Beg (His Command Book 2)

by Piper Scott

  “Besides,” Marcus said. “I’m not looking for a relationship, anyway. I’m not even looking for sex anymore. Nothing feels right. I think I’ve been in the game too long.”

  “You’re not doing a good job of convincing me that’s true,” Crawford mused. “You must be up to something if you’re sleeping past ten on a Saturday. You went to The Shepherd last night, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” Marcus ran his tongue over his teeth, contemplating his next words wisely. He didn’t want Crawford to get the wrong impression. “Cyrus asked if I would take over some training for him last night, so I did—but I’m not sleeping with Cyrus’ sub. It’s not that I couldn’t have done it, but I don’t know… I haven’t been feeling it lately. There are plenty of bodies at The Shepherd I wouldn’t mind taking home, but my drive’s gone.”

  Marcus stirred half a spoon of sugar into his coffee. The clink of metal against porcelain was a reassurance that no matter what changed in his life, there would always be small consistencies.

  “I think it might be the stress from the cases I’ve taken on lately. There’s a lot of evil in the world, you know? A lot of really sick shit.” Marcus scraped his bottom lip with his teeth, thinking it through. “I think maybe I’m at the point where I’m not able to cast those thoughts aside and get into the right mindset anymore.”

  “What I’m hearing is, you need a break from real life.” Crawford spoke with affection. “The wedding will do you good. Monotony isn’t doing you any favors. You see the same faces during the day at work, and then the same faces each weekend night at The Shepherd. It’s time for something new.”

  “I guess you’ll have to hurry up and become a father so we can get you down the aisle, then.” Marcus risked taking a sip of coffee. It was still too hot, and he winced. He’d burned his tongue. “Not to cut the call short, but I’ve got some business to attend to this morning. Is there anything else you needed to tell me before I go?”

  “No, that was all.” Crawford let a beat of silence pass between them. “I’ll be sure to keep you updated on any future developments. It’s only a matter of time before Owen will go into labor, so I might be bothering you with another phone call at an indecent hour soon.”

  “As long as he doesn’t give birth on a weekend, we won’t have a problem. You can forbid him from doing that, can’t you?” Marcus grinned. “I’ll talk to you later, Crawford.”

  “Until then.”

  The call ended. Marcus set the phone on the counter and picked up the bowl of fruit salad. He headed for the bedroom. A set of keys glimmered on his bedside table, and he picked them up on his way through the room. Metal jingled against metal.

  “Rise and shine, Boy,” Marcus said. He crossed the room to the high-back leather armchair across from the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. Bound to the chair was a young man, a small, but powerfully loud and shrill, buzzer held loosely in the palm of his hand. A blindfold hid his eyes, and a ball gag filled his mouth, but Marcus was willing to bet that he was soundly asleep—his body was too lax against the cables that secured him to the chair to be conscious.

  Boy didn’t stir when Marcus spoke.

  With a sigh, Marcus set the fruit salad on the table beside the armchair. He pulled the blindfold from Boy’s eyes, then tapped his cheek a few times with the fingers of his open palm.

  Boy opened his eyes, taking a second to focus. Finally, his eyes met with Marcus’. His pupils were still dilated.

  Marcus held back a chuckle, keeping his face stern instead.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do this morning.” Marcus started to undo the cables that secured Boy to the chair. “Once I’ve freed your hands, you’re going to eat the fruit salad I’ve given you. You’re going to eat it in silence.”

  The cables fell slack and pooled on the floor.

  “When you’re done, you’re going to thank me. You’re going to get dressed, and you’re going to leave.”

  Beyond the constriction of the cables, Boy’s hands were cuffed, as were his feet. Cyrus’ toys, all of them. Marcus fitted a key into the first of the locks and began to free Boy’s hands.

  “You’re going to go straight to your Master’s place,” Marcus continued. The handcuffs released, and Marcus set them aside. “Once you’re inside, you’re going to fall to your knees and beg him to forgive you for the things you did last night. You’re going to beg him to forgive you for being a filthy slut. Do you understand?”

  Boy couldn’t answer with words—he was still gagged—but he nodded his head in agreement.

  “Good,” Marcus said. Once the last of the locks had been opened and Boy was freed, Marcus undid the ball gag and dropped it onto Boy’s lap. It was glossy with saliva. “Should he ask you what you did with me last night, you will not tell him what really happened. I want you to lie to him, Boy. I want you to make him jealous. I want him to think that you’re a dirty slut who deserves to be punished for how willing you are to present your ass.”

  A spike of arousal from Boy perfumed the air with the sweet scent of omega, but it did nothing for Marcus.

  “You have permission to speak,” Marcus granted.

  There was a glimmer in Boy’s eyes, wild and frightened, but highly aroused. His lips were ruddy and swollen, and Marcus knew his jaw had to ache, but he managed to speak regardless.

  “Thank you, Master Marcus.” Boy’s voice cracked from disuse. “But I just… we don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to lie. My Master gave us permission—I can be a perfect slut for you. We still have time. Master trained me for pleasure, and—”

  Marcus’ jaw tightened. “No.”

  There was no need for violence. Some men physically punished submissives for stepping out of line, but to Marcus, words were enough. The only pain he cared for was in accompaniment to pleasure, and he did not seek pleasure with Boy. There wasn’t anything appealing about the thought.

  Not anymore.

  “You will do as I say,” Marcus said with conclusive severity. “That’s all I want from you.”

  Boy looked at him with imploring eyes, but Marcus’ decision was final. He handed Boy the fruit salad, and Boy dropped his gaze and started to eat.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was out the door. The only signs that he’d once been there were the empty bowl in the sink and the lingering scent of omega in the air.

  Another meaningless Friday night. Another submissive who was gorgeous, but who lacked the connection that Marcus found himself aching for. Another lonely Saturday morning.

  Maybe Crawford was right. Maybe it was time that he broke from the formula and went outside his comfort zone. Trained submissives had lost their appeal, and while mindless sex was fun, Marcus craved more.

  He mulled it over as he sipped at his coffee and observed the city from his window.

  What more was there that he could want? His high-pressure career as a criminal defense attorney kept his mind active and his bank account padded. He lived in luxury. There wasn’t a thing in the world that Marcus wanted but couldn’t have.

  Except the genuine, heartfelt touch of another.

  He pushed the thought aside. When Crawford’s wedding came, he’d reconsider it.

  For now, he’d chase satisfaction through the only channels he’d ever known. Next Friday, he’d show up at The Shepherd just like always.

  And just like always, Marcus knew he’d leave alone.

  3

  Lucian

  By daylight, The Shepherd didn’t dazzle. Lucian squinted up at the neon sign over the door, presently unlit. As far as he could tell, the building was well-maintained—there were no signs of spiderwebs or bird nests between the glass tubes, which suggested that it was better cared for than most places. The establishment was flat-roofed, so Lucian couldn’t get a feel for the integrity of the entire structure, but the facade showed signs of a recent sandblasting.

  It wasn’t a dive bar, but it didn’t exactly scream luxury, either.

  That was fine by Luci
an. If the inside matched the outside, he’d fit right in.

  With one last, grounding breath, Lucian pulled the front door open and stepped inside. He found himself in a tiny lobby facing another set of doors. To the right was a counter, unoccupied.

  “Hello?” Lucian cast a quick look at the counter, then made his way to the second door. It was heavier, and he found himself tugging harder than he’d thought necessary to get it to budge.

  The door parted from its frame sluggishly, and as it did, Lucian found himself overlooking a vast, empty dance floor. The lights were dim, and the wide-open space was eerie without anyone around to fill it.

  “Ms. Holt?” Lucian called. He wondered if he had the wrong time. “Hello?”

  “Hello!” A voice called from somewhere far away. Lucian squinted into the room, trying to see where it was coming from. “Sorry, I’m running a little late. I’ll be with you in a minute. Make yourself at home.”

  ‘At home’ didn’t feel possible with a space so wide and dim, but Lucian made the most of it. He left the doorway and crossed the dance floor. Each step he took clacked and echoed. At night, when the place was packed, it was probably a great time. In the middle of the day, all on his own, it fell short.

  As Lucian explored, he discovered a staircase at the far end of the room leading to the second floor. He approached it. The closer he came, the more he was able to see. The stairs were large enough for two to climb side by side without feeling crowded. Its banister was elegant, but understated. Strips of glossy black non-slip material marked the edge of each tread, both to draw the eye to the end of each step and to lend traction to those who made their way up or down.

  Lucian came to a stop short of the stairs when a shadow blotted out some of the light reflecting in the black non-slip strips. He glanced toward the upper landing to discover a woman was on her way down. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders, loosely curled and bouncing with each step she took. She wore a smart suit jacket that lent class to her fitted jeans. If Lucian had to guess, he’d say she was in her late twenties—the energy in her step and her style of dress suggested young professional.

  Lucian watched as she hurried down the stairs, a folder tucked beneath her arm. When she arrived at the last step, she came to a stop and smiled at him. He smiled back, doing his best to look approachable and open. If he fucked this up, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

  “Mr. Bracknell?” The woman’s voice matched Clarissa Holt’s.

  “That’s me.” Lucian stepped forward to meet her. When he was in range, Clarissa offered her hand. Lucian shook it. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “It’s not very often we receive applications from omegas willing to work bartending jobs,” Clarissa said. “I couldn’t not call you.”

  “It’s not very often that employers actively seek out omega candidates.” Lucian’s lips drew in at the corners. During his rehabilitation at Stonecrest, he’d been warned about employment offers from businesses who seemed a little too interested in omega candidates. The White Lotus wasn’t the only underground sex ring in the city.

  “It depends on the omega,” Clarissa said. Beneath the floral notes of her perfume, Lucian thought he smelled omega on her, too. The thought put him more at ease, but didn’t totally rid him of his fears. “That’s why I called you in to interview. The Shepherd doesn’t hire new staff carelessly. I’m eager to get to know a little more about you. Would you like to come up to the bar and sit down for a drink with me?”

  “Something non-alcoholic,” Lucian insisted. Counselor Ellis was coaching him from the back of his mind, warning him to limit his risks. Lucian would not let his inhibitions down. “Preferably something in a can?”

  “Thank god. You passed test number one with flying colors.” Clarissa winked and nodded toward the stairs. “Bartending doesn’t mean you can’t have fun, but the clientele we serve is… well. Let’s get you upstairs and have a chat. I have a feeling you might have exactly what it takes to work here.”

  Without waiting for a response, Clarissa turned and made her way back up the stairs. As she climbed, Lucian watched, mystified. Were all job interviews like this? He’d assumed they’d be stuffy and maybe a little trivial, but Clarissa was chatting with him like he was an old friend. Stonecrest hadn’t prepared him for this.

  “Coming?” she asked from the upper landing.

  “Coming,” Lucian said. He followed her up the stairs.

  “The Shepherd is an interesting place to work,” Clarissa told him as he climbed the last few stairs. “Did you Google us?”

  “Yes.” It was a lie. Enchanted by the thought of working a full-time job, Lucian hadn’t done much research—he’d been too focused on reviewing the interviewing techniques Counselor Ellis had taught him to think of it.

  “Good. Then you know what you’re in for.”

  Lucian reached the upper landing. The second floor matched much more closely to what Lucian thought a bar would look like. Booths lined the wall immediately opposite the stairs, intimate in size and decadently furnished. There was a bar to his left, its back wall lined with shelves lit from the bottom by blue LED lights. The bottles on the shelves glowed, the light refracting through the glass in stunning, otherworldly ways.

  The bar counter itself was sleek and polished. Tall stools lined up in equal increments in front of it, just as well-looked-after as everything else in the bar. Tables and chairs were set up between the bar and the booths on the back wall. The chairs were stacked on the tables, legs up.

  Nothing about the bar was as strange as Clarissa suggested.

  Everything except for the doors that lined the wall beyond the bar area.

  Lucian let his eyes trace across them, trying to make sense of what he saw. Each door was marked with a gold-plated number, but as far as he could see, none of the doors had doorknobs. Every one of them was left ajar out of necessity—as far as Lucian could tell, there was nothing for them to latch onto.

  Beyond the strange open doors was a hallway. From where Lucian stood, he couldn’t tell how far it went.

  “If you follow the hallway all the way to the end, you’ll find the stairs to the third floor,” Clarissa explained. While Lucian stared, she’d ducked behind the bar and pulled a can of sparkling water from beneath the counter. She crossed her arms on the counter and arched a brow, leaning forward to look at him. There was no doubt that she’d seen him staring. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to drink?”

  “I’ll have what you’re having,” Lucian said. He tore his eyes from the doors and devoted his attention to what mattered the most—the interview.

  Clarissa produced a second can, placing it next to the first. As she did, Lucian settled on one of the bar stools and familiarized himself with his surroundings. The bar area was large, but it wasn’t overwhelming. The bar was big enough that he figured several people could work it at once, and if that was the case, he saw no need to be anxious. There was safety in numbers. With a co-worker, he wouldn’t need to worry so much about taking care of belligerent customers.

  “So.” Clarissa ducked out from behind the bar and sat next to him. “I think a good place to start this interview is to ask why you’re here.”

  “What?” Lucian snapped the tab on his can of sparkling water. The hiss of carbonation marked the beat between his sentences. “You invited me here.”

  “You’re my first interview of the day to actually show up,” Clarissa admitted. She leaned on her elbow, cheek cupped in her hand, as she looked at Lucian thoughtfully. “Most people Google us and bail. So, what is it that made you think you can handle working in a place like this?”

  The lie was coming back to bite him in the ass. Lucian resisted the urge to squirm. What the hell was so special about The Shepherd that it chased potential employees away?

  “Well.” Lucian looked down at the rounded opening of his drink, reflecting on his answer. Counselor Ellis would have told him to sell his best attributes and turn the conversation around
to focus on his strengths, but Lucian had a feeling that an interview at The Shepherd wasn’t like the kind of interviews Counselor Ellis was used to. “To be honest, I’ve been through a lot of shit, and at this point, I’m not really afraid of anything anymore.”

  Clarissa’s expression clouded. He couldn’t tell if she felt sorry for him, or if she was reacting to his reply negatively.

  “I’ve seen a lot of things no one should have to see, and I’ve done things that no one should have to do,” Lucian continued. If he’d already stuck his foot in his mouth, there was no point in scrambling to make it seem like an accident. It was better to swallow his ankle in an attempt to own his mistake than to pretend it’d never happened. “When I was sixteen, I ended up getting involved with someone who I thought had my best interests at heart, but who was two-faced and money-hungry. It… changed me. I’m out of it now, but when something like that happens, it’s something that stays with you. I have some hang-ups, but nothing crippling. I’ve been the lowest I could ever be, and now that I’m on the outside and getting back on my feet, nothing scares me anymore.”

  Clarissa lifted a brow and drank. When she set the can back down, she looked him in the eye. “So is this about reclaiming your identity? Making a statement?”

  “It’s about living my life the way I want to live it,” Lucian replied. He spoke the truth. Right now, nothing else felt right. “I’m determined to make this work.”

  Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, Lucian’s confidence swelled. Whatever it was about The Shepherd that made normal omegas run, Lucian would conquer. He’d been through hell, but hell didn’t define him. His bones had been forged in its fires, and his body had been shaped by its staggering heats, but it hadn’t left its mark on his soul. He’d made it through and come out stronger than he’d ever been before.