Part 16 With Love
Part Sixteen: With Love
The orders in Joe’s letter were very simple.
He’d even laid them out in a nice little to-do list. If he’d been willing to deface Joe’s message, Scott could have crossed off each item as he completed it.
As it was, Scott contented himself with reading the list over one more time to reassure himself that he’d done everything just as Joe had commanded.
Pack everything you own into boxes—no exceptions other than the clothes on your back and what’s in your pockets.
Settle any outstanding rent with your landlord.
Go to the back door of The Prince’s Oak on Canal Street at ten o’clock Friday night.
Ask for Frank. Do as he says.
Yes. Scott nodded to himself as he carefully put the letter back in his pocket.
He was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Everything was as Joe wanted it and, even if he did look as scary as hell, at least Frank hadn’t ordered him to do anything but sit in a bleak little room at the back of the club.
Everything was fine, Scott reminded himself again. He belonged to Joe now, and—
“Hello.”
Scott jerked to his feet. The metal legs of his chair scraped loudly against the rough concrete floor before it toppled over and clattered to the floor.
If he’d been able to tear his gaze away from Joe, Scott would have checked if Frank, or the other security guy who was enjoying a quiet smoke with him at the back door of the club, had turned to glare at him.
But it was no use. Joe held Scott enthralled the moment he saw him. No one else existed in his world.
“Have you been doing what you’re told?” Joe asked.
“Yes, s-sir.”
Joe indicated that Scott should pick up his chair and sit down.
Joe pulled up another seat and sat down opposite him.
There was no other furniture in the room.
It looked more like a storeroom than anything else, except perhaps a prison cell.
Since it was tucked away at the back of a leather club, the odds on which it actually was were probably close to even.
“You l-look great, sir,” Scott blurted out. It was nothing less than the truth, but that didn’t mean that Scott had the right to say it. He was reasonably sure that this was the type of club where a sub didn’t have any rights at all.
Damn, he should never have spoken without permission. Scott’s pulse doubled.
“One,” Joe pointed to a fingertip, the same way he had the last time they met up.
“Don’t worry about fitting in—I’ve brought something for you to change into.
” He moved on to the next finger. “Two, there’s no one here you need to be afraid of.
Most of the guys look psychotic, but I can tell you something about every man here that would make you see him in a whole new light. ”
Scott hadn’t intended to look sceptical, but maybe his face had a different idea, because Joe raised an eyebrow as if accepting a challenge.
“See that guy talking to Frank, the one with the flame tattoo running up the side of his neck?”
Scott nodded. The guy was certainly memorable.
“His name’s Tony. His favourite hobby is crochet—I think that’s a kind of knitting, or something. He makes these weird little animal, monster things and sells them on the ‘net. Apparently, they make good money.”
Scott blinked and checked the guy out as discretely as possible, just in case there was something un-terrifying about him that he’d missed earlier on.
“And Frank—he’s seriously into breeding Persian cats—you know, the ones Bond villains like to stroke when they’re plotting to take over the world. He has far more cat toys in his place than he has cat-o-nine-tails, and that’s saying something.”
Scott smiled slightly as he tried to picture Frank petting a fluffy little kitten and failed.
“They’re just ordinary guys who happen to like playing with handcuffs—just like you and me. You’re as good as any man in this place, Scottie, and you’ve got as much right to be here as anyone else. Understand?”
Scott nodded. He certainly knew what each of Joe’s individual words meant. Believing what they amounted to when joined together, that was more difficult, but Scott took a deep breath and gave it his best shot.
When the silence became uncomfortable, Scott cleared his throat. “Am I allowed to ask w-w-why we’re here, s-sir?”
“Because, as much as I’d like to keep you to myself forever, we need to be seen together in public properly before you develop some stupid idea about me being ashamed of you or some other bull like that.”
Scott shook his head.
“We’re not going to stay long, but we are going into the club,” Joe said firmly.
“We’re going to have a drink. I’ll introduce you to a few people.
Everyone will see us together. Then, when I’m sure that you really believe I’m happy for the whole world to know we’re together, we’ll go back to my place and have hot, rough, amazing sex. Sound good?”
Scott nodded. He really liked the last part of the plan, if nothing else.
“Any questions?” Joe asked.
“If I said that I b-b-believe you’re not ashamed of me, can we skip forward to the b-bit where we go back to your place and—?”
“No.” The word wasn’t snapped or shouted. Joe said it perfectly pleasantly, but also with the sure knowledge that he had the last say in the matter—in every matter. “But there’s one more thing we have to sort out before we go into the club,” Joe added.
For the first time, Scott took an interest in the sports bag that Joe had brought into the room with him. It lay on the floor at Joe’s feet. As Scott watched, Joe bent forward and unzipped a compartment.
“I have to get ch-ch-changed,” Scott remembered. His heart sank as he saw Joe had only opened a very small partition at the far end of the bag. Whatever costume he considered appropriate for Scott to wear, it couldn’t be much bigger than the cock ring he’d worn at the boots only night.
“No, before that, too,” Joe corrected.
“Oh.” Scott smiled in relief.
Joe straightened up, a length of silver chain in his hand.
“That’s a c-c-collar.”
“Clever boy,” Joe murmured, but his focus was all on the clasp he was undoing. “Come here.”
Scott hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the security guys at the back door, but no, what Joe thought of him was far more important than anyone else’s opinion could ever be.
Scott lowered himself onto his knees in front of Joe’s chair; presenting his neck at what he hoped would be the most appropriate way.
Joe hadn’t suggested Scott should wear a collar. He hadn’t asked Scott’s opinion. Scott was well aware that Joe had made the decision long before either of them had reached the club that night. It probably hadn’t even occurred to Joe that Scott should be consulted.
Scott smiled to himself. Joe’s read on the situation couldn’t have been better. Being presented with the final decision suited Scott right down to the ground and added an extra layer of perfection to the situation.
The collar clicked into place at the back of Scott’s neck. “Done.”
Joe tucked a knuckle under Scott’s chin and encouraged him to look up.
With his other hand, Joe caught hold of the collar.
Was that what the collar was all about, Scott wondered, an easy way for Joe to hold onto him and control his movements?
Some of the porn stars Scott had seen online had used collars that way, but—
“It means you belong to me,” Joe said, as their eyes met.
Scott stared up at him, shocked by how deadly serious Joe looked. It was obviously far more than a convenient handle to him.
“It means you’re my submissive and I’m your dominant. It means you’re answerable to me, and that, in a slightly different way, I’m answerable to you, too.”
“Yes, s-sir.” Scott couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“I own you, and I’m responsible for you. Your job is to obey me, and mine is to make sure I issue the right orders.”
Scott swallowed. “Yes, s-sir.”
“Whatever happens, from this moment on, this collar doesn’t leave your neck for any reason.” He frowned slightly, as if something had just occurred to him to make him think that wasn’t as wonderful a statement as Scott thought it was.
Scott held his breath as he waited for Joe’s final verdict.
“If you have to have an x-ray, or something, I’ll get you a temporary replacement that’s not metal.” Joe nodded, as if very pleased to have solved that problem. “Either way, you’re going to wear some version of my collar for the rest of your life—and I’ll be right there to make sure you do.”
Scott wished there was something suitable for him to say in response, but the only words in his head were those Joe had just said to him. They swirled through his mind, filling every part of his psyche. There was no room for other thoughts or for words that were Scott’s own.
“Yes, s-sir,” was all he managed to say.
“I won’t insist that everyone in your life knows you’re kinky,” Joe said, his voice and his expression as serious as ever.
“It can just be a silver necklace as far as the vanilla people are concerned. But, any man who knows about leather will know what it is. He’ll know that you’ve been claimed, that he has no right to even smile at you without my permission; and I’ll never consider that to be anything other than a good thing. ”
“Yes, s-sir.”
Scott’s words were little more than whispers now, but Joe continued confidently.
“You’re mine. Never doubt that.”
Scott nodded again. “Yes, s-sir.”
Joe’s seriousness slowly drained away to be replaced with a grin. “Good boy.” He bowed his head and brought their lips together.
Scott didn’t hesitate to close his eyes and give himself up to the kiss. He had the strangest feeling that, in a dingy room in the back of a leather bar, with only two nicotine-addicted bouncers as witnesses, he’d just got married to Joe.
You’ll wear this collar for the rest of your life.
Until death do us part.
A wedding ring by any other name…