Strict Consequences

by Morticia Knight

  He gazed hopefully at Jarvis, the Dom’s flat expression unreadable. “As I said, goodnight, Garson.”

  He gasped. It was like a punch in the gut. Jarvis hadn’t used his given name since they’d met. “Sir. Please. I’m trying to negotiate.”

  Jarvis stopped again, his back to Garson. After a moment, he whirled around to face him. “I wasn’t negotiating and I’m not now. That was my proposition. Take it or leave it.”

  After a few seconds, Garson became aware that he was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “I…” It was all too much. The whole day, the unexpected offer from Jarvis. He’d already broken his routine by going to the club on a different night, and he’d even allowed Jarvis to discuss his hard limits. Some of his wall had been broken down. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Jarvis’ expression softened. “You have a safeword, right?”

  Garson frowned. “Of course.”

  “Then use it if you have to. Now go change into your street clothes, boy, and be back out here in precisely ten minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  Jarvis’ forceful tone spoke to his need and the mention of his safeword reminded him that he held the power. It eased his tension and Garson could breathe again.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Chapter Two

  Jarvis gave Garson a sideways glance before quickly returning his eyes to the road. Dark wavy hair, heavily lashed brown eyes, pale skin, lean but fit body, Clark Kent glasses and an unashamed pain slut—it all added up to Garson Harrisburg, Jarvis’ own personal wet dream. It was entirely possible that he was in love with the reserved, bookish and unbelievably sexy motherfucker. He just needed to get him alone and talking for long enough to know for sure, to make certain it wasn’t only the mystery that had him so entranced. Whenever Garson submitted so gorgeously to him, shed the uptight teacher and became the sensual wanton, it tightened the web Garson had already woven around Jarvis’ heart.

  “We have a few late-night options on the way to my home that are good. What type of food do you enjoy?”

  The tension in the car was palpable. At least on Garson’s end. Jarvis had felt like running a victory lap once he’d gotten Garson to agree to go with him.

  “Whatever you’d prefer, Sir.”

  “Nope. We’re not doing it that way. This is part of me getting to know you. I need an answer, boy.”

  The silence stretched on. Jarvis was about to give Garson a warning when he spoke up.

  “I’d like to keep it light this time of night and before we do a scene. If you know of a place that serves fresh soups or salads, I’d be fine with that.”

  “I do, as it turns out. It’s one of my favorite restaurants. Do you typically eat light?”

  Jarvis held back a smile. He wanted to draw Garson out of his shell but didn’t want to temper Garson’s responses by giving any indicators as to his own opinion.

  “Later in the day, yes. But I don’t eat a lot of heavy foods or too many carbs. I find it tends to muddy my focus, bring my energy down.”

  “Hmm. Smart. I’m similar, but I do like steak, burgers, a more protein-heavy diet.”

  Garson nodded, a crease on his brow as if Jarvis had just made some grand revelation. “Yes, I imagine you would. You couldn’t support your bulk otherwise.”

  Jarvis tried very hard, but the snort escaped anyway. Another sideways glance caught Garson with his hand to his forehead as if he’d taken ill.

  “Forgive me, Sir. I don’t… I’m not very socially adept. I didn’t intend for that to sound so insulting. All I meant was that you’re…” Garson cleared his throat. “That you have an impressive physique, large muscles. Salad wouldn’t create that.”

  “It most certainly wouldn’t. Thank you for appreciating my…physique.” Jarvis loved the way Garson spoke. It made it that much more thrilling when he could get him to fly in a scene. “And, Garson? Until we get to my dungeon, I’d prefer that we use each other’s first names.”

  Jarvis chanced a peek at Garson’s reaction. Yup. Just as I thought. He appeared panicked, his hands twisting in his lap as he chewed on his lip. Garson had no issues with exposing his hole, begging to have large objects stuffed up his ass, thanking Jarvis for whipping him to the point that he was bruised and covered with welts, but referring to each other by first name? As if they were friends? He acted as if he might faint over such a thing.

  A disturbing thought came to him. What if Garson only related to him as a means to an end? He’d always known that was the truth to a certain degree, but what if it went even deeper than that? Maybe he’d misread the sparse moments where he’d thought something more than a Master and submissive vibe had passed between them. His hope that Garson might feel something beyond what he was willing to admit to within the confines of the club could’ve been nothing more than wishful thinking.

  Jarvis pursed his lips together as he frowned, gripping the wheel tighter. That can’t be true. When Garson had first walked into the club the year before, Jarvis had been the aloof one. Yet, the novelty of the seemingly conservative young man had called to him. By their third session, Jarvis had to admit to himself that he was interested in more. No one had responded so beautifully to him before. Their synergy was intense, exhilarating.

  He would’ve offered the reticent man an initial contract right then to explore what might eventually become an exclusive arrangement, but Garson’s extensive and detailed list of limits had prohibited that. No contracts between Dom and sub, short term or otherwise, will be discussed. Contact is limited to scenes at the club on an individual basis as mutually agreed upon by both parties.

  But after Jarvis had realized that Friday night was when Garson appeared at the club, he’d made sure to be there as often as he could. Gradually, as his feelings toward the sub had increased, he’d stopped playing with other boys. It was insane, since he craved more time with a sub. In addition, the lack of almost all sexual touching had been a challenge. He grunted to himself. Huge challenge.

  He had two hours and a night in his dungeon to convince Garson that they had more to offer each other than one night a week at Club Consequence.

  Much more.

  ****

  Jarvis had better whip the shit out of me after all this. All the talking and questions and sharing had him practically crawling out of his skin. What made it worse was that he’d caught himself, a few times, forgetting what the boundaries he’d placed on their relationship were and had not only laughed along with a story Jarvis had told, but then offered up his own similar tale.

  I’ve lost it.

  He’d been so careful to keep himself shielded ever since his last Dom, Alan, had unceremoniously dumped him. But the pull Jarvis had on him was unlike anything he’d experienced. Spending the evening together the way they were had done exactly what he’d always feared—it made him want to drop his shields even more, leaving him open to certain heartbreak.

  Garson sucked in a deep breath. All he had to do was get through the next thirty minutes of whatever it was that Jarvis was trying to accomplish with the whole dinner and chitchat thing, then he could get the beating he so desperately needed. Good rush of endorphins along with a dose of sweating and yelling, and I’ll be fine. He tended to avoid spankings—they were too personal. However, since they weren’t a hard limit, it was possible Jarvis could opt for that. It’d been one of the things he’d had to loosen up on in the beginning. With so many restrictions on his part, it’d been difficult to find quality Doms to play with.

  But since Jarvis was adept at all types of impact play and had bragged at how well-equipped his personal dungeon was, Garson was hopeful he’d choose one of the many other methods available.

  As soon as he returns from the restroom, maybe I can subtly hint that we should start wrapping things up. Except he doubted that Jarvis—more than any of the Doms he’d ever met—could be herded in a dire
ction he didn’t want to go. He glanced up as Jarvis wound his way around the tables from the other side of the restaurant. He swallowed hard at the sight, his length hardening in the denim jeans he’d changed into back at the club. Since Garson avoided personal relationships and sexual interludes, he’d never considered what his ‘type’ was. Jarvis. If I were to have a type, it would be Jarvis.

  He lowered his head, his hands twisting in his lap even more than when he’d been in Jarvis’ car. It was bad enough that Jarvis had undoubtedly noticed then, he couldn’t imagine how much goofier he’d appear if Jarvis caught him doing it in the restaurant.

  Jarvis pulled out his chair, and Garson could swear he angled it a bit closer to him as he took his seat.

  “Dessert?”

  Garson shook his head. “No, thank you. But I wouldn’t mind a cappuccino, if that’s all right.”

  It would serve a dual purpose. Give him a jolt of caffeine as well as give him something to fiddle with.

  “Of course, Garson. Whatever you’d like.”

  Jarvis offered him a smile, the warmth going to his eyes, and Garson’s breath hitched. Keep it together. After signaling to the waiter then ordering them both the coffee, Jarvis returned his attention to him. He wished he had something to keep his hands busy right then.

  “That was quite a story about Pugsy. I bet the little dog was a great companion to your mother while you were away at college.”

  A wave of emotion washed over him. Damn it. Exactly why I hate getting to know people. He had his good friend, Ben, from high school, who knew everything there was to know about Garson’s pathetic childhood. It wasn’t necessary to relive all the painful highlights with his buddy.

  Jarvis reached over then laid his hand on top of Garson’s. He snatched it back, Jarvis’ expression one of shock.

  “I apologize.” The concern etched on Jarvis’ face was clear. “I acted from instinct, without thinking. I know you don’t like affection.”

  Jarvis’ words struck him like a blow to the gut. Is that what everyone thinks? Just because I prefer to keep to myself… I sound like a…a cold-hearted ass. “I never said I didn’t like affection.” Garson needed that coffee. Need it now. He couldn’t keep his hands still and he’d added fist clenching to his repertoire. “Just because I specify no expressions of affection on my list of limits, that doesn’t mean that, in general, I don’t like…” He frowned. “That I’m not a…” Shit. How else would Jarvis interpret that?

  He let out a big sigh then allowed himself to lock eyes with Jarvis. It was uncomfortable, made his heart beat too fast, but he felt bad for pushing Jarvis away when all he’d done was offer a simple act of human comfort. He placed one shaking hand back on the table.

  “It’s been a while since I wrote up that list. Perhaps it would be a good idea to go over it, maybe change a few things?”

  “Oh?” Jarvis held his gaze. “Can you give me an idea of something you might change?”

  “I-I was thinking that affection, when appropriate, would be all right.”

  “Do you honestly believe you can control a heartfelt, spontaneous expression like that? Control the degree to which it’s allowed?”

  Jarvis didn’t sound critical or hurt, it was more that he was asking Garson to consider what he was actually proposing.

  His world tipped on its axis. The sense that his carefully ordered existence might all be a sham, a joke, both nauseated and terrified him. What would he do if he couldn’t rely on his routines, couldn’t keep all the icky stuff at bay by focusing on each task until he moved his attention to the next one then on and on and on until he didn’t need to think of anything anymore? That was what showing up at Club Consequence a couple of days earlier than usual had been about. To keep him from thinking. Thinking and feeling and relating to his Dom without strict guidelines negated that entire exercise.

  Jarvis laid his hand atop Garson’s, and for once Garson didn’t pull away. His cheeks filled with an incredible amount of heat. He rarely blushed, so it was disconcerting. Jarvis gently stroked his skin, ran his fingertips over the surface. The sensation was pleasant. Nice. Nerve-racking—too intimate—but nice.

  “How are you doing with this, Garson?”

  “Oh, I…uh…”

  The server arrived with their cappuccinos, and to add further confusion to his head, he couldn’t decide whether he was relieved there’d be a distraction or if he was angry at the waiter for breaking the moment. They busied themselves for a couple of minutes by adding sugar to their coffees, stirring then sipping the hot, foamy drinks.

  At last, Jarvis set his cup down. “I take it that your mother is the only close family you had until she died?”

  Oh God. Why did I tell him the dog story?

  It’d been in response to one Jarvis had told about him and his sister when they were growing up. Jarvis had been so animated, so different from when he was in Dom mode, that he’d sucked Garson into his world to the point where he’d somehow felt compelled to share how he’d tried to surprise his mother with a pug puppy by hiding it in the closet in his room. It’d been his senior year of high school, and he’d already been accepted into Stanford with a full scholarship, so he’d no longer be living at home. He’d wanted her to have something to take care of, to keep her company so she wouldn’t be so lonely.

  Garson was a sound sleeper, so he hadn’t heard the awful whining and crying it’d done during the night. His mom had freaked out, running into his room and shaking him awake because she’d thought she was hearing ghosts.

  “Garson?”

  “Oh, sorry. Yes. My father was abusive.” He swallowed down a lump in his throat. It was all so much easier when he pushed everything back down inside where he never had to consider it. “Very abusive. She took the brunt of it by protecting me. I was only five or six when she snuck us out one night, I don’t remember. It’s a bit hazy and she refused to discuss it. She told me that she pretended none of it had ever happened. That she’d had me with someone who’d been very good to us, but that he’d died.” Garson lowered his eyes. “There wasn’t anything in the house from him. No photos, no wedding certificate, nothing. No indicator that she’d ever been married or that I had a father at all.” Garson lifted his gaze. “But that’s how she wanted it, so I always played along.”

  Jarvis squeezed his hand, the touch more sure this time. “I’m so very sorry you both went through that and that she passed while you were away at school. But she must’ve been so proud of you. You worked very hard to get your degree and now you’ve made a good life for yourself.”

  Garson had to keep swallowing and taking deep breaths so that his eyes wouldn’t tear up. “Thank you for saying that. I think you’re right, she would. That was all she talked about, that she wanted my life to be so much different from hers. She didn’t want me to struggle or not have a way to take care of myself.”

  Jarvis added his other hand, cradling Garson’s as he edged closer. “And you’ve done well in that regard. You earn a comfortable living and you make sure your needs as a sub are met.” Jarvis regarded him, made sure their eyes were locked. “But what about your needs as a man? As a lover and friend?”

  It was right there. Right at the tip of his tongue. All he had to do was say it and everything would stop. He sucked in a breath, rolling the safeword around in his mind.

  Dickinson.

  Jarvis continued holding his hands, kept his gaze trained on him, but didn’t push. Garson knew that once he uttered the word, Jarvis would drive him back to the club then that would be it for the night. He trusted Jarvis to honor it and not to react negatively.

  Huh. How about that. I do trust him.

  “Sir… I mean, Jarvis. If I used my safeword right now, would you still scene with me again on another night like we usually do?”

  A moment of hurt passed over Jarvis’ features, but he quickly reverted to an impl
acable expression. “Of course, Garson. I would never punish you or refuse to play again because you used your safeword. Any Dom who did that isn’t one who deserves you.”

  Garson’s eyes widened. Jarvis’ suggestion that Garson might be the prize—as opposed to Jarvis, the hot and sexy Dom—surprised him. Even more startling was how the statement made his heart flutter. He glanced up at Jarvis again. Despite the Dom’s efforts to maintain a neutral expression, Garson could detect worry, tension. The whole thing added to his discomfort. He didn’t want to delude himself into thinking that Jarvis wished for anything more beyond their weekly scenes together.

  And what difference does it make? It’s not as if I want anything more either. He pushed aside the lie. This is exactly why all this personal stuff is so annoying. His confusion irked him.

  “Garson?”

  He gave himself a mental shake, clearing his throat. “Yes?”

  “Are you ready to go to my dungeon now?”

  Garson let out a too obvious sigh of relief. “Yes, Sir. Please. That would be wonderful.”

  Chapter Three

  They drove in silence, but Jarvis thought it was a good thing. He didn’t want to overwhelm Garson to the point where he safeworded. Gripping the wheel, he worked hard to hold back a smile. It was there. He could feel it. Garson was attracted to him on at least some level. He didn’t have the slightest clue as to why Garson had so many strict limits regarding touch and other personal interaction, but there had been clear indicators during dinner that Garson craved a close connection with someone.

  With me.

  The chemistry was there, the trick would be to encourage it to unfold, allow it to envelop them both.

  “So, uh, you’re my Sir again?”

  Jarvis glanced sideways at Garson. “Yes, boy, I am.”

  He noted the visible exhale as if all the tension had left Garson’s body. The few times during dinner that Garson had opened up, had relaxed and conversed—laughed—Jarvis believed that was when he’d seen the real man behind the guarded sub. He’d known that man was there almost from the moment he’d met Garson, but he’d bided his time until he’d thought Garson was ready to be prodded.