Bound To Surrender
The Doms of Genesis, Book 6
Jenna Jacob
Bound To Surrender
A Doms of Genesis Novella
Jenna Jacob
Published by Jenna Jacob
Copyright 2016 Dream Words, LLC
Edited by: Blue Otter Editing, LLC
ePub ISBN 978-0-9864306-5-7
Print ISBN 978-0-9864306-3-3
If you have purchased a copy of this eBook, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
This story is dedicated to those whose
spirits have been battered, beaten, and bruised ~
yet found the courage and strength
to rise up from the ashes,
and live again.
And a special thank you to Rachel~you know why!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER TITLES AVAILABLE
COMING SOON
CHAPTER ONE
Lying in bed, Moses Abram—better known as Daddy Drake to his friends in the kink community—stared at Trevor Hammond, his sleeping lover and submissive. After having rescued his sub from yet another chronic and panic-inducing nightmare, Drake rubbed his tired eyes, searching for a thread of comfort in Trevor’s soft snores. Yet no relief was in sight. The clinical diagnosis of PTSD—by friend, psychologist, and fellow Dominant, Tony Delvaggio—plagued Drake. He worried that Trevor would be held captive to those inner demons forever.
Lord knew it wasn’t for a lack of trying. He’d attempted to coax Trevor out of the darkness in every conceivable way. But so far, nothing had worked. Still, he refused to give up, even as the claws of impotence and frustration ripped his control and shredded his heart.
Swallowing the lump of anguish lodged in his throat, Drake blinked back the tears blurring his vision. Dammit, what would it take to bring his lover back? He didn’t know, and it made him want to pound his fist into something hard and unforgiving.
Trevor jerked and thrashed, then whimpered softly. With an inward curse, Drake sat up and gently stroked his lover’s soft blond hair.
“Shhh, it’s all right, precious boy,” he murmured. “Daddy’s here. You’re safe.”
As Trevor settled once again, Drake issued a soft sigh of relief. While his sub’s night terrors had lessened, they hadn’t disappeared completely. He remembered the times he’d find Trevor huddled in a ball in the shower, crying uncontrollably. Thankfully those times had also tapered off. The young man only allowed a handful of trusted friends to know the depths of his traumatization. The other members of Club Genesis, the local BDSM club owned by longtime friend Mika LaBrache, hadn’t a clue what Trevor and Drake were actually going through. And of course, the few times he and his sub had made an appearance at the club, Trevor painted on a happy smile, pretending all was perfectly fine.
But it wasn’t. Dammit.
Spying the bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand, Drake bit back a curse. Once he had been the one responsible for exhausting Trevor’s mind and body with his Dominant demands and sexual needs, not some fucking pharmaceuticals. And in the wee hours of the night, like this, the yearning to claim Trevor again in achingly tender or brutally rough ways all but drove Drake to the point of madness.
He missed the mystical connection they’d once shared, exploring and fulfilling each other’s dark desires. Yes, he mourned the loss of his slave, but most of all, Drake grieved for the potent love that now seemed lost forever.
He couldn’t fault Trevor for the destruction of their relationship. The poor boy had been an innocent victim. Drake owned all the blame and carried that weight on his shoulders as if it were the entire universe. From the minute he opened his eyes in the morning until blessed sleep stole his thoughts, Drake lived in the same mire of guilt day in and day out…for the past five fucking months.
If only he’d gone to the convenience store with Trevor that night instead of staying with Mika and Julianna, those prick-assed fucking homophobic frat boys wouldn’t have savagely attacked and beaten his precious lover half to death.
Ice. All this fucking aftermath over a worthless bag of ice, Drake inwardly railed.
He’d exacted his revenge, in a sense. Yet arranging for Frank—a longtime friend, sadist, and skilled tattoo artist—to befriend the frat boys, roofie their beers, then tattoo gay slurs over their faces paled in comparison to the retaliation still smoldering inside Drake’s soul. One day, he planned to hunt the five down. He wanted to savor their tortured screams and pitiful pleas while he unleashed a sanity-breaking brutality and a level of pain they couldn’t imagine. The agony they’d inflicted on his boy had awakened a pulsing, living demon inside Drake.
Sucking in a ragged breath, he gently lifted Trevor into his beefy, tattooed arms. There would be time later for Drake to quench his bloodthirsty vengeance. First he needed to find a way to heal his lover. Feathering a soft kiss over Trevor’s cheek, Drake tasted the subtle saltiness of his skin and breathed in his familiar scent.
“Tell me how to fix this for you, love. I can’t stand this distance between us. Come back to me, precious. Please. Daddy needs you,” Drake whispered, allowing several tears to leak from his eyes.
#
Floating in the peaceful darkness, Trevor finally found the respite he’d sought. All too soon, he heard the screen door slam and the loud, slurred voices of monsters behind him. Fear seized him. Somehow they’d found him again. Frantically looking around for an escape, Trevor saw tall brick towers surrounding him. No doors. No windows. Not even a light to lead him out of the black, foreboding alley.
“Look at all that pretty blond hair,” one of the monsters stated.
Trevor knew what was coming next and wanted to yank the long tresses from his scalp. Prove he wasn’t a girl before the monsters discovered that for themselves.
“Hey, sweet thang. Wait up. We jus’ wanna talk,” another demon slurred. “Come on, baby.”
Panic thundered through Trevor’s veins.
“We’re talking to you, you stupid bitch. Don’t ignore us like we’re not here,” snarled the one with the black eyes. The one Trevor knew was going to hurt hi
m the worst. “Come here, you stuck-up slut. You’re not deaf as well as stupid, are you?”
Then, like he remembered, a hand reached out and snatched his arm, holding him in place with a vice-like grip, and spun him around.
Face-to-face with Satan’s spawn, Trevor watched as the look of disbelief widened all five men’s eyes.
“Oh, that’s fucking priceless.” A beefy, linebacker-looking guy with short-cropped hair and crooked teeth laughed. “Way to go, Everetts. You’re hitting on a fucking fairy.”
“I was not. I thought this faggot was a girl,” the shorter man with bloodshot eyes spat with a hateful snarl. “Where do you get off making us think you’re a girl, you little sperm-burper?”
“I-I was just walking to the store. I wasn’t doing anything,” Trevor stammered.
“Pull out your cock, Everetts. Shove it down the faggot’s throat until he gags,” Black Eyes urged before inching in close to Trevor’s face. “You like sucking dick. So do it.”
“N-No. I was…was just getting ice,” Trevor tried to explain. Panic inched up his body like leeches sucking life from his veins.
“On your knees. You know the drill,” Black Eyes ordered. Gripping Trevor’s hair, he kicked the backs of his legs and dropped him to the pavement.
Trevor jolted against the concrete, and pain screamed through his joints as a howl tore from his lips.
“Fuck you, Robinson. I ain’t letting no queer’s lips near my dick,” the man named Everetts argued.
“Then how about we just beat the fuck out of him instead,” Robinson, the black-eyed man, suggested with glee.
Trevor didn’t even have time to try and cover himself or fend off the brutal blows rocking his face, ribs, and kidneys. A kaleidoscope of agony tore through him. In the distance, he heard Drake calling out to him. Trevor tried to yell for help, but one of the monsters pressed their lips to his. Wildly swinging his fists, Trevor screamed with revulsion. Viciously biting down on the lips pressed to his, he sank his teeth in deep. The taste of copper filled his mouth as he continued to punch the oppressive weight pinning him to the soft ground.
Soft ground? What the… It’s the dream again. It’s only the dream, his subconscious assured. Clawing his way out of the darkness, he surfaced, blinking at the light from the nightstand that filled the room. Drake lay on top of him, blood dripping from his lip.
“Son of a bitch,” he roared.
While Trevor was relieved that he was free from the recurring and debilitating nightmare, knowing that he’d inflicted such savage damage to his Master’s lip filled him with an overwhelming blast of guilt.
Sucking in a gasp of shame, he grabbed the sheet and gently dabbed the fabric against Drake’s mouth. “Oh, god. No. I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t mean to… I was having another—”
“Another bad dream.” Drake sighed grimly as he pushed Trevor’s hands away. “I know.”
A rolling wave of remorse drowned him in misery. Why couldn’t he stop reliving the events of that horrible night and put the past behind him? He yearned to have the relationship with Drake they used to. When would these fucking night terrors ever end? Would Drake finally lose every ounce of patience and simply throw in the towel over Trevor’s unpredictable mood swings and his sullen, isolating behavior?
Trevor needed a way to fix thing between them, but most of all he needed to find a way to fix himself. The weekly sessions with Tony Delvaggio were working, but at a snail’s pace. There were still too many nightmares and Trevor feared he’d never be his old self again. Maybe he’d never be. That thought terrified him.
“Let me up, Daddy, and I’ll get an ice pack for you,” Trevor murmured contritely.
“It’s all right, boy,” Drake exhaled on a heavy sigh.
With a soft caress, he pushed the hair from Trevor’s face. “I tried to wake you gently, like Tony suggested. I guess I wasn’t quite tender enough. It’s my own fault, baby.”
Trevor felt the tension and fury slowly bleed from the big man’s body. As Drake stared at him with a weary gaze, he noticed the dark circles under Daddy’s eyes. The sight increased Trevor’s guilt even more. He swallowed the tightness in his throat.
“You haven’t slept yet, have you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Drake shook his head as a wan smile tugged his lips.
Tears welled in Trevor’s eyes. He tried to blink them back, but they spilled over his lashes. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I’ll go sleep in the guest room for the rest of the night.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Drake commanded before dipping his head to scrape his teeth over Trevor’s flat brown nipple.
A ripple of delight danced through his system as he sniffed softly and gripped his fingers into Drake’s rock-hard shoulders.
“Please…Daddy,” Trevor whispered. “Please…” Don’t give up on me.
CHAPTER TWO
His subtle shiver sent bittersweet longing to seep through Drake’s veins. He wanted to press the wide crest of his erection through Trevor’s snug rim and feel that same thrilling tremor ripple through his boy. The ache to drown in those soft, hot walls compressing around him as he dragged in and out of Trevor’s blistering passage made Drake want to crawl out of his skin. He’d give anything to hear their mingled cries of ecstasy as they chased the thunderous and dizzying pleasure like they used to.
Their lovemaking was now tame. Definitely not the ferocious owning and surrender they’d shared in the past. Trevor was broken, both in mind and spirit. He’d walled himself off, crawled deep inside his head. He wasn’t submitting, rather simply sating Drake’s needs. Or at least that’s how it felt. So he’d banked his sexual demands because he loved Trevor too much to use him as nothing but a come receptacle. If only his unapologetic cock had a conscience, Drake could ignore his insatiable lust.
“Please what?”
“Please… everything.” Trevor’s voice cracked. Tears swam in his haunted blue eyes. “I’m sick of feeling dead inside. Sick of these damn nightmares. Sick of being afraid to close my eyes because I know those pricks are coming to get me. I just want it to go away. I want things… me…you…us to be the way they were.”
The pain in his sweet boy’s voice gutted Drake.
Over the past five months, Trevor’s outward wounds had healed. But inwardly, his psyche was still broken, bleeding, and bruised. Even the gentle compassion Drake gave had done little to soothe his fears. Trevor’s weekly counseling sessions hadn’t helped all that much, either.
Projecting a calm he didn’t feel, Drake nodded. “If I had a magic wand, I’d wipe away everything you went through, and the things you’re going through now. Have faith.” That thing I struggle to cling to every fucking day. “We’ll find a way to get you back on your feet. It won’t be like this forever, Trev.”
At least he hoped not.
Drake licked his lips. The taste of copper danced on his tongue as he pressed a petal-soft kiss to Trevor’s mouth. If something as simple as a kiss could bring his boy back, he’d be his old self by now. But Drake wasn’t a hopeless idiot. It was going to take a miracle for Trevor to achieve peace of mind again.
His comment was met with silence. “Do you doubt me, boy?”
“No, Sir,” Trevor replied, shielding his eyes beneath thick golden lashes.
With a knuckle, he tipped Trevor’s chin, forcing his gaze. “I’m not giving up on you. And you’re not allowed to give up yourself, either. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Master.”
Pulling Trevor in close, that clawing carnal current hummed through Drake’s body. He struggled to ignore it. Trevor rested his head on Drake’s chest. Banding a thick arm around his boy’s middle, he threaded thick fingers through Trevor’s silky wheat-colored hair. Minutes later, soft snores vibrated over his nipple. Peering down, Drake studied the feminine contours, smooth skin, and defined angles of Trevor’s face. He skimmed over the delicate collarbone and the sharp slope of one shoulder. The young man’s boyish features w
ere still visible, and he looked so peaceful, carefree, and innocent. A melancholy smile tugged his lips as his mind sailed back, sixteen years, to Dothan, Alabama, the night he met Trevor.
As he’d done every couple of years since leaving the service, Drake had spent a week with Bobbie McAllister, a former navy buddy. They’d hung out, raised hell, and drunk like fishes. His last night in town, Bobbie dropped him off at the hotel before heading out to attend his cousin’s wedding. Already planning the things they’d do when Drake returned to the south, Bobbie clapped him on the back, said good-bye, and headed down the road.
As he watched his friend drive away, Drake exhaled a massive sigh. Relieved that he could now end his heterosexual charade, he’d managed to keep his secret intact through yet another visit. Though Bobbie was a great guy, he was a good ol’ southern boy, living in the Bible Belt and quite vocal about the sins of homosexuality. Yeah, if he found out Drake was gay, their friendship wouldn’t end well. He’d once tasted the brutality when fear and hate gripped a homophobe by the balls during a bone-breaking ass whipping. An experience he vowed to never happen again. So he’d joined a gym and turned himself into a beast. It was better for Bobbie, and others in general, to perceive Drake as a six-foot-four, slab of solidly muscled, tattooed-covered, bad-assed biker.
With his flight back to Chicago scheduled for early the next morning, Drake popped into a sports bar around the block from his hotel. He grabbed a burger and a couple of beers, then left, intending to hit the sack early. As he made his way down the street, he rounded a corner only to stumble upon three pricks beating the crap out of a skinny blond guy. The poor kid was on the ground, curled into a ball and bleeding like a stuck pig. He knew he had to step in before the idiots killed the guy… if he wasn’t already too late.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he barked at the vicious trio.
“Teaching this here faggot a lesson,” one of the pricks answered with a witless grin. “Wanna get in a shot or two? It’s fun.”
Bound To Surrender BN Page 1
