Submissive Angel: A BDSM Romance Novella

by Joey W. Hill

  “Without giving me what you need, you’re holding back the most important part of what I need. I want to be what you need, Master. I know I am, that I can be.” Ange’s earnest tone faltered. His other hand rested on Robert’s abdomen, his fingers curling into the black shirt. “I get afraid…that I’ll fall short of it, that I’m lacking something inside me. I had doubts about that, too. But I just had to offer everything of myself I could. I wanted you too much not to try.”

  They’d been in the same spot, just different sides of the Dom and sub coin. Robert figured the Fates routinely vacillated between laughter and tears at the stupid obstacles people threw in their own paths.

  “You lack nothing, Ange.” Robert touched his forehead to his, squeezed his nape once more, this time even harder. “Okay, stay still. I want to take a look at you from all sides.”

  Ange’s eyes glowed, his lips parting in that unconsciously distracting way, but Robert had the reins firmly in hand now. On his own emotions, as well as on his submissive. As he circled Ange, taking his visual fill, he resolved to cherish every moment of this evening. He was also going to count down to the moment when he could pull that fitted coat to Ange’s elbows, hold him pinned as he savaged the vulnerable column of his throat exposed by the shirt. He’d use teeth and tongue, sucking lips. The kid would never be without marks there again.

  He moved close behind Ange, laid the lightest of kisses on one of the fading bruises from Robert’s mouth, and felt him quiver. “I’m going to look forward to stripping you of that belt,” Robert growled. “Binding your hands with it to my headboard and devouring you inch by inch. Taking that suit off a piece at a time. I’m going to leave you with so many marks on your flesh you won’t have any doubt who your Master is.”

  “Yes…” Ange barely breathed it. “Thank you, Master.”

  Robert put a hand on his shoulder. As he did, he let the blindfold he’d slipped out of his pocket dangle down so Ange noticed it. “Do you get car sick if you can’t see?”

  “Not that I know of,” Ange said. His voice had gotten intriguingly rough.

  “Let me know if you do.” Robert fitted the blindfold over his eyes, caressing the fair brow, the bridge of his nose, then tied the blindfold in back. “Can you see anything?”

  Ange shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  Robert guided Ange down the steps carefully and into the car. Before they’d come home, he’d run the classic BMW through a touchless car wash, having the crew wipe it down with soft cloths afterward. He kept the inside pristine, so with the wash it was ready for the formal and festive nature of their outing.

  Ange’s lips were curved beneath the blindfold, his hand relaxed in the guiding hold of Robert’s. Robert couldn’t wait to get to their destination, but he savored this as well, this trust his submissive was offering him. It made him imagine plenty other versions of it. Like in their bedroom tonight. Or at Patriarch on Christmas Eve. The likelihood of that happening was getting way stronger.

  As they drove through town, Robert kept an eye on Ange in case he showed any signs of being nauseous, but any tension in Ange appeared to be the right kind. Expectant, eager, wondering what Robert had planned. Robert clasped Ange’s hand, enjoying the grip, the caress of his sub’s fingers on his palm. He was also a serious fan of the way Ange’s long legs looked, one of them stretched out in the slacks, the other knee bent to brace the cowboy boot against the floorboard, a ridiculously sexy look.

  Robert’s gaze also lingered on Ange’s slim fingers, resting on the car door armrest, the tilt of his head, the way the blindfold drew attention to his mouth, his jaw. A couple times he released Ange’s fingers to brush his knuckles along his throat, the edge of the collar, before recapturing his hand. The kid had used his aftershave, because Robert could smell it. He liked knowing Ange bore one of his scents, another form of marking.

  Yeah, this was kind of a honeymoon period, but he didn’t see himself getting tired of looking at Ange. Nobody got tired of looking at an angel. Especially one endlessly eager to be commanded and fucked senseless by his Master.

  When Robert reached their destination, he pulled around to the rear, parking at the door he’d been instructed to use. As he emerged, there were a few people coming and going, involved in the flurry of activity happening inside. They gave him quick, amused glances as he opened the door for his blindfolded passenger and guided him out of the car.

  A man in black jeans and a coat embroidered with a yellow security badge stood by the door. When Robert put a finger to his lips, he smiled under heavy brows, blue eyes glinting as he checked their pass. Then he leaned closer to murmur to Robert.

  “Know where you’re going?” At Robert’s nod, he continued in his smoker’s rough voice, the habit evident in the scent of his clothes. “Hug the walls where you can. Lot of people and stuff moving around. On a show night, folks can get snappish if you’re in the way, even if you’re a VIP.”

  Robert led Ange through the door the man opened for them. The man’s advice hadn’t been exaggerated. A lot of props and equipment were being moved in the narrow pathways, groups of people rushing from one thing to the next, speaking in sharp bursts. Costumes in bright hues and sparkles contrasted with dark, nondescript clothing that could blend into the shadows.

  Robert had detailed directions on where to bring Ange backstage, a place where VIPs not only had a unique view of the performance, but they could observe the preparations for the lifting of the curtain. Two chairs would be in that alcove. He and Ange would remain there until the conclusion of the first act, after which they’d be escorted to premium box seats overlooking the stage.

  He kept a firm hand on Ange’s lower back, Ange clasping his other hand, following Robert’s lead as they moved forward or stopped to flatten against the wall to allow people to pass. The constant movement and close quarters meant there wasn’t time to pause, keep moment-by-moment tabs on Ange’s reaction, but Robert had been assured that the VIP section wasn’t too far from the backstage door.

  One of the reasons he’d wanted Ange to wear the blindfold on the way here was to determine how he’d handle the lack of sight. In the car, Ange had been relaxed and seemed excited, reassuring Robert he was okay trusting his Master’s lead. Even at the door, a light, puzzled smile had stayed on his mouth as Robert conferred with door security.

  But in the brief pause before they crossed the direct path to the stage, in order to get to the alcove and chairs Robert saw waiting for them, he realized Ange’s tension level had shot up. His body was stiff, nostrils flared. The clasp on Robert’s hand had become a death grip.

  Robert pressed close, keeping his touch relaxed, easy. “I know you’re not big on being in larger groups of people you can see,” he said in Ange’s ear, brushing his lips over it. “Trust me. It’s okay. I’m here. We’re almost there.”

  “Robert,” Ange said. It sounded like he was having trouble getting air. His hand remained in a tight clutch.

  Shit. “Okay, come here.” Though his Dom skills might be rusty, Robert had dealt with a sub in crisis plenty of times. He’d used that experience to handle some of Ange’s bad moments over the past six months.

  First, safe space. Robert took them across the pathway to the stage in several quick strides, no matter that he had to bring a couple stagehands up short. He kept his body and formidable shoulders between them and Ange, in case he had to take the brunt of the collision, but they pulled up in time, the only thing hitting him a pair of ferocious scowls Robert ignored.

  He pressed Ange down into one of the two chairs, then moved behind him, resting his hands on the rigid line of shoulders. “Easy. That’s it, we’re here. Would you like me to remove the blindfold?”

  The quick jerk of Ange’s head wasn’t a yes or no. Instead, he reached toward the blindfold himself, something he could pull off easily, but he didn’t. His fingers curled against the fabric, paused. Robert saw a hard tremor go through them before Ange drop
ped the hand back into his lap.

  “I know where we are. I can smell it, sense it…feel it, in here.” He pressed a hand to his heart, then grabbed for Robert’s on his shoulder, a lifeline. As Robert bent over him, he let his other palm slide down, cover Ange’s hand on his chest. Alarm filled him. Even through that skin and bone buffer, he could feel the kid’s accelerated heart rate.

  Ange loved to dance. Loved it. How could coming here just as an observer be putting him in a bad way? Maybe taking him backstage had convinced him Robert was going to somehow put him in the spotlight.

  Robert could fix that. He slipped in front of Ange and dropped to his heels. He let Ange hold his hand until he got there, but then Robert let go so he could put his hands on the outside of Ange’s thighs, close to his hips. Ange’s jacket draped over his knuckles. The move turned their bodies into a circle, making him Ange’s primary sensory focus, taking away the full impact of their surroundings.

  “Breathe,” Robert said steadily. Since Ange seemed to want to keep the blindfold on, he wouldn’t remove it yet. “I know how much you love to dance,” Robert said conversationally, stroking one strong thigh, reaching up briefly to touch the taut mouth. “I’ve loved watching you. Your immersion in it, your passion for it, was part of what brought passion and the desire to live back to me.”

  Ange’s chin tilted down as he listened. Whatever had set him off shuddered through him, squeezing Robert’s heart. Hell, he needed to see his eyes to get more information.

  “I’m going to remove the blindfold. Close your eyes, and don’t open them until I say. Tell me you understand.”

  “Yes.” Ange swallowed.

  Robert straightened to pull the blindfold off, then dropped to his heels again, pocketing the scrap of fabric. “Now open your eyes, but look straight at me. Only at me.”

  Ange did slowly, as if he feared what he would see. The effort to keep his gaze on Robert’s face was visibly difficult, his features strained. “All right. You can look around when you’re ready, but focus on individual details. Don’t get overwhelmed by the whole thing.”

  The whole thing would be a feast for the senses. The stage was set with glittering props. Christmas trees, brightly colored packages, large velvet drapes in green and gold. There was synthetic snow, little flakes of it tracked all the way to where they were. As promised, he and Ange were positioned for a prime view of the stage, a spot specifically reserved for an audience of two.

  “Can’t be Christmas in Charlotte without a performance of the Nutcracker ballet here,” Robert said, giving Ange a serious smile, even as he continued to monitor his reactions closely. “I thought you’d enjoy being in the audience. It’s a pretty highly rated troupe. The Markham Company out of New York.”

  “Helena Markham,” Ange rasped.

  Robert thought Ange was proving he knew the company. But his eyes had gone to the stage. As Robert turned on his heel, he saw a tiny woman with the majestic presence of a queen. Clad in flowing dark slacks and a green blouse, she had the lean body of a retired dancer and a braided tail of golden hair. She was headed in their direction, though her body was half turned as she issued last minute direction to various crew members scrambling to keep up. As soon as she waved her hand, they dispersed with swift efficiency to do her bidding.

  Ange rose from the chair abruptly, as if jerked by strings. Robert came to his feet, shifting to his side, his hand on his back. The woman turned toward them at the same moment.

  Her attention was caught by their movement, but her distracted gaze passed over them. Until it came back, as if she’d been jerked by the same kind of strings that had brought Ange to his feet.

  She moved a couple steps forward. Robert saw her awareness of everything around her vanish, replaced by a million other things, every one of them connected to his companion.

  “Ange,” she said. Her voice held wonder, disbelief…pain.

  In a blink, she’d closed the gap between them, had her hands out and was grasping Ange’s upper arms as if she expected him to disappear right in front of her. When she touched him, she let out a little gasp, as if the reality of his flesh startled her. Robert still had his hand on Ange and felt another shudder go through him, so violent it was almost a convulsion.

  Helena’s gaze had reflected pain, but Ange’s showed pure anguish. If his sub could live up to his name, Robert thought he would have let the wings tear through the new suit and shoot him away, far off into the dark skies.

  Fuck. He’d screwed up. How badly, he didn’t know. He was in unfamiliar waters. He had to wait for the cues, push aside the flood of worry and kneejerk desire to protect Ange, which he could do in the absolutely wrong way if he acted before he knew what was going on.

  Even the best scene could go off track, especially when things got intense. The key was the Dom keeping calm and not overreacting. That way he could focus on what was happening, not miss the details that would bring things back to balance.

  “Ange. My God.” The director’s gaze passed over him, and now she registered Robert. He could see her making the connection that he and Ange were here together, in the VIP area. She would have been informed that Mr. Robert Bauer and a guest would be here, witnessing their performance. She was professional enough to recall herself, offer a hand, though it wasn’t steady, and her gaze kept darting back to Ange, dwelling on his pale face. “You must be Mr. Bauer. I didn’t realize…”

  “I need to go to the restroom,” Ange said abruptly. He stepped back, further into the clasp of shadows that concealed too much of his face. But he gripped Robert’s forearm, a hard squeeze, meeting his gaze with reasonable clarity before he pivoted and vanished behind another drape. Everything about the look and his body language said he needed a minute.

  Robert struggled between the desire to follow him, figure out what was happening in his head, and respect that unspoken plea. The latter won out, primarily because the key to some of his questions about Ange’s past might be standing right in front of him. That information might help him help Ange, and he had only limited access to it. Perhaps only a few minutes, before she’d recall all the responsibilities pressing around her.

  Helena had reached out to Ange when he stepped back, and her hand was still in the air. Now she lowered it, but she was staring after Ange. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “To find him here, tonight of all nights.”

  “I’m sorry?” Robert touched her arm to draw her out of the well of her thoughts. She started at the contact.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “It’s…I can’t tell you what a shock it is to see him. We thought…I thought…well, to put it frankly, we didn’t even know if Ange was still alive.”

  Now she’d startled Robert, but then it flashed through his mind, how he’d found Ange. Homeless, beat up, in an alley. Ange’s behavior had suggested he’d been on the street for some time. Making some quick deductions, he pressed onward, hoping to give Helena the impression he knew more than he did, so he might fill in some empty pieces.

  “He used to dance for you.”

  “Yes. More than that…” She looked at Robert now, fully. Her eyes registered a lot more than he would have expected. “You love him. You love him more than anything?”

  A pretty personal question, but emotions were swirling from her like that synthetic snow in front of an industrial fan, so the usual formalities didn’t apply.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “He asked to come here tonight?”

  “No. It was a surprise. He loves to dance. He works in my toy store, and I could tell he’d danced, maybe professionally…”

  He trailed off as her expression morphed through various powerful emotions. “My God.” She perched on one hip on one of the chairs, gripping the top of it with a white-knuckled hand. When one of the stage crew came her way, she shook him off with a sharp gesture that startled him. “I need a moment,” she informed him. “Figure it out.”

  She brought her gaze back to Robert. “I’m the current owner and arti
stic director of the company started by my father, Mr. Bauer. Before that I was a professional dancer, and then a choreographer. I am tough and exacting, and can always find ways for a dancer to improve. It is the way our world works.”

  She put her hand on Robert’s arm, the same place that Ange had gripped so strongly. Her nails dug through his jacket. “He was the type of danseur we expected to take his place alongside Baryshnikov and Bruhn in dance history. Maybe even Nureyev. There was something very special about him off stage as well. This is a brutally competitive business. But Ange…he was so open and caring. I’m not one for sentiment, but I have thought of him so often. To put it plainly, when he was on stage, he reminded anyone watching what our dreams are, undiluted by ego, fear or competition. He made us feel the most important parts of those dreams could all come true.”

  “Yeah.” Robert was very familiar with that feeling when Ange looked at him. To hear it put into words, evoked in a world so different from his own? Holy hell.

  “He was a quiet man, but ready to laugh and play, always. Forever a child, yet also a mysterious and sensual man. He never lacked for bed partners, but he never chose anyone specifically, permanently, though he and Leo were so close… And Clarissa…beautiful Clarissa.”

  She shook herself, snapped out of the memories as someone else called her name, urgently. The other crew member was still waiting, with a look of near desperation. “Shit. I can’t talk about this now. Perhaps later, please bring him back.” She fished out a card, handed it to him. “My cell is on there. We can set up a time and place before I leave town. Since you say he’s still dancing, I’d love the chance to see him dance again. Find out what his plans are.”

  She rose, obviously trying to pull herself together. Though he was revealing his ignorance, Robert attempted one more question.

  “I’ll encourage him to do that. But please, Ms. Markham, what happened? He can’t tell me. Not won’t. Can’t.”

  She stared at him, her gaze an open wound. “I can’t discuss that right now. Not before a performance.” She swallowed, turned away, then paused, glanced back. “Look up Markham Company. The Nutcracker.” Her lips tightened. “Fatal shooting.”