After losing his wife Diana in a car
accident, Ian had gone into deep mourning for the better part of a year. Nick had
never expected two sexy guys to be the ones who pulled Ian back into the world,
but it was a huge improvement on the quiet, grieving man he had been. “That’s
fine,” he said. “It’s just nice to see you happy for a change.”
After making sure that Norma was squared
away on an improvised doggy bed in the living room, the two men walked out into
the bright Florida sun. “We’ll take my car. You’re probably sick of driving,”
Ian said, heading over to the red Corolla.
“You could say that.” Nick glanced
around the gravel driveway. His Audi was the only other vehicle there. “Don’t
Bythos and Aphros have cars?”
“Huh? Oh.” Ian stood and blinked at the
driveway for a moment in bemusement.
“Right.
They’re
both really big environmentalists, so they either walk or bike to work. If they
need to drive anywhere, they just use my car.”
He didn’t sound very sure about that,
but Nick decided to let it go. He had more important questions to ask. “So,
apart from being gorgeous and fucking you silly in the mornings, what else do
they do?”
Ian did a double take, stumbling on the
gravel driveway.
“What?”
Nick grinned. “I hate to tell you this,
but the cottage’s soundproofing needs some work. By the way, I’m impressed. I
never pegged you as a bottom, if you’ll excuse the phrase.”
“Oh, shit.” His friend went dark red
under his tan. “I’m sorry. We’ll keep it down.”
“Hey, it’s your cottage, do what you
want. I’ll get some ear plugs,” Nick said genially, getting into the car. After
a moment, a still-red Ian slid into the driver’s seat. “So, Gorgeous and
Gorgeouser, what do they do?”
“They do research for their dad,” Ian
said after a brief pause, starting the car and backing it down the drive. “He
owns an environmental reclamation company. Right now they’re working on a
project to pull oil and other pollutants out of the Gulf of Mexico.”
That sounded impressive. “Nice. How’d
you meet them?”
“It happened the first night I was down
here. They were throwing a ball around in the water—I thought they were college
students who’d snuck into the cove to goof around. I said hi, and they asked me
if I wanted to play catch. I figured why not, so I jumped in the water with
them. Afterwards, we wound up at the cottage.” The smirk on his friend’s face
made it obvious what had happened at that point. “One thing led to another, and
now we’re together. And by together I mean I’m with both of them. They’re
strictly hands off with each other.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Nick said. “Did I
mention I’m both happy for you and insanely jealous?”
“Thanks. I think.” Ian turned onto a
two-lane highway. “I know it sounds kind of kinky, but it works for us.
Even though I want to strangle one or both of them occasionally.”
He glanced at Nick. “You
ever been
in a threesome
before?”
Nick sank a little in the seat, feeling
the gloom from the previous day creeping back.
“For sex,
once.
And yeah, I really liked it.
If you mean
relationship-wise, no.
It’s hard enough finding a guy who’s also a good
Dom. Finding two Doms who wouldn’t mind sharing me?” He shook his head. “I
wouldn’t even know where to look.”
“Yeah, well, don’t ask me,” Ian said.
“All I’ve ever done is spank
By
a couple of times.”
It was Nick’s turn to do a double take.
“Why didn’t I know you were bi and kinda toppy before?” he groaned. “We
could’ve had so much fun.”
Ian laughed. “Trust me, it wouldn’t have
worked out. I was pretty much meant for
By
and Aph. And
I only spank
By
when he gets bossy.”
“Yeah, yeah,
whatever.”
Nick crossed his arms and pretended to sulk, although he knew Ian was right.
They would have had a couple of great times in bed, but his friend just didn’t
give off the Dom vibe that he needed. “I hate missed opportunities,” he mock-grumbled.
“Life does suck that way, sometimes,” Ian
agreed. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get into BDSM?”
Nick settled back in his seat. “I knew I
liked to be bossed around in the bedroom, but I didn’t know how much I truly
needed it until about two years ago, when Memorial held this godawful
fundraiser with a ‘Win a Date with a Doctor’ auction. I was constantly butting
heads with my chief back then, so she put me up for the auction.”
Ian made a face. “Did she know you were
gay?”
“Of course she did. That was half the
fun of it for her—she got to watch me squirm. Thinking about it, she would have
made a great Domme.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I got up on stage, and they started
bidding on me. And when I say they, I mean some of the scariest women I have
ever seen in my life. We’re talking Stepford Wives wannabes who
really
wanted a doctor husband, and
cougars
who
were after some well-hung arm candy.”
Ian made a noncommittal noise. “That
must have been a little nut-shriveling.”
“Just a bit.
Anyway, it came
down to this sweet young thing who was mentally fitting me for a tux and
planning her bridesmaid dresses, and a woman in her fifties who looked like she
lived on lettuce and kept staring at my crotch and licking her lips. The
bidding got up to eight thousand dollars and it looked like Sweet Thing was
going to win when I heard this man’s voice say, ‘Twenty thousand.’” Nick grinned.
“Sweet Thing and Mrs. Robinson were seriously pissed off, but they shook their
heads when the MC asked if there were any other bids. He slammed down the gavel
and announced I was sold. As it turned out, I’d been bought by my first Dom.”
He avoided Aaron’s name. As well as
being one of the more noted philanthropists in Chicago, Aaron Carstairs was
both rich and famous, thanks in no small part to his robber baron grandfather
“Black Jack” Carstairs and Aaron’s own multinational investment company. Aaron might
have released him, but he wasn’t going to throw his beloved former master under
the bus.
Ian nodded. “Okay, so a rich Dom buys
you.
And?”
“He came up to the podium, had a flunky
write out a check, and told me to follow him. At that point I would’ve gladly followed
him into Hell. He was in his early fifties at the time—really tall, in great
shape, beautiful salt and pepper hair. His suit cost more than my monthly rent,
and he looked like the classic millionaire philanthropist until you noticed his
eyes.” His grin widened. “Then you realized he was a total predator. Just
looking at him got me hard.
“But then I saw the wedding ring on his
finger, so I thought maybe he bought me for his little girl or, God forbid, his
wife. While I was trying to figure out what to do, he told the flunky to go
wait for him in the car. Five minutes later, we’re in some dark little service
hallway and he has my hands pinned over my head while he’s yanking down my fly
zipper with his other hand. He pulled out my cock and started jacking me off
right then and there. Anyone could have walked by and seen us, and he just
didn’t give a shit. It was the hottest fucking thing that had ever happened to
me.”
Nick closed his eyes, immersing himself
in the memory. Aaron had been a force of nature, both in the financial field
and as a Dom. “He trained me for a year. We didn’t really have all that much
time together between our insane schedules, but he tried to give me as much
time as he could.”
Ian made a noncommittal sound at that. “Okay.
So why did you break up?”
Nick tensed. He didn’t like to think
about the last time he saw Aaron. “He invited me to his condo to do a scene.
Afterwards, he released me from his service. He never said why, just that it
wasn’t my fault and I’d always be special to him.” It had felt like he’d gotten
kicked in the balls. He’d wound up on his knees begging Aaron to change his
mind, but the Dom gently insisted that he couldn’t keep Nick as a sub any
longer.
He blinked hard, willing the wetness in
his eyes to stay put. “After that I stopped playing for awhile. Licking my
wounds, I guess. Eventually I went back to the local clubs. I knew what I
needed, and I wasn’t going to get it in a vanilla relationship. I met some
great Doms, but none of them ever really seemed to click. And then I met
Barnard.” His mouth went dry. “I think he reminded me of Aaron at first, the
whole rich, elegant thing. And then I got to know him.” He sucked in a deep
breath. “I think I stayed because he was the closest I could get to Aaron. And
that was really, really stupid of me.”
Ian guided the car onto what looked like
the shopping drag of a small town. “May I remind you that I pretty much turned
into a shut-in for a year after Diana died? Doing stupid shit is part of being
human, especially when your heart’s broken. Don’t beat yourself up over Barnard.”
Nick had to smile. “Now I know you’re
not a Dom. If you were, you’d say, ‘That’s my job.’”
Ian snorted. “The only one who needs to
get beaten up is Barnard. If that fucker comes down here I’ll make him regret
it.”
Nick tried to imagine what exactly the
short, funny man next to him could do to someone as connected (not to mention
psychopathic) as Barnard. “I appreciate that, I really do, but I don’t want you
getting into trouble. Especially now that you’ve got
By
and Aph. I’ll handle Barnard, one way or the other.” He tried a smile.
“Besides, orange is not your power color.”
Ian just smirked as he slotted the car
into a parking space. “Come on.”
They got out in front of a silvery
saltbox building covered with blooming window boxes. A quaint sign hung over
the door.
“‘The Lady’s Touch’?”
Nick read dubiously. “Look,
I may be gay, but I’m not
that
gay.”
Ian frowned at him. “What are you
talking about?”
Nick waved at the building.
“The salon?
Or spa, or whatever it is.”
“It’s a junk shop, you idiot. I just
need to get something from the owner.”
The front door opened and a small woman
with long curly hair and an outfit that screamed “practicing Wiccan” stepped
out with a watering can. “I heard that, tadpole,” she said archly. “And it’s
not a junk shop, it’s an antique store.”
“Sorry.” Ian turned to the woman.
“Heather, this is my friend Nick. Nick, this is Heather Turnlow.”
“Always nice to
meet a friend of Ian’s.
And it really is an antique store,” she assured
Nick. “Junky antiques, mind you, but antiques.” She gave Ian a long-suffering glare.
“I take it you’re finally picking up your band?”
Ian withered a bit.
“Yeah,
sorry.
I’ve been kinda busy these last few days.”
“Plus he got an unexpected guest,” Nick
added, indicating identity with a raised hand.
“Hm.”
The woman’s
full lips twitched at that, and she put the battered old green watering can on
the sidewalk next to one of the flower boxes. “I don’t open for another fifteen
minutes, but since you’re already here you might as well come in.”
Nick followed Ian and Heather inside, jaw
dropping a little when he saw the jam-packed interior. Once, while in England,
he had come across a cottage in Sussex that billed itself as an antique store.
The tiny building had been crammed to the gills with what looked to be the
contents of five different houses.
The Lady’s Touch was cast in the same
mold, with rows and rows of mismatched shelving units loaded with framed
pictures, bric-a-brac, sports equipment, toys, books, and other items. An array
of furniture that ranged from High Victorian to IKEA Special was scattered here
and there, much of it holding yet more junk. To top everything off, a green
Kelvinator refrigerator had been sandwiched behind the store’s counter, and a small
fountain cobbled together from a fiberglass seashell and topped by a chipped
statue of a mermaid burbled merrily against one wall.
“Wow,” he murmured.
“I know, right?” Heather said resignedly.
“I keep meaning to organize all this stuff, but I just never have the time. If
you want to look around, please do.”
With that, she headed to the old
glass-topped counter with Ian. Left to
his own
devices, Nick picked an aisle at random and started wandering down it, studying
the various items on the shelves.
As well as the expected bric-a-brac,
rustically painted metal crap, and other quasi-collectibles, he also spotted an
old Underwood typewriter, a beautiful Wedgwood teapot, and what looked to be a Viking
axe of all things. Musing over the logistics of buying the axe and burying it
in Barnard’s head, he turned the aisle’s corner and saw a five-foot sapling
propped in the next aisle. Someone had trimmed off the roots and branches,
turning it into a decent hiking staff, with a thick, greenish-gold cord wrapped
loosely around the wooden shaft.
As he got closer, he realized that the cord
was actually a snake carved into the wood and painted in realistic colors. He picked
up the staff, hefting it experimentally. It was heavier than it looked, and
felt surprisingly good in his hand.
Plus
it’s slightly less conspicuous than an axe.