The Mormon and the Dom

by Nix Knox

  Ironically, during the ride, Noah wasn’t worried about anyone seeing him and suspecting what he was by the way he touched Ronan. It wasn’t fully dark yet, but traffic was busy and people seemed oblivious to them. Or maybe the change was in his own perception. Noah wasn’t certain.

  Since Noah didn’t want to bother Ronan with the details of where he’d parked, he had him drop him at the corner. His car was a block over on a residential street. Once Ronan stopped the bike, he stood up to make it easier for Noah to climb off, which he did. He then took off his helmet and put in in the trunk. After he slammed the lid, he winced. The noise seemed to echo off the buildings. It wasn’t that late, but the shops were closed.

  Ronan flipped up the shield of his helmet. “Good night, Noah. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

  Noah managed a nod and struggled not to whip his head around and see if anyone heard Ronan. Again, he knew no one could possibly know what they’d done together, but the curious fear remained. Before he could do anything more than step back, Ronan was gone. Noah watched his taillights until they disappeared in traffic on Ninth.

  Tears blurred his vision. He felt relieved and afraid. He’d survived his foray into the leather-and-chrome world of BDSM. Not only that, but he’d found an astonishing amount of light in that world. He’d assumed it would all be dark, dank, and ultimately dismal. It wasn’t. He’d touched a part of his soul that would never be the same.

  Turning toward the direction where his car was parked, Noah put one foot in front of the other, taking deliberate steps. He felt fragile and unbalanced. As strange as the thought was, Noah felt that if he fell, he’d shatter. If that happened, nothing in the world, not even his brown-eyed Dom, could put him back together again.

  Once he made it back to his car, he retrieved his keys from his pocket, unlocked the door, climbed in, shut the door, and locked it. He sat there for so long he wondered what the neighbors would think if they saw him.

  “They’d know what I was doing out here, what I was sitting here considering.” Noah laughed and did what Ronan suggested. He took that notion and pushed it to an extreme. If a man in one of the nearby houses knew what Noah was thinking about in his car, he’d stride out, bang on the window, and demand to know what was wrong with Noah. And Noah would…he would…

  “Put the key in the ignition and drive away.”

  As long as he didn’t get out of the car and the man had no way in, he’d be safe. He could just go.

  “If only it were that simple in the rest of my life.”

  It wasn’t the first time Noah had considered simply disappearing. When Sarah vanished, he’d been terrified someone had killed her. He’d heard stories about homosexuals being beaten and killed by rabid homophobes. When he found out Sarah had simply moved away, he hadn’t actually felt relieved. For some bizarre reason, Noah imagined her in the gutter, drinking from a brown-paper-bag-wrapped bottle, the marks of her shame clear for all to see. When he’d asked his mother for more information on Sarah, just to ease his troubled mind, she’d given him a look that cautioned him from ever asking another question. At least any regarding gay church members who were no longer around. Sarah wasn’t the only one, just the only one Noah knew personally.

  Rather than sit on the street attracting attention, Noah fired up his eminently practical Honda Civic and drove home. When he arrived at his apartment building, the new loud and unbelievably rude neighbor was parked in his assigned spot. Again. He’d asked Keith Kellerman to respect the rules, which he said he would, but then he immediately turned around and said he just needed the spot for a minute to bring in groceries. Funny how he never could seem to move his car when he was done. Too tired to go and knock on Keith’s door, Noah parked in the back of the lot in one of the visitor’s spots. He didn’t have anything to carry, but he just felt irritated because Keith was taking advantage of him. Everyone always did. Noah was a nice guy, and apparently that mean he was there to be used.

  Instead of pounding up the steps like most of his neighbors, Noah padded quietly up to the third floor. He unlocked his door, stepped inside, and locked the door behind him. The small blue lamp by the couch was on, casting a warm glow over the front room. He had it set on a timer so that whether he was home or not, it would come on. It generally didn’t matter much in the summer since the sun was up late, but in the winter it was nice to come home to a lighted apartment. Dispelling the darkness made him feel less alone.

  Sometimes he even pretended there was someone there to greet him. No matter how tempting the fantasy, Noah had always forced himself to imagine his partner was a woman. He hoped that eventually he’d actually feel that way. Something or other he’d read on the Internet had talked about thought restructuring or something like that. It was some kind of pray-the-gay-away site that had suggested if he thought about being with a woman repeatedly, he would make himself desire women over men. Noah had gleaned whatever information he could and diligently applied their suggestions to his life. Nothing changed. He was sexually attracted to men, and he knew that wasn’t going to change no matter what happened.

  After what Ronan said tonight, about BDSM being therapy, Noah wondered if there was a way to change his orientation using that technique. While he leaned against the front door and tried to picture what had happened with Ronan happening with a woman, Noah didn’t feel one flicker of arousal. For some sick reason, all he could think of was his Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Santera, dressed in her usual style of peplum tops and clinging skirts, only in this scenario they were black leather. She wore the same cat’s-eye glasses, though, and in his twisted fantasy, they seemed to go along with the outfit.

  “Ew. Just, no.” Noah dismissed the thought. He wasn’t interested in doing that with a woman. He wanted to do that again with Ronan. Noah pulled his phone, keys, and wallet from his clothing and put everything in the wicker bowl. His mother insisted on giving him a small table that sat by the door with the bowl on top. If he always put his things there, he would never lose them. Noah couldn’t really enter the house until he’d deposited the contents of his pockets in that bowl. He supposed his mother thought one day his wife would make sure he had all his things before he left the house. It would break her heart to find out that wasn’t ever going to happen.

  Feeling saddened and defeated, Noah went toward his bedroom, turning on the lights as he went. He didn’t like to be in the apartment with the lights off. He felt even more alone in the dark than he did otherwise. After taking off his clothing, he carefully hung it up, all the while thinking of how he’d performed the same motions with Ronan watching him.

  Shivering, Noah stripped down to nothing and then stood there facing his closet. In his mind, Ronan was behind him. Using that powerful voice of his, Ronan ordered Noah onto the bed. He assumed almost the same position he had during their session. Facedown on the twin bed, Noah had his ass up high, waiting for Ronan to slap him. Noah was just getting into the fantasy when he realized he’d left his bag of gear at Ronan’s house.

  “Aw, man.” Yanked out of the pretend scene, Noah climbed to his feet. He was just as hard as he’d been earlier, but if he was going to get relief, he’d have to give it to himself.

  Had Ronan deliberately forgotten to get the bag from the playroom? Noah shook his head. Ronan had plenty of his own toys. He didn’t need Noah’s items. Besides, it wasn’t Ronan’s fault. Noah was an adult who should have remembered to get all his things before he left.

  “And maybe, just maybe, you left them there on purpose.”

  One thing Noah had certainly learned today was that he had to be very clear about his needs and intentions with Ronan. He couldn’t mumble and hope that Ronan would guess. He had to say exactly what he needed. Noah wondered if he did that more often—communicating clearly what he needed—certain aspects of his life might improve. He supposed if he couldn’t be honest with himself, his hopes for being that way with others was pretty unlikely. Had he left his items at Ronan’s so that, no matte
r what, he would have to go back at least once?

  “But the cost.” Noah considered his already strained budget. He was struggling to save for the down payment on a house. He had amassed a good chunk of change, but maybe he could dip into his funds a bit. Not a lot. Just enough for a few sessions. If what had happened today could be repeated, he might be able to move into a bigger and better job because he’d have more confidence. That would make the money well spent and easily replaceable.

  Noah couldn’t help but realize if he had more courage, he wouldn’t have had to pay Ronan at all, but he simply couldn’t allow himself to become emotionally invested. As much as he’d like to try dating a man, especially one as compelling as Ronan, Noah didn’t think doing so while he was living near his parents was a good idea. Provo and Salt Lake City seemed like big places, but they were much smaller than they appeared. Noah couldn’t count the number of times he’d encountered fellow ward members when he’d been out and about. It was no wonder he felt watched everywhere he went. It seemed the eyes of the church were all over Utah.

  Noah went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of underwear and a T-shirt. It was too hot to sleep in anything else, and as kinky as he’d been today, he didn’t think he could sleep in the nude. What if there was a fire? No, it was best to have at least some clothing on. Since he was probably going to be up for a while, he pulled on a pair of shorts, too. But if he were sleeping with Ronan, he’d probably feel safe enough to sleep naked. Or maybe Ronan wouldn’t let him into that big bed of his with all his clothes on.

  Returning to the bowl of items in the living room, Noah removed his wallet from the cache of goods. Stroking his fingers over the tidy dimensions of brown leather, he took a moment to remember his high school graduation party, when his parents had presented him with the wallet. It was the most grownup thing he’d ever owned at the time. He remembered how unlike the cheap wallets he’d had before, this one bent easily. And the smell. Noah sighed. He had been careful never to sniff it around his family, but he’d practically sniffed the scent off the thing in a week while he was alone in his room.

  Lifting the leather wallet to his nose, he sniffed. There was still a lingering essence, but nothing like when the gift had been new. Flipping the wallet open, Noah removed Ronan’s card. He stood there, stroking his fingers over the raised print. The dark brown against the rich cream was masculine and distinctive.

  “Classy.” That was the one word Noah would use to describe the overall impression the card made on him. The front of the card didn’t have his last name, only his first, and a phone number. The website listed on the back didn’t have a lurid name, which surprised him somehow. No one could know what the man listed on the card did just by looking at the card, yet somehow, that annoying little voice that always seemed determined to ruin Noah’s life insisted that if he were found with the card, they would know.

  As much as he wanted to throw it away to protect himself, Noah couldn’t stand the idea of tossing out something Ronan had given to him, even something as insignificant as a piece of paper. When he lifted the card to his nose and breathed deep, he imagined he could smell Ronan’s unique scent, but he was probably only fooling himself. Ronan had only touched the card long enough to hand it over. It was unlikely he’d been able to imprint his essence on the paper.

  Torn about what to do with the card, Noah delayed having to make a decision by going to the web address listed on the back. Concerned that he would stumble into some kind of vulgar site with flashing graphics and loud music, he made sure to turn down the volume on his phone. What he discovered was a simple text-driven site that appeared to be an encyclopedia of BDSM. Intrigued, he erased the link from his phone and then got his laptop.

  Just as Ronan said, the website was filled with information that would help him should he decide to hire another Dom. There was even a printable interview sheet that would assist him in determining if he and the Dom were compatible. In all of his forays into research, he hadn’t found this particular site or one that was nearly so comprehensive. Noah read the cautions about hiring Doms, pleased that he’d instinctively followed most of the suggestions.

  The next time he looked up, it was almost three in the morning. It was Sunday, so he didn’t have to work and he’d already told his parents he wouldn’t be going to church with them, but he did like to keep to a set schedule. What further astonished him was that he wasn’t remotely tired. His head was too full of ideas about what he wanted to do the next time he hired Ronan. Because try as he might to stay away, Noah didn’t think that was going to happen.

  Chapter Eleven

  Almost as soon as Ronan returned home from dropping Noah off, he realized he’d forgotten his satchel. The canvas bag was still in the playroom along with the contents he’d taken out and used during their session. After cleaning everything and placing it back in the bag, Ronan put the satchel on the dining room table. While he tidied up, he stole glances at it. How difficult must it have been for Noah to buy those items? He must have wanted them more than his fear could hold him back. And today, with his beautiful body bent over the table, and his determination to face his fear—Noah was astonishing. What made the encounter even more special than just Noah gaining insight was the pleasure he’d given to Ronan without even trying. Today’s scene was unlike anything Ronan had ever experienced before.

  If nothing else, Noah would call to get his items back. When he did, Ronan would have a chance to see him again. His attitude at the end of their time together was outwardly cold, when inside he was anything but. Ronan wasn’t sure if one or both of them deliberately forgot the bag, but he took it as a good sign. All he had to do now was wait for Noah’s call.

  “Isn’t there a song lyric about waiting being the hardest part?” Ronan had a feeling that was going to be far too true in his case.

  Throughout the next week, Ronan was hyperaware of his phone. He made sure no matter where he was or what he was doing, the device was near enough that he could hear it ring. Even while in the shower, he kept the phone near the sink. Each time he climbed out, the first thing he did was dry his hands and check the phone. Every time there wasn’t a call, he felt more and more disappointed.

  Time wore on and made him reconsider how much Noah would want his things back. The bag sat on the table like a tired old dog that was just too worn out to move as it waited for its master. Each day that passed seemed to deflate it just a bit more. Each night that Ronan went to bed alone and aching, he felt just a bit more foolish. He never should have allowed himself to become so twisted up over a man he’d just met.

  “I should have gotten his number.”

  But in order to do so, he would have had to lie and tell Noah it was common for professional Doms to call up their paying clients. Ronan didn’t want to lie to Noah, but he also didn’t want to push Noah down a path he might not be ready to take. Coming out gay was a huge deal in and of itself. Coming out gay as a Mormon living in the center of Mormon influence? That had to be more terrifying than anything Ronan had ever faced in his life. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like inside the mind of a man who was already hyperaware of everything around him.

  On the morning of the ninth day, Ronan realized he could contact Tony and possibly weasel Noah’s number out of him. Or at least he could take Noah’s satchel down to Tony’s shop so Tony could call Noah to retrieve it. That sounded like the responsible thing to do. And it would end his association with Noah. If Ronan stopped all contact now, he could probably forget him in a few months. Well, maybe not forget him, but at least he would be able to move on to another relationship.

  Except Ronan didn’t do that. He wanted to see Noah again. Period. He could tell himself all kinds of bullshit reasons, but the plain truth was he was infatuated. How the hell that had happened to a man who was almost completely jaded, he didn’t know. But he was. And there didn’t seem to be a lot he could do about it but strap in and hang on. To make matters worse, for some utterly unknown reason, Ronan decide
d he wouldn’t get off again until he was with Noah. Generally, forced chastity was something a Dom did to his subs, not something he did to himself, but in this case, Ronan felt compelled to save himself for Noah.

  “But if I don’t hear from him soon, I’m going to go crazy.” There were only so many cold showers he could take. There were only so many exhausting workouts he could toss himself into. Eventually, he was going to have to take a little trip to Handy Happytown.

  Day fourteen, a Saturday, was looking likely for a hookup, but it came and went without a call from Noah, just like all the other thirteen days. Ronan no longer looked at the satchel on the table. He glared at it. Ronan gave the bundle of inanimate objects the stink eye as if they were responsible for his sexually frustrated state.

  Just when he’d pretty much given up hope, his phone rang, and to his surprise, the man on the other end turned out to be Noah. Excitement surged adrenaline into Ronan’s body, tightening every muscle as it flooded his cock with blood. In a halting, tremulous voice, Noah said he wanted to come over and pick up his things.

  He said nothing about a session.

  Ronan thought his balls were going to explode cartoon-style from sheer frustration. The only thing that prevented him from snarling into the phone was the fact that he would have Noah here. Once he had him in the house, Ronan swore he’d find a way to get him into the playroom. But how? What was he going to do? Say something like, Hey, I’m working on this new Dom thing and wanted to try it out on you? Ronan shook his head. It was asinine.

  “I thought you could maybe meet me at Tony’s,” Noah said.

  Ronan’s hopes plummeted so low they practically shot out the other side of the Earth. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Noah. I have clients who are waiting.”