by Dakota Trace
eXcessica publishing
Saving Micah © January 2012 by Dakota Trace
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.
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Cover design © 2012 Dakota Trace
First Edition January 2012
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Saving Micah
By Dakota Trace
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Prologue
February — New Orleans
The familiar sounds of the laughter, music and general bar noises assaulted Micah Beaumont’s ears when he pushed through the doors of the Bombay Club. It was a local but popular jazz club just down the street from his new office in the heart of the French Quarter and his nightly escape from the stress of his job. Well, when it wasn’t being run over by tourists in town for Mardi Gras. While he hadn’t come here to lose himself in their expensive bourbon as most of them did, it was the smoky strains of jazz pouring from the band which usually soothed his tortured soul.
Sliding up to the mahogany bar, he nodded to the bartender.
“The usual?” Henrí wiped his hands on the towel over his shoulder.
“Yeah.” Micah watched the man fill a tall glass with ice, lemonade and the bar’s own special syrup before finishing it off with a leaf of mint. Henrí slid the virgin mint julep across the bar. Accepting it with a nod of thanks, he swiveled on the stool to watch the crowd. He noticed several looks a group of passing women gave him but had no desire to return their attentions.
He wasn’t vain but knew his dark as night skin, clean shaven head, and swimmers build along with his piercing blue eyes intrigued women. But tonight I don’t want to be some woman’s trophy. Instead he wanted - no needed something to drown his sorrows. He was just hoping the music would do the trick. It’d been nearly three months since he’d held his mistress, had driven his cock inside her tight depths while his best friend had buried his own in her tight ass. Twelve long weeks since I’ve had an orgasm that wasn’t produced by my own hand. Twelve weeks since I’ve felt the bite of a whip against my skin.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. He had. He’d gone and seen Mistress Brigit. Or Mistress B.B. as they call her down here. He shuddered though at the remembered failure of his first trip to the Bête à Bon Dieu. When he’d walked up to the club, he’d half expected to find something similar to Olivia’s – a huge renovated warehouse with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and lots of dark leather, but instead, he’d found an old southern home complete with ornate balusters, soft crème walls and light colored furniture. The exact opposite of Olivia’s. He wasn’t sure if it was the superficial stuff itself, or the vibe he got from the club, but it didn’t feel like home to him as Olivia’s had. Something vital was missing.
“Face it, Beaumont, it’s not the club you miss but Olivia herself,” he muttered to himself, sliding off the stool with his drink. Skirting the over-crowded dance floor, he headed for his normal corner – the one that allowed him to be close to the music but remain out of sight. Sliding into the booth, he set his drink down and tried to keep his mind off his mistress but failed. He’d left his heart behind when he accepted another promotion he hadn’t wanted. “But it got me away from her.” The agony in his chest at the thought of his former mistress had yet to fade. He’d wanted her but hadn’t able to share her with her new sub, Jude. For the first time in his life as a submissive, he’d been jealous of another man – one he had no reason to be jealous of – Jude Larson. So he ran – ran as far and fast as he could from the bond building between the three of them.
“But it hasn’t done any good has it, has it little one?” The sound of a rough voice made him stiffen. Without looking up from his mint julep, he sighed. Only one man called him ‘little one’.
“I so don’t need this.” He rubbed his palm over his scalp. “What are you doing here, Sampson? Shouldn’t you be at Bête à Bon Dieu serving Mistress B.B.?”
“What makes you think I’m not, mon’ami?” The man turned the chair around and straddled it.
“Great.” Pushing his drink away, he finally looked at Sampson. Samuel “Sampson” Duprie hadn’t gotten his nickname merely because of his long blond hair. Standing at nearly seven foot, he was an ex-bodybuilder and was perfectly suited for his job as the head of security at Bête à Bon Dieu . So why the hell is he here harassing me instead of protecting his mistress? “And exactly how do you figure pestering me is in any way serving your mistress?”
“When she says ’Sampson, go find the Beaumont boy and haul his ass back here.’ I do it.”
Toying with the straw in his glass, he met Sampson’s eyes. “And what if ‘the Beaumont boy’ doesn’t want to go to Bête à Bon Dieu?”
It was Sampson’s turn to sigh before he straightened, bringing his chest into the dim glow of the light above the table. Micah’s eyes widened. With muscles like that Sampson could easily snap him in half.
“Then I guess ole Sampson will have to change your mind.”
Pushing back from the table, Micah reached for his wallet. “How much will it take to have you go away?” He pulled out the wad of cash he had and tossed it onto the table, not bothering to count it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d paid Sampson off. It was almost a weekly occurrence since his first and only visit to the club. He’d taken to carrying around extra cash for the recurring bribes.
The man stared at the money with a forlorn expression. “Not this time, little one.”
Picking up the money, he counted it. “You mean you’re gonna turn down two hundred dollars? Be reasonable, Sampson. This is easy money. Just go back and tell your mistress I paid you off again.” He had no illusions about Sampson’s loyalty to Brigit. The first time he’d done it, Sampson had told him he wouldn’t lie to his Mistress. That he would tell her Micah paid him off but it wouldn’t be a guarantee he wouldn’t show back up. So far Sampson hadn’t ever returned twice in the same night, but somehow he had a feeling this time – this night would be different.
Sampson shook his head, his long hair moving. “Sorry. Mistress is in a tizzy. Either you come with me or I’m gonna be sleeping on the couch.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he reviewed his options. He could stay here – he didn’t think Sampson would resort to violence but it would get the man in hot water with Brigit, or he could go with him, and see what her problem was and perhaps end this once and for all.
“You know, Josh
should’ve warned me your mistress was so high-handed. No offense, I came to the club once. I didn’t realize I’d signed a damned service contract.”
Sampson’s dark eyes were sympathetic. “You didn’t. That’s why I didn’t force the issue in the past, but this time…you have to come before she takes matters into her own hands.”
Tossing his straw away, he gave Sampson a rueful smile. “I understand, dude. Your mistress says jump and you say how high but Mistress B.B. isn’t my…”
A low growl escaped Sampson. Micah held up his hand. “Nor do I want her to be. I’m not ready for another Mistress, buddy. Not after what happened the last time.”
Sampson surged out of his chair. “You honestly think it’s because Mistress has a yen for you, Micah? That’s why I keep coming after you? Surely you’re not that egotistical.”
Surprise had his face flushing. If it hadn’t been for his dark coloring he was sure he would’ve been blushing.
“It’s not? Then why the hell does she keep sending you here? Don’t tell me it’s misplaced hospitality. I did as I promised. I came once, I checked out the club and decided it wasn’t for me.”
Sampson’s jaw clenched. “No you decided you were too chicken shit to allow another woman past your walls. It’s not good for men like us to bottle up our need. It’s been three months since you visited the club. You’re not getting the release you need – no, you crave, Tell me you haven’t forgotten what it is like to give up control – to relish the sting of the whip against your back as you please your Mistress?”
Micah’s grip on his drink tightened. If only I could – then this wouldn’t be so hard. “No, I haven’t.” Frustration built inside of him – he had to get over her, forget her - and Bête à Bon Dieu was evidently the only place it could happen. Not to mention it would get Mistress B.B. off his back. Grabbing the money he’d tossed on the table he stood, shoving it into his pocket. “Let’s go.”
Sampson gave him a hopeful look. “Bête à Bon Dieu?”
He nodded. “Evidently it’s time to prove to you I’m not too scared to find my own Mistress.” He moved to pass Sampson. A flicker of unease filled Micah when the man grabbed his arm.
“Mistress wouldn’t want you to jump into something you’re not ready for, Micah. She just worries you’re neglecting your needs. Don’t do something because you’re angry and may regret later. Think about this before you…” the man’s voice was gruff.
“I’m a grown man, dammit! I don’t need you or Mistress B.B. worrying about me. But if finding a Domme and letting her take me home will prove to the both of you I’m fine, then that’s what I’ll do. Maybe then you and Mistress B.B. will quit harping on me about showing my face at the club.”
Unease crossed Sampson’s face. “I don’t think …”
Micah shrugged off his hand. “Don’t think.” He stalked towards the door.
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Chapter One
Two Evenings Later
Micah groaned as he fought the restraints holding him. He had to get away, he didn’t want this – he wasn’t going to let her sub fuck him. This wasn’t what they’d agreed upon! Men weren’t his preference and she shouldn’t be ignoring his one hard limit. Fighting through the heavy fog enveloping his senses, a pitiful whimper filled his throat. Finally awake and free of the nightmare, his raspy breathing filled the darkened room.
The familiar beep of a heart machine monitoring his pulse and the pungent odor of antiseptic soothed his frayed nerves. Not even bothering to glance around the shadowy room, he knew he was safe in the hospital. No longer was he at the mercy of the deranged bitch he’d gone home with. Raising his left hand, he winced when his fingers brushed over the swollen knot on his forehead. It wasn’t as large as it had been yesterday, thank God, but still every other inch of his body ached – particularly his back and ass.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the same type of ache resulting from a good working over by his Mistress’s whip. It would be days before he even felt human. Letting his head fall back, he closed his eyes and cursed his own stupidity. This was the last thing I needed. Why was I so foolish to go home with her and that behemoth of man? Oh right, I wanted to prove I was capable of taking care of my own needs. Fine job I did…thank god Sampson and Mistress B.B. didn’t realize what happened.
“Shh, mal-chich.” A cool hand pressed against his free arm before sliding down to tangle with his fingers.
A familiar surge of pleasure washed over him. It was as if his world suddenly righted. Mistress is here. Everything will be okay. Despite the agony he knew it would cause, he forced his eyes open, needing to see her – to make sure she wasn’t another hallucination from the pain meds they continually forced down his throat. Happiness swamped him as a slender figure moved into the circle of light being cast off by the small lamp next to his bed.
Leaning over the bedrail, with her dark hair pulled back in its familiar braid and worry in her pale gray eyes, Olivia was everything he hoped to see. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The fact he wasn’t her submissive had no bearing, nor did his recent avoidance of everything to do with the lifestyle since he’d fled Chicago. The only thing that mattered was she was here when he needed her the most.
“Mistress?” It hurt to force the word past his swollen cracked lips. “I’ve missed you so much…”
Her fingers rubbed over his bristly scalp as she searched his gaze. “As I have you. Both Jude and I came as soon as we heard. You never should’ve left us.”
The sound of his competition moving closer to his bed jerked him out of his fantasy world and into the real one. Olivia Metjka might be in New Orleans, but despite his need she wasn’t his Mistress anymore. I have no Mistress. Moving stiffly, he eased free of her hold as Jude appeared behind her. His friend looked good. His dark chestnut hair was brushed off his high forehead but mussed as if he’d been dragging his fingers through it. The rumpled clothing, he wore told of the long flight from Chicago to New Orleans.
But it wasn’t the clothing that caught Micah’s attention, it was the thick silver chain gracing Jude’s neck. Nestled in the hollow of his throat was the symbol of Olivia’s possession – one he coveted more than anything. Combined with the relaxed way Jude stood, Micah knew the other man was where he was happy in Olivia’s care. For that alone, he wanted nothing more than to kick Jude’s ass, but he wouldn’t – it had taken too long for the other man to accept his submissive nature. And too much work on my part to get him there. I’ll be damned if I let him backslide just because I’m jealous. Closing his eyes, Micah ignored both the physical and emotional pain as he rolled away from the sight.
“Micah?” Her question was sharp. He knew she hadn’t expected his rejection but it was all he could do to keep the tears at bay. It wouldn’t matter if he told himself it was the pain of his battered body causing them, not the ache in his chest. Either way it was a sign of weakness – one he couldn’t afford.
“Please leave. I don’t need you here.”
“I’m not leaving. And judging by the shape of your back, I think you do need me. I don’t see what the big deal is, mal-chick, I’ve cared for you in the past.” The commanding tone which would’ve caused his dick to go rock hard in the past was now nothing more than salt being rubbed into his open wounds.
“But not now. You no longer have that right.” He took a deep breath, forcing himself to continue. “You’re not my Mistress anymore, Olivia. I’m a big boy, and believe it or not I can take care of myself.”
“Really? Then how come you’ve ended up in the hospital like a glupym malʹchikom?”
He heard the scrape of her fingernails against the metal bedside rail as she reached for him. The feel of her palm against his raw back sent more than physical agony through him. His body remembered the lightness of her touch when she tended his torn back after his attack in Chicago. Giving his trust to the wrong Mistress wasn’t a first for him. He’d trusted once before and paid dearly for it. Evidently I haven’t gott
en any smarter. And just like then, Olivia would take care of him this time, unless he drove her away.
“Jude, take…” Mistress, he barely caught the word before it slipped out. “…her home. Neither of you are wanted here.”
“Excuse me?” The softness of her response did little to hide her displeasure. In the past he would’ve taken it as a warning but now he was only concerned about driving her away.
“Leave. I don’t need you. Nor do I need your pity or what little scrap of affection you deem appropriate to throw my way. Go home.”
His ears picked up on a sharp inhalation before her hand left his back. Immediately he mourned its loss.
There was an unfamiliar note of uncertainty in her voice when she spoke. “Micah? What happened to you, mal-chick, to make you this way? I know you’re hurting but there’s no reason to…”
