Read Online The Flesh Cartel by Rachel Haimowitz, Heidi Belleau - Free Book Online
Authors: Rachel Haimowitz, Heidi Belleau
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conquer them. Who would open themselves up to a relative stranger with unseeable motives when they couldn’t even talk to Nikolai?
There was no way to know. No way at all. The years here would pass, and either Dougie would become the happy pet Nikolai had promised him he would be, or he would become an empty shell, hating himself and smiling all the while.
And the worst part was, he wasn’t sure he had any say in the matter. Maybe nothing he tried or didn’t try, did or didn’t do, mattered. Maybe the one man—the one self-proclaimed master of men—who thought he could save Dougie was as delusional as Dougie had been to believe he could ever be saved.
Nikolai combed half-numb fingers through Douglas’s silky hair. The repetitive motion, combined with the soft lapping of Douglas’s tongue on his balls, nearly lulled him to sleep. He could sleep, if he liked. He was the master, after all, and it was his right to use his boy’s ass to his satisfaction and then leave him wanting.
But no.
Douglas did need to learn that lesson, needed to learn the hard way that his pleasure could be an inconsequential thing to his master, but today was not the day for that. Today they’d shared such affection and joy and sweetness and had fucked like the happy lovers they were, and Nikolai wanted to carry that lesson and that glorious feeling through to the end of the day.
Not here, though. He pushed Douglas off him, noting the glassy look in Douglas’s eyes, the flush on his face and the dazed droop of his lip, and stood. Tucked himself back into his trousers—a little bit of lube stained the fabric; he’d show Douglas how to hand-wash the spot tomorrow—and patted Douglas’s head. “Come along now, boy.”
He strode out of the kitchen, not needing to confirm that Douglas was following, and headed for the staircase that led up to his private rooms. Not down, not tonight. His well-fed little pet had truly earned his right to the warmth and comfort of Nikolai’s bath and bed. And Nikolai didn’t fancy being alone tonight, not after what they’d shared. He wanted to go to sleep with his perfect new boy, and wake up beside him tomorrow morning for another round. Bliss. Nikolai had earned it. They both had.
Douglas especially when Nikolai happened to look over one shoulder and saw that Douglas was not only following, but doing so on his hands and knees, crawling up the stairs with such adoring and complete submission it made Nikolai’s heart squeeze. Nikolai hadn’t commanded that, hadn’t asked for it, had barely even trained the boy to it; Douglas had given it to him like a gift.
He was having some difficulty keeping up, though. No wonder—they’d had themselves quite the long day, full of excitement and challenge, and his boy’s exhaustion was stamped in every line of his body. Not to mention his unsated desire. Nikolai debated scolding him for his slowness—any other master would, or worse, and Douglas needed to learn that—then debated simply telling him to rise, but in the end he merely slowed his own pace, let the boy show his devotion as best as his weary body allowed.
You’re too soft, Nikolai.
He half grimaced, half smiled at the familiar voice of his mentor in his head. Yes, perhaps he was. But he always got the job done, and done exceptionally well. Perhaps a touch of softness was an asset in this line of work. Or perhaps he was just rationalizing away his faults. Ah well.
Nikolai’s bedroom door was already open, the curtains drawn, the bed neatly made, one window cracked an inch or so to the crisp autumn air—precisely how he liked it. The whole room smelled of falling leaves, and vaguely of Roger, who hadn’t spent the night here in days but who came in to clean and straighten each morning. It was a comforting scent, one Nikolai had come to associate with home . Soon Douglas would feel the same.
Nikolai strode to the bed—four posters, of course, and an open canopy for all the binding points a
There was no way to know. No way at all. The years here would pass, and either Dougie would become the happy pet Nikolai had promised him he would be, or he would become an empty shell, hating himself and smiling all the while.
And the worst part was, he wasn’t sure he had any say in the matter. Maybe nothing he tried or didn’t try, did or didn’t do, mattered. Maybe the one man—the one self-proclaimed master of men—who thought he could save Dougie was as delusional as Dougie had been to believe he could ever be saved.
Nikolai combed half-numb fingers through Douglas’s silky hair. The repetitive motion, combined with the soft lapping of Douglas’s tongue on his balls, nearly lulled him to sleep. He could sleep, if he liked. He was the master, after all, and it was his right to use his boy’s ass to his satisfaction and then leave him wanting.
But no.
Douglas did need to learn that lesson, needed to learn the hard way that his pleasure could be an inconsequential thing to his master, but today was not the day for that. Today they’d shared such affection and joy and sweetness and had fucked like the happy lovers they were, and Nikolai wanted to carry that lesson and that glorious feeling through to the end of the day.
Not here, though. He pushed Douglas off him, noting the glassy look in Douglas’s eyes, the flush on his face and the dazed droop of his lip, and stood. Tucked himself back into his trousers—a little bit of lube stained the fabric; he’d show Douglas how to hand-wash the spot tomorrow—and patted Douglas’s head. “Come along now, boy.”
He strode out of the kitchen, not needing to confirm that Douglas was following, and headed for the staircase that led up to his private rooms. Not down, not tonight. His well-fed little pet had truly earned his right to the warmth and comfort of Nikolai’s bath and bed. And Nikolai didn’t fancy being alone tonight, not after what they’d shared. He wanted to go to sleep with his perfect new boy, and wake up beside him tomorrow morning for another round. Bliss. Nikolai had earned it. They both had.
Douglas especially when Nikolai happened to look over one shoulder and saw that Douglas was not only following, but doing so on his hands and knees, crawling up the stairs with such adoring and complete submission it made Nikolai’s heart squeeze. Nikolai hadn’t commanded that, hadn’t asked for it, had barely even trained the boy to it; Douglas had given it to him like a gift.
He was having some difficulty keeping up, though. No wonder—they’d had themselves quite the long day, full of excitement and challenge, and his boy’s exhaustion was stamped in every line of his body. Not to mention his unsated desire. Nikolai debated scolding him for his slowness—any other master would, or worse, and Douglas needed to learn that—then debated simply telling him to rise, but in the end he merely slowed his own pace, let the boy show his devotion as best as his weary body allowed.
You’re too soft, Nikolai.
He half grimaced, half smiled at the familiar voice of his mentor in his head. Yes, perhaps he was. But he always got the job done, and done exceptionally well. Perhaps a touch of softness was an asset in this line of work. Or perhaps he was just rationalizing away his faults. Ah well.
Nikolai’s bedroom door was already open, the curtains drawn, the bed neatly made, one window cracked an inch or so to the crisp autumn air—precisely how he liked it. The whole room smelled of falling leaves, and vaguely of Roger, who hadn’t spent the night here in days but who came in to clean and straighten each morning. It was a comforting scent, one Nikolai had come to associate with home . Soon Douglas would feel the same.
Nikolai strode to the bed—four posters, of course, and an open canopy for all the binding points a
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