Submissive Angel: A BDSM Romance Novella

by Joey W. Hill

  “I always thought there was something particularly provocative about why he preferred calling me Mistress, and why I allowed it.”

  Robert chuckled as she headed for the class. She probably wasn’t a Mistress—he figured her job would make that feel like a busman’s holiday—but she was a seasoned New Yorker deep in the sensuality-saturated dance world. Dominant and submissive relationships weren’t likely a new thing to her.

  As Robert took a center seat in the third row, he noted there was a technician in the control pit, tinkering with the many panels of equipment. The man gave him an affable short wave.

  Helena was saying something to Ange on the stage steps. Ange nodded, then headed toward the curtains at the far end. Helena began to address the students in a brusque tone that had them coming to attention like a military squad. She jumped right into a frank and stern discussion of what a professional dancing career involved.

  Definitely a busman’s holiday.

  Ange’s response had helped lessen his concerns, but Robert didn’t like his sub disappearing behind the curtain. It was way too much déjà vu, though he reminded himself Ange seemed okay, which hadn’t been the case at all last night before he vanished.

  Plus Helena had a view into the wings, so when she nodded subtly, Robert knew she was communicating with Ange, acknowledging his readiness. He took a steadying breath, aware he’d been about to jump up and check for himself.

  “I am telling you many hard things about our world,” Helena said to the children. “But I also want to show you the possibilities that can come with true dedication. One of the best dancers who ever belonged to my company is here. He will perform a mix of styles in a quick program. Please form a single line against the rear curtain so he has the full stage.”

  As the kids obeyed, Helena descended the stairs and returned to sit at Robert’s side. She gestured the tech in the control booth. “Spotlight, please, Cortez.”

  Cortez gave her a thumbs up. The lights came down, dousing the wings and audience in shadows. Then the spotlight brightened, creating a fan of light across the front of the stage and drawing all eyes there.

  Making it seem like a performance worried Robert, but Helena hadn’t cued any music. The only noise for the next held-breath moment was a light scrape of feet, and then a collective smothered gasp greeted Ange as he leaped onto stage. He came down lightly on one knee and the top of his other foot, rolling forward on a shoulder and a hip. Then he was up again, executing a fluid series of turns, kicks, dips. A full, up-in-the air split, a grand jeté.

  The night he’d danced in the snow for Robert, he’d worn ribbon. Now he was the ribbon, carried, turned and twisted by the wind.

  Music began to play through the speakers. Cortez, evaluating Ange’s pacing, had taken some initiative. Since the poignant instrumental, using strings and winds alone, didn’t seem to be affecting Ange’s absorption, Robert’s spike of alarm settled.

  The song was a touching and inspired choice. True Colors. Robert could hear the lyrics in his head, Cyndi Lauper’s distinctive voice expressing how unimaginable pain and darkness could become bearable with the bonds of love.

  Ange had changed clothes, explaining where Helena had sent him. He wore flat soled ballet shoes and flesh-covered tights with a rolled waist band that exposed his hip bones as he stretched and leaped. Every miraculous movement of his body praised the beauty of it. Who needed to breathe or have a heartbeat? The dancer on the stage became breath and heart both.

  Here on stage, it was obvious this was where God had intended Ange to be. Robert would have to be deaf, dumb, blind, soulless, not to see it. It made things in him ache in that painful way loving someone did. Especially while watching them do what they’d been born to do.

  When Ange finished, he was on his knees, head bent toward his shoulder. He looked like a flower that had shared its glory with the world, reaching for the sun, dancing in the wind. Then, succumbing to the inevitability of winter, the bloom fading, closing, he’d bowed back down toward the earth that had nourished him.

  That ache increased to the point of pain.

  The children applauded, and Ange rose, gave them a little bow. But Robert noticed he first sent a long look toward Helena, a message of sorts. Punctuated with a faint smile that could have broken the heart of a stone.

  The kids were crowding forward to talk to him, their excitement overcoming their discipline. The teachers shot a look toward Helena to make sure it was okay. Helena gave them a curt wave to say it was.

  Perhaps she would have taken control first, given Ange more space to back away, but when Robert looked toward her, tears were running down her face. Her mouth was tight, showing the effort to restrain her emotions, but he saw the anguish in her face before she reined that back as well.

  “It is to be expected, of course,” she murmured.

  “What’s that?” Robert carried a pack of folded tissues inside his jacket, so he offered it to her now. She accepted one of the tissues, dabbed at her eyes.

  “The damage to his body,” she said with a sigh. “It is evident in his reach, his movement. He is exceptionally gifted, an innate talent. That will never change. But he will not headline again. Not on the stages he would have commanded if his career had progressed as it was intended.”

  Robert blinked. He didn’t doubt her knowledge, because the sorrow in her eyes was real, but… “Do you think it matters? When people watch him dance, do you think they’d even notice?”

  “Not a layperson. I do not mean that in a patronizing way.” She sent him an apologetic look. “But in the dance world, yes. He knows it, too. It is why he agreed to dance for me. To show me, let me know. An answer to the question he knew I would ask.”

  Robert’s gaze went back to the stage. The two lifetime dancers had a language they’d understood without words. Much as a Master and sub communicated.

  It also explained why Ange had been reasonably certain this wouldn’t cause him any bad flashbacks. He’d had a purpose that kept him focused and away from that dangerous edge.

  Ange was laughing at something one of the kids had said to him. He showed them a couple steps, slowly, correcting the form of one little girl who emulated the movement with impressive skill. He adjusted the stance of a teenage boy doing the same.

  Helena squeezed Robert’s arm. Rising, she went to the front row, where she’d parked her rolling suitcase. A satchel was on top, a three-ring notebook resting in the zippered opening. She picked it up and returned to Robert, handing it to him.

  “Look,” she said.

  It was a scrapbook, detailing Ange’s accomplishments, the progression of his career. When Robert paged through a few sections, he saw there were notes written in the margins, some of it in Ange’s handwriting, as well as various other people. Teasing notes, playful insults. Friends who’d added to the contents like a yearbook.

  He paused at a picture of someone even a non-dancer would recognize. Mikhael Baryshnikov, standing next to a younger, obviously awestruck Ange. The legendary danseur’s signature was scribbled over the playbill the photo overlapped.

  “He visited our rehearsal for that show,” Helena said. “Came on stage afterward to shake Ange’s hand and encourage him.”

  She raised her head to look at Robert. “This notebook was left in Ange’s apartment. Leo’s parents, when they came to pack up his things, said Ange had left a note that whatever they didn’t want could be donated or thrown away. He wouldn’t be back.” Her lips tightened. “They brought this to me, and I have kept it. I carry it with me, a talisman of sorts. But it needs to come home to him. If he will not take it, I hope…you will?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  “When he’s ready to remember the good things, I want him to have it. I have the images in my head.” She gazed back down at another page, where a promo postcard showed Ange holding a ballerina easily over his head, with steady, strong arms. Based on the info on the card, and remembering the picture in the news article he’d rea
d, Robert knew it was Clarissa, a dark-haired slim beauty.

  “He was an incredible classic ballet dancer,” Helena said. “But contemporary dance, seeing what he would do with the freer forms, that was where it was a miracle to watch him.”

  “It still is.”

  A slight smile touched her mouth. “Yes. In my world, it is impossible to see the dance without judging the form. But you’re right; his injuries didn’t affect the spirit that inspires him. In some ways, it seems to have increased the potency of it. During his performances, I would see members of the audience reach for the hand of the one next to them. They’d hold onto one another, squeeze hard, because you simply had to share how watching him dance made you feel. He did not master the craft so much as he…”

  She paused, seeking the right word, but Robert already knew it. “Submitted to it. Gave himself to it fully. Let it have him.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Exactly so.”

  Helena returned to the stage to address the students. As Ange stood at her side, he looked toward Robert. His expression didn’t reflect Helena’s pain. It suggested his grief over what he’d lost on the stage was about something different. Robert couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it helped alleviate the crazy fear that had risen in his chest, that Ange couldn’t belong to anyone but the forces that had created the miracle of what he was.

  Ange held Robert’s gaze another long moment, then turned away as Helena touched his arm, brought him back into the conversation.

  Robert digested what she’d told him. Yes, Ange had the spirit of an innocent child. From what Helena had revealed, that was something he’d always had. Ironically, his fragility came from his adult side. Parts of him had been badly broken, which meant those cracks would give way if they experienced too much pressure.

  But those cracks could be healed, making the whole grow stronger. Ange had so much talent and passion to give. Maybe he couldn’t headline, but Robert had no doubt Ange could still perform professionally.

  As his Master, he would be possessive of Ange’s heart and soul, would command and keep it as long as he knew his submissive wanted that possession, but he also needed to be sure Ange knew the gates were open.

  Being a professional dancer again could take Ange from him physically—travel, commitment to practice. Even more disturbing, it could take him from Robert emotionally—into a world and with people whose company might eventually not include Robert.

  He refused to let his heart falter over it, though. If he loved him, encouraging Ange to flourish in every way he desired was the right thing to do. There was no denying that Ange had a wealth of possibilities for his future.

  The class visit was done, the students taking their leave. Helena and Ange had left the stage, Ange standing at the base of the stairs, Helena one step up. He held her hand, was speaking to her earnestly about something. Robert saw her eyes get misty. They embraced another long moment, then Ange stepped back, moved away. She held his hand until he had to release it. As Ange was walking toward him, Helena’s eyes shifted to Robert. “Take care of him,” she said, in a less-than-steady voice.

  “I will.”

  They’d both answered her. With Ange’s back to her, he’d interpreted the words as applying to Robert. With her gaze locked with Robert’s, Robert knew it was directed to him. But their dual response gave her a pained smile. Turning, she mounted the stage steps. She disappeared behind the curtains, following the students out.

  Exiting Ange’s life, stage left. For the moment.

  Chapter Ten

  Since Ange gripped Robert’s arm when he reached him, gave him a look that said all was good, Robert didn’t push him for more. At least not right away. In the car, he focused more on keeping tabs on his sub, making sure he was okay. Ange’s expression remained pensive, his mouth serious, but his body was relaxed against the seat, his hand resting close enough to the center console Robert put his own on top of it and held it.

  When they slowed down for a stoplight, Robert knew he should wait to ask the question. But if he didn’t ask it, open that gate right now, he might not, and that would be selfish.

  “Ange.”

  Ange’s vivid green eyes shifted his way, through that unruly fall of white-gold hair. Pain blossomed in Robert’s chest. If only Ange’s beauty and youth were all that had attracted Robert. The man’s soul had captured Robert’s heart. If Ange left, it would tear right out of his chest and flop on the ground like a fish, gasping for air until it died.

  Oh, hell and Christmas balls. Stop being melodramatic. And a chickenshit coward.

  “I know you have things to work out,” Robert said, clearing his throat. “Like what we talked about earlier, needing to see a therapist. But as you work through that stuff, you should consider dancing professionally again.”

  A long silence filled the car before Ange spoke, cautiously. “Is that what you think I should do? Want me to do?”

  The question was unexpected, but he could handle it, since there was only one acceptable response. “That’s not one I can answer for you. I want you to be happy. Life doesn’t seem short when you’re young. But it is. Way too damn short for the things you really want to do.” Robert managed a tight smile. “The good news is it’s also long, if Fate is kind. Other experiences of value will work their way back into your life when it’s time, if that’s what’s meant to happen.”

  Ange frowned, a puzzled gesture. Robert knew that second part didn’t make sense to anyone in their twenties, so he probably shouldn’t have muddied the waters with it. It was more directed to himself, anyway. Helena would have gotten it in a heartbeat, especially since one of those experiences had shown back up in her life today.

  “Ange, it’s not a question you have to answer right this second. I just want you to realize the possibility is there. I know you’re going to say you’re happy working with me in the store. But the way you dance, your love of it, there’s got to be more you want to do with that.”

  Ange turned their hands over, his fingers knotting with Robert’s as his grip tightened. The light had changed, so Robert had to keep his eyes on the road, but he kept that hold, intending it to be reassuring to Ange. It helped him, too.

  “I don’t want to dance professionally again.”

  Robert glanced at him. Ange met his gaze squarely. No tension, no avoidance. “But if you don’t mind, Master, I’m not really ready to talk about why.”

  “Okay.” All the problems of the world, let alone Ange’s, didn’t need to be solved today. Robert looked up ahead of them. “Want to hit the Panera drive-thru and get soup and a sandwich?”

  Ange brightened immediately. It twisted Robert’s heart, tempting him to believe his sub’s statement. “They sometimes put in extra bread when you order takeout,” Ange said.

  “Yes, they do.” Robert smiled; he couldn’t help it. As they pulled into the drive behind a couple waiting cars, Robert lifted their clasped hands, pressing his mouth to Ange’s knuckles. Ange stilled at the unexpected courtly gesture, and then his green eyes darkened as Robert took an extra moment, holding his lips to the warm skin that smelled like Ange. Ange’s other hand touched his thigh.

  “I love you, Master.”

  “Can I take your order?”

  Robert had let off the brake to slide up to the menu board. The cheerful voice came in right on the tail end of Ange’s quiet declaration. Robert met his gaze, the two of them grinning at one another.

  “Yeah. Question. Just confirming. You get extra bread with a drive-thru order, right?”

  After picking up the lunch, they took it to the store and ate it there. Then they did some housekeeping tasks to prepare for tomorrow. The store was closed Sundays and Mondays, but tomorrow and a half day on Christmas Eve they’d be open, as people stopped in for last minute impulse sales they couldn’t get anywhere else. Then they’d be closed through Christmas and a couple days after that.

  One of the tasks was having Ange replace the straw under the manger. Since i
t was impossible for that not to conjure how his sub had baptized it with his release, Robert gave him a hard squeeze on the ass and a nipping kiss before sending him to do that. Over the next hour as they handled that and other chores, they talked of easy things, but touched frequently in passing.

  Letting that underlying heat set the tone was a deliberate choice on Robert’s part. It had been an intense twenty-four hours. They both needed some breathing time, some playfulness.

  Fortunately, this close to Christmas, others were willing to help with that. Robert was at the counter, working on his computer, Ange adjusting ornaments on one of the Christmas trees, when an insistent tap on the main store window drew their attention.

  A mother and two children were standing on the sidewalk. She’d tried to stop the boy from knocking on the glass, but she’d been too late. Though she shot them an apologetic look and started to tug the children firmly forward, it was obvious the kids were going crazy for the giant toy carousel in the window. From the little girl’s dramatic spin, and the boy’s additional pantomime of a twirl with his fingers, they wanted to see it revolve.

  Ange was already on his way, no surprise. As he waved at the mother, Robert suppressed a smile at the usual double take most females experienced at Ange’s appearance. Ange bent and turned the switch, setting the carousel in motion. The kids got all excited, pointing out their favorite horses as the toy revolved. The little mirrors and sparkling pieces caught the Christmas lights that framed the window.

  Ange made faces at the boy and waved at the little girl, who beamed at him. Her instant adoration was typical for a kid when someone pleased them, but when it came to Ange, Robert knew it was more than that. Ange connected to kids so easily.

  Maybe because of his own appealing childlike traits, but Robert thought it was just a whole package kind of deal. Ange picked up on what they liked, talked to them as equals, and was sincerely interested in what they had to say. Yet he also projected an adult’s protective kindness that made a kid feel safe, like the kid could trust him. And they could.