Sub for the Lion Page 3

  “I don’t get you,” he mumbles. “I thought…”

  Jax falters, as if he’s unsure how to continue.

  “By the time you’re done, your clothes will be here, waiting,” I say.

  “How can you be such a cold bastard?” he demands.

  “Cold? I’m not sure what you mean.” I’m lying through my teeth and not liking it one bit. “If you’re dissatisfied, don’t come for our next session.”

  “You bet your ass I’m not doing this again.”

  “We’re in agreement then.” My heart cracks in two at those words, but what do I expect? Pushing him away isn’t my intention, but this is better for the both of us.

  “Fuck you,” he says, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Real mature. Except I’m the one who fucked things up. Resignation settles in the pit of my belly. I clean my dick up, zip my pants, and go in search of my shirt.

  Chapter Five

  Jax

  By the time I finish toweling up, the wall clock in the bathroom tells me it’s nearly ten. Wow. If Lance is angry I took my time, he doesn’t knock on the door. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I exit the bathroom. Like he promised, my clothes are on the bed, shoes below.

  “Asshole,” I mutter, angrily putting them on.

  It feels odd, being back in my regular clothes, although every ache acts up—from my clamped nipples, to the welts on my ass and thighs. It will be a while before I can sit down without discomfort on a flat surface. Before I head out, I debate on what I want to say Lance.

  Shall I apologize or leave in a huff?

  I know one thing. I can’t linger in his bedroom forever. Lance is right. This arrangement isn’t anything sexual. He agrees to give me what I need, except those rules went out the window when he kissed me.

  Fuck. How can I allow a man, a shifter Dom, to affect me so much?

  I exit the bedroom. “Lance?” I call out. Feels strange, using his first name, but it doesn’t seem right calling him “Sir” when we’re no longer playing. My lion’s not in the living room, dining room, or kitchen. Shit. I can’t call him mine. He’s not my anything, and yet I can’t purge him out of my mind.

  “The fucker left,” I grumble, noticing the note in the kitchen. I pick it up, anger stirring in me. I read the note out loud. “Went out to get dinner. Let yourself out.”

  Not even a simple apology. Then again, why do I expect one? I crush the note, wanting to toss it on the ground. That will rile up a guy who prides himself on being neat. I ball it, about to toss it to the nearest line of shelves, but I freeze.

  Photo frames line the shelf. Curiosity takes over, and I examine them closer. A younger Lance stars in every single one, along with a dark-haired man with bright blue eyes. I almost don’t recognize Lance. For one, he’s smiling in each one, looking like a completely different person. There’s emotion in every one.

  I remember reading somewhere that when shifters lose a mate, the remaining half follows after. In a way, for all their supernatural strength, speed, and abilities, they are fragile as songbirds.

  I want to mess up the arrangement as vindication, except that feels petty. I gaze at each one, like an outsider observing the chronicle of their lives. There’s a story in there, I’m sure, and I’m right.

  Lance’s mate looks paler in the subsequent photos, thinner, sick. In the last one, Lance’s mate’s head is shaved bald. He’s wearing a hospital gown, and my heart breaks a little. I study Lance, note how strained his smile seems, as if he’s barely holding things together.

  There’s fear there, frozen forever in the lens of the photographer. It feels odd to think of the ripped, confident werelion Dom as weak. Not odd, but wrong.

  Next to the frames is a pile of folded letters. I pick up one, open it, feeling like a stalker. I take a second, and decide not to bother with a third. All of them are notes of condolences, telling Lance they’re sorry for his loss.

  “What am I still doing here?” I mutter. When Lance wrote to let myself out, I don’t think he meant me pawing through his stuff, invading his privacy.

  I turn my heel and bolt out of his apartment. Once in the elevator, I can’t recall if I shut his door. Didn’t matter. I can’t summon the strength to head back up and check.

  Leaning against the elevator wall, I stare at the digital numbers. Seven floors. One. I stroll outside, clutching my jacket over my body. I can’t wait for summer to arrive. Despite the winter chill settling over my bones once I reach the sidewalk, the aches from our session start again. It’s the good sort of pain.

  Tucking my hands in my pits, I hurry back to my car. Slamming the door shut, I remain in the seat for a couple of seconds. I touch my chest, the spot over my hideous scars, remembering how his fingers felt like a brand. I can’t quite erase the memory of Lance peeling off his shirt, doing a little show-and-tell to help me relax.

  I punch the steering wheel.

  Any other person would start the ignition, drive the fuck out of the there, and forget.

  “As if it’s that easy,” I whisper, staring at the car in front of me.

  I was so angry at him. Past tense. After seeing those photos, after what his mate’s death did to him, how can I hate a man as broken as I?

  What’s clear is this. I need to get out of here. If I linger any longer, I might head back up. Try to make amends. I’m not sure how that will play out. Around Lance, my control is terrible. With shaking fingers, I reach for my car keys and start the car only to hear a wheeze of protest from the engine.

  “Fuck no.” My voice echoes in the tiny space.

  I rest my head against the wheel and count silently to ten. Panicking won’t get me anywhere. My rusty blue Chevy has seen plenty of mileage, but I don’t have the funds to replace it.

  I search for my phone later, patting all my pockets. Shit. What if something else goes wrong and some of my things fell out of my clothes? I sigh in relief when I find it in the front pocket of my jacket.

  I ring up my best friend Dave. I know he’s at Thorn, looking for a particular rope specialist to tie him up. Usually, I’m there, too, but I’m a silent watcher. Dave’s the social butterfly.

  I linger in the back, observe but never participate. I know I’ll chicken out. I’m too self-conscious of my scars despite knowing Thorn caters to shifters, and every single one of them carries scars of a sort.

  Tonight’s an exception to the rule. I took a big leap of faith, only to have it rebound back at me.

  Dave doesn’t pick up on the first try, but does the second. We look out for each other, ever since we were kids in the foster system. Not blood, but brothers nonetheless. He knows I only call when it’s an emergency.

  “Jax? What’s wrong?” he asks.

  I can hear music thudding in the background. A thud follows, reminding me of Lance wielding that paddle on my ass, each stroke precise and careful. Fuck. I can’t think about Lance too much.

  “Tonight didn’t turn out as I expected.” How can I explain on the phone? The right words won’t come to me.

  All I want is to hide back at my place, huddle in a blanket and binge watch some random light-hearted show on Netflix. Maybe a tub of cookie dough ice cream on the side. Silly how I’m acting like I’m suffering from break-up syndrome.

  I’m an adult. One session each week for a month, just business. Right?

  I snort. Yeah right. I think of a younger Lance in those photos, the way his lips burned against mine, just like the rest of him.

  Stop torturing yourself.

  Dave’s voice turns careful, but I can almost imagine him shaking with anger. “Jax, did this fucker hurt you?”

  “No, it’s not like that all. I’m fine. He gives an amazing spanking. It’s just—” I’m not sure how to continue. On Dave’s end, it’s quieter. He probably moved outside. I let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin your evening, but my car won’t start. I can’t go back up and ask him for help.”

  “But you said—” he beg
ins.

  “I’ll tell you when I see you. Dave, please. Can you pick me up? The nearest subway is far away, and the streets are frozen.”

  “I’ll be right there, buddy. Tell me where you are.”

  I do. After cutting the call, I sit there, stewing. From the alleyway to the right of the building, I spot a pair of winking lights. Someone with a flashlight? Except a pair of golden orbs stare back at me. Eyes? I catch the massive outline of something fearsome, an animal perhaps.

  I suppress a shiver, but when I check again, but there’s nothing there. Maybe it’s a figment of my imagination. My ringing phone startles me. It’s Dave, telling me he’s five minutes away.

  It feels like forever, but I spot Dave’s black Bronco turning on the street. I exit the car and head for it, wanting to get this entire night behind me.

  Chapter Six

  Jax

  “Come with me, Jax,” Dave whines. “It’s been a week. Stop moping and get on with the program. I’ll introduce you to a hot and experienced Dom. He’ll be at Thorn tonight.”

  Dave’s in constant motion, adjusting his complicated leather outfit. I remain motionless by the window ledge, watching the snow fall. Down below, people scurry back and forth, never lingering, the cold a deterrent. I wonder what Lance is doing now.

  Checking my wristwatch tells me it’s seven-thirty. Dave continues talking, but I don’t really listen. I take out my phone again and see Lance’s message.

  Lance: Sorry.

  One word of apology and he thinks that will fix things.

  He and I, what we had last Friday and what we can be in the future—is a shit ton of complications. Dave tells me to forget, assures me I’ll find someone else. I’m sure there are plenty of Doms eager to show a bratty sub a firm hand, but I’m a fool. I want more. Love with discipline.

  I let out a laugh. Dave doesn’t notice. He’s too busy getting his hair right.

  “Wait. Why aren’t you dressed?” he asks, finally noticing me

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll stay here. Catch up on my reading.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Dude, you should get out more often.”

  “I do.”

  “Heading out for work isn’t socializing. Besides, this Dom I told you about? He’s like, perfect for your kink.” Dave appears in front of me, grabs my shoulders, turning me so I’m no longer looking out the window. “Stop brooding, Jax. Let loose. We’ll have fun.”

  “Fun isn’t what I’m looking for.” Once the high disappears, the depression comes back, bringing with it the memories I want to forget.

  For all the times I spend complaining about Lance to Dave, I don’t tell him about my guilty little secret. In the shower or alone in my bed, Lance is all I can think about. I even went so far as to meet Josh and Duke and ask them point-blank about Lance’s relationship with Curtis.

  Duke’s parting remark comes back to me.

  I’m sorry things didn’t work out. We thought you’d be able to fix him, heal each other.

  Seems perfect in theory, but instead of taking a step forward, we take two back. I rub at my face. Dave disappears from my line of sight and returns, with a pair of fresh clothes in hand.

  “I won’t take no for an answer,” he says.

  I know Dave. He will never stop until I cave in, or compromise.

  “Not this week, how about next Friday?”

  His face perks up at that. “Promise? You’re not just saying that to get out of this?”

  “I promise.” I’m lying, but Dave doesn’t need to know that. I love him, but sometimes, he can be too overprotective.

  “Okay then. Your loss. I’ll be at Thorn all night, so message me if you change your mind.”

  “I will.”

  Another lie. Dave lingers longer, as if he’s hoping I’m going with him.

  “Well, later.” Dave closes the door behind him.

  I stare at Lance’s message on my phone again, debating. The time on my screen reads seven-forty-five. It takes about fifteen to twenty minutes to drive out to his neighborhood—given traffic’s minimal.

  Maybe I can decide along the way. There’s a famous bar near his place. They serve the best fish and chips in town.

  “Right.” The excuses I make. I grab my car keys and jacket before heading downstairs. Fate will decide for me. If my car doesn’t start, it a sign staying home is a must. Safe in the apartment Dave and I share, I won’t be able to do any damage.

  After my discharge from the army, I lived on benefits for a month, before deciding I needed to do something with my hands. I work odd jobs, whatever’s available to keep busy. Better than rotting in an empty place, with nothing but ghosts and my inner demons for company.

  I see a therapist the army recommends, but I don’t make much progress. BDSM is my only refuge, except I couldn’t even bring myself to do a scene with any Dom until Lance.

  On the curb, I find my car, get in, and take a deep breath. Now’s the moment of truth. I start the engine. It practically purrs to life.

  “What the fuck?”

  Still, part of me is happy, ecstatic even. Fish and chips it is, except I know I’m lying to myself. I check the time before I pull out of the tight parking slot and smile. It appears I’ll be later than last week, but that’s fine. Lance will get a kick out of that.

  ****

  Lance

  I glance at the clock in front of the living room couch for what feels like the hundredth time. Five minutes until eight, until session time. I let out a nervous laugh. After last Friday’s disaster I’m pretty sure Jax won’t come.

  Still, hope flutters inside of me. I clasp my hands in front of me. The wall shelf in front of me looks different, without the photos of Curtis and me. After scenting Jax by that area last week, I debated for a long time, before putting them aside.

  Without Jax’s knowledge, I waited nearby, like a coward, for him to exit my apartment. My lion kept pushing me to keep him, but I somehow held the beast back. I stalked him all the way downstairs, watched him from the alley as he phoned someone to pick him up when he experienced car troubles.

  “Too scared to call me for help,” I mutter in annoyance.

  Then again, I wrote that awful note and left it by the bed. I crack my knuckles, sensing my inner lion padding inside me restlessly. A week’s too long. It feels like an eternity. No reply to my apology text either this week either.

  I look at the wall clock. Exactly eight now. I linger there, sitting rigid on the couch, still foolishly clinging to the idea he’s going to arrive on my doorstep.

  Ten minutes pass by in a blur. I’m about to call it a night, when the doorbell rings. Even from where I’m sitting, I can scent Jax. Feeling like the smug predator inside of me, I stalk to the door. Count to ten in my head, before turning the doorknob.

  Jax stands there, shifting from one foot to the next again. Finally, he looks up when I don’t say anything.

  “I thought…” he falters. “Coming here’s better than remaining at home or going to Thorn with my best friend Dave and hooking up with some random Dom.”

  The last few words trigger jealousy in me. Imagining Jax under the hands of some random top eager to get his hands on a young sub like Jax makes me see read. That stranger won’t know the first thing to do with Jax.

  “I get you don’t want any strings attached,” he begins.

  I understand now. It takes me a week of fretting, worrying, wondering, but I’m certain what’s between us can be something explosive.

  Curtis and I had an amazing time together. I loved and lost the man I love, but after talking to Duke and Josh, to the few friends I keep, I’ve come to the realization Curtis would have wanted me to be happy.

  Back then, Curtis’s last words to me had been to live. That request seemed impossible, until Jax.

  “I made a mistake,” I interrupt. Communication isn’t a one-way road. I can’t pile all the blame on Jax, knowing I’m partly to blame as well.

  “I just don’t get you.
Didn’t you feel that kiss? One moment you’re hot, the next cold—”

  To clear any misconceptions, I circle my fingers over his wrist, tugging him close. He lets out a squeak of surprise. I pull him into a tight embrace, running my trembling hands down the length of his body, resting them on the curve of his sweet ass.

  Jax doesn’t fight me. A sigh escapes him as if this validation is all he’s waiting for.

  “Please,” he utters.

  I’m not sure what he’s begging for, but nonetheless, I take his lips. My kisses are always rough, but he leans even closer, yielding to me. Our tongues and teeth tangle. I maneuver us further in, kick the door behind him.

  Jax obediently opens his mouth wider as I thrust my tongue down his throat. Fuck. I’ve missed this, the addictive taste of him. Seven days of hell and now this. Jax wakes all of my senses, encourages my lion to bite and mate him.

  He shudders when I pull back.

  Time out.

  I take several steps back, cross my arms. Jax frowns, but realizes I’m not pushing him away. Without confirming what I’m expecting of him, he begins peeling off his clothes. While he’s doing that, I grab the collar from the dining room table.

  Chapter Seven

  Lance

  By the time I return, he’s on his knees, hands behind his head, head down. He looks like a contrite sinner, a tempting angel.

  Jax’s breathing hitches when he hears my footsteps. I unbuckle the collar, and he shuts his eyes, lowers his head so I can lock it around his neck. No leash this time. I want him following after me of his own accord. I grip the leather strap next, use the end to tip his chin upwards, so he’s looking up at me.

  There’s a look there, as if he’s fighting to obey or defy me.

  Desires unfurls in my belly.

  “Have you been a good boy all week long?” I don’t care how the dialogue sounds cliché. It’s what he and I both need.

  Jax bites his lower lip. “Define good, Sir.”

  I laugh. My boy’s a fucking delight, but I don’t tell him that or else the compliment will go over his head. “That tells me everything.”