Submissive Angel: A BDSM Romance Novella Page 7

  Robert had never felt anything so good in his life. He worked Ange until he was well beyond done, milking him, seeing how he handled himself when his nerves became so sensitive. Ange took all of it, embraced it, working his ass up against his Master, thrusting into Robert’s hand, telling him he could give as good as he got. Fucking treasure.

  When Robert finally stopped them, both winded, Ange laid his cheek down on the manger. Robert had covered the hand that held onto the corner, and their fingers were intertwined, their other set of hands still tangled against Ange’s chest. Robert laid his jaw on Ange’s back, against the remaining feathers and his flesh. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  He might have been thanking Ange, or the angel over the manger, or whatever Power watched over them all. That Presence always seemed even closer at Christmas, like the orbit of the moon at certain times of the year, but the thanks were a prayer, offered to all of it.

  When he at last had the energy to lift up, he brought Ange with him. Pulling the blanket out of the manger, he shook it out, laid it over the straw, and brought his sub down to the floor with him, curling up behind him, holding his hip and nesting his own cock in between the oiled buttocks, a promise that he’d be expecting more...soon.

  Robert was going to take Ange home, fix him breakfast. Fall asleep in his bed, curled around that pale, lean body, after he gave him another workout that would leave Ange exhausted, throbbing with pain and pleasure both.

  “I want you to dance for me again,” he said, stroking the sweaty blond hair off Ange’s neck. “In my home.”

  “I will,” Ange mumbled. Robert smiled. He’d tired him out, his angel who said he didn’t sleep much. He’d relish holding him in his arms when dreams took him, and he’d damn well make sure they stayed good dreams, the kind Ange would want to embrace.

  “I’ll make your heart dance, Master. Now and forever.”

  Since it was dancing now, Robert believed him. With all the hope of Christmas itself.

  Part Two

  Chapter Four

  After they recovered enough from what had happened at the manger, Robert took Ange into the back bathroom. He had him straddle a folding chair while he filled up a bucket with hot soapy water. Though Robert still planned for them to have a good soak in his cast iron tub, Ange could hardly get dressed with feathers and wax stuck to flesh also sticky from hot cider.

  Robert applied a soaked and steaming washcloth to Ange’s back, softening the wax and removing it, along with any lingering feathers. Ange shivered at the contact with the heat, and Robert watched the water drops roll down his glistening skin, to his buttocks and the seam between. Robert let his hands follow those same intimate tracks. Exploring without demand, but the promise of sexual intent was there.

  The light in Ange’s eyes, the drifting grasp of his hand on Robert’s forearm, his waist, said he was floating in a true euphoria.

  Robert loved seeing him in that state, enough that once the clean-up was done, he didn’t push Ange to pack a bag or do anything practical, other than don clothes. The kid pulled on a pair of faded blue jeans, worn to thinness, and Robert’s sleeveless tank again. Then he headed for the door.

  “Whoa, there.” Robert snagged his belt loop, hauling him back. “Socks. Shoes. Coat. I swear, if I didn’t tell you to get dressed, you’d just prance out there bare-assed.”

  Ange’s fair cheeks flushed, but he sent Robert a sheepish smile. “I’m not feeling the cold,” he said.

  More of that lingering subspace talking. Which was good, because under different circumstances, it might have concerned Robert. Ange’s tendency to disconnect from reality always left Robert feeling a little uneasy. More protective.

  But that was the thing. Ange was officially his sub now. They were going to Robert’s home. At least for the rest of the night, he’d be safe in Robert’s care. He plucked Ange’s coat off the rack by the door, helping him into it after his sub struggled into his socks and shoes. Robert set the alarm, and they stepped out into the wintry night.

  As they walked through the ankle-deep snow of the side street route to his place, Ange scuffed through it, kicking up powdery drifts. He twirled around Robert, doing short leaps and spins, coming back to him to link arms, hug up to him, then spinning away again.

  It amused Robert, pleased him. Even managed to distract him for a while, so that he didn’t notice exactly when that comfortable Dom-space feeling became harder to maintain. But he should have expected it. Some things refused to be put aside.

  The closer they came to Robert’s home, the more reality accelerated, overtaking and leaving bliss behind.

  Ange had never been inside Robert’s place, a forty-year old brick townhome in Charlotte’s gentrified Fourth Ward area. The store was their shared world, where Robert went in order to absorb and experience all things Ange. Keeping Ange away from the other side of his life had been Robert’s choice, one he hadn’t examined too closely. Maybe because it wasn’t that hard to figure out.

  Robert had gone to the store to immerse himself in light, life, difference. His home was filled wall to wall with the murk of memories. Every step they took away from the store and toward Robert’s place felt as if they were moving from light back to dark.

  Articulating his feelings for Ange as he’d done tonight had been unexpected, no matter how wonderfully inevitable it now seemed. The whole world had changed in one evening. Yet suddenly Robert had a strange fear, that if he took Ange inside his home, the magic they’d found in the store would vanish. It couldn’t survive what was behind his front door.

  Robert came to a halt in his driveway and turned to look at Ange. The blond damp lashes, frosty breath billowing from sensual lips. The tousled hair over his fair forehead. They were going to a hotel, Robert decided. Or back to the store. They’d layer blankets on the floor, since there was no way he could fit on Ange’s narrow cot in the back room. Even though he didn’t mind the mental image of them trying to do so, limbs tightly intertwined.

  Before he could say what was in his head, Ange closed the distance between them, put his mouth on Robert’s. A sweet, almost shy kiss, fingers kneading at Robert’s waist. He was nervous, too, Robert realized.

  Maybe he was interpreting Robert’s hesitation differently. Maybe he thought, in Robert’s home, outside the whimsical surroundings of the store, Robert would find him wanting.

  Just like that, Robert’s concerns didn’t seem as important. “Pull out my keys,” he told Ange, because he had his hands on Ange’s face, the side of his neck, holding him for the kiss, controlling the depth of it. He wasn’t letting go.

  Ange’s long fingers slipped into the pocket of Robert’s jeans, offering an intimate caress of the upper thigh, reaching for the hint of testicles until Robert growled at him. Ange produced the keys with an impish smile.

  “Going to end up on the naughty list,” Robert muttered.

  As he let Ange go in order to unlock the door, Ange touched the antique doorknocker, a little girl with a wreath on her head, sitting on a swing. Grasping her feet and pulling her up to “swing,” made the knocker work. Ange did it once, smiling. Answering the expression with a tight one of his own, Robert pushed open the portal.

  The small, garage-level foyer contained an umbrella stand and a side table bearing a green carnival glass fruit bowl. He dropped his keys there with a quiet clanking noise. A wide polished wooden staircase led upstairs, while a door to the left led to the two-bay garage. On the right was a narrow elevator to carry a person or groceries to the upper three floors.

  Ange hung his coat on a row of hooks beside the garage door, touching a black tweed fedora with a red and black spotted feather. “You’d look good in that,” he said.

  As he lifted it, obviously intending to playfully sit it on Robert’s head, Robert grasped his wrist, stopping him. Took it from him with the other hand, set it back on the hook.

  “It was my father’s,” he said.

  Uncertainty flitted over Ange’s face at the
decisive gesture. “Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Trying to shrug off the unexpected reaction, Robert gestured Ange to precede him up the steps. Ange brushed past him, his hand briefly touching Robert’s side. He had a feeling his sub might have let the gesture linger, if Robert hadn’t introduced the stiff note to things.

  He watched the shift of Ange’s backside, the crease of his shirt over his back, then followed him up. When he reached the first level with him, Robert stood just behind his shoulder, watching Ange examine the space that held the kitchen and an open living space.

  The townhome had almost four thousand square feet of heated space, each level accordingly expansive. However, this one was so overstuffed with furniture it could have been the display floor of a secondhand store. An old sectional sofa set, coffee and end tables were crammed in with a couple wingbacks and another sofa. The sectional and tables had been brought from his parents’ home. The wingbacks and sofa were Robert’s. Long, heavy drapes with blue and green stripes covered the bank of windows, making the room seem even smaller. His sofa was pressed against the folds of fabric, flattening them.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d opened the curtains. He’d moved some of the furniture back into a better viewing position for the flatscreen over the gas log fireplace, but it was the only change he’d made. As such, he could still see how all of it had been adjusted to accommodate his mother’s hospital bed.

  When Robert bought the townhome, he’d intended to tailor the interior to his tastes, make a home for himself. In his head, he’d planned out changes to create a welcome place for hosting dinners and entertaining friends. His plan was to get on that after trade show season was over. Then his father’s health started to decline, and a decision on care had to be made.

  His parents wouldn’t use paid healthcare services. His mother, not in good health herself, would kill herself trying to care for his father on her own. Because he was running a business, Robert couldn’t shut things down and care for them in their Virginia home. His guilt over that, along with a genuine desire to lessen the pain of their transition, meant he moved as much of their world into his place as he could. His mother had been reluctant to part with any of her possessions.

  Around that time Freddie had bailed on him as well. Though all break-ups sucked, if someone was going to rip his heart out, Robert supposed he should be glad it had happened when he was in the midst of another emotional crisis. In hindsight, it was like dropping an anvil on his foot to forget he’d just slammed his hand in a car door.

  The end result was probably the same, though. They’d passed the two-year anniversary of his father’s death, and his mother had been gone a year and a half. His parents’ rooms on the second level were unchanged, clothes still in the closet. To save trips to the store, he’d gone searching in their bathroom for extra toothpaste or toilet paper until that was gone, but everything else had remained untouched.

  Why hadn’t he taken the lift to his bedroom, where Ange wouldn’t see all this? Though still appallingly generic, the third floor wasn’t smothered beneath the heavy weight of the past. It held his bedroom, another living space, and led to the rooftop deck. Except for using the kitchen to prepare his meals, that was where he spent most of his time. He’d been acting as if he were living in a loft apartment, a convenient way to avoid doing anything with the lower floors.

  Ange had left the stairs to take several steps into the first level living space. He faced the curtains, gazing at the lengths of striped fabric. Robert stood at the threshold between the kitchen and living room, watching him. Despite his conflicting thoughts, he said nothing. Maybe he was waiting to see what Ange would do, while he struggled to figure out his own best move to care for his sub properly in an environment that threatened to choke him.

  Ange moved to Robert’s sofa, bent and grasped the wooden trim at the bottom. When he pulled the sofa away from the windows, the curtains rippled, as if taking a breath from the release of pressure. Ange slid his slim form into the space he’d created, lifting his arms out to either side to pull back the curtains.

  The track lights in the kitchen had been left on, but they mostly provided illumination to that area. Now the living room was flooded with the natural brightness of a moonlit, snowy night. It created a new canvas of shadows and shapes over the copious amounts of furniture.

  Ange emerged from behind the sofa and extended a hand. As Robert came to him, his sub had a light smile on his face, but it was a serious expression, his eyes full of emotion. His grip held strength and firmness. His angel was such a mix of boy and man, the broken and the resilient. Reminders of the man, and the stronger-than-expected will, were always a pleasurable surprise.

  “Each day when you came to the store,” Ange said, “you’d have shadows in your eyes. A gloom. After about an hour, they’d disappear. Once you touched your favorite toys on the shelves. Once the customers came in. I could tell that every night when you went home, it was to grief and memories. So every day, I’d vow to do what I could to inspire you to smile, to ease your sadness. I wish I had known, Master. I wish I had really understood. I thought I did, but I didn’t.”

  Those earnest green eyes, the set of his jaw, humbled and overcame Robert. It took him a moment to reply, but the answer itself wasn’t hard to find.

  “You made it better. Every day.” Robert moved closer, his body brushing Ange’s as he lifted a hand to his face, touched it with his knuckles. “Be easy on that.”

  Every night he’d leave the toy store with more energy than he’d brought to it in the morning. Ange was right about that. But by the time Robert set his keys downstairs and reached the kitchen, the energy to change anything here was gone. The oppressiveness was too much to alter on his own.

  With Ange here, he could feel that energy shifting. Then Ange gave it an additional push. A corner of his distracting mouth curved. “You really would rock that hat.”

  “Nope.” Robert considered him. “Not me. Stay here.”

  He turned and left the room, jogged down the stairs and retrieved it. His fingers slid along the interior band. His dad was the person who’d taught him not only to care for things well, but to appreciate how those things shaped themselves to a person, the longer they remained in his care. The hat was clean, but it had accommodated his father’s head over time, the inside satin band discolored and faded from contact with his flesh.

  Robert returned to the living room. As he crowned Ange with the hat, his boy’s smile deepened, and he put both hands on it, his fingers brushing Robert’s. He removed it, twirled it in his hand, put it back on his head, and did a low spin, one arm and leg out, a graceful move like a sundial. Then he nodded to the stairs.

  “Can I see the rest?”

  “Sure.” Robert led the way. He dipped his head toward Ange when his sub’s fingers hooked in Robert’s waistband, the kid keeping pace with him. The stairs creaked, the sound their feet made echoing hollowly against the wall.

  The next level held the bedroom and bath his parents had shared, on the other side of a smaller living space. He’d planned for that bedroom to be a home office. Just like the other two levels, this one had a fireplace. Closer to the stairs was a guest room and full bath. He kept them clean and ready in case he had a visitor, a habit his mother had always had in her own home.

  He explained all that briefly, but continued on without leaving the stairs. Getting through the dense layer of memories on the first level had been difficult enough. Here they took up all the oxygen entirely. Having to step into his parents’ bedroom, inhale the traces of their scents that he could still crazily detect in there? That would have made holding onto the light Ange had brought into the house—and not simply by opening the curtains—a far more precarious proposition.

  He’d reached the third level. Imagining it through Ange’s eyes, Robert could see his bedroom wasn’t just generic. It was as colorless as bathwater in a white tub.

  “Master.”

 
Robert turned. Ange stood a couple steps below him on the stairs. Robert realized he seemed to be blocking the way, keeping Ange from coming up. A variety of expressions went through Ange’s eyes. Robert glanced behind him, down toward the still visible opening to the second level guest room. Did Ange think Robert had altered his invitation, that Robert would share the space, but not his bed?

  Not a chance in hell. Yeah, the second level guestroom was definitely the more cheerful of the two rooms, with pictures of sunflowers and a blue and yellow spread. He’d made an effort there, where he hadn’t for the rest of the house. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t want Ange anywhere but with him. In his own king-sized bed, with room to stretch long male limbs, as well as spoon and tangle their bodies together.

  When he extended his hand, confirming it, the worry left Ange’s expression like the shedding of a coat.

  Ange moved up to him, did a quick nuzzle of Robert’s throat, then slid past him. Robert had intended this level to become a reading room. The built-in shelves were already crammed with Robert’s favorite books. Ange’s attention touched on those, but when he saw the open double doors revealing the master bedroom, he was on his way there.

  Robert followed him, stopping at the threshold and leaning against it. His king-sized bed was tidily made with a solid beige spread. Brown and black pillows were arranged at the top. Mounted on the wall above the bed was a big vintage oil of a clipper ship from the 1970s, still in the original scarred frame.

  At least the dresser had some items that personalized the space. There was the picture of his parents, flanking him in his uniform. Seeing him off for his second tour. His father’s hand was on his shoulder, his mother pressed to Robert’s side.