On his way home from vacation, Scott Gregory, a closeted sub, hooks up with the gorgeous Red, a flamboyant dom, for a thrilling one-off at a BDSM bar. They part ways after a satisfying scene... but meet again when Robin Kennedy-Red-arrives at his new job as a dental hygienist and discovers one of his two bosses is Scott. Robin and Scott embark on a journey of exploration into their kinkier sides and discover they're more than compatible-they're a perfect match. But keeping employer/employee and Dom/sub separate at the office presents difficulties, and to make matters even more complicated, the owner of the dental practice is an acknowledged homophobe. They fall in love, but Robin chafes at all the secrecy, refusing to live in the shadows. Scott isn't as brave; he's desperate to protect his job and his future. Will they be able to find some middle ground... or will their entire relationship fall apart because of fear?
Bonds of Love #2
Getting to know each other hasn-t been an easy journey for Scott Gregory and Robin "Red" Kennedy. Falling in love and exploring their kinkier sides revealed a perfect match, and Scott is a devoted sub to Red-s headstrong and often impulsive Dominant personality.
Scott, Robin, and their friend, Susie, open a new dental practice a short distance from the old office but miles away from Scott-s former boss and his Promise Keeper mentality. But the move doesn-t guarantee a happy ending. Robin-s mother is in a medical crisis. Scott-s grandfather makes an unexpected appearance. Ongoing interference from Jenna, Ron-s needy assistant, stirs up trouble. And Susie, having completed her training as a Dominatrix, is on a quest for the perfect male submissive.
Then there's one more threat to their relationship: Robin-s desire for a public collaring, something the shy and formerly closeted Scott is having a really hard time accepting. Is a strong and binding love?albeit a kinky one?enough to keep Scott and Robin together?
Roque “Ro” Celdran dreams of a better life, far away from the hand-to-mouth existence of his migrant worker family. He moves to San Francisco to study Landscape Design but finds himself short of cash. Tony, Ro’s identical twin, comes up with a plan to help Ro make ends meet. The BDSM club Tony frequents is looking for gay men to act as submissives to the Dommes-in-training. Ro reluctantly takes the job and falls headfirst into a world he neither understands nor desires.
Lance Roberts is the new doctor at the dental practice started by Scott Gregory and Robin Kennedy. On the surface, he seems to have it all: the Mensa IQ, blond and blue-eyed good looks, and the determination to make it in his competitive field. Underneath lies a frustrated Dom in search of the perfect sub who can handle his obsessive behavior and debilitating need for control.
When Ro ends up in Lance’s dental chair, the last thing either one expects is a physical and mental connection. Ro’s attraction to “White Bread” never pans out, and Lance’s weakness for Latinos always leads to a dead end. Could this time be different? What happens between the two alphas leads to a lot of soul-searching and some surprising conclusions.
SCOTT stood at the entrance of the club, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lights, his body tightening with anticipation as music washed over him. Stopping in San Ramon had seemed like a good idea. He'd been browsing the Internet last night, searching for BDSM clubs, and this one had popped up with a three-star rating. He supposed that it was some kind of sign, since he'd have to drive right by it on his way home to San Francisco. He was on the last leg of a monthlong vacation, and right now he was looking for what he needed, hoping to end it with a bang.
So far nothing seemed any different. The music, the lights, and the men were nothing special. The dance floor was packed with hot guys gyrating against each other, shirtless or practically shirtless, in their wife-beaters and cutoffs, showing the bodies that were their only form of currency. The rippling muscles were so much a part of being an attractive gay man that one was almost compelled to appear naked to show off the merchandise.
On the surface, it looked like any other club, but he knew there was another area in the building where people could go to participate in a form of entertainment that was still considered deviant and perverse. This was the final frontier of sexual liberation, the dark side of loving that people hid away, considering it to be shameful and socially unacceptable. To Scott, it was as necessary as breathing.
He stood there in his faded jeans and simple black shirt scanning the room, hoping to see someone out of the ordinary. He didn't plan on settling tonight. He'd already spent the whole month tolerating mediocre hook-ups for the simple reason that nothing better was around. He knew that his expectations were impossibly high and that so far everyone had fallen short. But he was the eternal optimist, the glass-half-full guy who was convinced that the man of his dreams did, in fact, exist. He was looking for the impossible. He wanted romance within a D/s relationship; a love connection with a strong and dominant man.
He tried to picture what someone else would see, watching him standing at the door. He was slightly older than the rest of the men here tonight, carrying his thirty-three years very well. He had high cheekbones, a smooth forehead, and a mop of honey-colored hair that he wore longer than most men in his profession, which only added to the illusion of youth. He ran a hand through it, pushing the strands out of his eyes, a habit that was so much a part of him.
He licked his full lips, making them appear even more enticing. His eyes were his trump card, the piÃ¨ce de rÃ©sistance that always got him the prize. When he settled them on a man of his choice, he was pretty hard to ignore. They were a clear green, the color of wet leaves after a spring shower, fringed by dark blond eyelashes.
Five minutes at the door convinced him that his side trip seemed like a waste of time. There was no one who attracted him. He decided to have a drink before making the trip back to the city, and he moved over to the bar and waited for someone to take his order. His eyes scanned the dance floor again, hoping he'd missed something, but there was nothing that was remotely interesting.
"What can I get you?"
He turned at the sound of the voice and stared into the blue eyes of the twenty-something-year-old asking the question. Scott was pleasantly surprised at the sight of the man looking at him expectantly. He had a light dusting of freckles on his nose and a mass of unruly curls in a burnished copper color. His teeth shone straight and white, always a plus in Scott's eyes.
"I'll have a Corona with a twist."
"You got it."
The bartender turned and pulled a bottle out and popped the cap, stuck a twist of lime into the opening and handed it to Scott. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"Are you on the menu?"
He laughed quickly, a blush licking his cheeks. Scott was charmed.
"Not while I'm on the job."
"What's your name?"
"What time do you get off?" Scott was intrigued and was hoping to see some sign of interest on the other man's part. He hadn't moved from his spot in front of him, which boded well.
"My shift ends in thirty minutes."
"I can wait, if you want me to?"
Scott saw the relief wash over Red's face. "I'd like that," he said, wiping up the counter and pocketing the change someone had left for him. "Let me know if I can get you anything else."
Red grinned and then winked at him before moving off to help another customer.
Scott spent the next thirty minutes alternately watching the dancers and turning back to observe Red. He seemed to have the art of bartending down pat, moving effortlessly from customer to customer. Scott took this opportunity to stare at him shamelessly, his eyes moving up and down Red's body unobserved. He was wearing loose cargo pants and a light blue sleeveless T-shirt that was probably two sizes too small. It stretched across a torso that was well formed, showing off arms that bulged in all the right places. They were well defined but not grotesque, covered with a light layer of reddish fuzz, landscaped with the light brown freckles that usually plagued natural redheads. He tried to imagine what Red looked like without clothes on and was surprised at how quickly his body reacted to the visual.
The man wasn't good looking in the true sense of the word. He was sharp contrasts with his bright red hair and milky white skin, but he had a natural grace and moved like a dancer. He was confident and quietly sexy, making jokes with the customers. The guys seemed to love him, as clearly evidenced by the overflowing tip jar. He was about six feet tall, which suited Scott just fine. He preferred men who were his height. Red's pants fit nicely around a perfectly shaped ass, and Scott's breath caught in his throat and the blood rushed to his groin when he saw the outline of what looked like handcuffs in Red's back pocket. He took another sip of his drink, hoping to still his excitement.
About five minutes to twelve, an older guy walked in and stepped behind the bar. He patted Red on the back and wished him a good night. He must have been the owner, because he seemed very proprietary and everyone knew him. Red looked over at Scott and raised an eyebrow. "Ready?"
"You bet." Scott drained his beer and stood to join him.
In the parking lot, he headed to his car, assuming Red would follow. He felt a hand grab his and pull him roughly against him, crushing him with an open-mouthed kiss that was anything but gentle.
"I've been dying to do this all night," Red moaned, crushing Scott's mouth with an aggressive kiss that left no room for argument. Scott's response was immediate, the groan coming from deep in his chest, inciting Red to pull him closer. They explored each other's mouths, wrestling for control with their tongues. Red won the battle, nibbling and sucking on Scott's lower lip before slipping his tongue into Scott's mouth, tracing the soft inner lip and then pushing against the tentative tongue that sought to explore his. "Your mouth was made for kissing," Red whispered, pulling away for a second to stare into Scott's eyes.
"Kiss me again," Scott urged, pulling Red back to resume the surprisingly delicious foreplay. Kissing a complete stranger wasn't one of Scott's favorite things, but Red was making him forget a few of his own rules. He ran his hands up and down Red's back, resting them lightly on his ass before slipping his hand into Red's back pocket and slowly pulling out the handcuffs.
"I want you to use these on me," Scott said, dangling the cuffs in front of Red's face.
Red grinned. "You like it rough, baby?"
Scott nodded, barely able to croak out the word yes.
"Are you going to let me have my way with you?" Red asked seductively, opening up the doors of Scott's vivid imagination.
"Make me scream."
"Where's your car?"
Scott pulled Red toward a dark gray BMW, breaking away from the lip-lock long enough to open the back door. They got into the vehicle and latched onto each other again, exchanging hot kisses while their hands tugged at their clothing.
"Please," Scott begged, watching as Red unzipped his pants and lowered them around his hips, exposing a surprisingly thick cock pulsing with need. Scott bent down and took him in his mouth, moaning his satisfaction while Red grabbed handfuls of Scott's hair and pulled tightly. "God, that feels so good," he said, thrusting slowly against Scott's throat.
Scott worked Red with every technique he knew, taking him deep and caressing him with practiced throat muscles.
"So good, babyâ€¦."
"You like that?" Scott asked, ridiculously pleased for some reason. He wanted to make an impression.
Scott twirled his tongue around the swollen head, now dotted with drops of moisture that he lapped up, enjoying the sweet, musky taste. He ran his tongue up and down the rigid shaft, nipping at the silky skin, taking a hairless ball into his mouth and rolling it around playfully. He pushed Red and made him lie down on the seat to get better access, yanking off his jeans and tossing them aside. He positioned one of Red's legs on the back of the car seat with the other spread wide to give him more room, and he started licking his perineum, moving his tongue in slow, torturous circles as he listened to the man moaning. He played with the puckered skin around his asshole, flicking his tongue in and out as Red clenched and unclenched, squeezing Scott's tongue with each push. He moved back to concentrate on Red's cock, swallowing him to the hilt, pressing his nose up against Red's pubic bone, working him again with throat muscles that could make a grown man weep.
"I'm close, dude."
Scott nodded, and he felt Red shoot. He swallowed easily, creating even more tension around the pulsating cock, and he reveled in the noises that were coming out of Red's mouth, the sounds of pleasure accompanying each spurt of hot liquid burning its way down his throat. Finally, when the noises stopped, he moved up to Red's face and kissed him, sharing the ejaculate that still coated his tongue.
"Outstanding blowjob." Red huffed, trying to catch a breath.
"My pleasure. Now, tie me up, and do your thing."
Red laughed, delighted by Scott's aggressiveness, and he switched places with him, pulling off the black T-shirt and undoing Scott's belt buckle. His breath caught in his throat when he saw that there was nothing between Scott and his jeans. "Shit, I love a guy that goes commando."
"Christ," Red replied, grabbing the waistband and tugging at Scott's jeans. He growled when he saw the erection that bobbed enticingly. "You ready to be my slut boy?"
His hands moved up Scott's torso and rested on his nipples, twisting them sharply, loving the sounds as Scott whimpered in pain.
"Like that, my beautiful pain slut?" Red looked up quickly and saw Scott's eyes were closed. He took the handcuffs and slipped them through the door handles before attaching them to Scott's wrists.
"Tell me what you want, baby."
"Hurt me," Scott begged, thrashing against Red, moaning loudly when he felt the first bite on the soft skin of his inner thigh even as the strong hands twisted nipples that were rock-hard and aching. "Please," he begged again, inciting Red to clench the thighs that were spread wantonly, digging in his nails as Scott rutted against him.
Red sat back on his heels and slapped Scott's ass, cherishing each moan that came out of the beautiful lips, following it up with a series of open-handed slaps on Scott's thighs and balls. He bent down and rubbed his cheek against hot and inflamed skin, every nerve ending alive with sensation.
"Fuck me," Scott pleaded, pushing Red into rooting around in his pants pocket for the condom that was always on stand-by. He tore at the packet with his teeth, rolled the lubricated sheath onto his distended cock, and pushed into Scott without preamble, into the sweetest vise that gripped him like a soft hand as the blond hissed and thrashed underneath him.
"Jesus, fuck," Red exclaimed, shutting his eyes, swept along by the powerful current of heat that was coursing through his veins as Scott pushed against him, digging his heels into the soft leather of the car seat to get better leverage. He pounded into Scott, thrusting roughly against him, grabbing onto the blond hair and pulling hard, wrenching a gasp out of Scott as he lay trapped underneath him.
"Like that, slut boy?"
"Yes," Scott acknowledged, twisting his lower body and moving against the hips that rolled around expertly, nudging his prostate.
Red bent down and kissed him savagely, biting his lower lip, drawing a few drops of blood, and Scott shuddered through his orgasm, spraying Red's torso and neck with ropes of hot semen that kept on coming and coming and coming as Scott screamed, bucking his hips and thrashing against the body that drilled him without letting up until finally, Red came as well, moaning with pleasure as he rode the tight body underneath him, the orgasm traveling with lightning speed all the way up from his groin to explode out his brain.
"Holy fucking shit," Red groaned, collapsing on Scott, listening as their combined heartbeats knocked against their chests.
Eventually, they had to move. Red pulled off the key that was hanging on a chain around his neck and unlocked the cuffs, rubbing each of Scott's wrists to make sure the blood was circulating properly.
"You okay?" he asked, looking down at the stranger who lay completely sated underneath him.
"More than okay," Scott replied dreamily. "Can I see you again?"
"I'd love to hook up again, baby. You were incredible, so fucking responsive."
"I'm leaving town tomorrow."
"I know," Red answered in a voice deep with regret. "I would have enjoyed getting to know you," he said, pulling on his pants and scrounging for his shirt.
"Are you going far?" Scott asked, picking up his clothes.
"You think you'll be back?"
"I doubt it."
Scott moved over and kissed Red soundly on the lips. "Story of my life." He laughed ruefully, moved away, and slipped his shirt on.
Bonds of Love #2
"Don't come yet!" Robin ordered, soaking up the sight of his gorgeous sub.
Scott was stretched out with each limb tied to a thick mahogany post on the king-size bed. The red silk scarves looked striking against the golden-brown tan Scott had acquired over the last few days. He was blindfolded and begging, two of Robin's favorite things.
They'd been going at it for over an hour—an hour of delicious torture as Robin drove Scott crazy with the ice dildos. They had looked harmless when Scott first saw them, but they'd succeeded in reducing every nerve ending into a throbbing conduit of erotic electricity that traveled from the tips of his toes all the way up to his brain.
Their evening had started out innocently enough when they took their seats at La Fondue Restaurant in Incline Village, Lake Tahoe. They'd ordered a sample platter, giving them a variety of meat, chicken, and seafood, along with the cut-up fruit they would have for dessert. One pot had been filled with melted chocolate, the other with boiling hot oil. There had been assorted dipping sauces to accompany the cuts of meat and a bottle of Sterling Vineyard's Petite Syrah to top it off.
It was the third day of their vacation, a much-needed break from the stress they'd been living through for the last four months. Scott had looked tired, but Robin had still thought he was the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen. His blond hair had gleamed in the soft light cast by the huge fireplace on one side of the room, and the emerald green eyes had sparkled like the many stars that filled the sky in this peaceful mountain village. Scott had grinned when Robin had dropped a chunk of meat on the pristine white tablecloth.
"You don't get out much, do you?" Scott had asked, spearing the piece of tenderloin with his own fork and dropping it into the copper pot of boiling oil.
"Shut up, love. It's these fucking tiny fork things. Why can't they give you normal utensils?"
"Then it wouldn't be as romantic." Scott had smiled. "This is what fondue is all about," he had purred, placing a chocolate-covered strawberry in Robin's mouth. "Savor it, Red. Pretend it's me in your mouth," Scott had teased, lapping at his own piece of fruit.
"You're a little shit, and you'll pay soon enough." Robin's harsh words had contradicted the look of pure joy that had lit up his freckled face as he gazed at his sub. He'd fallen hard for Scott the minute he'd set eyes on him a year ago when he'd walked into the BDSM club in San Ramon. It had started out as a random hook-up but had turned into a deep and abiding relationship that had survived many external forces conspiring to keep them apart.
Robin had shifted in his seat, getting worked up from watching Scott fellate the pineapple sliver he'd dipped into the chocolate. He had decided he would definitely make his boy pay as soon as they were done with this meal. The idea of fondue had been Scott's, but he'd jumped on it, since he'd never tried it before. Who knew that it would turn into the most erotic foreplay he'd experienced in a long time? Watching Scott dip the fruit into the chocolate and lick each piece, all the while telling him the wicked things he was going to do to his cock, had made him a little crazy. He had become rock hard and had lost interest in the food. All he had wanted to do was take his boy back to the hotel and pound him into the mattress.
When he could stand it no longer, he had signaled the waiter, paid the bill, and said, "Let's go."
The state of his arousal had increased even further when Scott had pulled him into the boutique in the hotel lobby to look at the Italian silk tie that was displayed in the window. There was a tiny red handcuff dangling off a chain in the middle of the gray silk brocade. It wasn't the kind of tie Scott normally wore, but neither man had been able to resist the design.
"Close your eyes, babe," Robin had whispered as soon as they shut the door of their suite. "I'm blindfolding you with your new tie."
Scott had complied eagerly, pulled into his submissive role by the tone of Robin's voice and the feel of the silk being wrapped expertly around his head. It had been a while since they'd had any kind of intense scene. They'd been too busy getting the new office ready and would usually fall into bed exhausted. Getting away had allowed them to get into the right frame of mind, and tonight had seemed like the perfect night to play.
Robin had had a surprise up his sleeve that would fit in nicely with the evening's seductive atmosphere. He'd prepared two ice dildos the night before while Scott was asleep, pouring water into two condoms, stretching them to the maximum, and then placing them in the freezer. He had peeled off the latex and admired his creations; they were perfect, the length and girth guaranteed to drive his sub insane.
And now, one hour later, Robin continued to torture Scott in the most loving way. He decided to untie him, rubbing his extremities gently to restore the blood flow. The blindfold remained, however, enhancing every single sensation. When he was sure that Scott was comfortable and his wrists and ankles weren't numb, he rubbed the ice across Scott's feet, enjoying his gasp of surprise. He followed the path of the ice with his hot tongue, tormenting Scott with the opposing sensations of hot and cold. Being in the dark intensified the pleasure, judging from the way Scott quivered under the expert hands of his Dom. Robin's warm breath and soft, lapping tongue dueled with the almost painful feel of the ice gliding on skin. Scott was going wild, desperate to touch himself, only to have his hand swatted away.
"No touching," Robin admonished.
He moved up toward Scott's head and straddled his face, passing his dick lightly across Scott's mouth, allowing him a taste of the moisture that glistened on the spongy head. Scott reacted like a man starved, opening his mouth eagerly. Robin pulled away after a few minutes and slid back down to Scott's legs, resuming the icy torture while the moaning turned into a frustrated whimpering as Scott's head moved from left to right, seeking his Master's taste.
The ice continued its journey, followed relentlessly by the warm tongue that had taken on a life of its own, climbing up Scott's leg like the most deadly viper. Robin was meticulous, licking at every square inch of flesh, only moving to the next spot when he heard a moan or a sigh, loving the feel of the tiny goose bumps that covered Scott's body, clear proof of his arousal. Scott begged to be touched; his rigid shaft was aching for a mouth or a hand, but Robin bypassed it. Instead, he concentrated on Scott's inner thighs, scraping the tender skin with rough stubble, moving toward his balls with the alternating play of his hot mouth and the melting ice. Scott spread his legs, giving Robin access to his quivering, sweet center.
He sighed when he felt Robin's warm breath on the puckered skin that thrummed with want. He spread his legs even wider, offering himself unquestioningly as Robin probed.
"Tell me, love."
"Fuck me… your tongue… please," Scott groaned, rutting against Robin's face, a little too frantic. Robin pulled back, determined to stretch this out as long as possible.
"Easy, love." Robin's voice was a balm that seemed to soothe Scott into holding back.
Robin continued the agonizing torture with the interplay of hot and cold, toying with every one of Scott's senses. He fondled Scott's sac, now heavy with pent-up need, kneading and rolling the smooth skin that Scott kept completely free of hair for Robin's pleasure. Scott cried out when Robin took him in his mouth, clutching at the red curls with desperate hands, begging him to let him come, but the teasing continued. Robin was merciless tonight.
"Don't come yet," Robin commanded again, pinching the base of Scott's cock to halt the momentum.
"Red, fuck… you're killing me…."
Ignoring him, Robin slowly pushed the ice dildo past the tight ring of muscle, twisting and turning the cold wand that was melting rapidly with Scott's body heat. The icy finger against Scott's prostate made him shudder and buck in Robin's arms like a bronco with a burr under his saddle, desperate to shake it off.
The moaning was reaching epic proportions, and Robin could tell that Scott wouldn't last much longer. He repositioned himself, placing Scott's body in between his knees while he dribbled icy drops of water over Scott's swollen member. He never touched him; he just continued to let the water land on the beautiful shaft that twitched with each drop.
"I'm going to fuck you till you scream," Robin growled.
Scott was thrashing, desperate to move this forward. He clutched at Robin's arms, leaving half-moon marks as his nails dug into the creamy skin. "Master, please," he begged once more.
Robin smiled triumphantly, watching the water streak down Scott's stomach and pubic area in swift rivulets. His own erection demanded attention, and he switched plans at the last minute. He grabbed the lube off the nightstand, slicked Scott quickly, and impaled himself, taking Scott deep up his own ass and holding him in that position as he too enjoyed the contrasting hot and cold sensations.
"Oh… oh, Red, oh, holy fuck," Scott cried out, stunned by the feel of the hot vice around his cock. His brain was on complete overload, switching from the pain of the wait to the utter ecstasy of the moment, and he soared, high on the strength of the orgasm that was about to crash into him.
"Red, the condom… I can't hold this."
"Fuck the condom. Come for me, baby," Robin said, pulling the tie off of Scott's head and staring into the disbelieving green eyes.
"Do it, love! Come inside me." Robin's voice cracked, and he threw his head back and roared. He felt Scott come, felt the moist heat shooting through him, even as his own semen flowed onto his sub's stomach and chest, spraying him with ribbons of warm spunk.
Scott cried out, arching off the pillow while he shot forcefully into Robin's body. He felt Robin clutch at him, heard the noises coming out of his Master's throat as the wet heat blossomed everywhere. Scott was flying.
It was sometime during the night when Robin awoke, still clinging to Scott. He was sticky with the dried come smeared all over his chest, and he felt the wetness between his ass cheeks. He couldn't believe that he'd let Scott come inside him. They hadn't even talked about the possibility of doing it raw, but he got caught up in the moment and let it happen.
He knew Scott was clean. He knew for a fact, because they'd been to the clinic a few weeks ago for their tests, so that wasn't the issue. The issue was his loss of control. He'd crossed the line between being a Dom and a lover and had let himself soar as well. He sighed deeply and felt Scott stir.
"Red? You awake?"
"What's the matter?"
Scott wiggled free from his embrace and leaned up on an elbow. He barely made out Robin in the dim light, but even without seeing his face, he could tell by his Dom's body language that he was bothered by something.
"Tell me… don't shut me out."
"I should have asked you first. We should have discussed it."
"Red… I wanted it just as much."
Robin wrapped his arms around Scott, burying his face in the blond hair. He let himself go with his feelings, allowing his love to overshadow any fears of losing control. He knew that his concerns were groundless, based on the preconceived notion that Doms were always in control, when the reality was the complete opposite. Most of the power in a D/s relationship lay in the hands of the sub. They called the shots. They drew the lines.
What was confusing from the beginning of this relationship was that he'd fallen for his sub in a big way and wanted to receive almost as much as he gave. Robin wasn't a switch and had never had the desire to become one, yet tonight was the perfect example of his ambivalent state of mind when it came to Scott. He should have been the one to do the fucking, but all he could think of at that moment was feeling Scott inside him. The need to receive his offering was almost as powerful as the need to see him beg. He was lost to the man in his arms, so deeply in love that it continued to scare the crap out of him at times like this.
"I love you, babe," he said, stating the obvious, hoping it would explain everything.
Robin slid out of bed to use the bathroom. He needed to take a leak as well as clean up. He got a washcloth, soaked it with hot water, and rubbed the dried semen from his chest, stomach, and between his ass cheeks. He reached for a fresh cloth and brought it back to the bedroom, where he ministered to his partner, who purred the entire time.
"I need to pee," Scott mumbled.
"Go, love," Robin answered, moving to let Scott by.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he became aware of was soft, tender kisses interspersed with words of love. The kisses became deeper as Robin reacted, the strength of their chemistry a living, breathing thing that hadn't diminished one iota since their first meeting. Robin felt Scott's cock pressing hard against his own, smelled the pungent odor of their arousal as the pheromones kicked in. His need exuded out of him as surely as the light film of sweat covering his body. It was warm in the bedroom, made warmer by the internal combustion that burned deep inside of him. They were hard again, lying cock-to-cock, rubbing against each other, slippery with want.
"Fuck me," Scott pulled at Robin, spreading his legs wide, so Robin now lay prone on him with elbows on either side of his head.
"Kiss me," Robin growled.
The kisses grew more demanding, while tongues wrestled for control. Hands clawed at skin, and bodies shifted position to accommodate each other. Robin grabbed the lube off the nightstand and spread a liberal amount around Scott, slipping in a couple of fingers past the tight muscle to prepare him further, all the while sucking up the tender skin around Scott's ear, marking him repeatedly. He was about to reach for the condom when Scott held his hand and shook his head. "I want to feel you, Red."
Robin stopped for a nanosecond and stared into Scott's eyes. "You sure?"
He pushed into his partner, unable to stop this even if he wanted to, the need to dominate and possess far greater than anything else.
"Master," Scott sighed as Robin breached him.
"Mine." The word came out strangled as the emotion kicked in, so Robin stopped thinking and started to move, tilting his hips and pumping into Scott's narrow passage, filling him.
They were a perfect match, so in tune with each other that there was no need to say more. Their bodies told the story of their love, responding to every thrust and moan joyfully.
Scott's words broke through the silence. "I'm close, Red."
Robin shot into him, pouring out his love in a steady stream. He felt Scott seize him, felt his lover's body grappling with the force of his own fierce climax as he came all over Robin's chest and neck.
Much later, while Scott lay sleeping in his arms, Robin stared out into the dark, a little disappointed that he couldn't relax despite the outstanding sex. As usual, his mind leaped back to the last four months and the changes that had occurred.
Leaving Ron Morris had been one of the most satisfying moments of his life. His former employer and owner of the periodontal practice that Scott had hoped to buy had made their lives miserable with his homophobic beliefs and the need for subterfuge. It had come to a head when Ron walked in on them having sex. Granted, it hadn't been one of their finer moments, but satisfying a fantasy had taken precedence over common sense. The fallout had been swift. Robin quit his job seconds before Ron fired him, and Scott walked out a few days later, just as Ron terminated their contract.
Scott had been decisive after that, easing some of Robin's fears and niggling doubts with his positive attitude. He'd worried that Scott's decision wasn't thought out and that he would regret walking away. He knew how much Scott had wanted to see the agreement come to its logical conclusion, but he'd embraced the new partnership with gusto.
They'd moved quickly, lining up real estate agents and office planners. Financing had fallen into their laps when Susie, Scott's best friend and independently wealthy assistant, had come forward and offered to bankroll them, buying into the business and making it a limited partnership. Now all three of them owned a piece of the small periodontal practice they'd opened in the Mission district, neighboring the Castro area. Close enough to the former office, yet miles away from Ron's rigid Promise Keepers mentality.
Robin shivered unexpectedly. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that all was right in their small world, he was uneasy. The specter of Ron loomed large, despite the distance they'd put between them. Money was also on his mind, a constant worry that had permeated his life for as long as he could remember. Growing up with a single parent had given him a healthy respect for the almighty dollar that Scott and Susie didn't seem to share. They never looked at the price tag when they picked out the state-of-the-art equipment and hired interior designers, while Robin stressed over the bottom line.
Even though he had more money than ever before and his future was firmly in place, the years of struggling and making the most of what little he had left an impression that he couldn't wave away. He would always be poor, no matter how rich he became. It was a fact he acknowledged about himself, a chink in his armor that he covered brilliantly.
Scott stirred and repositioned himself, spooning up to Robin and using him like a king-size pillow. "Love you, Red," he mumbled, reassuring Robin even in his sleep. Robin responded with a caress, finally shrugging off all his worries and accepting the sweet release of sleep.
THE BLOW came out of nowhere and knocked Ro to the ground. He’d hit the concrete face-first, resulting in a split lip when he bit down on the soft tissue accidentally. Fresh blood oozed from the gash, and his mouth filled with the metallic taste. His first reaction was fear, but it was quickly replaced with righteous anger as he scrambled to his feet to confront his assailant.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked, spitting blood all over the pristine white shirt of Master Tom.
The large man glared at him without any sign of remorse. “How dare you disrespect my apprentice?”
“Are you crazy?”
“Get down on your knees and take your punishment like a man.”
“Like hell I will!”
Tom backhanded him this time, and the brute strength behind two hundred fifty pounds of juiced-up muscle lifted Ro off his feet. His head hit the metal locker with a loud clang, and he began trembling in shock. The smart thing would have been to grovel like the guy asked instead of meeting his rage head-on, but Ro had never backed away from a fight, especially when he was innocent.
Ro’s right fist shot out before he realized what he was doing and connected with a clenched jaw that felt like hard steel. Tom bellowed in outrage and began raining blows over Ro’s naked torso. He tried to protect himself, but he was no match for a man who was at least a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. Tom used him like a punching bag, hammering him with unrestrained fury. Unlike stuffed canvas, Ro’s body had no extra layers to buffer the continuous pummeling. He was lean and sinewy strong, but his bones gave out eventually. Ribs cracked and teeth fragmented as Master Tom exacted his revenge. Ro was barely conscious by the time he was thrown out of the club. He managed to unlock his truck and drive home with one eye shut, but he never made it up to his apartment. He passed out as soon as he parked his vehicle.
THE CALL from Donated Dental Services wasn’t that unusual, even though the pink phone slip was marked “urgent.” Scott Gregory had been offering his services to the worthy charitable organization for at least two years, and he found his association with the group to be stress-free and very rewarding. He was making a profound difference in the life of someone without the means to receive any form of dentistry, especially the high-end restorative procedures starting with dental implants. It was his way of giving back to the community that had supported his practice for the last five years.
When he and Robin “Red” Kennedy, his Dom and life partner, who also happened to be a registered dental hygienist, embarked on their professional journey in the Mission District in San Francisco, they had no idea how many of their patients would be willing to cross over from the stuffy offices of the late Dr. Ron Morris at 450 Sutter to the less prestigious address on the fringe of the Castro District. It had been a leap of faith to hope that Scott’s reputation would overcome any trepidation his wealthier patients would have, and he’d been pleasantly surprised when his practice had not only thrived but taken off. What clinched the migration was the valet parking he’d offered, an inspired thought Red had come up with after making a deal with the owner of the public parking lot several blocks away. He’d offered the man and his family free cleanings in exchange for a generous discount whenever patients availed themselves of their services.
Their patient base had grown at a rapid rate, thanks to referrals from neighboring general dentists and enthusiastic recommendations from satisfied patients. The gay community had welcomed them as family, and those in the BDSM lifestyle in need of periodontal work were routinely routed to their fine clinic.
Eventually, Scott and Robin had come to the realization that they needed an associate if they wanted any time off. It was all well and good to be self-employed, but that meant being a virtual slave to a busy schedule. They’d put out the word to the people in the know and waited with high hopes for the right candidate to come along. Finding another qualified periodontist wasn’t that big of a deal, but finding one who was comfortable working with a gay couple living the BDSM lifestyle, not so much. After interviewing and rejecting one candidate after another, they’d almost given up, until the meet and greet at their favorite BDSM club in San Ramon.
Lance Roberts had just moved from the East Coast, and he’d been given Scott’s name by a reputable headhunter trying to find the right match for the thirty-two-year-old determined to start a new life as far away from Manhattan as possible. The agency had not asked what prompted his move, and Lance didn’t volunteer the information. He did tell them he was gay and hoping to partner with another practitioner who was open-minded and more interested in his educational background than his bedmates. Lance had assumed that looking in and around the Bay Area might guarantee a better fit than the one he’d just escaped. The meeting at the club had been as serendipitous as Scott and Red’s first encounter at the same location six years ago.
Finding an associate who not only shared a passion for quality dentistry but also belonged to a segment of society enjoying a lifestyle many would consider deviant was downright miraculous. Scott had taken the chance meeting as a sign from some higher power. It helped that Lance had all the right credentials and radiated confidence in a soft-spoken, dignified manner wrapped up in a blond-haired and blue-eyed package. It was a no-brainer once they’d watched him skillfully execute some of the more complicated procedures routinely performed in their cutting-edge practice. Scott and Robin were more than pleased with their choice, and even long-time patients were beginning to ask about the “new” doctor. If Scott had been an insecure man, he’d have worried, but that former persona had been replaced by a confident owner/practitioner who was happy to share some of the workload with his new associate. He and Robin would finally be able to take the longed-for trip to Europe they’d been putting off for years.
“Are you familiar with Donated Dental Services?” Scott asked as he settled in the leather chair across from Lance. With Red’s permission, he’d commandeered the small office to give the new guy some privacy. Robin hardly ever used the room anyway, and he was delighted to move his things into Scott’s larger office. They’d butted their desks and even got to play footsies once in a while. It was a win-win situation.
“Not really,” Lance replied, looking up from his computer monitor. “What’s involved?”
“DDS is a program put together by dentists and laboratories to help our most vulnerable citizens get the dental care they need but can’t afford. These people routinely slip through the cracks of Medicare and Medicaid and have nowhere else to turn.”
“It sounds like a worthy cause.”
“It is.” Scott passed Lance the phone slip. “I’d like you to take this case since Red and I are leaving in a week, and I’d rather not put them off until our return.”
Lance glanced at the paper. “It does say urgent.”
“Exactly,” Scott replied, nodding. “Their coordinator will go over all the particulars on how the organization works. The short version is we do it all for free.”
“Even if they need a shitload of work?”
“Yup. Consider this your gateway to heaven.”
Lance chuckled softly. “My idea of heaven isn’t exactly conventional.”
Scott grinned back. “I’ll bet there’s a room up there overflowing with the tools of your trade.”
“I wouldn’t mind hooking up with a couple of angels who like to be tied up.”
“Then you’re right on track. A couple of charity cases a year should move you to the head of the line.”
“On the other hand, the kind of playmates I’m looking for might be in the Southern Hemisphere of that celestial universe.”
Scott laughed, delighting in Lance’s brand of humor. “Pretty sure Lucifer could use a helper or two,” Scott teased.
“I’m certain,” Scott replied. “Would you give them a call, please?”
“I’ll get right on it, Boss.”
Scott walked out of the room with a sigh of relief. It was one less thing to deal with before he and Red left town. Issuing orders to an acknowledged Dom felt a little weird, given his own submissive status, but both Red and Lance had assured him that while they were at work he was in charge, no ifs, ands, or buts. It was another sign that this partnership with Lance might work. At present, he was still an employee, but if all went smoothly, he’d become a full-fledged partner after a year. He’d have to come up with a chunk of money to buy into the practice, but Scott wasn’t too worried.
Over the course of the preliminary interviews, he’d learned that Lance had attended some of the finest schools on the East Coast, and even more surprising, he had a father who was a well-known and respected periodontist on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. Why he’d chosen to fend for himself instead of walking into an already-established practice remained a mystery, one Scott would ignore until Lance was ready to share. He was his employer, not his therapist, and so long as the man continued to perform his duties to the best of his ability, Scott would respect his privacy. The last thing he wanted to do was poke and prod at old wounds. He, more than anyone, knew that family wasn’t always a source of comfort. He’d learned it the hard way and could appreciate anyone’s struggle to escape from a painful past.
LANCE PICKED up the phone as soon as Scott walked out of his office. He punched in the number on the slip and asked for the lady who’d placed the original call. After introducing himself, he listened to her story, frowning as the scenario became clearer. The patient in question had lost a number of teeth after falling victim to what appeared to be a homophobic attack.
“We thought you’d be more inclined to help him since you are a gay-friendly office and could probably relate.”
“I’m helping because I hate to see anyone in pain,” Lance replied tersely. “The victim’s orientation has nothing to do with it, and you should be more careful about making sweeping statements without any regard to the political and social repercussions.”
Ignoring the apology, Lance asked, “How bad is it?”
“I’m e-mailing the photos right now so you can see for yourself. It was a brutal attack, and he’s lucky to be alive.”
“No doubt,” Lance murmured. The e-mail notification popped up on his screen, and he clicked on the photo and shook his head when he surveyed the damage. Whoever had laid hands on this guy had been intent on destruction. Despite the assorted lumps and swollen lips, Lance could tell the victim was extraordinarily good-looking. The photo must have been taken a day or two after the attack, judging from the colorful bruising. What struck him more than the obvious was the sorrowful expression the camera had captured emanating from beautiful eyes that were the color of caramelized sugar. Who in fuck could be so goddamn heartless? Lance was already sympathetic and couldn’t wait to get his hands on him. “How old is this guy?”
There was a brief pause as the speaker looked through her files. “He’s twenty-five.”
Lance thought he looked younger but didn’t comment. “I can see him at three o’clock.”
“Bless you, Doctor. I’ll give the patient a call.”
“What’s his name?”
“Spell it, please.”
The voice on the other end slowly spelled out the Spanish name.
“Got it,” Lance said, scribbling on the note pad close by. “Does he speak any English?”
“Good. I’ll be in touch as treatment progresses.”
Lance put the phone down, grabbed his insulated lunch bag, and went to find Scott. He was in his office with Robin sharing an enormous taco salad. “Mind if I join you guys?”
“Not at all,” Robin said. “Pull up a chair.”
“Thanks.” Lance grabbed one of the rolling chairs and pushed it toward the opposite end of Scott’s desk. He proceeded to unload his bag and methodically line up his canned drink, sandwich, chips, and apple in a perfectly straight horizontal line with the Pepsi closest to his right hand. The paper napkin came out next, folded in a tight square, and finally a small container of sanitary wipes to use after the meal.
Scott and Robin watched their new associate with interest. They’d heard from Susie, Scott’s assistant and silent partner, who’d picked it up from Lance’s assistant, that he was a tad obsessive about order. Every instrument and supply had to be laid out in a certain way, or nothing would progress any further until the situation was corrected. He never raised his voice or threw a hissy fit, but simply closed his eyes as if counting to ten. If his assistant hadn’t picked up on her mistake, he’d frown and reach for the instrument in question, while patiently explaining why he needed it positioned so precisely. It was one thing to hear about Lance’s quirks, but to witness them firsthand was quite the eye-opener.
“Are you always this organized?” Scott inquired.
Lance looked up from his task and let out what appeared to be an embarrassed laugh. “Don’t mind me; I’m slightly anal about certain things.”
“I guess,” Red agreed. “You’d die if you saw the inside of my car.”
“My obsession with tidiness and order is excessive, I’ll admit,” Lance said, “but I’m working on it.”
“Good to know,” Scott murmured, shooting Red a pointed glance before shoving another forkful of salad into his mouth.
“I spoke to the lady at DDS,” Lance remarked while he unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite.
“And?” Scott replied.
Lance didn’t answer until he swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “It’s pretty grim.”
He recounted what little he’d gleaned from his contact, and they brought up the images on Scott’s monitor to better illustrate the extent of the damage. “He’s going to need bone grafting, aside from the implants, and possibly a sinus lift.”
“Do whatever it takes to make him whole again,” Scott said, giving Lance carte blanche.
Lance continued to study the photo and shook his head. “Who’s going to restore him?”
“There’s a list of prosthodontists who are part of the program. Trust me, they’ll find someone to help; they always do.”
Never taking his eyes off the screen, Lance observed, “It’s easy to get complacent in San Francisco until you see shit like this. Then you remember that half of the world still hates us because of whom we love. It’s disheartening to think we haven’t made more progress despite the recent court rulings and sudden ‘Coming Out’ of America.”
Scott nodded in assent. “My only consolation is that the incidents are dwindling.”
“That you know of,” Lance disagreed. “I’m sure there are places across the nation where gays are beaten up on a daily basis.”
“You’re probably right, but we’re not in a position to stop it, so it’s pointless to dwell on that issue,” Red countered. “What we can do is contribute in our small way. Restoring this guy back to health is a good start.”
Lance heaved out a frustrated sigh. “I’m pretty sure I can fix him, but it’ll be useless if someone jumps him again.”
“It’s not your job to worry about that,” Scott reminded him.
“I suppose not.”
“Check in with me once you’ve had a chance to examine him.”
“He has an appointment in a few hours.”
“I’ll be here if you want to brainstorm.”
“Thanks,” Lance said, turning his attention back to his meal.
Mickie B. Ashling is the alter-ego of a multifaceted woman raised by a single mother who preferred reading over other forms of entertainment. She found a kindred spirit in her oldest child and encouraged her with a steady supply of dog-eared paperbacks. Romance was the preferred genre, and historical romances topped her favorites list.
By the time Mickie discovered her own talent for writing, real life had intruded, and the business of earning a living and raising four sons took priority. With the advent of e-publishing and the inevitable emptying nest, dreams were resurrected, and the storyteller was reborn.
She stumbled into the world of men who love men in 2002 and continues to draw inspiration from their ongoing struggle to find equality and happiness in this oftentimes skewed and intolerant world.
Her novels have been called "gut wrenching, daring, and thought provoking." She admits to being an angst queen and making her men work damn hard for their happy endings.
Mickie loves to travel and has lived in the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East but currently resides in a suburb outside Chicago.
Bonds of Love