28. Chapter 28
Cameron
Justin ends up giving me a great blowjob even without me having to put strawberries on my cock. His instinctive refusal still stings a little, but I force myself to let it go. He’s already better than any pet I’ve ever had. He just needs more time.
I spend two wonderful days with Justin. We relax, have sex, eat good food, watch movies, and have sex again.
We sleep together, with chains binding Justin’s limbs to the bed posts.
Those chains turn out to be fun for both of us when I leave him restrained and edge the life out of him.
I don’t fuck him again to give his ass a chance to recover, but we do plenty of other fun things.
As my second day off draws to an end, Justin grows distant and quiet, retreating to a shell I don’t like. I do have to work, though, so I steel my heart, ignore Justin’s teary eyes, and put him back in his cage for the night.
“I might be late tomorrow,” I tell him.
His face crumbles and he curls in on himself, hugging his knees tightly. It’s heartbreaking, but what am I supposed to do?
“I have two important clients scheduled.” Very important.
I could possibly reschedule the shading session with a cartel enforcer that takes up my morning, but if I cancel the meeting with Alfredo Rossi, the leader of the Triton Syndicate, I might as well flush my career down the drain. Possibly along with my life.
These important assholes don’t like to be told no by anyone, let alone mere peons or poor artists just scraping by. Okay, I’m not scraping by, but as a neutral party who stays away from the constant power struggle in the city, these people will always see me as less than.
It used to bother me, but knowing what I’d have to do to get on their level helped me make peace with it.
The only kind of violence I enjoy is reddening a naughty pet’s ass.
I can’t imagine living in their kill or be killed world.
Having to dance the fine line between not making any enemies while also not aligning myself with one of the parties is not easy, but it’s still better than the alternative.
“I could come with you,” Justin suggests so quietly I barely hear him. Before I can confirm that I understood him correctly, he adds, “I’d be quiet and stay out of your way, I promise. Just don’t leave me here alone, please.”
“Still trying to figure out a way to escape?” I can’t say I’m surprised, but it’s also a little disappointing. I stupidly let myself hope Justin likes it here. That he likes me. “That’s never going to happen.”
“That’s not what I meant! I wasn’t thinking about escaping. I just want to spend time with you.”
It’s a lie. I know it is, because it’s too good to be true.
Still, I can’t find a trace of deception in Justin’s expression.
His eyes are shiny with unshed tears, and he looks at me with desperation that twists my insides, but it doesn’t look like he’s lying.
He’s really making me believe that he’d be a good little pet and quietly kneel by my side as I work.
That he wouldn’t try to run or alert someone to his situation.
It’s so convincing that I actually give it a real thought, which is not something I’ve done before.
My clients wouldn’t mind me bringing a pet along.
Hell, having a well-trained sex slave, as they’d see it, would probably raise my standing in their eyes.
However, there’s still the fact that Justin is lying, that he’s using my good mood against me.
He’ll try to run the second he gets a chance, and I can’t afford that risk.
Especially not with Detective Small lurking around.
Thinking about that asshole sours my mood instantly. “That’s not an option.”
The words come out harsher than I intended and Justin instinctively moves away from me, huddling in the opposite corner of the cage. I could easily walk around to get close to him again, but it’s supposed to be his safe space, so I stay where I am and quietly hate the distance between us.
“Listen, I’ll make time for you again tomorrow or the day after that,” I say, taking care to keep my voice friendly. “I do have to work, though. You’ll be absolutely safe down here. Just get some rest, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Yes, Sir,” Justin mumbles but refuses to meet my eyes. He sounds disappointed, and I feel for him, even if his disappointment stems from the fact that he won’t get a chance to escape.
“Tomorrow,” I promise. After checking that he has enough water and food to last him a few days, just in case something comes up and I have to stay out longer, I walk away, pretending I don’t hear the quiet sobbing from the cage.
My bed feels cold and lonely and I spend half the night tossing and turning.
I didn’t sleep with Justin downstairs because I wanted to get some rest instead of constantly being tempted by his body right next to mine, but I wake up groggy anyway.
Maybe I’ll just spend all my nights with Justin from now on.
The result will be the same, but at least the path to it will be more enjoyable.
I could even bring him upstairs to my real bed, and we could…
No. What am I doing? He’s my pet, and I already spoil him too much. I need to stop thinking with my cock.
***
Something’s up.
I spend hours inking Alfredo Rossi’s arm, and the whole time, the back of my neck prickles.
His goons are watching me closely, not taking their eyes off me for a second.
There are two of them in the room and another couple right outside the doors, a stark contrast to my last visit when it was just me and Rossi.
There’s no casual chat, either, just a strained silence that grates on my nerves.
My internal alarms all scream danger, and I’m tempted to stop halfway through the session. I have a feeling that the moment I proclaim my work complete, someone’s going to put a bullet in my head.
What’s happening?
Rossi didn’t say a word, and we parted on friendly terms after our last session.
What could have changed? Of course, I could chalk the goons and their vigilance up to Rossi’s paranoia.
There might be a power struggle within the Triton Syndicate that makes him feel threatened, but it doesn’t feel that way.
This animosity I sense in the air is personal, and it’s aimed toward me. For the love of the devil, I can’t figure out why. I’m not a nice guy in the conventional sense, but I tend to get along with people, and I didn’t do shit to Rossi or his group.
I’m nearly vibrating with tension as I put the finishing touches on Rossi’s new ink, an intricate blend of traditional symbolism and an entirely new symbol I designed for the Syndicate. I dare to say it’s one of my best works, and during our previous meetings, Rossi seemed enamored with it.
“All right, we’re done here,” I say. No one shoots me, but the temperature in the room seems to drop a few additional degrees. “Keep it covered, no soaking or sunbathing, you know the drill. Once it heals, we’ll see if it needs additional touches.”
“I’ll find someone to do that if it comes to that,” Rossi replies coldly.
Ouch. Also, what the fuck? I put on my professional smile, honed by years of dealing with arrogant assholes. “Is there an issue with the work?”
“Not with the work.” Rossi nods to his guards, who step closer. “You should leave now, Mr. Matthews. For your own good.”
“Of course.” I hide the turmoil inside of me behind a polite smile, because no matter what the hell is going on here, I need to stay professional. The guards look at me with thinly veiled disgust that honestly baffles me.
I’m used to the more traditional folk hating me for being gay or for being Black—sometimes both—but one of these guys is blacker than me and I’ve seen him fuck both men and women at Indulgence, so this isn’t good old homophobia.
It’s pointless to demand answers, though, so I get in my car and head home, stewing silently. A text from another client canceling our planned session, doesn’t lift my spirits either. Under different circumstances, I’d write it off as a coincidence, but what if it’s not?
I’m in such a bad mood that I don’t even go straight to Justin. I head to my home gym instead, intent to blow off some steam first.
Where can I get some answers? I text Sin, but she’s busy with the club at this hour.
I doubt I’ll hear from her until tomorrow, and that’s only if she’s heard something.
Like me, Sin knows a lot of secrets, but she has to choose carefully which ones to share.
The club’s reputation and, more importantly, neutrality, hinges on it.
I’m still reeling even after I’ve worked out, but I stop by the basement to let Justin use the bathroom and quickly fuck him against the wall.
I might be a little rougher than usual, but I do make sure he comes as well before locking him up again.
It’s a good thing he doesn’t try talking me into letting him out again.
As irritated as I am, I would have probably yelled at him, and no one wants that.
It takes another hour on the treadmill for me to finally exhaust myself enough to fall into a fitful sleep.
The next day finds me with a message, not from Sin but from Detective Small.
“There’s still time to do the right thing,” it says.
I’m tempted to toss the phone across the room, but it would solve nothing, so instead I torture my sore muscles on the gym machines until it’s time to head to another client.
This one is Russian, Bratva born and bred, sent here straight from Moscow after Mikhail took out the Morozovs.
He doesn’t treat me any differently from before, nor do I attract any odd or disgusted looks in his compound, so I let myself believe the thing with Rossi was a fluke.
Until I receive two more cancellations, both from Italians or people connected to them. Both stating, in varying levels of profanity, that they won’t work with “someone like me.”
What the actual fuck?
I call Sin, but she doesn't pick up, so I head home angry again. This time, I go straight to my pet, because I need to calm down somehow and exercising until I drop dead clearly isn't working. Maybe fucking until I drop dead will work better.