by Cara Dee
"The space next to my truck should be empty," Ryan says.
I nod in acknowledgment and turn into the narrow alley between two buildings, and I park my car next to his behemoth.
"Angel, you can head upstairs, lose the clothes, and get in bed," Ryan orders.
Since he doesn’t make a move, I don’t either. My hands remain on the wheel.
"'Kay." Angel leans between our seats and busses our cheeks before stepping out of the car and disappearing.
The little light above us flicks off after a few seconds in silence.
"Is something wrong, Sir?" I haven't fucked up already, have I?
"No…" He faces me slowly, a lone streetlamp outside giving his eyes a dark glint. "Just a new rule for you. You don’t strike me as a one who's into Daddy Doms, so that’s a title reserved for Angel. From now on, you may call me Master or Owner. The latter's only for you."
Jesus.
The heat rises again, and I swallow past the dryness in my throat. "Yes—Owner."
"Perfect." He leans over the console and traces his thumb over my jaw. "You're mine now. You understand that, right?"
"Hell," I exhale, shivering violently. "Yes, Owner."
He smiles faintly, and finally, after weeks and months of longing for it, I feel his lips brushing against mine. "Good," he whispers. "You can let go of the damn wheel." He flashes a brief grin and applies more pressure to the next kiss. My hands fall limply to my lap, and I follow his lead. For every kiss he gives me, I return one with a bit more need lacing it. "You need something from me, baby?"
"You." I can't help myself. "You, Master."
"You got me." He cups my cheek and deepens the kiss. It grows hungry and dizzying, and tasting him for the first time creates powerful sensations that shoot through me, each one aiming for my cock.
I groan under my breath as he swipes his tongue sensually into my mouth. My hands end up at the nape of his neck where I find purchase in his hair.
"Fuck," he says in a low growl that rocks me. "We better get upstairs before I take you right here." He palms my erection firmly, and I moan and buck into his touch. "I've missed this beautiful cock."
"Please," I grunt.
"Please what?"
"Anything, Owner."
He takes another hard kiss. "Everything, then. Let's go."
Behind the Scenes
Out of Touch
Mark Cooper
The best part of demos at Switch is that no one cares about refilling their drinks. I lean back against the lit-up wall of bottles and snatch my soda from the counter, idly wondering if my entire shift is going to be a long break.
I've sent Evangeline to watch the fire-cupping scene in the Chamber. Brayden is catching another demo in the Cave, and Rio and Dante are demonstrating predicament bondage on the platform here in the Club. With three public scenes taking place, the guests are busy with anything but drinking.
My brows knit together, and I'm a little surprised to see Brayden weaving through the crowd so soon. The demo in the Cave can't be over yet.
He's flushed and fidgety as he slips behind the bar and walks over to me.
"Something wrong, pup?" I ask. "I told you to take notes."
He widens his eyes at me. "Master, I don't think it's for me."
I stifle my amusement. Anal fisting is not for the faint of heart; it'll look intimidating to most people. But I think he'll enjoy it, eventually.
"I do the thinking for you." I point across the dance floor toward the Cave. "Get back in there."
He chews on the inside of his cheek and shifts from foot to foot. "Will you do that to me, Master?"
I stare him down and wait. My lovely boy is not a disobedient one. Right now, I know his mind is scattered, though. It was one of the reasons I wanted him to watch the scene tonight—as a distraction. It's only been a couple weeks since we learned our girl is pregnant, and Brayden is fighting against some leftover notions about men being in control of the situation so the woman can relax.
"Don't make me repeat myself, sub."
He lowers his gaze and lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging. "Apologies, Master. I didn’t mean to ignore what you said. I'm very sorry. I'll return to the demonstration now."
"See that you do." I watch him leave with his proverbial tail between his legs.
Too fucking precious. He'll let go soon enough. His surrender hangs in the air every day in our dynamic, and every time he goes over that crest and reminds himself I'm in charge, I get to witness the sweetest goddamn fall back into complete submission.
It's rare these days. He's been submissive through and through with me, but I suppose Evangeline's pregnancy threw him off a bit only because we didn’t plan to start trying for a baby until next year.
"Cute subbie," a man comments, watching where Brayden's disappearing into the crowd. "He looks good in a collar."
"He does." I set down my soda and approach. "What can I get you?"
"Corona, cheers. Hold the lime."
He's not wearing a blue rubber band, so I assume he's not playing. Opening a fridge, I grab a Corona and remove the cap. "You thinking about collaring someone?" Otherwise, it's not the first topic that comes to mind where my Brayden is concerned.
"I've been on the fence for years. My wife wears one when we play in public, but I don’t know… Branding might be more my thing. Recently got my mark on my boy—that felt good."
I chuckle and set the beer in front of him. "My little masochist is reading up on that. Maybe in the future." The man's already slapped a twenty to the bartop, so I ring him up and return the change. "You new at Switch?"
"New member, but I've been here a couple times before." He extends a hand, and I give it a firm shake. "Ryan Quinn."
"Mark Cooper."
"I figured." A lazy smirk appears, and he eyes Rio and Dante's scene over his shoulder before glancing back at me. "You and your brother look alike."
At that, my brows shoot up. "Which brother would that be?"
The man in front of me reminds me more of Cade than one of the clients my brothers would deal with at their firm. Hardly lawyer material, either. That leaves one, though we're not biologically related, so we don't look—
"Greg," Ryan replies. The unlikeliest answer of them all. I'm sure it shows on my face, too. "He told me he raised hell here a while back."
"You can say that." I fold my arms and straighten, suspicious. "How do you know each other?"
"Intimately?" He smirks, and I…yeah, no. This isn't funny. "I promised I'd let him explain. I just wanted to check the place out, and…" He eyes his watch. "I have an appointment with a Nicholas Ford in five minutes about lifting Greg's ban."
"Good luck with that," I answer automatically. "You know he has a wife, yeah?" I can't fucking believe this. Literally. It's too much. Then, there's no forgetting that Rio saw my brother enter a gay bar last winter.
"Tess." Ryan inclines his head. "I respect your concern, and I'm sorry to keep you in the dark. If you hate it half as much as I do…" No need to finish the sentence. "I hope we'll get to know each other, Mark. Apparently, we have a lot in common."
I wouldn’t fucking know, would I?
"You're serious," I state. "You're dating Greg?"
"My wife and I both are," he confirms. "He'll have to tell you the rest."
"Be easier if the asshole picked up the phone," I respond irritably. "Our family's been trying to get in touch with him for weeks." Aside from Ted and Seth. They don’t have much to say, only that they see Greg at work most days.
That gives Ryan pause, and then he lets out a dark chuckle. "The little shit neglected to mention that. Fair enough. I'll make sure he calls you."
I say nothing else, 'cause I see Nicholas approaching.
"He's the man you're after," I tell Ryan before finding an escape in a guest who wants to order a drink.
I gotta fucking process this. And get some goddamn answers.
As soon as I have a free minute again, I pul
l out my phone and text my brother.
Who the hell is Ryan Quinn? Or maybe I should ask, who the hell are you?
*
No response from Greg twenty-seven minutes later when Nicholas returns—without Ryan.
Nick sighs and sits down on a stool. "Judging by your impatient look, I'm guessing you know who I met."
"Barely." I pour him his usual tonic water. "Did he really ask to get rid of my brother's ban?"
He nods once, features grim. "He gave a pretty convincing speech in Greg's defense, too."
I shake my head and run a hand through my hair, utterly and completely mindfucked. Stunned. At a loss. Not only is my brother seeing a man, but he's possibly in the lifestyle, as well? Fuck me over, I don’t know how to deal with this.
At the same time, how common is it for closet cases and bigots to preach so loudly and then live completely different lives on the down low? It's goddamn sad, and it pisses me the hell off.
I shake my head again, because evidently it's all I can do. "I don’t know what to say."
"Frankly, neither do I, so that’s why I told Mr. Quinn I'm leaving it up to you," Nicholas tells me. "The way things are now, Greg cannot come here. I believe in second chances, but if he hurt Kayla again, I don’t know what I'd do. He needs to be vetted properly before I even consider giving him a probation run."
And I get to do the vetting? How gracious of him. Not that it matters. If Greg won't answer the phone, I can't do much—Goddammit. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I retrieve it to see his name on the display. He's replied.
I'm sorry. I didn’t know Ryan was going there tonight. I just spoke to him. If you would like to meet up, I'm ready to talk.
My forehead creases, and I read the message over and over.
I'm not sure I've ever heard or seen him utter the words "I'm sorry."
What a clusterfuck.
*
"Where do you think you're going?" I mutter sleepily.
"To make you breakfast?" Evangeline laughs softly.
I huff and pull her under the covers with me. Brayden left for work about an hour ago; I was awake long enough to receive a good-morning blow job. Now I could go back for seconds. Then get some more sleep.
"That can wait." I nuzzle her neck, my hand automatically seeking out her stomach. It's almost impossible to think it'll grow and be round with our family's first child soon. "How are you feeling?"
"Better now. I've already had my morning sickness extravaganza."
I blink drowsily and force my eyes open, concerned. "You know you can wake me up for that, sweetheart."
She smiles and touches my scruffy cheek. "A morning grumpy Master is grumpy."
Cheeky little minx. "I'd hold your hair up better than a scrunchie."
She giggles and cuddles closer. "Of course you would. You need to eat if you're going to make it to Sausalito in time for your much-anticipated reunion, though. Let me fix you some breakfast."
Despite the reminder of seeing Greg today, I can only smile and pepper her beautiful face with kisses. She knows how to make me feel ten feet tall. And since I'm insatiable for my subs, one thing leads to another. Breakfast can be many things, and she catches on when I roll on top of her and capture a nipple between my teeth.
"I think…" I hum into a wet kiss as I taste her breasts. "My kitten's sweet pussy will be my breakfast."
She shivers.
*
Pulling up in front of my brother's house a little after ten, I frown when I see Tess and Abby in the front yard. For some reason, I expected to speak to Greg alone. For fuck's sake, we're talking about him suddenly having a relationship with two people, neither of whom is his wife.
I kill the engine and step out, sliding on my shades. Spring is in the air, something that should brighten the day. I'm always stoked to see my niece, but right now it's difficult to hide my sour mood. I've told Brayden and Evangeline the little I know, and now I'm rethinking Evangeline's offer to accompany me out here.
"Uncle Mark!" Abby's hazel eyes light up.
I muster a grin and open the gate to their yard. "Hey, pumpkin." She flies into me, and I pick her up and give her a tight squeeze. "How's my favorite niece?"
"Awesome! How's my favorite uncle?" she replies cheekily. "Mom and I are waking leaves."
I laugh and kiss her nose, then let her jump down again. "I think you mean raking."
"That’s what I said." She returns to her hot pink, plastic leaf rake, and I walk over to Tess.
We exchange a weary smile, though hers is notably brighter. Does she know what's going on?
"Hey, hon." I kiss her cheek. "How're you?"
"All good. You? You look tired."
I point to my face. "This is my I-don't-know-what-the-fuck-is-going-on expression."
She laughs. "Well, you'll find answers in the backyard. Greg's dealing with his nervousness by cleaning the pool about two months early."
I scratch my eyebrow and nod once. As far as I knew, my big brother didn’t do nervous, but it seems there's a lot I don't know about him.
"Mommy, is this when I hafta stay here with you?" Abby asks.
I smirk faintly and head up to the porch.
"Yes, so Daddy and Uncle Mark can talk," Tess replies.
Once inside the house, I slip off my shoes and carry them past the hallway and through the living room. Nothing's changed. It's as picturesque as ever. It doesn’t look like anyone's moving or separating. Abby's in her usual happy mood. Tess clearly knows whatever it is I don’t.
I come to a stop at the door. Greg's taken a break from the pool and is sitting in a lawn chair just outside the glass-enclosed terrace. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie, he's not a stark contrast next to me anymore. No longer opposites.
I'm met with a wall of heat as I open the door, making the definition of a sunroom abundantly obvious, and I cross the floor in a few quick strides. Greg looks up when I step outside, and I notice the worn-out expression on his face. The mindfuck continues. This isn't the brother I know.
"Hey, stranger." My shoes hit the ground, and I step into them.
"Hello, Mark." He clears his throat and moves to another chair, leaving the one he vacated for me. "How are you?"
"I don’t know yet." I frown and take a seat.
The rest of the lawn furniture leans against the side of the house next to a big pile of leaves. So while I'm wondering what the fuck this alien host next to me has done to my brother, they're enjoying a day of spring cleaning? Fuckin' A.
"You know Mom and Dad are worried, right?"
He rubs his forehead and slumps back a bit. "I can't bother with them at the moment. I've told Tess she can tell them I'm doing well—"
"She's not your messenger."
He's not wearing any shades, so I see the look of annoyance he sends me.
I lean back as well, not leaving until I know what's going on.
"Are you getting divorced?" I ask.
"Ah, no." He clears his throat once more, a typical trait of his for when he's uncomfortable. However, I haven't seen him uncomfortable in a long goddamn time. "Not in the near future, anyway. I… I don't know where to begin, but I suppose I can start by saying Tess and I don’t have a conventional marriage."
Really. Because that's kinda been the very description of Greg for years and years. Conventional. Conservative. Since he started pre-law or thereabouts.
"I want to apologize for how I behaved at Switch," he says quietly, choosing a new direction. "I was…drunk and jealous. Tess came home from dinner one night and told me about you and Evangeline, and I just… I didn’t take it well."
If I stare at him a bit longer, will all puzzle pieces finally come together? I stare and fucking stare, and I don’t recognize the man who was once a boy I called my best friend.
"I'm listening." That’s all I can say. There's gotta be a truckload of things he needs to get off his chest, and it's gonna take a while before each statement doesn’t raise at least a dozen ques
tions.
*
I don't know what pulls harder at me, the anger or the crippling grief. Keeping my glare directed at the ground, I lean forward with my forearms on my legs and listen to Greg until the words bleed together and make my skull throb.
"I carried the resentment with me through high school and college. I just wanted to be whatever you guys weren't, and I wanted to do it better. Then when Abby was born, I couldn’t bear the thought of her going through what I did in school."
I crack my knuckles, needing something to do. Throughout my upbringing and—fuck, until now, I've believed the shit we took growing up was nothing. Sure, it fucking hurt. There was often some little prick who laughed at the Coopers for having a weird-ass family. But it stopped, and… Well, it didn’t, apparently. Greg just took over. He dealt with the bullies and took the heat himself.
And he didn’t fucking say anything—holy shit, my blood is boiling. Scrubbing a hand over my jaw, I gnash my teeth together and force my ass to sit tight and listen to the rest. God knows, I wanna do anything but.
"I don't care on my own behalf, Mark. I go out with Ryan and Angel, and I don't even look at others and how they react. But then I see Abby, and I think of the venom our classmates hurled at me—at us—and it's too much. I could take it—somewhat—but I can't put my daughter through that."
So he's not the cold, distant father who works too much. He cares to the point where he makes incredibly stupid decisions in hopes of protecting Abby. And if he'd only told me, he wouldn’t have been alone; maybe it wouldn’t have led to these extremes because he can't protect her from everything.
I would have defended him, though. If this is really what happened, our parents should have done a better job at fighting alongside him.
I pipe up once, wondering why he didn’t tell our folks it was worse than he let on.
"I did," he replies with a one-shouldered shrug. "I was the one who got the lecture about what's right and wrong. They didn’t do crap about the teachers and students."
That hurts, in a betrayal kind of way. It seems obvious to me our parents should've contacted the school.
I side-eye Greg as he speaks, and I can't see it. His image doesn’t change that easily. I'll have to experience it, and it's not that I don't trust him—I believe him—but it's a huge fucking change.
