Power Bottom

by Jeremy Jenkins

  He must have been Cop-Adam now, because he was nowhere in sight.

  Adam

  I stood in the shadows, trying to become one with the wall as I carefully watched the crowd.

  It had been driving me nuts for the past few days at work that we still had no leads on who the serial killer was. He never left anything behind...

  Except that silver stud.

  Forensics scanned it for fingerprints, and it came up empty of course. But I knew something that the vanilla people I worked with didn’t know:

  I knew that the stud wasn’t an ordinary button. It was the exact size and shape of the studs on some of my Dom gear. Which led me to believe that someone in this community was the killer.

  And it made me hate myself for doing it, but I was watching Luke to see who would go up to him. Since the killer had a type and that type was Luke, I could almost guarantee that if the killer were in this room, they’d be watching him.

  My eyes wandered around the room slowly, lingering on each head. Going into hyper-observant mode, I took note of whose eyes were going where. What their hands were doing. The way their postures were. Who was standing closest to the door to make a quick escape.

  And most of all, who was watching Luke.

  Which, I wasn’t surprised to see, most of the men — and women — in here were sneaking glances at him.

  Seeing him standing there talking to Lily like that from across the room as an observer was a completely different experience than up-close. He was slim, and his skin was so pale it was porcelain. The way his gaze instinctually dropped when Lily asked him a question…

  Well, it was enough to get any guy going, let alone one with Dominant desires.

  The back of my neck prickled, and I saw two people make a beeline to Luke and Lily.

  One of them was Lily’s partner — the one with the platinum high-fade haircut. The other was a man with salt and pepper hair in a nice suit.

  They joined Luke and Lily leaning against the bar and began to chat.

  My eyes narrowed as I watched Suit Guy’s body language. There was nothing that showed any sign of attraction to Luke. He was probably the one person in this bar that was purposefully avoiding any eye contact or body language that might indicate flirtation. He was careful, that one.

  But the tingling on the back of my neck knew better. At that moment, I knew on some intuitive level that the man talking to my fiancee right now was the killer.

  And that he planned to kill Luke.

  “Adam! You’re back!” Luke said when I rejoined the group.

  It took a significant effort to prevent my nostrils from flaring. I had to remain calm and composed, or else this guy would catch on.

  He was careful. Too careful. Any hint of danger, and I knew he’d flee.

  “Sorry, my stomach was upset,” I lied quickly.

  Luke handed me my Old Fashioned, the ice now almost completely melted.

  I wrapped my fingers around it, already planning on finding a way to dispose of it without anyone noticing. I needed a clear head.

  The adrenaline was coursing through my veins as I was hyper-aware of every moment, every micro-expression on this guy’s face. It took a herculean effort not to narrow my eyes at him.

  “You feeling okay, babe? Did you want to go and lay on the couch for a bit?” Luke asked, concern thick in his voice.

  “No, I’m good now. Maybe in a bit,” I said. I needed more time to check this guy out; find out as much information as I could as subtly as I could.

  “Well, alright. Just let me know when you want to head out,” Luke said.

  Suit Guy was watching me curiously.

  Since I’d been around criminals almost my entire adult life, I knew that particular Predator Stare when I saw it. And this guy had it.

  Cold eyes. The muscles around his eyelashes didn’t move in the right way. A small gut-feeling blossomed within me that was sending a danger signal through my body.

  “Oh! How rude of me, I didn’t introduce you,” Luke said, delightfully oblivious.

  “Adam, this is Fenwick. He’s a Rigger like you were hoping to talk to. Fenwick, this is my fiancee, Adam.”

  The man’s cold eyes flicked down to the silver ring on my finger and smiled — I’m sure he hoped it was a warm smile full of greeting. It was a smile that said, I like you.

  Which would be enough to fool the untrained eye.

  But I knew that this particular type of smile had been practiced.

  Though it took everything in me not to make up a reason to arrest him right there — damn the consequences — I had to do my best to play the part. To tease as much information out of him as possible.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said as I outstretched my hand.

  Fenwick reached out and shook it, the picture of a perfect gentleman.

  His disguise was good.

  The conversation went back to types of play and rigging. I was barely paying attention to the content; all I could do was hyper-focus on the tones, the body language, the way the participants said things. Language was a funny thing — words often got in the way of the real communication happening underneath. The way people swirled their drinks nervously after saying something and hoping to be liked, the most subtle tilt of a head to betray interest, the musical wave of vocal tones indicating questions, hopes, responses.

  Desires.

  The more I subtly observed Fenwick, the more I was confident that the silver stud belonged to him. He was an expert in this social dance, but there was something genuine missing from his participation. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, mimicking the sheep’s language.

  I could see his teeth, though.

  I had to find a way to investigate further; to prove that I was right.

  I had to protect Luke.

  “I hear you’re both new to the community here in New York. A warm welcome from all of us!” Fenwick said. “So, what did you say you do for a living, Adam?” Fenwick asked me, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  Keeping my eyes from narrowing, I made sure to act normally. Any hint of a lie or that I was onto him would send this guy running, and then the investigation would become vastly more complicated.

  It was like I had a mousetrap set up next to a mouse hole, and here I was, staring at the rat I was trying to catch. Any misstep would send him running back into the hole, never to return. So I had to tell the truth.

  “I’m a cop,” I said gruffly. I brought my drink to my lips, but the liquid never touched my tongue. I needed a clear head.

  “Splendid!” Fenwick cried with a subtle backbend.

  He stuck out his chest. That was a sign of a challenge between men. It was the first indication that he might be into Luke; that he was challenging me in this subtle way.

  I was taking mental notes on a piece of lined paper in my head, writing down everything that was happening with angry red ink.

  Luke was watching us interact innocently. I saw that his drink was empty, and guessed that he was probably feeling more social, more confident than normal. He wouldn’t be able to pick up on what I was seeing.

  “And what do you do?” I asked calmly, my red pen poised above my mental notes.

  “Gah! It’s so boring talking about my job: Investment banking. I work in an office with a bunch of Wall Street sharks, each one trying to outwit the others.”

  Wall Street. So he was already a crook.

  “I’d much rather talk about the hobby that we’re all interested in — and what I hear you’re interested in, Adam. Rigging.”

  “That’s right,” I said, taking note of his body language, the way he said things, his naked ring finger, his posture. “I wanted to know about making a custom bed.”

  It wasn’t lost on me that this guy was looking at me, but he wasn’t watching me. Not really. His attention was on Luke, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

  “I do beds all the time. I can hook you up with my manufacturer if you’d like.”

  “That
would be great!” I said with a smile. I had to prolong talking to this guy. Get close to him; learn more about him. “I’m not sure what I want, though. Do you have something I could look at that would give me some ideas? There’s only so much you can learn on the forums.”

  Something flashed in Fenwick’s eyes; panic, I think.

  I quickly reviewed the way I said that to him. Did I let any suspicion leak into my voice? Did I push a button to send him on high-alert?

  Maybe I was mistaking panic for excitement.

  “I have a few custom beds in my condo — why don’t you and Luke come over?”

  Instinctual anger bristled through me, like my hackles were raised. It wasn’t lost on me the way he amended Luke’s name to that invitation. He’d wanted to get a way for Luke to be inside his space all along, I was sure. And he’d invited me as a decoy; to try and communicate, “Look, I’m no threat. I’m inviting both of you equally.”

  I would have bought it if I was less observant, more hot-headed like I was when I was younger. But now, in my mid-thirties with over a decade of being a cop under my belt, I knew better.

  Though, it was a weird feeling, being at the crossroads between going all alpha and protecting my partner, and trying hard to be subtle to catch a criminal.

  I couldn’t tell if I liked it or hated it. All I knew was that there was a part of me that thought it was thrilling.

  The stakes were higher than ever.

  “We’d like that,” Luke said before I could answer.

  I could see the red in his cheeks, the buzz from the alcohol giving his confidence a boost.

  “Great! I’ll give you both my contact info,” Fenwick said with that perfect smile.

  But I knew the thing that was important to him was happening right under my nose: His phone number was going into Luke’s phone and Luke’s phone number was going into his. All under the pretense of learning more about rigging.

  It took everything in me to resist slamming Fenwick down on the bar and cuffing him right there. The rat was pawing at the cheese in the mousetrap, not entirely taking it, but not fondling it enough to trip the trap.

  And that wasn’t just any cheese he was touching; it was my cheese.

  My Luke.

  Luke and I tumbled through the door of our brownstone, our lips pressed together in an elaborate dance.

  “Fuck, I want you so bad, daddy,” he breathed when he pulled away.

  I growled in response, turning all of my protective instincts for him into pure desire.

  Pressing him against the wall just inside the entryway, I pressed my lips onto his large bulbous ones, sticking my tongue into his mouth to explore.

  He did the same, desire thick in his body.

  I moved my palm shakily down his face, along the side of his neck, and down to his shoulder.

  Our bodies were chest to chest, and I moved my hands down Luke’s arms, then raised his hands and pressed them against the wall, pinning him there.

  As our pelvises ground against each other's, I could feel the ridge of his erection rub against mine through our jeans.

  “Oh…” he moaned, those beautiful bulbous rose-petal lips forming into an “o” shape.

  “You like that, boy?” I asked, grinding a little harder against him.

  It was hard to keep myself from moaning it felt so good.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew there should be something I was stressing about, something I was trying to figure out, but for now, all of that was filed away.

  Now I was Dom Adam, and the only thing he was worried about was pleasing this beautiful little sub in front of him.

  “You want more of this, boy?” I asked, looking into his wistful eyes.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, his dark eyelashes flicking downward with his gaze.

  “Kneel.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take off my boots.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I freed him from the wall and watched as his eyes flicked up to mine. Then he slowly sank before me, not breaking eye contact the whole time.

  I watched him kneel with delight, and the sensation of having complete control sizzled through me. My cock was so hard I thought it was going to explode out of my pants.

  He got on his knees — making sure they were on the soft rug at the entryway — and lifted my right pant leg. Then he began plucking at the knots on my boot with his delicate fingers.

  “Good boy,” I said, running my hand through his hair.

  He looked back up at me, his blue eyes shining in the yellowish light. There was an unmistakable pleading in them that sent another surge of desire straight to my cock.

  Once he’d undone the laces and pulled off my boots, I gave him a command to stack them in the rack next to the door.

  “Now take off your shoes and do the same,” I said.

  I watched as he obeyed me; every movement of his body guided by his submissive nature. It got me hot.

  Once he placed them on the rack, I said, “Good boy.”

  Luke looked up at me innocently, awaiting his next command.

  “Go to the playroom and get it ready. I’ll be back down in ten minutes,” I said with the hard tone of command.

  Luke nodded, then turned and disappeared into the door at the bottom of the stairs.

  I tromped up the stairs into the kitchen, setting a timer for ten minutes on my phone. It was important for Luke to know precisely how long it would take until I was back by his side.

  It was one of the things Dr. Brinkman suggested for him — to keep setting longer and longer intervals of how long I could leave him alone in the playroom. Apparently it would help Luke deepen his trust in me and overcome the trauma that his ex had put him through.

  The anticipation of the delay was tingling through me, making me harder with each heartbeat. I got up to make some tea, keeping an eye on the timer.

  Since Luke was such a perfect little submissive, I knew that the playroom would be absolutely flawless by the time I got there. He was so good at following directions…

  Even if sometimes he talked back to me like a little brat.

  The water finished boiling as the timer counted up. I poured it into two cups and put a packet of chamomile tea in each, watching as the yellow liquid unfurled into the water.

  Leaving the two cups on the counter, I paced to the living room, then the bedroom, knowing that Luke could hear my footsteps from the playroom.

  It would make the anticipation for what was about to happen even more delicious.

  The timer was at the nine-minute mark, so I tromped over to the stairs, not bothering to lighten my tread.

  When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I opened the door to the playroom and saw that the entire thing had been cleaned up. A blanket was folded and placed at the foot of the mattress, all the candles were lit, and various toys laid alongside the neatly-made bed.

  My eyes flicked to the side of the room, where Luke was naked and in a child’s pose, indicating that he was ready for me.

  I took a few steps forward, loving the control he was giving me. Walking close to the bed, I made a show of inspecting the sheets.

  “Excellent work, slave,” I said, my voice hard and full of command. “Impeccable. There’s not a single wrinkle in these sheets. And these toys are perfectly spaced out and ready to go.”

  My gaze lifted to naked Luke on the other side of the room. I wondered for a moment if he was feeling cold.

  We’d been working on him telling me if he was uncomfortable — he’d been reluctant to use his safe words in the past. It had taken a lot of practice to get him to say them when he felt the slightest bit of discomfort, instead of waiting until it was almost unbearable.

  I took slow steps towards him, knowing that even though his forehead was touching the ground and he couldn’t see me, he could still hear me. The sound of my footsteps approaching must have been thrilling to him.

  And knowing that he was thrilled, that he was turned on by
that feeling of maybe being in trouble, sent a surge of lust through me.

  I was the disciplinarian. I was in control.

  Without a word, I stood at his side and peered down at him.

  He couldn’t see what I was doing, so he was forced to wait. Forced to be at my beck and call until I decided to give him any sensation.

  I could practically see the goosebumps on his flesh, his body begging for any sort of touch.

  After lingering next to him for a minute, I leaned down and touched the side of his neck with my fingertips.

  “Are you cold, boy?” I asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “You’d tell me if you were cold, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good.”

  I turned away from him and walked back towards the bed where the toys were laid out in a neat row. Letting my eyes dance on each one, I leaned down and picked up the riding crop.

  Luke

  I couldn’t see what my Sir was doing; all I knew was that he wasn’t standing next to me at the moment.

  My forehead was pressed against the wooden floor, and my body was folded into a child’s pose. There was something about this position that made me feel so exposed, but intimate at the same time. Like I was putting absolute trust in my Sir to manage our environment.

  I liked that part about being a sub. It was pretty much the only time I could turn off my anxiety and just be. I didn’t have to worry about anything — I knew that I could trust my Sir to take care of all of it.

  …as long as I followed his commands.

  On the forums, people called this zen-like state the “Sub-Zone,”; a unique headspace that was like a deep meditation.

  Unlike being in the outside world where my anxiety was continually threatening to throttle me, in here all my brain was telling me was, “Everything is going to be alright. Everything is taken care of, you are good, you’ve done everything he asked to perfection.”