Read Online The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods by Rachel Haimowitz, Heidi Belleau - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rachel Haimowitz, Heidi Belleau
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his brow.
A couple more minutes of small talk, a few more sips of tea, and he hung up with a sigh.
Douglas shuffled forward on his knees until he could lay his head on Nikolai’s thigh. Despite how the conversation had just gone, he couldn’t help but think that this might be one of the last times for a very long time he’d be able to do this, and he didn’t want to miss a single moment while it lasted. More than that, Nikolai was upset. And if Douglas could do anything at all to make him feel better, he damn well would. “Master? Would you like to get your frustration out? My mouth, maybe? My ass?” A pause—was he asking this for Nikolai or for himself?—and then, “Or should I fetch a cane for you?”
Nikolai shook his head. He didn’t like hurting people, and he clearly wasn’t in the mood for sex.
“Foot rub, Master? A massage? A drink? Should I find Roger and we can create some distraction for you? Master?”
Nikolai sighed, the sound no different than the one he’d made at the conclusion of that unpleasant phone call. Pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Douglas shut his mouth, ducked his head. He’d pushed too hard. “I’m sorry, Master, I shouldn’t have—”
Nikolai’s hand came to rest on Douglas’s head. For a moment he’d been certain Nikolai was going to strike him—God knew he deserved it for getting in his master’s face like he just had, even if all he’d wanted was to help. It wasn’t his place to help. Wasn’t his place to push. And certainly wasn’t his place to be so fucking needy . He was going away because Nikolai needed him to. He had to accept that.
Nikolai didn’t strike him, though. He just carded his fingers through Douglas’s hair, then guided Douglas’s head back to his thigh. Douglas pressed his cheek against fine fabric and firm muscle and closed his eyes, all the better to remember this moment, this sensation, Nikolai’s nails scratching lightly across his scalp.
“I love you, Master,” he murmured. No matter what .
“I know, Douglas. Which is why I know I can count on you to change Allen’s mind at your coming-out party.”
Douglas’s stomach clenched. “Of course, Master.”
“Good boy. Now you can fetch my cane—but only once you tell me what you’ve done.”
I wanted to stay. I needed you. “Thank you, Master.”
Roger tugged a comb through Douglas’s increasingly unruly hair while Douglas tried very, very hard not to fidget. He was sitting naked on the floor between Roger’s bare legs, Roger perched behind him on a footstool, both of them freshly washed and waxed and manicured. Two men, two slaves, two lovers of the same master, separated only by time.
Two rooms over, in Nikolai’s grand, cathedral-ceilinged great room, Douglas’s coming-out party was winding up to full swing. He hadn’t heard the front door open in a good ten minutes, which meant everyone was probably here by now, or nearly so. Clients, mostly, Nikolai had explained, but a handful of his fellow trainers as well—those who worked with different wares, no competition to him—unable to resist a good party and a rare opportunity to socialize with their fellows. Nikolai’s parties were a popular affair, a chance to dress up and engage in luxurious debauchery and perhaps get a handful—or mouthful or cockful—of a freshly trained young slave. Douglas, to be specific.
“I feel underdressed,” Douglas joked, and Roger chuckled even though there was no mistaking the nervous flutter in Douglas’s voice. He’d caught glimpses of tuxedos and cocktail dresses through the open door to the hall. He, of course, was as stark naked as Roger was, both of them wearing nothing but decorative leather wrist and ankle cuffs. No collar for him, which was reassuring, but a short platinum chain hung from Roger’s neck, the clasp stamped with a delicate “NP.” Nikolai’s chain, a gift to Roger, a sign of their permanent bond to one another.
Maybe
A couple more minutes of small talk, a few more sips of tea, and he hung up with a sigh.
Douglas shuffled forward on his knees until he could lay his head on Nikolai’s thigh. Despite how the conversation had just gone, he couldn’t help but think that this might be one of the last times for a very long time he’d be able to do this, and he didn’t want to miss a single moment while it lasted. More than that, Nikolai was upset. And if Douglas could do anything at all to make him feel better, he damn well would. “Master? Would you like to get your frustration out? My mouth, maybe? My ass?” A pause—was he asking this for Nikolai or for himself?—and then, “Or should I fetch a cane for you?”
Nikolai shook his head. He didn’t like hurting people, and he clearly wasn’t in the mood for sex.
“Foot rub, Master? A massage? A drink? Should I find Roger and we can create some distraction for you? Master?”
Nikolai sighed, the sound no different than the one he’d made at the conclusion of that unpleasant phone call. Pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Douglas shut his mouth, ducked his head. He’d pushed too hard. “I’m sorry, Master, I shouldn’t have—”
Nikolai’s hand came to rest on Douglas’s head. For a moment he’d been certain Nikolai was going to strike him—God knew he deserved it for getting in his master’s face like he just had, even if all he’d wanted was to help. It wasn’t his place to help. Wasn’t his place to push. And certainly wasn’t his place to be so fucking needy . He was going away because Nikolai needed him to. He had to accept that.
Nikolai didn’t strike him, though. He just carded his fingers through Douglas’s hair, then guided Douglas’s head back to his thigh. Douglas pressed his cheek against fine fabric and firm muscle and closed his eyes, all the better to remember this moment, this sensation, Nikolai’s nails scratching lightly across his scalp.
“I love you, Master,” he murmured. No matter what .
“I know, Douglas. Which is why I know I can count on you to change Allen’s mind at your coming-out party.”
Douglas’s stomach clenched. “Of course, Master.”
“Good boy. Now you can fetch my cane—but only once you tell me what you’ve done.”
I wanted to stay. I needed you. “Thank you, Master.”
Roger tugged a comb through Douglas’s increasingly unruly hair while Douglas tried very, very hard not to fidget. He was sitting naked on the floor between Roger’s bare legs, Roger perched behind him on a footstool, both of them freshly washed and waxed and manicured. Two men, two slaves, two lovers of the same master, separated only by time.
Two rooms over, in Nikolai’s grand, cathedral-ceilinged great room, Douglas’s coming-out party was winding up to full swing. He hadn’t heard the front door open in a good ten minutes, which meant everyone was probably here by now, or nearly so. Clients, mostly, Nikolai had explained, but a handful of his fellow trainers as well—those who worked with different wares, no competition to him—unable to resist a good party and a rare opportunity to socialize with their fellows. Nikolai’s parties were a popular affair, a chance to dress up and engage in luxurious debauchery and perhaps get a handful—or mouthful or cockful—of a freshly trained young slave. Douglas, to be specific.
“I feel underdressed,” Douglas joked, and Roger chuckled even though there was no mistaking the nervous flutter in Douglas’s voice. He’d caught glimpses of tuxedos and cocktail dresses through the open door to the hall. He, of course, was as stark naked as Roger was, both of them wearing nothing but decorative leather wrist and ankle cuffs. No collar for him, which was reassuring, but a short platinum chain hung from Roger’s neck, the clasp stamped with a delicate “NP.” Nikolai’s chain, a gift to Roger, a sign of their permanent bond to one another.
Maybe
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