by Nix Knox
The Mormon and the Dom
Copyright © 2013 by Nix Knox
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover design by Angela Waters www.angelawatersart.com
All rights reserved. This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission of the author.
This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The Mormon and the Dom
Nix Knox
Dedication
For my friends and family who always supported me even when they didn’t understand my choices.
Chapter One
“I told you. I’m not taking on any new clients.” Over the course of the last year, Ronan Porter had slowly been letting go of the submissives he had. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy being a Dom. He did. He enjoyed the power position immensely. What he couldn’t take anymore of were the phonies. The men who came to him seeking submission all seemed bored, indifferent—jaded, even. Every time he was around men like that, he felt their attitudes rubbing off on him. He didn’t want to become a thirty-year-old disillusioned Dom.
“I heard you,” Tony said. “But this one is different.”
“They all think they’re different. They aren’t. They all have daddy issues and a need for verbal abuse because they crave the touch of another man. Self-loathing homosexuals have gone past a cliché into the realm of a fetish. All of it has become exceedingly tiresome.” The lifestyle he’d once enjoyed and vigorously defended had turned into nothing more than a funhouse ride. Men came to him to try it out or because they’d done everything else. They didn’t crave submission the way he lusted after control. “I’m sick of being just another way for them to get their rocks off.”
“He’s not like that. I swear to you—”
Ronan hung up. He didn’t slam the phone down since he was on his cell. Pressing the red End button was wholly unsatisfying. If he had a phone from the good old days, he would have bashed it into the cradle so hard Tony’s ears would be ringing for the rest of the day.
Ironically, Ronan really could have used a willing sub right then. He was frustrated and aching in a way only having charge of another could assuage. But he had become increasingly picky. He wanted a real man who knew what he wanted. After a solid dose of therapy, Ronan was finally able to admit that he needed to be needed. It wasn’t about release anymore. Although, to be fair, that was important, but it wasn’t the most important part of what he was seeking. He wanted a partner who genuinely needed him. Not just to get off but really needed him physically, emotionally, and even spiritually.
“What I need is a partner in all respects.” Ronan sighed. Easier said than done. Building trust took time, and forging a good sexual relationship in no way translated into a solid day-to-day relationship. Every time he’d tried, it had gone horribly wrong. It seemed that Ronan was doomed to either have what he needed in bed or have what he needed in life. The two paths seemed decidedly parallel. If only he could get them to cross, he would be a very happy man.
“Just once, I’d like to have something…more.” Ronan knew things were bad when he was standing in the shop talking to himself. He didn’t have a lot on the schedule today, mainly just a few more layers of protective clear coat on his latest creation. Painting motorcycles had turned from a hobby into a lucrative way to make a living. At least in his chosen profession he had exactly what he wanted. Ronan did what he loved and made excellent money doing so. He turned down more work than he accepted, and when he did take on jobs, he had the time to perfect his work.
He’d once heard a very wise man confess that he wasn’t a control freak; he was a control enthusiast. That was Ronan in a nutshell. Control in all aspects of his life was vital to his wellbeing. He willingly called himself a perfection enthusiast. During his twenties, he’d learned that if a phrase had a negative connotation, such as control freak, a simple rewording took the sting out and practically made it a compliment. Control enthusiast sounded so much more acceptable. He’d tried letting go and letting others dictate certain things to him, but it never worked.
That thought brought him back to the changes he’d seen during his lifetime. He’d been involved in BDSM since high school. Back then, he hadn’t had a name for it, not exactly, but the power exchange was there and the realization that he wanted his partner to be a male had clarified, too. What had saddened him was that he used to be able to find submissives who were able to go into sub space with clear intent. That wasn’t the case so much anymore.
Some men could only free themselves if they were drunk or high. Ronan wouldn’t touch them. Some used that as an excuse to call him out for a fight. If he won, they swore they would let him do whatever he wanted to them. What he wanted to do was pour their asses in a cab and say bye-bye. And that was precisely what he always did. Ronan didn’t need to fight to prove he was a man. He didn’t need to do anything to make that clear. He also didn’t need to be blotto to express his true desires. Once he’d learned how to do that in his youth, he’d never forgotten the importance of that lesson.
“Why can’t I find that one perfect—”
His phone rang. After fishing it out of his pocket, he realized it was Tony again. Hell. If Ronan didn’t answer and talk to him, he’d probably just keep on calling. Tony could put a new and terrifying spin on the word persistent. Since Ronan was expecting another call, he couldn’t just turn the damn thing off. Realizing he had little choice, Ronan answered.
“What?” Done with the pleasantries, Ronan allowed his tone to be curt and cutting. It wasn’t his full-on Dom voice, but that wouldn’t work on Tony anyway. Tony D’Amato was straight, and he was utterly fearless.
“Just drive by the corner of Ninth and Ninth at noon. You can’t miss him.” Tony hung up.
As tempted as Ronan was to mutter obscenities at the phone, he didn’t. Apparently, he’d grown up sometime over the last few years. Maybe that was the problem. His partners hadn’t changed when he had. The men who sought him out were the same as they’d always been. Ronan was the one who had transformed. But into what? Sure, he’d aged, but that didn’t mean wisdom came with birthdays. He knew plenty of complete morons with double the number of years he had.
“What is this? Self-reflection day? Maybe next you’ll tune in Dr. Phil.” Ronan didn’t often sit and contemplate his life. He was a little too busy for that. Despite all his efforts, today he had the misty memory hat on, and the hits just kept coming. Rather than fight what his brain was going to keep churning up, he went into the office and settled into the overstuffed recliner. He set the timer for fifteen minutes and closed his eyes.
It was almost cliché that his moment of perfect clarity had come to him in a high school locker room. He’d been hot and sweaty after a victorious win on the gridiron. A cool shower had been just the ticket while engaging in catcalls and exuberant hijinks only testosterone-heavy males could know. While Ronan was sudsing up, he’d made eye contact with a fellow team member. Something in Jeremy’s gaze had practically screamed at Ronan to go over, spin him so Jeremy was facing the wall, and then make him beg for Ronan’s cock. He knew that Jeremy would do exactly that. He would happily part his ass cheeks wide for Ronan’s thrusting fingers and whine for his prick. Only after a sufficient amount of groveling would Ronan give it to him. And he would give it to him good.
All of that had hit him in the span of two seconds. Shocked, Ronan had stood under the showerhe
ad, staring at Jeremy, who was looking right back at him. Hard, confused, and unable to understand what had happened, Ronan tore his gaze away, rinsed off, and left as quickly as he could. Jeremy had caught up to him out in the parking lot.
Jeremy was third string. He was too skinny to be a powerhouse on the team, but he stayed because athletics were good for when he went on to college. Ronan had always been impressed that Jeremy never gave up. Some of the guys put him down and joked about his skinny ass, but Ronan wasn’t one of them. He admired his fortitude. Only today had he come to have a new appreciation for his tight and tiny butt.
Somehow or other they’d ended up on Ronan’s motorcycle. Since he only had the one helmet, he’d given it to Jeremy. They’d ridden for a long time. Back then Ronan couldn’t afford anything fancy like a helmet intercom system, not like it would have worked with only one helmet anyway, but he remembered feeling the wind in his hair and wondering what was going on in Jeremy’s head.
What wasn’t a question was how good he felt pressed up against Ronan’s back. Jeremy was smaller, but he was wiry. He hung on by wrapping his arms around Ronan’s chest and molding his legs to the back of Ronan’s. A need for privacy compelled Ronan to leave the city behind and head for the mountains. When they stopped, Ronan was hard as hell and so was Jeremy. Together, they’d settled on the rolling foothills overlooking the town, and Jeremy had started talking about how rough football was. He laughingly said he really liked being tackled.
“I guess I like all that meat on top of me.”
Ronan had a difficult time reading subtleties, especially with girls, but Jeremy was clear as a bell. Still, Ronan needed an out. If he put the moves on Jeremy and got slapped down, he needed a way to cover. Jokingly, Ronan had tackled Jeremy. While holding him down with his much bigger body, he playfully grasped his hands and told Jeremy if he wanted to get up, he’d have to beg for mercy. Instead, Jeremy kissed him.
It was a kiss that launched a thousand erotic fantasies. Pinning Jeremy down while roughly thrusting his hips spiraled heat throughout Ronan’s body. But what engaged him far more firmly was the sounds Jeremy made. He whimpered and pretended to struggle, then ultimately surrendered to Ronan.
“And a Dom was born,” Ronan said softly to himself.
That night, they’d been awkward and shy, fumbling along as they each tried to protect their pride, but the drive to find satisfaction eventually overrode everything else. By trying things out and gauging each other’s response, they’d discovered what they both enjoyed. At the time, Ronan didn’t know the meaning of the word symbiotic, but that was what their encounter turned out to be. Their needs were interdependent, dovetailing perfectly. What had stuck with Ronan was that Jeremy had been the first to be honest. Of the two of them, he was braver. It was something that had stayed with him since that night. Ronan realized he would never get what he wanted unless he asked for it. Asking for another to meet his needs was one of scariest yet most satisfying things he would ever do.
“Make me suck your cock,” Jeremy whispered as they continued to wrestle and rub up on one another.
“So you don’t want to?” Ronan wasn’t interested in bullying Jeremy.
“I do. But I want you to make me.”
Rather than a lightbulb going off over Ronan’s head, it was a fucking supernova. Jeremy wanted to be compelled, and Ronan wanted to compel him. As soon as they got that clear between them, things had gone from good to epic. Jeremy enjoyed being a slave to Ronan’s needs while Ronan realized there was a huge difference between bullying and bossing. After standing up, Ronan ordered Jeremy to his knees and made him unzip his jeans and suck his cock.
Thinking back on that first time, Ronan remembered how shaky his voice had been, how terrified he’d felt that Jeremy was going to laugh at him and make fun of him. But he hadn’t. Jeremy was so wantonly keen in his work, he made Ronan climax in mere minutes. What had turned Ronan on a thousand times more than his actual orgasm was the way Jeremy sucked down his release. When he’d finally pulled away, Jeremy had licked his lips and called Ronan’s ejaculation a well-earned reward.
“But what about you?” Ronan didn’t want to leave Jeremy unfulfilled. If he did, they wouldn’t be likely to do this again, and he most certainly wanted a repeat performance.
“Make me jack off while you watch.”
While Ronan stood there with his cock slowly going soft, he’d watched Jeremy stroke his dick. Just as Jeremy was reaching toward release, Ronan ordered him to stop. Clearly stunned by the command, Jeremy halted in midstroke.
“Get up.”
Awkwardly, Jeremy rose.
“I want you to straddle my cycle like you’re going to ride it.”
Confused but obedient, Jeremy grasped the handlebars and balanced the bike between his knees.
Ronan shoved Jeremy’s jeans down, exposing his buttocks.
“What are you going to do?” Jeremy sounded more excited than afraid.
“I’m going to finger your hole while you hold on to my bike.” Ronan did just that. “Don’t you dare drop my motorcycle. I worked all summer to buy this thing.”
Jeremy lifted his ass up high, giving Ronan the room he needed to finger him roughly.
“Let’s see if I can make you come this way.” Ronan had done his best, but he hadn’t been able to push Jeremy over the edge with just his fingers. Back then, he didn’t know what a prostate was. However, he discovered that getting on the bike and having Jeremy wiggle in his lap while he roughly stroked his cock gave both of them a powerful release.
For a first time, it had been incredible. As the school year went on and they found more ways to be together, they expanded their repertoire. Eventually, Ronan had learned how to manipulate Jeremy’s prostate. When he was able to give Jeremy hands-free climaxes, Ronan discovered he found immense satisfaction in pleasing his partner. In some ways, Ronan’s orgasm was secondary to Jeremy’s. Getting him all charged up and withholding release was the most empowering feeling in the world.
“But all good things must come to an end.”
Seconds later, his timer went off. Ronan sighed. He was hard, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to jack off. Not that he had an issue with self-love. Not at all. But he was tired of reaching back into the cobweb-covered memories of his past for masturbatory fodder. What he wanted was someone here and now. Someone fresh and interesting. Someone who would revitalize and recharge him.
“Why don’t you ask for a pizza while you’re dreaming? You’re about as likely to get that as you are the other.”
But that was silly. If he wanted a pizza, he could pick up his phone and order one. If he wanted a playmate, he could go to the corner of Ninth and Ninth at noon.
“And probably be horribly disappointed.”
When his phone rang, he answered without looking. It wasn’t Tony but the call he’d been waiting for from his bank. After five long years of sacrifice and financial wrangling, Ronan now owned his own business. Lock, stock, and barrel, the garage was his, along with the attached house. As of this morning, he’d become debt free. He actually had money in the bank and an individual retirement account. He’d told himself he’d be out from under all his financial obligations by thirty, and he’d only missed his deadline by a few months.
Ronan wanted to celebrate, but there wasn’t anyone he wanted to call. Like ordering a pizza, he could make a call and have someone come over, but the encounter would be as unsatisfying as the cardboard-flavored pizza. If he were going to have a slice, he would go to the place down the street where the owner used an actual wood-fired oven. Ronan supposed that was one of the other things he’d learned—settling never satisfied. He could eat any pizza to take the edge off his hunger, but only a carefully crafted pizza would be truly satisfying.
“God, I’m deep. I’m comparing all of life’s complex issues to pizza. Perhaps I’ll write a book called The Zen of Pizza.” When he looked up at the clock and realized it was fifteen minutes to noon, he got out of the
chair.
Part of him wanted to go and put more layers of gloss on the bike he had in the shop, but the other part wondered what the submissive on the corner would be like. Ronan realized Tony had been very slick in how he set the encounter up. There was no commitment on Ronan’s part other than to go and see. Ronan believed that if he didn’t go and at least look, he’d regret it. If the sub wasn’t interesting, he could drive right on by without hurting the guy’s feelings or having to have an awkward conversation.
From his small collection of bikes, he chose the Goldwing he’d painted in royal blue and bright yellow. He put a spare helmet in the trunk, then put on his own. Refusing to feel defeated before he even got going, Ronan slung his leg over and took off before he could change his mind.
Chapter Two
Noah stood on the corner, holding the pink container by the string tied around the box. His insides were churning so relentlessly he thought he wouldn’t be able to eat the pie inside, even under pain of death. Well, he’d be able to get a bite in his mouth and swallow, but the lump of food would come right back up. Nervous didn’t even begin to cover how anxious he was. Every sound he heard seemed amplified. Each time a car slowed down, he thought the time to meet his Dom had come. But the cars were only turning the corner. When he realized they were waiting behind the white line of the crosswalk, he moved back from the edge and turned a little to the side. He didn’t want them to think he was waiting to cross the street. But then he worried the man who was looking for him would think he’d left.
Torn, Noah moved back to the edge of the sidewalk but pretended to look down at his phone so people wouldn’t think he was waiting to cross the street. Everyone seemed to be riveted to his or her screen all the time. He figured he would probably blend right in. For the life of him, Noah couldn’t understand why people were so consumed with what was happening somewhere other than where they were. He had friends, family, and acquaintances, but he wasn’t in constant contact with them. He occasionally posted on social media, but he didn’t really understand how anyone could spend more than a few minutes a day on there.
