by Aspose
“I will never be the Master you are.”
“No, you will be your own man, your own sort of Master. And it will be more than good enough. You will be spectacular. Oh, I know you don’t believe me now, but I promise you, it will become your second nature. It’s begun to already.”
I am so humbled by his words. Too humbled. Why can’t I feel strengthened by the things he’s saying to me? Isn’t that what a true Master would feel?
“I wish it were me,” I tell him quietly.
“No, you don’t. And neither do I. You’re so young, with your life ahead of you. And don’t give me that look. I know damn well fifty-three is too young to die, but I will die shortly. Can you let me leave this world secure in the knowledge that you will carry on for me?”
I lock my gaze with his, fire burning in my veins, in my heart, which is breaking even as I say the word. “Yes. Yes. You can count on it, I swear it.”
My heart breaks all over again, remembering. It twists in my chest when I remember an earlier time, a memory I’ve kept carefully locked away…
I am curled at the foot of my Master’s bed as the rising sun lights the windows with golden light. My body may ache from being beaten and fucked, but I am filled with happiness, knowing I served him well last night, and the satiation thrums in my veins like a low, lyrical chord.
He nudges me with his foot. “You’re awake, my beautiful boy. Come and kiss me.”
I smile as I crawl up the bed and lie next to him, waiting for him. His eyes are a warm, whiskey brown, the lashes long and fair, and it’s only in these sleepy morning moments that he allows me to see any softness in them. I treasure these moments, just as I treasure his harshness with me. But it’s that stark contrast that makes mornings such bliss. I see the Yin and Yang of it, how there truly cannot be light without the darkness, perhaps even more so for people like us. Contrast is everything.
Shaking my head, I come to sit beside her again. “There was a time when he was everything to me.”
“Exactly as it should be. And now?”
I know what she’s asking. “And now, they are everything to me.”
“But there is the question of your identity as a Master?”
I nod. “And there is also the question of what will become of my House, should I go to Christopher, give myself to him.”
Alexa bites her lip, ripe with her trademark scarlet lipstick. “What if…what if you give the House to him, too?”
I let out a small, surprised laugh. No, not surprise—shock. “What?”
She leans toward me, her eyes glittering. “It’s the perfect solution. He’s more than able—we both know that. And you would still be here to help him handle any of the complicated logistics, or duties he’d prefer not to attend to. You can always add more staff as needed, more trained slaves.”
I shake my head. “But Alexa, how can I…?”
She lowers her voice. “How can you appear in your own House as a slave yourself? Is that it? There’s no shame or weakness in being a slave. You would tell anyone that yourself.”
“I know, I know. But this is different, because—”
“Because it’s you?” She lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Jesus, Damon. Do you think you’re any different from the rest of us? From your darling Christopher himself? How many of us have played both sides of this kinky coin? I have. The best Masters and Mistresses have experienced being a bottom, if not a slave. We come and go through our little community, and yes, there can be a period of adjustment when someone switches, for themselves as well as for others in our circle, but we all live through it. So will you. So will the rest of us. And really, you know as well as I do how we thrive on shock value.” She laughs once more, only this time there’s real amusement in her tone. “We should have a coming out party for you—our crowd would lose their minds over that!”
“Remind me never to let you be the one to plan anything on my behalf.”
But her blue eyes are twinkling. “I believe you’re about to have very little control over that.”
“I think…” I take a deep, shaky breath. “I think I am about to have control over nothing.”
“Not once you call him and see if he’ll still take you back. If he’ll accept your offer of the House. Except you know quite well that giving yourself over is the ultimate act of power.”
“Yes.” Nerves suddenly make my body go tight once more. “And if he doesn’t accept me, or my offer?”
“Then you go back to your old life, I suppose. If you can.”
Impossible to even imagine that now. I don’t even know exactly what that was. Who I was. No, everything has changed, and there is no going back.
CHAPTER NINE
I lean forward, elbows on my knees to cradle my aching head in my hands. “I know you’re right on some level, but given the way my head is spinning right now, I can’t seem to sort anything out. Everything feels so completely fucked up.”
“You’re unused to things being out of your control, that’s all,” she tells me in a reassuring tone, “but again, if you can move bravely into this new life, you won’t have to worry about that, will you? But I believe you can do this. I do. Honestly, I was surprised to see you so deeply in slave space—it wasn’t what I expected to find when Christopher called me. It was a little shocking. Delightfully so, but still… And I’m sure you know what that tells me about you.”
I look up to meet her searching gaze. “That I’m ready to be his slave? But Alexa, just because my body can respond to that state, because my brain can go there, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the right choice for me.”
“The right choice as in the right fit for your needs and desires? Or do you mean the one you can live with?”
Her face is expectant as I chew on my lip for several moments, my stomach churning.
“God damn it, Alexa,” I finally say in a low tone.
She smiles, the gleam back in her eyes. “I think you have your answer, Damon—the rest is simply logistics. Oh, I know it seems far more complicated than that, but it doesn’t have to be. He’ll take care of everything, after all. Just as you always have for everyone else.”
The truth of what she’s saying hits me, and it’s a warm, melting relief and a new wave of fear all at once. With it comes a realization, so stark and clear I wonder how I’ve never completely made the connection before. Briefly, I tell her about my lost brother, Daniel, and having unlocked those gates with Christopher and Aimée, and it’s much easier than it was before.
“And then you lost Master Stephan, which only compounded your survivor’s guilt. That pain is a lovely platform to dive from into BDSM, Damon, but it won’t serve you well otherwise.”
“I never thought it would. I never thought of it at all—or, not from start to finish. I’ve simply been carrying it around with me, a weight on my back. And even though I’ve spoken to Christopher and Aimée about it, and now you, the weight is still there.”
“A weight that’s caused you to reject your own needs. Needs, Damon, that go beyond mere wants.”
“Yes. But how do I process it all? Accept these things about myself? Accept what those needs are?”
“Come on, Damon. You understand better than most that these things happen over time. You deal with your issues. You make the decision to turn yourself over, and let the rest of it fall into place. Or not. You decide to act from a place of strength. But I’m fairly certain none of that will be an issue here. We both know you can do this, if you choose to. Let’s not talk ourselves in circles—we’ve just gone over this.”
“But why? Why do you think it won’t be an issue?” I am desperate to know, to hear her say it out loud—loud enough to get past the screaming in my mind that I can’t quite shut off.
“Because of the strength I’ve seen in you from the first time we met,” she says firmly. “Because of what I witnessed in Palm Springs. Your ability to submit, to endure pain and degradation, and to do it all with such love. So much love, for both Christoph
er and Aimée. And because you will be accepted back into our world as a slave. Oh, people may talk, but in the end, they will simply accept the shift in roles. It’s our way, and you know that as well as I do. We don’t allow the judgy ones in our particular circle. We’re not amateurs, after all.”
“No, we are hardly amateurs.”
“And Damon? Do you really believe this is what Master Stephan would have wanted for you? That you deny yourself those things that are the closest to your heart? He was a dying man, as intent on his responsibilities to this House as you are now. But he cared for you, from all accounts. Would he have wanted you to spend the rest of your life doing nothing more than people, or even he, expected of you? Oh, I know you love being a Master—that it’s a natural aspect of who you are. Obviously. But it’s far from being the only aspect, isn’t it?”
I bury my face in my hands once more, letting her words roll through my tortured brain. “You’re right—I know it.”
“Then stop being so damn stubborn. It’s late, darling, and I’m tired. And you’ve exhausted yourself with all this.”
Is she right about that, too? Am I simply being stubborn?
No, it’s more than that. I’m afraid. Of so many things. And yet…she’s also right that Christopher will take care of everything. He will take care of me. And ah, God, how long has it been since anyone has taken care of me in the way he is capable of? In the way I suddenly realize I yearn for with every cell in my being?
Lifting my head, I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. “Thank you, Alexa. I’ve been an idiot. I don’t want to be anymore.”
“Not an idiot.” She shrugs. “You’re simply as human as the rest of us. But you don’t need to be superhuman any longer—turn that role over to him for a while.”
Impatience floods my body. “I have to go to him, talk to him, see if he’ll take me back.”
“You always took him back. I’m fairly certain you can play that card if necessary, although I don’t know that it will be.”
“He’ll be angry.”
“Of course he will, but he is a Master. He won’t allow himself to be ruled by anger, not even our gorgeously dangerous Christopher. Go to him. I’ll let Robert see me out. And Damon? I hope to see you in our circles again soon—perhaps at Christopher’s lovely house on Fell Street.”
“You know about that place?”
“I know more than you think I do. But I’ll let him tell you all about that.” Leaning in, she brushes a quick kiss across my cheek. “Be well, my dear Damon.”
“I’m trying.”
Pulling back, she smiles again as she gets to her feet. “I know you are. He’ll know it, too.”
I watch her for a moment as she walks gracefully to the door, but the second she closes it I’m tearing through my closet, yanking out dark slacks, a white shirt, shoes. I dress as quickly as I can, then call for Gilby to bring the car around and give a few quick instructions to Robert.
It’s after two in the morning, and I’m glad the House is quiet as I make my way downstairs and outside. The fog is heavy, an impenetrable blanket, as it often is at night, since San Francisco is surrounded by water on three sides. It suits my mood, my odd need to move quietly—stealthily—into the night, and my next strange and yet not-so-strange step in this journey.
Gilby remains silent as we glide over the misty streets, and I feel my head sinking a bit into subspace. I fight it, though, if only because I must be able to speak sensibly when we reach Christopher’s house. I search for the right words in my mind, hoping to prepare myself somehow, but there don’t seem to be any “right” words. Nothing feels right—I’m a mess, to be honest.
Sighing, I give myself over to the sensation of rolling over the pavement, to the pounding of my heart in my chest, the small knot of dread in my stomach telling me this all may go horribly wrong. But I have to try, don’t I?
Have to.
We pull up in front of the gray stucco house, and I’m ridiculously relieved to see a dim light shining from behind the shutters on the top floor. They must be up there, Christopher and Aimée. He must be up there—the Master of my heart and, now that I’ve opened myself up enough to see, Master of my soul. How very poetic of me—how romantic. But he always has been, hasn’t he? And I’ve been blind. Foolish.
I don’t know how long the car has been idling at the curb before Gilby clears his throat, bringing me back to my senses.
Opening the door, I pause a moment. “You can head back to the House, Gilby. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Right. Yes, Sir.”
As I get out and close the car door behind me, I realize that all I truly need is up there, in his house. My heart twists in my chest, painful and lovely at the same time, and I cross the sidewalk in a few long, eager strides. Ringing the buzzer, I wait.
Eagerness and anxiety are often one and the same. They are now, as I stand in the dark and the fog, my heart already on my sleeve, as vulnerable as I’ve ever been in my life. And when he comes to the gate himself, dressed in his worn jeans and nothing else, I sway on my feet.
Please…
He watches me for several long moments, then he reaches out to swing the gate open. When I step forward tentatively, he reaches behind me and slams the gate shut, then gestures with a nod of his finely-sculpted chin for me to follow him up the stairs into the living room. As I obey, I bask in his dark, earthy scent, which is some ethereal essence that is both pure Christopher and pure sex. Pure animal. He is the ultimate primal beast. My beast, I hope.
I have no idea what he might be thinking. Oh, there’s anger there, and fire. But that’s always in him, always visible, even while he’s sleeping. The rest is a mystery, one that makes my heart pound and my fingers tighten into fists, nails digging into my palms.
He walks into the living room, where he begins to pace.
“So, you’re back,” he says finally.
“Yes.”
Pausing, he narrows his gaze on me, his eyes gleaming darkly. “Did you have a nice little vacation?”
“I…what?”
“Your vacation,” he repeats, “the one in which you took time off from our little arrangement.”
“You know I never thought of all this as ‘little’.”
“Didn’t you?” he asks. Accuses.
“You’ve always left your contracts,” I point out.
I immediately regret my words when real anger steals over his face, his mouth going tight. His hand slams down hard on the back of a leather chair, startling me. “This was no bullshit contract, Damon! This isn’t just some deal we made. This is our fucking lives.”
“The contracts aren’t bullshit,” I say quietly.
“Are you saying you don’t see the difference here?”
Oh, he’s really fuming. I can’t blame him. “Fuck, I’m sorry—of course I do. Of course. If this weren’t so important, I would never have left. I’d have never felt the need to. And I’m sorry, truly sorry. I should have left a note, or called—”
“Don’t fucking grovel. It’s beneath you. I don’t like it.”
I stop, nod my head in acknowledgement. “Will Aimée be coming down?”
“No.”
“But I was hoping to talk to you both—”
“I said no. I won’t allow it—not until you and I have talked. This is too hard on her, and she’s too damn soft when it comes to you. I need to deal with you on my own terms. You and I need to deal with each other.”
“Yes. You’re right, of course. And this is not groveling. This is me getting a much-needed reality check.”
“Then stop all this submissive crap and talk to me, man to man, because we both know if you were my slave, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
He’s right. And just like that, my brain slams back into my head with a painful thump, and I begin to tell him about my conversation with Alexa. By the time I’m done there’s a small grin quirking one corner of his mouth.
“She sugg
ested I take over the Training House? What do you think about that?” he asks.
“Truthfully, I think perhaps it’s the only way,” I tell him. “I can’t turn my back on my responsibilities, and who else can I possibly trust?”
“Don’t flatter me, Damon.”
“You know damn well it’s not flattery. That wouldn’t serve my purposes, would it?” My nerves are shot and my hands beginning to ache, feeling the strain of the last day or two. I run my fingers through my hair, trying to calm myself, to focus. “And you know me better than that, Christopher. You know me. Jesus.”
“Fuck it, you’re right,” he says. He’s at my side in a moment, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck and giving a small, quick squeeze. “I’m still getting over being pissed off, and I’m being an asshole.”
I have to smile a little at that. “Yes, you are.”
“Nothing new, though,” he says with his wickedly crooked grin.
“No, it’s nothing new.”
My body is surging with the warm tide of relief, and a feeling that we are on the same page, finally—or truly negotiating our possible future together, at any rate.
“Come on. Let’s sit.” He sinks onto the big sofa, and I take a seat next to him. “So, if I were to do this, what would your role in the House be?”
“I would be yours, if you’ll have me.”
“And?” he demands without answering my poorly-phrased question.
“And I would be there to guide you or assist you as you became used to running things.”
“You don’t think you can be mine and Master of the House at the same time?”
I shake my head slowly. “No. And frankly, I need to not be—not to be the Master anymore. It’s time to turn that job over to someone else. As Alexa so astutely pointed out, I need to give up that role now. I feel as if… This is going to sound stupid, perhaps, but I believe the universe or God, or whatever might be out there, has put you and Aimée and my feelings for you both in front of me now, because it truly is time for me to step down from all I’ve taken on. I believe this is the only way I’ll get back to myself. Maybe to discover myself. I don’t think I’ve actually done that yet in my life.”
