The Flesh Cartel by Rachel Haimowitz, Heidi Belleau Page B

knot in him like a dog and this horrible ritual would be complete.
    Nikolai pounded up into him again, teeth sinking past pain into Dougie’s shoulder, and God but he must’ve been a good little hole to make Nikolai lose such control. Nikolai had styled himself to be some kind of god above it all, some new evolution of man, and he was— ha! —he was a fucking animal, just as driven by need and lust and instinct as everyone he looked down on. It took Dougie to bring that out in him, just as it took Nikolai to bring out the scared, submissive animal in Dougie.
    You can’t let him know.
    For a moment the thought froze Dougie— He’ll realize you’re faking, he’ll be furious, he’ll hurt you, he’ll hurt you all over again, all of it, right back to square one —but then the panic rushed in behind it and mobilized him. Fake it ’til you make it , he reminded himself, even if he’d never been farther from making it in his life. He plastered on his smile, his look of desire, his false eagerness to please. Squirmed in Nikolai’s lap as Nikolai rode out the aftershocks. Returned Nikolai’s fervent kiss— believe me believe me nothing’s changed believe me —even as fear gnawed desperately at his guts that he could backslide like this, lose every scrap of progress he’d made toward becoming Nikolai’s good boy. And all because of a single careless syllable spilled from Nikolai’s lips in the heat of his passion. It seemed he couldn’t move forward, and he’d kill himself before he let himself move back again. So where did that leave him?
    God help him, where did that leave him?
    Nikolai will know. Nikolai will help you. Just be honest with him. Tell him. He wants to help you.
    But no. No. He was too afraid. Too many consequences . And he wasn’t so sure he believed anymore, either. If Nikolai really could help him, why hadn’t he already? He’d been here forever already. And if Nikolai really was as good as he claimed to be, why was he still kissing Dougie like a proud teacher, murmuring praise into Dougie’s ears as he pulled out from Dougie’s ass, reaching down to shove the plug back in to stopper his cum? Couldn’t he see ? Didn’t he know ? How was it that this master trainer of men couldn’t read the turmoil, the fear, the despair screeching through Dougie’s head?
    Well, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. There’d be no consequences if Nikolai didn’t realize something was wrong. Lest Dougie give himself away, he slunk down to his knees—the action completely calculated this time, as rehearsed as dance choreography—and gently nuzzled against Nikolai’s musky groin. Lapped the taste of his own (thank God, clean) ass off of Nikolai’s cum-sloppy, half-hard cock.
    The position made him think back to that first day he’d met Roger, when Roger had laid his head in Nikolai’s lap and told Dougie how happy he was, how in love and fulfilled. Had that all been a lie? Was Roger screaming inside like Dougie was now? Was that all he had to look forward to for the rest of his life—pain and suffering and fear and degradation and a perfect mask to hide it all behind, as placid and flawless as the one Nikolai had worn in the audience at Madame’s?
    God, all of this hinged on the fact that if only Nikolai helped him, then one day Dougie would be happy . Would live every single day steeped in that sweet, simple joy of service he’d tasted, just for a moment, this afternoon. Share that look Roger had worn on his face as he’d sucked Nikolai’s cock, that feeling Dougie had felt when he’d climbed into Nikolai’s lap and kissed him.
    But what if it was all a lie?
    Roger would never say. Dougie couldn’t blame him; he wouldn’t tell either. Couldn’t bring himself to say anything even now, alone with Nikolai, even after Nikolai had shown him so much patience and kindness, had urged him repeatedly to open up, be honest, share his weaknesses and fears so that Nikolai could help him