I've had since almost before I can remember.
'James,' I tell him in turn.
The bumps of the bones in his wrists are worn raw on both arms. His pretty skin is red and torn,
the wounds only just beginning their slow knit. A savage anger crackle up my spine at that, a desire
to hurt that has nothing to do with sharing pleasure. This young man trusted someone, and they
violated that trust. Every careful part of me is jagged with rage on his behalf. Whoever they were,
they weren't worthy of him.
Sam's eyes widen, the dark brown of the irises going even darker as his pupils dilate. His pretty
lips part just a fraction. The prey part of him has caught scent of the predator in me and is
responding with deference and desire.
Instinct tears against itself inside me. One part wants to protect him, to spirit this
almost-virgin away from the dangers lurking all around in a grimy club like this. The other part
wants to drag him home as well, but not to protect him. This other part of me wants to tighten loops
of smooth leather over that raw skin, to see if that quiet voice can be made to yowl and scream.
'It's easy to get in over your head in a place like this,' I warn him. My words apply to myself
as much as anyone else. I want to take him home and break him slowly. I want to put him back
together in my arms and then watch him sleep the contented rest of the sated and cared-for. There's
a streak of romance in my soul, even now.
Sam gives a rueful half-smile, the crooked expression giving his sweet face a worldly cast for a
moment as he glances down at the hurt places on his wrists.
'I know,' he replies.
'And yet you're here again regardless,' I point out. Sam shrugs.
'I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment,' he offers, with a second little smile that's verging
on a smirk. It would take a better man than I to pass up a blatant invitation like that. But I have
rules. I like to do things properly.
'I don't play on first dates,' I say to Sam, deciding that I might as well be up-front. No sense
in wasting our time, even if he's just the kind of man I'd gladly waste time with any day. 'And
meeting in a bar hardly even counts as a first date. If you come home with me, we're vanilla for
tonight, got it? Mutual oral, anal with me penetrating, masturbation. With condoms, no
exceptions.'
My voice is firm, businesslike, and Sam practically sways on his feet with the force of his
instant compliance. His head bobs in a nod. The frisson of warring impulses splinters through me
again, and I take his hand to lead him through the crowd.
'Come on.'
He's quiet in the cab to my apartment and I worry, briefly, if maybe I'm the one who's in over
his head. A slightly-damaged rookie who drops into subspace at the first stern word is hardly the
safest partner to take to bed. But my fears are put to rest when we're standing on the sidewalk
outside my building and I see that his reaction in the club was lust, not submission. The smile he
gives me is hesitant, maybe even shy.
'I don't really do this,' he admits. 'I mean, I've tried, but it didn't… it hasn't always
ended well.'
The thumb of one hand rubs at the marks on the opposite wrist, apparently unconsciously.
I take hold of each of his forearms gently and move them apart, stopping the motion. Then I lean
in to give him a slow, light kiss, keeping it scarcely more than a brush of lips even when Sam opens
his mouth wider and licks at the edge of my front teeth. I want to be careful with him, to treat him
like something delicate. He's something that should be cherished. If I can't do that, I don't
deserve to have the chance to shatter him.
Eventually we make it inside, upstairs, into my bedroom and out of our clothes. There are fading
bruises mottling his lovely chest and thighs, but the restless clawed animal inside me is calmer in
the face of these old injuries now. The past doesn't matter. Sam is here now, with me. Safe.
My bed's a king-size, but I've slept alone against its bank of pillows
'James,' I tell him in turn.
The bumps of the bones in his wrists are worn raw on both arms. His pretty skin is red and torn,
the wounds only just beginning their slow knit. A savage anger crackle up my spine at that, a desire
to hurt that has nothing to do with sharing pleasure. This young man trusted someone, and they
violated that trust. Every careful part of me is jagged with rage on his behalf. Whoever they were,
they weren't worthy of him.
Sam's eyes widen, the dark brown of the irises going even darker as his pupils dilate. His pretty
lips part just a fraction. The prey part of him has caught scent of the predator in me and is
responding with deference and desire.
Instinct tears against itself inside me. One part wants to protect him, to spirit this
almost-virgin away from the dangers lurking all around in a grimy club like this. The other part
wants to drag him home as well, but not to protect him. This other part of me wants to tighten loops
of smooth leather over that raw skin, to see if that quiet voice can be made to yowl and scream.
'It's easy to get in over your head in a place like this,' I warn him. My words apply to myself
as much as anyone else. I want to take him home and break him slowly. I want to put him back
together in my arms and then watch him sleep the contented rest of the sated and cared-for. There's
a streak of romance in my soul, even now.
Sam gives a rueful half-smile, the crooked expression giving his sweet face a worldly cast for a
moment as he glances down at the hurt places on his wrists.
'I know,' he replies.
'And yet you're here again regardless,' I point out. Sam shrugs.
'I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment,' he offers, with a second little smile that's verging
on a smirk. It would take a better man than I to pass up a blatant invitation like that. But I have
rules. I like to do things properly.
'I don't play on first dates,' I say to Sam, deciding that I might as well be up-front. No sense
in wasting our time, even if he's just the kind of man I'd gladly waste time with any day. 'And
meeting in a bar hardly even counts as a first date. If you come home with me, we're vanilla for
tonight, got it? Mutual oral, anal with me penetrating, masturbation. With condoms, no
exceptions.'
My voice is firm, businesslike, and Sam practically sways on his feet with the force of his
instant compliance. His head bobs in a nod. The frisson of warring impulses splinters through me
again, and I take his hand to lead him through the crowd.
'Come on.'
He's quiet in the cab to my apartment and I worry, briefly, if maybe I'm the one who's in over
his head. A slightly-damaged rookie who drops into subspace at the first stern word is hardly the
safest partner to take to bed. But my fears are put to rest when we're standing on the sidewalk
outside my building and I see that his reaction in the club was lust, not submission. The smile he
gives me is hesitant, maybe even shy.
'I don't really do this,' he admits. 'I mean, I've tried, but it didn't… it hasn't always
ended well.'
The thumb of one hand rubs at the marks on the opposite wrist, apparently unconsciously.
I take hold of each of his forearms gently and move them apart, stopping the motion. Then I lean
in to give him a slow, light kiss, keeping it scarcely more than a brush of lips even when Sam opens
his mouth wider and licks at the edge of my front teeth. I want to be careful with him, to treat him
like something delicate. He's something that should be cherished. If I can't do that, I don't
deserve to have the chance to shatter him.
Eventually we make it inside, upstairs, into my bedroom and out of our clothes. There are fading
bruises mottling his lovely chest and thighs, but the restless clawed animal inside me is calmer in
the face of these old injuries now. The past doesn't matter. Sam is here now, with me. Safe.
My bed's a king-size, but I've slept alone against its bank of pillows
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