Submissive Angel: A BDSM Romance Novella

by Joey W. Hill

  Ange grinned, but turned away. Spun back, dashed in close to lay both hands on Robert’s face, plunder his mouth for a heated, wet kiss, his body pressed fully against Robert’s. Then he slipped away, headed for the stairs in a flurry of rippling muscle and twitching ass motion.

  “You will pay for that,” Robert promised.

  “I hope so,” Ange called back, his feet fast and sure, pounding up the stairs.

  Robert shook his head, smiling. While he waited for the cake to finish baking, he turned his attention to the large gift basket he had stowed in the pantry. He’d been loading it up with small packages, nesting them in red and green paper straw. He had a plastic bag of ribbon and silk greenery, holly branches with bright red berries, and he laid them out next to the basket. He intended to festoon the handle with them as a finishing touch, and adjust the straw to accommodate the cake tin he’d use for the finished and cooled layer cake.

  As he did all that, he kept an ear on the sounds of showering above. He sipped his coffee and let his mind drift, relaxed. Eventually, he remembered he hadn’t told Ange he had a couple unopened toothbrushes in the bath cabinet, and to use whatever toiletries he needed, so he headed up the stairs. Robert had shown nothing but approval of the kid going through the garage and redecorating the living room. However, he knew it wouldn’t change Ange’s hesitancy about rummaging in more personal places unless directly invited. It was one of the interesting mix of things about his submissive.

  His collared submissive. Best Christmas gift ever, really.

  There was a cheap monthly rate gym within walking distance of the store, and Ange used their shower facilities, since there wasn’t a full bathroom at the store. As such, Robert had expected him to linger in the indulgence of a private shower, but he hadn’t.

  Steam was still drifting out of the bathroom, but the door to his walk-in closet was open. As he stepped across the bedroom threshold and gained a view of the closet’s interior, he came up short. Ange was standing right up against the wall of Robert’s shirts. He had two full handfuls of them, the fabric against his face as he inhaled their scent, brushed the cloth against his jaw.

  Robert braced a hand against the bedroom doorframe. Yeah, it was cliché, smelling a lover’s clothes. But seeing someone actually do it, versus seeing it in a movie or reading about it in a book, hit him low in the gut.

  Ange lifted his head. Whatever he saw in Robert’s face kept him still, quiet, his expression open, not hiding from Robert exactly why he was doing what he was doing. Ange wanted to be close to him, even when he wasn’t in the same room with him. He wanted and needed him.

  “I’m finally here,” he said at last, his voice low.

  “You’re finally here,” Robert said. “I’ve never been so grateful for a gift from God in my entire life.”

  He came into the closet, wrapped his arms around his sub. Ange’s hands slid under them to clasp Robert’s back and waist. Robert kissed his hair, his mouth, and indulged another deep draught of his lips as Ange held onto him. They swayed against the bank of clothes. When at long last Robert raised his head, stared into Ange’s gratifyingly dazed-looking eyes, he nodded, once. Slow. A confirmation for them both.

  “There’s a basket of sample toiletries under the sink, including unopened toothbrushes. Whatever you need here is yours.”

  Robert left to tend the cake, and Ange rejoined him in no time. After he examined the gift basket and Robert explained the contents, he hefted himself onto the counter to watch Robert handle the transfer of the four layers of cake onto cooling racks. The cake tin he had waiting was printed with a Dickensian Christmas scene on the lid and sides. Ange’s glance swept over that and the counter, where Robert had efficiently arranged everything he’d needed to prepare the cake.

  “No icing?” Ange asked.

  Robert shook his head. “The cake is so good on its own, icing isn’t needed.”

  He could say the same of the man listening to him. Seeing Ange in his now clean clothes didn’t cool Robert’s ardor. Ange had retrieved another long-sleeved flannel shirt from the closet, a green and black stripe pattern that brought out the colors of his eyes. He’d buttoned it over the tank he’d also laundered. Which meant Robert couldn’t see the fine lines of his shoulders, the curves of biceps that would be highlighted by Ange’s pose now, hands braced on the edge of the counter, body leaned forward.

  But Robert could imagine all of it. And he could see the long lengths of his thighs in faded denim, the sensitive bare feet curled over the kitchen tile.

  “I dust each layer with confectioner’s sugar as I stack them, separating them with wax paper,” Robert explained. He tapped the top of the confectioner’s sugar box. “I think you recognize this.”

  Ange’s cheeks tinged with color under Robert’s heated regard, bringing back the memory of Ange’s taste on his tongue, mixed with the sweet powder.

  As Robert finished his coffee and Ange leaned over to pour himself one, the two of them watched one another, heat in their eyes as they waited for the cake to cool. It was a companionable, good feeling.

  “How come you know how to cook great meals, but you don’t know how to bake?” Robert asked.

  “I started training to be a dancer when I was five.” Ange gave him a wry smile. “Under my grandmother’s regimen, white carbs were the ultimate evil. Particularly baked goods. She’d rather me club a baby seal than eat a Twinkie.”

  Ange had never volunteered information about his past so casually. Not wanting to spook him, Robert merely nodded, even as he pushed his luck with a follow up. “So she was the one who got you into dancing.”

  Ange folded his knee up, calf crossing the opposite thigh, heel to his hip bone, a flexibility that pretzels would envy. The spread of his thighs stretched the jeans’ inseams, hinting at the curve of his testicles.

  “She was a classically trained professional dancer,” Ange confirmed. “Then she became a dance teacher. I think she was hoping my parents would have a girl, because she wanted to recreate herself, only better. Take her protégé further. When I was four, my mom would leave me at the studio while she was at work. I started emulating my grandmother’s movements. She began teaching me, I showed promise, and it went from there.”

  A touch of wistfulness entered Ange’s expression. “I think she never stopped wishing I was a girl. She didn’t have much use or affection for me, except for teaching me to dance. But when I’d win a competition or get called back after an audition, she’d take me to this fancy tearoom she liked. Tiny sandwiches and cookies. That’s as close as I was allowed to get to sweets and baked stuff.”

  “Explains your sweet tooth now.”

  “She’d be horrified. Say I’d let myself go. She said when you let yourself go, even a little bit, that was the gateway to the end. If I wanted to be the best dancer possible, I’d never open that gate. Never get anywhere close to it.”

  Robert pursed his lips. “Doesn’t leave much room for life to be anything else.”

  Ange lifted a shoulder. “When you’re fully in it, and really want it, love it? It doesn’t feel like a limited world. Just the opposite.”

  Ange’s intent gaze, caught between past and present, shifted from the cake to Robert’s hands. He was spreading the sugar over the layers, the sifter making a pleasant clicking noise. “It’s a whole universe of everything you could ever want, all inside those boundaries. Kind of like…being a Dom and sub.”

  His gaze flickered up to Robert. “Same theory.”

  “So the key is your passion for it,” Robert said, clearing his throat. “It connects to the rest. You just can’t have cake.”

  Ange grinned. “Yeah. But the good thing about the Dom/sub stuff is cake is included. If my Master will give me a piece.”

  Robert chuckled. “Nice try.”

  He was teasing, however. He’d fully intended to keep the fourth layer for them. After he cut a small piece of it, he came to Ange. Ange let his leg drop, opening up his knees so Robert coul
d move between them and hold up the warm cake. “Open up.”

  When Ange took it from his fingers, Robert braced a hand outside his thigh. “So what do you think?”

  Bliss took over the beautiful green gaze. Ange’s eyes actually closed, making Robert grin. “Still with me? You look like you’re having a religious experience.”

  “Oh yeah.” Ange’s eyes opened, locked on Robert’s. “I know exactly what my grandmother meant about opening that gateway.”

  Robert tapped his thigh, a warning. “Stop being so you or I’ll stripe your ass with another kitchen utensil. Believe me, I will make it hurt.”

  Ange’s amused, slightly puzzled look only made the temptation worse. With an internal chuckle, Robert put the cake layers, separated by wax paper, into the tin. He rested the lid loosely on top to keep the lingering heat from creating condensation. “Get those few dishes washed up while I shower. Use the trimmings I’ve laid out to finish decorating the basket.”

  In addition to the ribbon and holly, there were some little dime store toys, like long-limbed rubber reindeer he’d intended to twine around the handle. He expected Ange would pick up on the same idea.

  “It’s nice of you to do this for a group home,” Ange said. “Are they customers?”

  “No,” Robert said. “The person who runs it is an old friend. I think you’ll enjoy him, and the residents. After we drop this off, we have another stop to make. We’re getting you a proper suit.”

  He’d tossed that out as the first big hint. Ange’s head came up. “What suit? What for?”

  “I’m taking you somewhere tonight that’s more formal. It’s your Christmas gift, and you have to dress for it.”

  Ange’s joy for gifts swept his expression, but then it was replaced by a more sober reaction, a set to his chin. “You gave me my gift. You came to me last night.”

  Robert’s heart swelled at the simple, fervent sincerity. He crooked a finger at Ange, brought him close enough to run a hand over the firm butt, the lower part of his elegant back.

  “You are such a treasure, I want to punish you for it. That’s what I meant about you being you.”

  Submissive and willing was the doing part. Utterly irresistible was the being side of things. Ange was going to have to get used to punishment, not only for doing exactly what his Master demanded, but for what he couldn’t help being.

  Exercising such irrational logic upon a sub’s tender parts was part of the perks of being a Dom, after all.

  When Ange had to clear his throat to speak, it only increased the cock-teasing adorableness of his response.

  “I could find a good suit at the Salvation Army. When we drop off the sofa.”

  “No doubt, but this is different. I’m taking you to a men’s clothing store. The tailor said he’d do a same-day alteration for me.”

  “This close to Christmas?” Ange’s fair brows rose.

  Originally, a suit hadn’t been part of it, but since last night, Robert had decided he wanted to expand the specialness of Ange’s Christmas gift. So he’d texted Sully with a strong caveat that he didn’t have to work them in if he was too busy. But Sully had come through.

  “He’s a friend. He also collects iron die cast toy cars. If I let him buy one from me at cost, he’ll consider it an even trade. We’ll get some lunch after the fitting, swing back to pick up the suit.”

  “Okay. But I have money saved up. I can help pay.”

  “Not this time.” Robert shook his head. “The clothes are part of the gift. That’s the end of it.”

  Ange’s mouth set in a mulish line, but he dropped his attention to the floor, his head down as he thought it through. Robert put his hand on the back of his neck, ran a thumb over the bump of bone at the top of his spine. “What’s happening? Tell me.”

  “I…” Ange shook his head. “Nothing. I just…I really do feel like last night was the gift, Master. It was beyond anything I ever expected or imagined.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “And I imagined a lot. Nothing more is needed. Really. I promise.”

  The sudden slight note of desperation puzzled Robert. He tightened his hand on his nape. “I know sometimes you get worried, when we’re going to unfamiliar places,” he said. “But I’m with you. I’ll take care of you. Right? You trust me?”

  “Always.” One shoulder lifted under Robert’s hold before Ange met Robert’s gaze again. This time there was a different look there, a different concern. “I know there are things that aren’t quite right about me. But I don’t need you to take care of me.” He twitched. “I mean, I know sometimes I do need help…with things. And you care. I love how you care about me. I just want you to know I can take care of you, too. And more than that, I want to take care of you. It’s a pleasure, it’s an honor…it’s all I want to do. You can count on me for that.”

  His jaw set, his eyes flashed. “I’m not Freddie. Not now, not ever.”

  On certain things, Ange didn’t budge, even if he did it by creatively working around other people thinking they could tell him to do something he didn’t want to do. While a Master like Robert would routinely bust his ass for it, he’d be glad of Ange’s healthy self-determination. Every sub needed that core, to protect themselves from the assholes.

  “I know. You’ve been taking care of me, looking out for me, for a while now. There’s absolutely no doubt of it in my mind.” He let Ange see the truth of it in his expression. “But I also like taking care of you. I like you wanting that from me, needing it, but in the right way. And so far I’ve never seen you do it the wrong way.”

  Ange smiled, obviously relieved. “Okay, then. Can I have a swallowtail coat? Like in the Jane Austen movies?”

  Robert laughed. “That might be a little too formal, but we’ll see what we can figure out.” He caressed Ange’s hip. “You’ve been a gift to me, in more ways than I can count. I really want to give you this. Surprise you with it. Try not to stress over it. All right?”

  Robert saw that little flicker of uncertainty again, of tension, but then it was gone, and his sub’s shoulders squared. “Okay, yes. Thank you.”

  “Good. I’ll grab my shower and then we’ll head out.”

  Chapter Six

  They took Robert’s BMW to deliver the basket. He could walk to the store and most places in his neighborhood, like the local grocery and the bank. The light rail or bus were useful to go to city events where traffic could become even worse than the usual Charlotte gridlock. However, for some things, the car was the best way to go.

  The group home was a private residence in the venerated older Myers Park neighborhood, off of Queens Road. While Robert had plenty of wealthy clients who routinely purchased four-figure collectibles, Ange’s experience with them was usually in the store. Robert saw his eyes widen as they pulled up to the nine thousand square feet two-story with parchment-colored siding and black shutters. A glossy black Mercedes van was parked in the driveway that curved around the side of the house. Old Queens was written in floral gold script along the side panel. As they parked next to it, they could see the carport in back. A white Mercedes convertible and a pair of Harley Davidsons with lots of sparkling chrome were parked under it.

  “Ever heard of Mad Donna?” Robert asked, putting the car in park. “She was a very successful drag queen, who passed about a decade ago. This was her place. She and her husband lived here until she died, and she left it to him.”

  Ange turned to study the features of the house as Robert continued his explanation. “Per her wishes, as the years passed, he turned it into a retirement home for about a dozen of her close friends. Those she knew would need a place to go, when the time came. They’re in varying stages of health, so they have nursing care available and equipment on premises. The more able-bodied residents help and support the less-so. Like a community, which was what she wanted.”

  “She preferred ‘she’ all the time?”

  “Yeah.” Robert sent him a smile. “Whether in or out of drag, but truth, I never saw her out of d
rag. Even her lounging pajamas paid homage to 1940s screen starlets. Once she became successful, I bet her husband was the only one who ever saw her out of drag.”

  Robert paused, gazing at a line of hydrangeas that had been cut back for winter. Their mulch had been generously supplemented by the winter leaves of the trio of towering maples that shaded the rear of the house in summer. “She died before gay marriage was legal in this state, but during her last months they had a minister perform the wedding. In 2015, after it was legalized nationally, Charlie had a graveside wedding, a celebration so outrageous the police were called. ‘Maddie says it’s the most fun the laid-to-rest here have seen in a century.’ That was his quote for the papers.”

  Ange offered a serious smile. “Did you ever see her perform?”

  “Yeah, I did. Several times. I was there the night she performed Etta James’s ‘At Last,’ just for Charlie, and it was indescribable. Well, here. You don’t have to take my word for it. This was recorded later, but she said it would always be her song for him, so you can still hear everything she felt the first time she sang it, with him in her mind.”

  He keyed it up on his player, transferred the sound to his speakers. Robert settled back and let the music and Maddie’s remarkable voice fill the car, all the spaces between him and Ange. When the throaty yearning and joy of the words, the way she offered them, had penetrated to the center of his heart, Robert wasn’t surprised to feel Ange’s hand curl around his wrist. Their fingers twined, clasped and held.

  After the last note died away, they were silent for a few seconds. Ange looked at him with awe. “It makes you want to hold someone in your arms and dance. Not like I dance. That slow sway, holding someone tight to you.”

  “It sure does. Be sure and tell Charlie that. He’ll like hearing it.” Love and sorrow gripped Robert as he thought of Charlie and Maddie, the love he’d seen them show one another. On the night he’d told Ange about, it didn’t matter that Maddie had been on stage, Charlie in the audience. She sang as if it was just the two of them, and when she was done, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. All the pain and loneliness of her life’s journey, the joy when she’d found Charlie’s love, had suffused every note. Everyone knew what those emotions felt like.