by Piper Scott
Tonight, they counted down the time Adrian had left before his brain kicked into survival mode and did away with outside concerns—primarily, his thoughts about Sterling.
Sterling Holt, owner of The Shepherd and Adrian’s new Master. The thought of Sterling assuming dominance over him tightened Adrian’s throat and made him want to laugh. Sterling had no idea what he was getting into. Adrian wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
There was a loose cedar chip on the driveway, and Adrian kicked at it as he passed. The chip skittered across the driveway and came to a stop just out of reach. Adrian passed it by, leaving it for Mal to clean up in the morning. Their new groundskeeper was uninspiring, but he was young enough that he could still learn. With any luck, Francis would whip him into shape before he retired.
Whip.
Adrian’s lips twitched, and he came to a sudden stop. Hands shoved in his pockets, shirt tossed lazily over his shoulder, he stared at an arbitrary point on the driveway and struggled to understand what the strange tightness was inside his chest.
It wasn’t emotional pain—Adrian knew how that felt well enough. The hopeless, shrinking sensation that wizened his insides and stole his appetite wasn’t the same feeling he had now. It wasn’t gratification, either. Adrian could chart the staggering high and the crashing low that immediately followed selfish pleasure, and the feeling in his chest didn’t match that pattern.
Whatever it was, it left him breathless, wired, and full all at once.
It was almost painfully nostalgic. Was it happiness? Adrian wasn’t sure.
Uncomfortable, Adrian looked up and kept moving. He’d had a bad night, and whatever he was feeling was a product of that. That meant it had to be a bad feeling, even if the inklings of something good had begun to break through his walls to infiltrate his heart. And while it bothered him that he felt this way when thinking about Sterling, what bothered him most of all was the fact that he couldn’t get Sterling out of his mind.
There were twenty bollard lights to go before Adrian arrived at the house—the equivalent of a few minutes, if he walked slowly enough. No one would be using the driveway at close to four in the morning, and no one was expecting him, so Adrian slowed and allowed himself just a little longer in the crisp night air.
Sterling meant to punish him, so why was it that Adrian was hung up on him like this? Their arrangement was transactional—an exchange of goods, and a sign of goodwill. Sterling had what Adrian wanted, and Adrian…
Adrian trailed off, dragging the conclusion of his thought back to try to prevent it—but it was no use. Adrian had what Sterling wanted, too.
That meant that Sterling wanted him.
The tight feeling in Adrian’s chest grew snugger yet, and he rolled his shoulders and shifted his hips from side to side to try to chase it away, but the more he moved, the more he felt it. Whatever it was.
It wasn’t like he’d never been desired before. Men had moved in and out of Adrian’s life, drawn to him for his appearance, only to leave when he lashed out. But Sterling? Sterling knew his claws. He might not have understood their full force, but he knew that Adrian wasn’t the kind of man to lie down and blindly accept what was happening to him.
And Sterling didn’t care.
Adrian passed another few bollard lights, struggling with the thought and the way it made him feel. No man he’d ever met had captivated his mind like this. It had to be because Sterling was the enemy—the archetype of everything Adrian hated. Cruel, deceitful, and self-absorbed. Selfish, haughty, and delusional. Men like Sterling were the kind who considered themselves above the law, the kind who believed the universe belonged to them because they’d been born with the right genes.
Fuck that.
Adrian picked up the pace. His heavy footfalls brought him to the stoop of the vast house he called home, and he spent a second rooting through the leafy plant by the door to find where he’d left his key. For the first time since Gabriel had gone missing, Adrian was glad to be home. The walls would shield him from intrusive thoughts of a man he didn’t care for, but who’d found his way beneath his skin anyway.
Shallow, personal affairs would never supersede survival.
The key turned in the lock. The door clicked open. Adrian turned the doorknob and let himself in. All of the lights were off, and the house was silent.
Adrian breathed a sigh of relief, pushed the door closed and locked it, then leaned back against it for a second to better compose himself. Moonlight streamed in from the broad, round-top windows on either side of the door, illuminating the front room enough so that Adrian could pick out the space’s broader details.
To the left and right sides of the room all the way at the back were twin sets of curved staircases that met at the second-floor landing. Marble floors glimmered in the pale light. Arched doorways led into long halls on either side of him, and beneath the stairs immediately opposite where Adrian stood, there was a large set of double doors—closed—that led to the basement and the servant’s quarters it housed.
All he had to do was get upstairs without making a sound and lock his bedroom door. If he could do that, everything would be alright until he woke up hungry or needing to piss.
Just like every other weekend night of his adult life.
Adrian stepped out of his shoes one by one, then bent over to pick them up. Padding barefoot across the floor made less noise—he’d discovered that the hard way very early into his weekend visits to The Shepherd.
One cautious step at a time, he climbed the staircase to the right. The house was still and silent, but Adrian knew better than to trust it to stay that way. It wasn’t until he’d reached the top of the landing and began his journey down the right wing that he allowed himself to let go of the air trapped in his lungs. The first exhale was always the sweetest, and he savored the way it eased the strange feeling in his chest and left him blissfully empty.
Just a few more doors now, and—
“Gabriel?”
Adrian’s shoulders pinched against his neck, and he balled his hands into fists. The exhale of relief had been premature, and now he couldn’t bring himself to breathe in to replenish his lungs with fresh air. He couldn’t move.
His mother was awake.
“Gabriel?” Adrian’s mother asked again. Adrian heard her footsteps now—she was coming from the left wing, each footstep more rapid than the next until she was running. “Gabriel!”
Hands met his arms and squeezed tightly. Adrian shut his eyes and did his best to plant his bare feet firmly on the ground, but when his mother wrenched him around, there was nothing he could do but move with her unless he wanted to risk injury. Heart racing, he looked at his mother’s face.
It was always the same on nights like these. An open-mouthed grin and dull, glossy eyes with pupils so large they drowned out her stony irises. Crazed enthusiasm. Unwavering relief. Paired with the way her hair stuck out at odd angles and her nightgown hung off her shoulder like she was a little girl, it was clear how much she’d lost.
How much they’d all lost.
“Gabriel…?” The excitement on his mother’s face faded. She released one of Adrian’s arms to run her hand along his jaw. The short hairs of his stubble dragged against her palm. “You’re…”
“We go over this all the time,” Adrian whispered. He refused to meet her eyes, focusing instead on one of the floral patches on her nightgown. “I’m not Gabriel, Mom. I’m Adrian. I’m—”
Adrian was cut short by the first, god-awful crack. Burning pain spread through his cheek like wildfire, consuming everything in its path until the entire left side of his face was tingling. Copper flooded his mouth—he’d bitten his tongue.
“Goddamn you.” His mother’s voice shook, and her pitch was uneven, like she was about to burst into tears. Adrian knew every squeaky crest and every quivering syllable. “I. Want. Gabriel.”
“He’s not here anymore, Mom.” Another slap. Adrian blinked away tears. “Just let me go. All I
want to do is go back to my room and get some sleep.”
“You took him away from me.” The sound was low, like a cat with hackles raised, circling another within its territory. “You took him away, and now you have to bring him home.”
“I’m going to bed, Mom.” Adrian’s tone hardened, but no matter how tough he was on the surface, on the inside he was broken. It was always like this. It was always goddamn like this. “Goodnight.”
“Bring Gabriel home!” The shriek surprised him—most times, she kept her voice down. Adrian winced and tore his arm away from her, then staggered a few feet back. The doe-like look in his mother’s eyes was gone now. All that was left was rage. “Bring him back!”
There was no reasoning with her now. The light in her eyes was gone. Adrian took another few hurried steps backward, always keeping an eye on her even as he groped for the doorknob to his room. If he could get behind it, then he would be okay. All he needed was a wall separating him from her. Just a little more…
His hand met rounded metal. Quicker than he’d ever moved before, Adrian turned the knob and dove into his room. As he did, his mother came at him. The last thing he saw was the whites of her eyes and the hatred twisting her mouth before the door slammed shut and she ran up against it.
The collision shook the door against its jamb. Adrian worked his fingers to flick the lock, then pushed himself against the door to reinforce it, just in case tonight was more violent than usual.
He braced himself for an impact that never came.
A minute passed. Then another. He strained his ears to listen, but heard nothing.
She’d moved on.
There were no more tears. Not anymore. Adrian blinked the last of the shock away, then ran his hand over the tender flesh of his cheek and tried to cool the burning. With a deep, staggered breath, he let go of the last of his worries and trudged to bed.
It was just another bad night, one more in a string of hundreds. Tomorrow would be another day, and another step toward independence.
One day, if he tried hard enough, he might even be forgiven.
6
Adrian
The last shirt Adrian would wear for the next twenty-five days traveled across his torso, then dragged over his head. When it was free of his arms, he folded it and set it down neatly next to his discarded shoes and socks.
His pants came next.
The wide double doors barricading Sterling’s living quarters from The Shepherd watched him strip, their frosted glass accents glowing from the inside, promising that the low lights in The Shepherd would not be Adrian’s reality for the next almost-month.
Adrian folded his jeans neatly and set them beside his shirt. Despite the summer heat, his nipples were erect, and when his arm grazed against one of them, it sent a shock through his body that reverberated in his gut and stirred his arousal.
The strange tightness was back in his chest, and it was spreading.
Adrian took a moment to himself, keeping an eye on his folded clothes as though he was afraid they might get up and leave. Then, with a sigh meant to dislodge the strangeness inside, he hitched his thumbs into the broad elastic band of his Calvin Kleins and lowered them down his thighs.
It wasn’t often that Adrian allowed himself to be fully naked while in The Shepherd. During the first year of his membership, when he’d been the fresh, exciting new body in the club, he’d been much more lax about that personal rule. In those months he’d let himself enjoy the public rooms as he explored his sexuality and discovered how kink satisfied his needs, but those days had come to an end when Adrian had discovered the pleasures of assuming control.
Now he’d come full circle—he was to submit again.
Adrian folded his briefs, then collected the rest of his clothing. He draped the bundle over his arm, then stepped forward and rapped on the door three times. It quivered, and the door crept open a sliver.
It had never been latched.
With a frown, Adrian pushed the door open. In the room beyond it, placed upon a small, round table that hadn’t been there the last time, was a narrow obsidian box. Adrian glanced at it, then stepped toward it cautiously. Apart from the distant sound of the club downstairs, the room was silent.
The box waited for him.
There was no latch or mechanism holding the box closed, but there was a hinge on the back. Adrian lifted the lid and peered down into the box’s contents. Four items caught his eye.
Two black leather wrist cuffs, and two black leather ankle cuffs. From each dangled a metal D-Ring, worked into the leather by tightened straps and secured with silver-colored rivets. Sturdy, adjustable belts strapped the objects to the wearer’s body. Adrian was willing to bet money that somewhere in the house, Sterling had a hog-tie.
How predictable.
Adrian scrunched up his nose, placed his folded clothes next to the box, and picked up the first of the leather cuffs. The finish was glossy, but the leather itself was tender and felt nice beneath his fingertips. Carefully, Adrian parted the adjustable leather strap from its buckle and fitted the cuff to his wrist. Sterling wouldn’t have left him such an obvious gift if he didn’t want Adrian to wear it. It was a shame that a man who ran The Shepherd should be so boring, but if this was the worst Adrian could expect, he was in for smooth sailing over the next twenty-five days.
The next cuff fit to his wrist just as easily as the first did. Adrian tugged the strap tight, then latched it in place. When he was done, he flexed his wrists and held his hands out, examining his work. If Sterling did want to restrain him, he wouldn’t have an issue. Unless the straps were manually released, the cuffs would hold.
The ankle cuffs were a little more challenging to fit to his body, but only due to the inconvenience of their location. Adrian made sure they were secured, shook a foot just to make sure he’d done it right, then rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath. There was no going back now. This was to be his reality for the next few weeks.
Nude, he picked up his bundle of clothes and pulled at the soundproof door that led into the penthouse proper. The door was heavy, but it wasn’t locked, and when Adrian applied enough force, it opened. He let himself inside.
When the door settled back in place and blocked out the music from the club, Adrian’s ears picked up on a tiny sound that he might have overlooked had he not been so attuned to his surroundings. Sterling was playing the piano. Where, exactly, there was a piano or how it had made it to the third floor of a club, Adrian didn’t know. He didn’t ask questions. Instead, he followed the music to its source, unimpressed and underwhelmed.
Sterling was setting himself up as some classical, refined, multi-talented god, and it was already getting old. Adrian didn’t care if he knew how to play the piano any more than he cared about pictures of food people insisted on posting on the internet.
The subtle brag grated on his nerves.
He was here for sex, and maybe to get over the strange feeling in his chest that was inexplicably tied to thoughts of Sterling. Unless Sterling intended to hog-tie him to the piano and strike him with its hammers as punishment, Adrian couldn’t care less about Sterling’s musical prowess.
But when he arrived in the living room, it wasn’t a piano he found—Sterling was seated in one of his leather armchairs, an ancient-looking tome propped open in his hand, engrossed in his reading. The music came from a stereo system, its speakers artfully concealed in different corners of the house.
Walking in on Sterling reading some big, fancy book was almost as bad as walking in to find him playing the piano.
Sterling glanced over the top of the book, then tucked a bookmark between its pages and set it down. From the coffee table he picked up a tiny remote, and with a push of a button, the piano music stopped.
“You’re here,” Sterling remarked.
“I’m here.” Adrian watched Sterling’s eyes, expecting his gaze to dip downward. It didn’t.
“For someone who’s been visiting The Shepherd since
the night of his twenty-first birthday, you’re certainly rusty on what submission means. We agreed to a total power exchange. If you are to speak, you will always conclude your statements with a sign of your respect toward me.”
God, was he insufferable. Adrian resisted the urge to cross his arms over his chest, but only because he knew if he misbehaved on all fronts from the start, Sterling might change his mind about their agreement and forbid him from returning to The Shepherd, and Adrian couldn’t afford that. The Shepherd was his oasis—a haven totally separated from the disaster that was his home life. If he couldn’t return, then where would he go?
“Now…” Sterling picked up his book again, but didn’t yet open it to his previous place. “Come here and kneel. I want you beneath my feet.”
“Excuse me?” Adrian remained where he stood, but he dropped his clothes on the floor by the table to free his arms just in case they were needed. With a stubborn streak a mile wide and resentment for Sterling burning in his soul, he risked setting Sterling off, but a request like that was worth the upset. Adrian knew what a total power exchange involved, but he refused to let himself be degraded. There was nothing between him and Sterling but animosity, anyway. What did Sterling expect would happen?
Sterling arched a brow. “Come here, get on your hands and knees, and stay.”
Out of those three commands, Adrian accomplished one. He crossed the room to stand in front of Sterling, then snatched the book from his hand. Jaw clenched, he glared at Sterling with every ounce of distaste that he could muster. “We agreed on terms. No housework. I am not going to be your living footstool.”
“We never agreed on that.” Sterling made no attempt to take his book back, nor did he make an effort to rise from his chair. He looked up at Adrian with calm, almost mocking amusement. “Do you need to be reminded what a total power exchange means?”
“No.” Adrian’s fingers dug against the old, papery jacket that hid the book’s hard cover. “I know what it means, but we also made an agreement. No housework.”
