by Anna Zabo
Eli nodded. “Better.” Eli cupped the side of Justin’s face. “And that’s one, by the way.”
He couldn’t help the shiver. Nor another then Eli stroked his thumb over his jaw.
“Though neither of us is in the space we need to be for sceneing yet.” Eli let go and hefted his coffee mug.
Reality crashed down around them. Eli was recovering from his flashback, and he . . . Justin sat down on the stool next to Eli. “I should tell you about Francis.”
Soft, sweet voice. “When you’re ready.”
Being ready wasn’t something that was ever going to happen. Only one thing to do. Justin took a sip of his coffee. “After I graduated from Stanford, I got a pretty decent job with ErazaTech.”
A nod. “I remember.”
From his résumé, of course. “Did pretty well, too. Got a raise and a promotion after the first year. By the second, I was well on my way to managing my own accounts.” Justin fingered the lip of his mug. “I was also involved in the Scene. Got into it in college.”
Eli finally took a sip of his coffee. “Boyfriend?”
“I was between boyfriends—but I had this friend Mitch. We blew off steam together and he noticed I tended to come a lot faster and harder when he held me down as he fucked me. Took me to my first party.” He couldn’t help the chuckle. “Blew my mind. And my load. Twice.”
Eli snorted. “Amateur.”
Justin curled his toes over the rung of the bar stool. “As you might expect, I threw myself into the Scene. Played with a lot of Doms. Watched others play.” He’d loved those days. Pleasure and pain on the weekends, laser focus during the week. If he’d have kept at it, he wouldn’t be living in a dank, mold infested apartment now. But what was done was done.
“I got invited to a different party by one of the Doms I played with—an exclusive party. Less college, more business. That’s where I met Francis. He was . . .” Justin shook his head. “So focused. Intense. Or so I thought at the time. Turns out, it was cruelty.” He met Eli’s gaze. “You’ve always treated me like a human.”
Behind those gray eyes Justin caught a glimpse of unrestrained anger. “You are.” Sharp, strong words.
He knew that now. “The play we did at the other parties just scratched an itch. First time Francis topped me, I flew for hours. I’d never experienced pain like that—or true subspace. I had to have more.”
Eli looked down at his mug and took a sip. For all the world, it looked like he was chewing on the words and swallowing them. Letting Justin tell his story—just as Justin had done for Eli last night.
Justin winced at the stab of guilt. “I went back. Over and over. Every time I could. Each time, I escaped into that oblivion and each time, it was harder and harder to break free of it. My work slipped. I became—distracted. What mattered was the next time I saw Francis. Felt his whip. Got fucked.”
“Addicted.”
That. Justin drew a finger around the lip of his coffee mug. “Yup.” His gut twisted. “Then I gave Francis my cell number and he started calling. Taking me to dinner. Buying me clothes. Electronics. Anything I wanted.” He took another gulp of coffee. “I liked that, the attention, but it was even more of a distraction. A month later, I had my first dressing-down at work. I was devastated, completely. Despite everything, I hadn’t seen it coming. I was so young.”
Again, Eli looked to be holding back his words.
“Yeah, I went straight to Francis.”
“I’m betting he didn’t mind at all.” Spoken like steel spikes.
Justin would have chuckled, had it not hurt. Why did it still hurt? “Long story short, two weeks later, I wasn’t working at ErazaTech anymore and I moved in with Francis. He had all my things put into storage. Said he’d provide for me.” His own memory was far more bitter than the coffee. “He did. In exchange for pain and sex. A new shirt cost a blow job. He took dinner out of my hide and my ass.”
Eli’s eyes were a bit too wide. “I didn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . .”
“I know.” Justin reached across the breakfast bar and pried one of Eli’s fingers off his coffee mug. “Believe me, I know that now.” He gave Eli’s shaking hand a gentle squeeze. “But with Francis . . . that’s how it was. I didn’t understand at the time. I thought he cared, that it was a game.”
He let Eli go. “Little by little, Francis took over my life. First it was what I wore. Then what I ate. Then when I got up, what I did, who I talked to, where I went . . . until he controlled every moment of my day. Every minute was for him alone. Most of the time, I was naked but for his collar. My world revolved around the pleasure he took and the pain he gave. Hell, he wouldn’t even let me read.” Justin ran a hand through his hair. “The worst thing was, for a while, I enjoyed it. It was different and extreme. But when I wanted it to stop, or wanted a breather, it . . . didn’t. He didn’t. No safeword. No way to leave. I . . . didn’t know what to do.”
“You wanted a dominant/submissive relationship. You ended up in a master/slave one.” Eli stood and paced to the other side of the kitchen. He placed his hands on the counter, back to Justin, but fury was written in the tightness of his stance. “It’s a good thing he doesn’t live here. I’d have his balls.”
“I wouldn’t want you to do anything.”
Eli dropped his head. “I know that.” He exhaled. “I’m going to make an omelet. Would you like some?”
That was an odd question. “Yes, but . . .”
“I need to do something about this.” Eli’s voice was quiet, but his arms shook. He raised his head. “I know I can’t, but I need an outlet. Please let me make something for you.”
Eli had the same need for control that Francis had. But how Eli handled it? So very different. “Do I get a choice of fillings?”
“Of course.” All at once, Eli both relaxed and stood straighter. “Limited to what I have in the fridge.”
In the end, they both settled on sausage, onions, peppers, and some brie Eli found in the cheese drawer.
“Thank you,” Eli said. “I find cooking beats homicide any day.”
Justin laughed, but the lighthearted mood evaporated instantly. “I suspect you’re not going to like the rest of the story.”
“I already know I won’t.” Eli started chopping vegetables. “But I want to hear it anyway.”
Justin cleared his throat. “We never set any ground rules. So yes . . . I’d become a twenty-four-seven slave without wanting to—or even knowing what that meant.” Shame twisted and broke free, squeezing Justin’s heart until he couldn’t breathe. He bent over and pressed his forehead against his knees.
An instant later, Eli was there, kneeling before Justin, one hand lifting his head, the other brushing his bangs away. “Just, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me any more.”
“Your leg . . .”
“Fuck my leg. Don’t worry about my leg.” The pain and concern in Eli’s expression . . . entirely for Justin.
Eli understood the pain of the past. “I want—need to get this out.” Justin wiped the tears off his face. “And the onions will burn.”
The kitchen already smelled of caramelizing onions and sausage. Eli frowned, but climbed to his feet anyway, almost concealing the wince. “You’re not going to accept ‘fuck the onions,’ are you?”
Justin hiccupped a laugh and shook his head.
“Figured.” Eli returned to the stove and pushed the vegetables around before pouring egg on top.
A deep breath steadied Justin. “We did go to parties sometimes. I enjoyed those. Even though I was forbidden to talk to anyone, I could listen and see someone other than Francis.”
Lavi walked into the kitchen and jumped up onto the breakfast bar, his fur soft under Justin’s fingers. “I disobeyed the whole no-talking rule quite a bit. Francis was controlling, but he got squeamish about damaging me, especially around others. I’m enough of a masochist that I thought I could handle any punishment he doled out.” He’d been wrong about that. Pain? Yes. But the
re were other ways to punish besides flogging or whipping.
Eli added cheese to the omelet, his shaky, quick movements speaking for him.
“During the last party out there, someone I’d known from college told me my parents had been trying to find me. It had something to do with my sister.” He could taste the panic of that moment, the way the world had frozen as the worst possible thoughts scrolled through his mind. Anger heated his gut. Lavi pressed his face against Justin’s hand. “I’d had my mail forwarded to Francis’s address. I thought he’d been giving me everything.”
“He hadn’t.” Eli flipped the omelet—a huge mass of egg and cheese—onto a plate.
“No. I didn’t say anything that night or even the next day. I waited until one of the rare times Francis left me alone in the house and snooped through his office and the trash. I found shredded letters. Pieced enough together and recognized my mother’s handwriting.”
Eli leaned against the counter and pushed his hair back with both hands. “You confronted him.”
“Yeah. I was sick of the shit. The orders, the lack of free will. I couldn’t even leave the house without him. I found a pair of scissors and cut his collar off. When he got back, I handed the collar to him along with the shredded bits of my mom’s letter.”
“And he freaked out?”
“Yes, but he didn’t get angry, didn’t yell. He . . . fell apart. Tears, apologies, the whole nine yards. Told me he loved me, that he was only trying to protect me. He thought I loved being taken care of.” Justin picked Lavi up and held his warm, purring body against his chest. “I bought every word.”
Eli blew air out from between his teeth and pulled two clean plates from the cabinet. The tension in his body could have held up a bridge.
“After talking things through, finding out what was happening with my sister, getting Francis’s promise that things would change and that he’d let me go visit my family, we had sex. Some of the best we’d had in a while.” Lavi squirmed and he let the cat jump to the floor. “I let him tie me up and flog me. He bound me like I’d asked you to.”
Eli slid the large omelet between them and sat down. “Is that why you . . . ?” He rotated the plate slightly.
“I used to love being bound tight and hard against a cross. With cuffs I can move and it’s not as fun. I . . . didn’t realize he’d ruined it.” Justin took a swallow of cold coffee. “He did flog me that night. Hard, and I loved every second. When he finished, he told me that every inch of me belonged to him. He’d clothed me and fed me and fucked me and he wasn’t letting me go.” Justin blinked away moisture. “Then he walked away and left me there.”
“He—” Eli stood again, paced to the counter, then turned around. “He left you there? How long?”
“I don’t know.” Long enough to piss himself. Long enough to run out of tears. Long enough to not be able to move when Francis took him down and shoved him into a bathroom with the order to clean himself up. “I—” Maybe he shouldn’t have told this story because he couldn’t stop shaking.
Again, Eli was there, this time handing him a glass of water. “Justin, look at me.”
Eli was so much taller than Francis. There was no rope here, only a giant omelet and two plates. Justin took a sip and cold liquid eased his throat. “A day or so later, I snuck out of Francis’s bed, grabbed a change of clothes, and left. I—sat in a park until morning, then went to my former office and begged a friend to let me use her phone. Then I called home.”
That hadn’t been pleasant. His father had answered, and lashed out with the latest news of his sister. He’d only stopped when Justin had started sobbing. “In the end, my dad wired me money they didn’t have so I could fly home.” He looked up.
Eli held out his hand and Justin took it. A slight tug had him on his feet and Justin stepped into Eli’s arms.
“Thank you for trusting me with that.”
“There’s more.” He could only whisper. So much more. Seeing his sister. Explaining what had happened to his parents. That phone call home a couple months ago.
“There always is,” Eli said. “But there’s also time.”
There was now that they could talk again. Touch again. No traps here. “Now what?”
He felt Eli shrug. “There’s breakfast to eat.”
“Not exactly hungry.” Though the omelet smelled fantastic.
“Neither am I, but it would be a shame to waste it.”
Justin let go of Eli and sat. “We’ll need forks.”
A glimpse of Eli’s stunning smile warmed Justin’s heart. Yeah, maybe Justin’s past was fucked. But the present? The future? Those might work out if he didn’t screw up again. “I think I need to talk to someone.”
Eli pointed at the omelet. “Eat before it gets cold.” He took half and slid the other portion on Justin’s plate. “I’ll give you Dr. Brohmer’s number. She’ll likely refer you, but she’ll recommend someone Scene-friendly.”
So matter-of-fact. “I shouldn’t be like this. I mean, what happened to me was nothing compared to Mercy. Or to you.”
Eli laid his fork down. “Don’t. Trauma doesn’t work like that. There’s no better or worse.”
“But—”
“Justin.” Exasperation. Eli rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What happened to me, as horrible as it was . . . was an accident. Yes, your sister went off to war. But what happened to you . . . Justin, it was deliberately done.”
Air left his lungs. He hadn’t wanted to think about that, but there it was. “I’m really fucked, aren’t I?”
Eli’s voice was as soft as his smile. “No. No more than me. Or Sam or Michael. Or likely anyone in the office. We all have our demons.”
He poked at the omelet. “I’m tired of demons.”
“I know. It’s going to be okay, I promise.” He pointed at the plate. “Now, please . . .”
Still that edge of control in Eli, but Justin needed a bit of that. One bite, at least, he could do.
Despite everything, once the food hit Justin’s mouth, his hunger returned. The sausage and brie worked perfectly, and before he knew it, his plate was empty. So was Eli’s.
The world felt more solid. “I guess we should think about shoveling.” A foot of snow would take some time to clear out.
Eli slid off his stool and collected the dishes. “I’m waiting for the doorbell to ring.”
“Doorbell?”
“Next-door neighbor’s twins. Shoveling is rough on me.”
Right on cue, musical notes sounded in the living room. “Are those real chimes?”
“Old house.” Eli grinned and made his way toward the front door. “Where did my coat end up last night?
Justin followed. “On the bench by the door.” Bits and pieces of clothing and a smattering of buttons were still strewn by the stairs.
Eli extracted his wallet from his coat and opened the front door. Cold air chilled Justin’s bare chest and he found himself shying away, both from the cold and what it would look like to have him standing there, half naked.
He caught a glimpse of two teens, both bundled up in hats, gloves, and scarves. “Hey, Mr. Ovadia! Need your driveway done?”
“You two are the first to call, as always.” A huge smile from Eli, one that made Justin’s heart skip. He’d always assumed Eli was a loner, but there was a community here and Eli was a part of it. “Do the driveway, the walks, and clean off the car, and I’ll give you forty each?”
The kids whooped and ran to start. Eli closed the door.
Justin rubbed his arms to warm them up. “That’s really generous.”
“Keeps them coming back. They mow my lawn during the summer, too. Help out when I need a hand. They’re good boys. Smart. Do well in school. Their mother says they’ve been putting the money away for a road trip when they graduate.” Eli bent and collected a few random pieces of suit and tux and put them on the bench. “I may help with their college expenses, depending on where they end up.”
Hearing all th
at was like slipping and falling while standing perfectly still. “There’s so much I don’t know about you.”
A bit of color rose to Eli’s cheeks and he deposited more clothing on the bench. “Likewise.” Then he met Justin’s gaze. “But we can remedy that.”
They could.
Eli tipped his head, and cocked his finger in a come-hither motion, then he made his way up the stairs. Well, there was only one thing to do. Justin climbed up after Eli to the second floor.
“I want to show you something,” Eli said. At the end of the hall, he opened another door, one Justin had never been through, and stepped to the side. He gestured inside.
A staircase leading up. Dark at the bottom, but daylight filtered in at the top. Justin glanced at Eli, then climbed. He hadn’t realized the third floor was finished.
More than finished, actually. He entered into a huge room with light walls and windows. Bookcases. A bed. A reading nook. An old-fashioned writing desk. A bathroom tucked off to the side. Even a tiny kitchen. Justin stepped farther in.
The stairs creaked and Eli sat down at the top. “I rarely come up here. I thought you might like it. Should have offered this months ago, but . . .” He rubbed the back of his head. “I’m not very good with the whole relationship thing, as you can tell.”
“You want me to live here?” That pit of dread opened up again.
Eli shook his head. “I’m not asking you to move in.” He shifted a bit on the stairs, stretching out his left leg. “But when you’re here, this can be yours. Your own space. To study. Relax. Whatever.” He paused. “Two flights are a bit much. I think the cleaners come up here more than me.”
A meow sounded as Lavi bounded into the room. He sniffed the air. “His Royal Fuzzy Butt isn’t allowed up here, either.”
Justin approached the far side of the room. Each step felt like treading over eggshells. Part of him was excited—the other part wanted to flee. He took a breath. Eli wasn’t trying to trap him—just give him space. “This’ll be a good place to study.” Warm and full of daylight. So very different from his apartment. He could do this. Be a part of Eli’s life without that consuming him. Maybe, just maybe he could move in at some point. If Eli would have him.
