wrong with your body.”

  “I was horribly underweight and thought I was hideous.”

  “I guess I should thank Max and modeling for giving you more confidence.”

  I shook my head. “It was Cole. Max had nothing to do with it.”

  “How?”

  “By loving me and seeing that I ate properly every day. He made me quit smoking and urged me to join a gym. He was constantly pushing food supplements and vitamins.” By the time I finished my last sentence, I was close to tears again. “I’m sorry,” I said, turning away from Trent’s intense look. “I can’t talk about Cole right now.”

  He stood and tugged on my hand. “Let’s go back to the hotel,” he said. “You need some TLC.”

  We headed out toward the entrance of the park when a skinhead stepped in front of us, blocking the path. He must have been watching us for some time because he knew we were gay, even though neither one of us looked the part. If he’d been observing us, though, he would have seen us touching and kissing on the bench, which is probably what set him off. He was belligerent and got right in Trent’s face. “Where do you poofters think you’re going?”

  “Back to our hotel,” Trent replied.

  He pushed me behind him and began the standoff with the idiot, who must have been drunk, because he couldn’t shut up. The skinhead jabbed Trent in the chest and asked again, “Going somewhere, ass breath?”

  Trent moved quickly, spinning the guy around so he was facing the opposite direction. He was our height, probably thirty pounds heavier, but clumsy. Trent wrapped his left arm around the man’s neck, forcing him to bend forward, and then he grabbed the idiot’s wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, bending it at a cruel angle. It must have hurt like hell ’cause the guy started to scream for mercy. “Let go of me, you motherfucker.”

  “If you promise to leave us alone,” Trent said in a deadly voice that sent a chill up my spine.

  “Get off me, you asshole.”

  Trent let go abruptly, and the guy fell and knocked his chin on the gravel, making him scream again. “Stay down or I swear I’ll kick your teeth in,” Trent growled, stepping on the guy’s neck and pressing hard.

  “I’ll stay―just leave me alone.”

  Trent took my hand, and we walked away, leaving the guy whimpering like a frightened puppy. Trent wasn’t even out of breath.

  I slanted a glance. “What did you say you were before you became a model?”

  “An investment banker.”

  “And before that?”

  Trent finally cracked a smile and looked my way. “Special Forces.”

  “Holy shit.”

  Chapter 29

  THERE’S SOMETHING about danger and thoughts of imminent death that bring out a need to procreate, and in our case, fuck like rabbits. It’s been proven over and over again. Birth statistics nine months after a catastrophic event often show a major spike, validating the theory that sex and danger are a great combination. Not that we needed an excuse, but seeing Trent in full-out combative mode was a high like no other. Who knew? I was so turned on I would have come if he so much as sneezed on my cock.

  As soon as we entered his room and locked the door, we were tearing at each other’s clothes.

  “Trent, hurry… please.” I was acting like a drug addict in need of a fix. My urgency didn’t leave any time for the finer points of submission and domination. All we could think of at this point was getting off. Trent’s cock practically jumped out of his pants when I finally got his zipper down. He was as hard as steel and oozing precum like a faulty spigot. Grabbing both sides of my head, a move he employed routinely, he dragged me closer until I was inches away from his engorged shaft. I buried my face amongst the wiry brown curls, inhaling the pungent scent of his arousal. My need for Trent was overpowering, and I licked the drops that oozed from his slit, moaning wantonly. He sank into my mouth, going as deep as humanly possible without killing me. Eventually, he loosened his hold on my head and allowed me some freedom of movement. I managed to get a couple of my fingers in my mouth, alongside his cock, so I could slick them with saliva to ease my way up his asshole. He grunted in surprise when I wiggled a finger up the hot passage, but he didn’t push me away as I made every effort to loosen that tight ring. My goal was to reach the tiny walnut-shaped gland and stimulate it until I brought Trent down on his knees.

  “Sloan,” he hissed and tried to pull away from my invasive finger, but I was having none of that. It was obvious my big, bad Dom had a virgin ass. Even better! I could not wait to see his face when I began to milk his prostate.

  “Come to bed,” I said, releasing his cock. He looked shell-shocked and followed meekly as I made him lie down on top of the comforter.

  I tugged off his pants and boxers, dropping them on the floor. I was so intent on making this good for Trent that my own need subsided, and I was more in control. “Spread for me, please?” I asked, humbly respectful, lest I blow his mind completely. I didn’t want him to think I was taking over. God forbid.

  I swallowed him to the hilt again while my busy fingers were right back where I wanted them―burrowing their way up that passage and finally hitting home. When I felt the soft bump and began stroking it, Trent let out a rough cry and yanked my hair so hard I thought he’d pull it out by the roots. His cum flooded my mouth, and the salty-sweet taste was all I needed to get off as well. I began humping his thigh and came in a satisfying gush, coating his leg.

  Trent drew me up his body and embraced me so tight I thought I’d suffocate. “You’re mine,” he said in a voice I could barely hear.

  “Yes.” I had to concede that, for now, I was definitely his. Tomorrow was another story, and one I’d rather not think about.

  We fell asleep and
awoke again sometime in the middle of the night. This time Trent was determined to return the favor and took his blessed time, rimming, sucking, and turning me into a quivering wreck. By the time he stuffed his cock up my ass, I was begging incoherently. He exploded into the latex reservoir just as I splattered all over the sheets. Housekeeping would surely have something to say about us tomorrow.

  WE WOULD have slept through Sunday if not for the endless pounding on the door.

  “It’s probably Tin,” I muttered into the pillow. I was lying on my stomach, well aware of the stinging sensation in and around my asshole. “I think you broke me last night.”

  “No way,” Trent said, kissing me on the neck. “You’ll be good to go in a few hours.”

  “Jesus. Maybe if you wear the kilt I might revive.”

  “I’ll wear stilettos if it will perk you up.”

  “Na uh… don’t like that.”

  “We’ll make a list of do’s and don’ts.”

  I flipped over and tried to focus. He was leaning on his elbow, and his hair was a mass of knots and sticking out all over the place. His day-old scruff was dark brown, more in keeping with the auburn. “You sure are pretty,” I said softly.

  “I was just about to say the same thing,” he said, bending down and kissing me. We were interrupted by more of the infernal pounding. Trent hissed. “I’m killing whoever is standing at the door.”

  “Make it quick,” I urged, “I’m feeling perky already.”

  Trent chuckled and walked across the room. He was stark naked and didn’t even bother to cover up. He pulled the door open and exclaimed, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to talk to Sloan.”

  I heard the voice, but my brain kept denying the obvious. It couldn’t possibly be Cole when he was in New York just yesterday. How’d he get here? Was he alone or did he bring Noriko? I grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around my waist. Cole was standing at the door with Freddie. The golden retriever barked at my familiar face and began wagging his tail enthusiastically. I knelt down and embraced the excited animal who slobbered all over me with his big wet tongue. When I’d had my fill, I stood and faced Cole. “Why are you here?”