Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “Trent, am I deviant?”

  “Because of the cutting?”

  “Because I got off on what you did to me.”

  “No more deviant than Max or Jason.”

  “Or you?”

  “That’s right.”

  Trent held my face between his hands and stared into my eyes. “We’re a good fit, you and I. Do you have any idea how rare it is to find the perfect partner in the BDSM world?”

  “Why is it so difficult? There are clubs full of men who want to be hurt.”

  “That’s all well and good for a one-night stand, but I want more.”

  “You want me on a permanent basis?”

  “I like you, Sloan. You’re smart, hardworking, and funny. You have a lot of qualities I look for in a guy. I won’t even mention the draw of your cock because I know it’ll piss you off,” he said, teasing me with the smile that brought out that dimple which made him so damned attractive. “But good sex shouldn’t be dismissed lightly.”

  “It is good between us, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he whispered, moving closer. I could feel his body responding to mine and knew we were going to go another round.

  “Do you ever bottom?”

  “Not as a rule.”

  “What’ll it take?”

  “It’s always good to have goals, Sloan.”

  I laughed at that and kissed him soundly. “Let’s work on it, shall we?”

  “Not tonight,” he said firmly. “You’ll have lots of time on our trip to try and convince me.”

  “It’s going to take work, is it?”

  “It’ll make the victory much sweeter,”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Can we stop talking about sex and actually do it? This conversation is giving me a raging boner.”

  “Unlike you, I have no issues with being plowed.”

  “Less talk and more action, buddy.”

  We laughed our way to bed and fell on the crumpled bed sheets, kissing the entire time. Within seconds, he rolled on top of me, plying me with open-mouth kisses while he had my head trapped between his hands. It was becoming quite clear that Trent loved kissing, and he did it very well. I could feel his erection pressing against mine, and I spread my legs wider, wrapping them around his thighs and grinding frantically. My hands clutched at his ass cheeks, loving the sensation of the taut muscles rippling under my fingers. We were both oozing with beads of moisture, which helped us slide effortlessly, making one messy, delicious combination of heat. It wasn’t long before we were both gasping and soaking each other with our seed. Much later, when my breathing settled back down to normal and I lay spooned against him, I asked, “Would you ever consider doing it raw?”

  “In theory, I have nothing against it if we’re tested first, but like your other goal, it will take some time.”

  “You’re full of challenges, aren’t you?”

  “That’s what makes life interesting. Now, be a good boy and try and get some sleep. Max will skin us alive if we show up with bags under our eyes.”

  MAX DID inspect me, making sure that I’d survived the night, and Cole’s departure, without spiraling into a morass of guilt. “How are you doing, darling?”

  “I’m fine. Did Cole get off okay?”

  “Right on schedule.”

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “No, but I couldn’t resist giving him a piece of my mind.”

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Tough.”

  “Did he have anything enlightening to share?”

  “He was being his usual self-righteous self.”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea when he turned into such a sanctimonious prick.”

  “He hasn’t changed at all, Sloan. You have.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh huh. Now hustle over to the dressing room and get changed.”

  “Okay, boss.” I made my way through the crowd at Harrods, mentally preparing myself for our long day. My phone chimed, and I fished it out of my pocket. It was Cole, and I answered before even thinking about it.

  “Sloan?” The hope in his voice clawed at my gut but was instantly replaced by a slow boil when he said, “Have you come to your senses yet?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Get your butt on the next plane and come home where you belong.”

  “I don’t belong with you anymore.”

  “We can make this work.”

  “You, me, and Noriko?”

  “Yes.”

  “Forget about it.”

  “Are you positive?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then I’m pushing up the wedding. I got a call from her doctor, and he confirmed her pregnancy. She’s carrying twins.”

  “Congratulations,” I said coldly. “I hope you’ll be very happy.”

  “You can still be a part of this, Sloan.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “My offer still stands.”

  “Oh? Which one is that? Being your mistress?”

  “You’re obviously carrying a grudge.”

  “And you’re as delusional as ever. Good-bye, Cole.” I disconnected, cutting off his protest, and I went in search of Trent. Fuck the dressing room. I needed to touch, smell, and be with him, so he could banish all the voices that were screaming like banshees in my head. I was furious, and a step away from breaking something. Trent took one look at me and jerked me into one of the private dressing rooms.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Cole just called to tell me Noriko’s pregnant with twins and the marriage will soon be a reality.”

  Trent lifted my chin. “You’re angry, a definite improvement over the tears.”

  “Damn right.”

  “Why?”

  “The fucker propositioned me again. He basically told me I could walk back into his and Noriko’s life without missing a beat.”

  “As his boy toy?”

  “What do you think?”

  “And you said?”

  “No!”

  “Then why are you so pissed?”

  “’Cause he makes me feel so damn insignificant! I want to get on a plane and punch him in the mouth.”

  “Close your eyes and take a deep breath,” Trent said, holding me tight. His voice shifted down, taking on that commanding tone I now recognized as a signal to let him take over. “No matter what Cole says, you and I know there’s nothing inconsequential about you. You’re important to me as well as Max.”

  “Am I?”

  Trent kissed me softly and whispered. “Very.”

  “You know that question you asked me the other night?”

  “Which one?”

  “About whether your wait is over or not?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s over.”

  Cleave

  Acknowledgments and Thanks

  TO MY dearest friend and punctuation goddess, Jeannie, for everything she’s done to contribute to my writing. Aside from being a meticulous editor, she’s a great listener and puts up with my melodrama and mood swings. I can’t imagine doing this without her support. “Thank you” doesn’t even begin to cover how grateful I am to have her in my life.

  To the members of my critique group for their honesty and ongoing support.

  To everyone at Dreamspinner Press for the magic they perform with each novel. You make my dreams come true whenever I hold the finished product in my hand.

  Lastly, to all the readers who have invested time, tears, and hope in Sloan’s journey. Your e-mails and comments have sustained me throughout the writing of Cleave. As one of you mentioned, personal growth can be a messy business, but the payback is worth the pain.

  And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

  —Anaïs Nin

  Chapter 1

  THE RAW silk kept slipping through the loops as I stood in front of the full-length mirror attempting a half Windsor.
The simple knot was eluding me, impossible to explain given my mastery in the fine art of bondage. Everything seemed a little off-kilter this morning, most likely due to the aftereffects of last night’s debauchery. A New Year’s Eve party at Wilde was always over the top, and once again, Max had not only exceeded last year’s celebration but had raised the bar for future parties. His table for twelve had simply groaned with delicacies from all over the world, and the men he’d lined up to serve were the perfect appetizers. Sloan had made a pig of himself with the caviar, accompanied by multiple shots of vodka, which had also been my poison for the evening in the spirit of welcoming 2011.

  I let go of the stubborn tie when my concentration was completely ruined by the music coming from Sloan’s iPhone. The name that flashed on the screen didn’t help my mood, and the ring tone had the same effect as nails on a chalkboard. Sloan had assigned Queen’s “Love of My Life” to his ex. The poignant melody had never played since we’d been together, so hearing it now raised questions and disrupted my plans for the morning. I despised people who pried, but seeing Cole Fujiwara’s name on caller ID was reason enough to break my own rule. Not only did I want answers, I even considered canceling the meeting I’d intended to keep in an hour. Although modeling was fun and led to interesting perks, such as meeting gorgeous men like Sloan, it didn’t hold my attention. There was no challenge whatsoever, so I’d kept my investment business, and the handful of clients I’d retained made it lucrative enough to justify the time I split between my two careers. My potential investor was a player in the scene and a referral from Max, who’d insisted on the New Year’s Day meeting.

  Love of my life - you’ve hurt me.

  You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me.

  Just hearing the refrain repeat in Freddie Mercury’s distinctive voice set my teeth on edge and elevated my blood pressure instantly.

  There had been no news from Camp Fujiwara since the breakup in London nine months ago, and it had taken me that long to get my submissive-in-training to come to terms with the end of his long-standing relationship. Sloan could finally discuss his past without breaking down, and now our peace of mind was about to be disturbed by Cole’s reappearance. What in hell did the asshole want? And why in fuck did Sloan still keep his number, and more importantly, why hadn’t he ditched that particular ring tone?

  Sloan walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and froze. He gaped at the phone in my hand and darted a quick look at my face to gauge my mood. When he saw nothing more alarming than a raised eyebrow, he heaved a sigh of relief and reached for the phone just as the caller disconnected. “I wonder what he wants,” Sloan mused.

  “Are you going to return the call?”

  “I suppose I should.”

  “Why?”

  Dove-gray eyes flared in defiance but banked just as quickly. “What if it’s important?” Sloan suggested.

  “What if it’s not?”

  “Please, let me call him.”

  “Not yet,” I said, bracing for an argument. “Anything he has to say can wait until after your meditation.”

  “Sir, it’ll only take a second,” Sloan protested, clutching the phone and looking slightly panicked. “He’s never called before.”

  Shaking my head, I took the phone out of his hand and tossed it back on the nightstand. “The reason I have you meditate first thing in the morning is to get you in the right frame of mind.”

  “But―”

  “Sloan, listen to me. I won’t have you disrupting your schedule over a phone call. I want you grounded before you talk to him.”

  I could see all the emotions warring in Sloan’s expressive eyes as he wrestled with his decision, but I was satisfied when my boy took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and sank to his knees in front of me. Seeing him assume the rudimentary submissive pose―hands clasped behind his back and bowed head―was always a thrill, but this morning’s surrender was particularly sweet and deserved a reward. I lifted his chin and bent down to kiss him softly on the mouth. “Thank you.” He responded immediately, opening his mouth and allowing my tongue to slip in. Submitting did not come easily to Sloan, but that side of his personality I’d awakened had grown and blossomed under my care. I stepped away from him reluctantly and resumed my meditation stance.

  The towel that encircled his slim waist fell to the floor in a puddle, exposing the body that was Sloan’s undoing. Despite the positive physical changes that had come with maturity and my very obvious appreciation, the mental image of an underweight and undesirable man continued to plague Sloan. He needed to be reminded that he was attractive and worthy of the adulation he received in the modeling world, along with the monetary and personal rewards. Part of his path of self-discovery was a daily mantra reiterating his worth.

  “Take a deep breath and banish everything from your mind.” My voice acted as the trigger, guiding him through his morning ritual. “Inhale… exhale.” I repeated the words several times until I saw the subtle shift in body language. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest signaled his transition into a calmer space, one that didn’t allow outside influences or chaotic thoughts to intrude. I began with the usual questions. “Who are you?”

  “Sloan Driscoll.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a successful model.”

  “How do you know you’re a success?”

  “The contracts I’ve acquired over the years and the financial rewards.”

  “Do you believe you deserve the fame?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve worked very hard to get here.”

  “Are you beautiful, Sloan?”

  “They say I am.”

  “Why don’t you believe it?”

  “Beauty is subjective.”

  “You’re beautiful to me.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “Don’t you feel attractive?”

  “When I’m with you, I do.”

  “What about in front of the camera? I’m not the only one who thinks you’re special.”

  “I’ve been lucky.”

  “I think you give yourself very little credit. You work damn hard.”

  “You’re very generous with your praise.”

  “It’s the truth, boy, not flattery.” My body was reacting to the desirable vision in front of me, even as Sloan responded to my encouraging words. I couldn’t help but notice his growing erection. “Do you know how much I care for you?”

  “I feel it in your voice and your touch, sir.”

  “How else can you tell?”

  “You’ve helped me find the special place where I can be myself.”

  “Through physical pain?”

  “And my surrender.”

  “Good answer, boy. Open your eyes and look at me.”

  Sloan blinked a few times. He appeared to be on a powerful hallucinogenic, when the reality was far more complex. He was in his subspace. To see him in this state was immensely satisfying, considering the long and somewhat rocky journey he’d traveled since we first hooked up. Taming Sloan was like trying to corral a wild stallion. As soon as I thought I had him, he’d slip out of reach, only to be subdued after an intense scene. It had taken patience and a lot of effort to finally arrive at this place, and I would be damned if one phone call from Sloan’s past would ruin it all.

  “May I please you this morning?” Sloan asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “God, yes.” I sank down on an upholstered leather high back and spread my legs wide apart. My cock was throbbing, and watching my sub crawl naked toward me, with his massive erection leading the way, was making me salivate. Adding to the mix was the pungent odor of our mutual arousal. It enveloped me, and I leaned back on the chair and moaned in anticipation. I was dressed for my meeting, however, and I expected Sloan to work for his reward. He gripped my zipper in between his teeth and slid it down slowly, encouraged by my groaning.

  “Take care not to soil my pants,�
�� I warned. “I have an appointment in less than an hour.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sloan said before engulfing my rigid shaft down his throat. He began to suck with due diligence, and I closed my eyes and sighed with content. When I felt my balls pulling up, I pushed the cloying mouth away abruptly.

  Sloan looked confused. “Don’t you want me to finish you off?”

  “To hell with my meeting,” I snarled, pushing my pants down my thighs while I toed off my shoes. “Get on the bed.”

  Sloan beamed at me happily. His lips were shiny with saliva, and he looked loopy from a combination of lust and meditative reflection.

  I stepped out of my pants and boxers, folded them at the crease, and laid them on the leather seat. Next off was my shirt, and instead of wasting time with the long line of buttons, I struggled with the top two before yanking it over my head and draping it over the back of the chair.

  Sloan was already waiting in the middle of the massive four-poster bed that took center stage. I straddled him, reached for the leather cuffs, and attached the pair to Sloan’s wrists. I then clipped them to the chains that dangled off the wooden posts until Sloan was spread out and immobilized. “Comfy?”

  Sloan nodded, trancelike.

  “I want to play with your pretty cock.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  I rolled my thumb over his slit, spreading the emerging drops of fluid until his impressive cock head glistened. I leaned over and whispered. “I owe you a present.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I haven’t forgotten, even though Christmas has come and gone.”

  “There’s only one thing I want,” Sloan replied hoarsely.

  “I know.”

  “Is that my present?” Sloan’s cock rose appreciably, encouraged by the possibility of an unexpected bonus.

  My boy had been trying to top me for months. His fondest wish was to sink his notable cock into his “Highlander,” a nickname I’d earned after donning a kilt in London. That and the tawny locks I’d retained since the photo shoot had made me an honorary Scotsman in Sloan’s eyes. It helped that I was indeed part Scottish, and soon I ranked high up on his list of sexy men in kilts, alongside Captain Jack of Torchwood and the lunatic from Braveheart. Throughout our holiday in the UK, as we traveled from castle to loch, enjoying the magnificent views and exploring my ancestry, Sloan had pestered, begged, and cajoled. My continued refusal to allow any penetration had become a bone of contention, and Sloan was starting to take it personally.