24. Twenty-Three

I finished ironing the last of Shepherd’s ties and hung it neatly on the hanger. The mindless, repetitive task lulled me into a trance-like state. My thoughts drifted to Shepherd and I couldn't help but sigh as I imagined what amendments he might be willing to put in the contract this time around.

For the third time that morning, I fantasized about kneeling before Shepherd, his thick cock heavy on my tongue as I sucked him deep into my throat.

Sighing wistfully, I finished putting away the ties and moved to the kitchen to wash the dishes. As the warm, sudsy water caressed my hands, I continued dreaming of worshipping Shepherd's cock with my mouth and tongue. I imagined his fingers gripping my hair, the way he’d thrust into my face, using me as his personal fuck toy. Then I sighed and scowled down at my stiff cock. Stupid, needy thing.

Desperate to distract myself, I fished a butterscotch hard candy from my pocket and popped it into my mouth. I sucked on it intently, swirling my tongue around the smooth surface as it clacked against my teeth and lip ring. The sweet flavor flooded my tongue, but did little to soothe me. I didn’t want sweet . I wanted Shepherd and no amount of hard candy in the world was going to satisfy that craving. I finished the dishes and drained the sink, still sucking restlessly on the butterscotch candy.

Chores done, I called Gavin. He answered on the second ring. “Eli! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I smiled. “Hey, feel like a shopping trip? Shepherd says I need new clothes.”

“Absolutely! I’ll be there in twenty. Meet you out front?”

“Sure. See you soon.”

I slipped my phone back in my pocket, glancing around the spotless, silent kitchen. Eager to escape the cold sterility of the house, I quickly finished tidying up, already looking forward to Gavin’s company.

Twenty minutes later, I slid into the soft leather of Gavin’s passenger seat. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Happy to help,” he said with a warm smile. “I was bored anyway.”

Gavin pulled onto the road as I unwrapped a butterscotch candy, its sharp taste filling my mouth. “So, how’d you start working for Shepherd?” I asked.

Gavin’s fingers flexed on the wheel. “Funny story—I was one of his grad students in psych. He was my advisor, brilliant guy.”

I pictured a younger Gavin, engrossed in his studies, hanging on Shepherd’s every word.

“We talked about dominance and submission dynamics in psychology. Shepherd was fascinated by BDSM's mental aspects. Soon after, he started training me as a dom.”

My eyebrows shot up. I pictured Shepherd teaching Gavin to wield control and read a submissive’s needs. The image made me squirm, unease creeping up my spine. Had they been intimate during training? The thought shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

I cracked the butterscotch candy between my molars and swallowed the shards. “So you two were close?”

Gavin glanced at me, his gray eyes unreadable. “We were—still are, in a way. Shepherd saw my potential and taught me control. He made me the dom I am today.”

I nodded, rolling another candy between my fingers. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the clacking of the hard candy. “Do you have your own submissive now?”

Gavin's lips quirked into a wry smile. “No, traditional D/s dynamics don't appeal to me. I play with whoever strikes my fancy, but I prefer not to be tied down.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised by his honesty. “So you and Shepherd. Have you two ever...” I trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

Gavin raised an eyebrow. “Have we ever what? Fucked?”

I nearly choked on the candy. Trust Gavin not to mince words. “Um, yeah, that’s what I’m asking,” I mumbled, heat flooding my cheeks.

Gavin smirked. “No, Shepherd and I have never been intimate. Our relationship isn’t like that.”

“Oh,” I said, relieved yet oddly disappointed. “I thought, since you spend so much time together and he trained you...”

“I get why you’d think that, but no.” Gavin shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We’ve co-dommed a submissive before, but it was strictly professional.”

I nodded, rolling the candy on my tongue. Submitting to Shepherd was hot, but to both of them? I never thought I’d be into group dynamics, but maybe… I pictured them, two powerful doms looming over a quivering submissive. My cock twitched at the thought.

“What was it like?” I asked. “Co-domming with Shepherd?”

Gavin's eyes grew distant. “Intense. Shepherd knows how to get inside a submissive's head, finding their needs before they know them. His control is absolute. I prefer a physical approach—sensory deprivation, impact play, electrostimulation.”

I nearly choked on the candy again. “Electrostimulation? What the hell is that?”

Gavin chuckled at my alarmed expression. “It’s sensation play using electrical currents for arousal. You attach electrodes to erogenous zones and deliver a low-level current. It makes the muscles contract rhythmically—some say it feels like vibrations or a deep massage.”

I squirmed, intrigued yet unnerved. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“It can if you crank up the intensity too high,” Gavin shrugged. “But done right, it’s an intense, throbbing feeling. The contractions can even force an orgasm. Being able to make a sub cum with the push of a button is my favorite thing.” He flashed a knowing smile. “But don’t worry—electrostim is advanced. No one would use it during a first scene.”

We pulled into the mall parking lot and parked. I stepped from Gavin's car, the muggy heat wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket. Sweat prickled my neck as we crossed toward the looming structure.

Entering the air-conditioned mall, my excitement mounted. Bright colors, shiny surfaces, and tempting displays filled the space. A men's formalwear shop caught my eye, mannequins draped in suits and silk ties reminiscent of Shepherd's style. I instinctively veered toward it.

“Whoa there,” Gavin said, catching my elbow and steering me the other way. “Let's try this place first.”

He pointed at a store with blacked-out windows and REBEL SOUL scrawled in jagged graffiti. Punk rock music spilled out. I hesitated, glancing back at the formalwear shop.

“Shouldn’t I get some nicer clothes to impress Shepherd?”

Gavin gave me a knowing look. “Eli, to impress any dom worth their salt, you need confidence, not expensive suits. Confidence is sexier than anything you wear.”

His words gave me pause. I chewed my lip, considering, then shrugged. “If you say so.”

Gavin flashed a smile and clapped my shoulder. “Trust me on this.”

Entering Rebel Soul, the pounding music washed over me. Racks of ripped jeans, band t-shirts, and studded leather jackets lined the walls. A glass case near the register showcased body jewelry.

Gavin moved purposefully, pulling items at random and draping them over his arm. I trailed behind, running my fingers over soft cotton, smooth leather, and distressed denim.

“Here, start with these.” Gavin shoved a bundle into my arms and pointed to the fitting rooms.

I stepped into the fitting room, locking the door behind me, heart racing. With trembling fingers, I hung up the clothes Gavin picked and began to strip off my faded t-shirt and threadbare jeans.

The first outfit was black skinny jeans artfully shredded at the knees. I wriggled into them, the denim hugging my legs. The rips exposed glimpses of my pale thighs, making me feel deliciously vulnerable. I paired it with a snug black tank top that rode up to reveal my hip bones and colorful ink.

I turned to the mirror and sucked in a breath. I hardly recognized myself. The figure staring back exuded a raw, feral sexiness. Biting my lip ring, I ran my hands over my sides, relishing how the clingy fabric highlighted my torso’s lean lines.

Next, I tried tight black leather pants laced up the sides, offering peeks of skin. The buttery soft leather caressed my legs as I moved, its scent intoxicating.

Shuffling through the remaining clothes, my anticipation grew. A pair of ultra-slim fit charcoal gray pants caught my eye. I slipped into them, the stretchy material clinging to my thighs like paint. As I zipped up, I realized the outline of my cock strained against the fabric. I flushed as I turned to examine myself in the mirror.

The pants sat low on my hips, emphasizing my hipbones and the taut plane of my stomach. Combined with a form-fitting black crop top, the outfit made me look sexy. Desirable. Worthy of Shepherd's attention.

I ran my hands down my sides and over my chest. For the first time, I felt sexy. Confident. Like I could walk into a room and turn heads. A shiver of excitement raced down my spine.

I exited the fitting room, head held high. Gavin looked up from a display of studded belts, his eyes widening appreciatively. “Damn, Eli. You clean up good.”

I ducked my head, pleased. “You think Shepherd will like it?”

“Oh, I have no doubt he will. But more importantly, how do you feel about them?”

I considered the question for a moment. “I feel... powerful. Desirable. Like I'm finally becoming the version of myself I've always wanted to be.”

“That's catnip to a dom like Shepherd,” he said. “Trust me.”

He held up a studded leather belt. “Now, let's get you some accessories to complete the look.”

For the next hour, Gavin helped me pick out pieces for my new aesthetic: heavy black boots with chunky soles and gleaming silver buckles, leather bracelets adorned with spikes and chains, and a handful of necklaces.

At the register, unease prickled at my neck as if eyes were boring into me. I glanced around but saw no one paying undue attention; other shoppers were engrossed in their browsing. I shook my head, attributing it to nerves about the upcoming contract amendments with Shepherd.

My attention snapped to the cashier as she read my total, and my jaw dropped. It was more than I’d spent on clothes in my life—an obscene amount. I glanced at Gavin uncertainly, but he simply nodded toward the shiny black credit card Shepherd had given me.

“Relax, Eli,” Gavin said. “Shepherd wants you to have nice things; he wouldn't have given you that card otherwise.”

My fingers trembled as I swiped the card and signed the receipt, nerves and excitement fluttering in my stomach. Spending Shepherd's money felt illicit, thrilling—like he was claiming me in a whole new way.

Gavin and I exited the store, arms laden with sleek black bags. He checked his phone, brow furrowed. “There’s a store on the second level I want to check out—some new leather gear,” he said. “Want to join or explore on your own?”

I hesitated, torn. I wanted to shop with Gavin, enjoying his company and advice, but I wasn’t interested in leather. An art supply store across the way caught my eye, and I wanted coffee from the food court.

“I’ll check out that art supply store,” I said, pointing. “Want to meet back here in an hour?”

Gavin checked his watch and nodded. “Works for me. Have fun and be careful with that credit card, yeah?” He winked before heading off toward the escalators.

The store was a wonderland of art supplies: rows of colored pencils, markers, and paints in every hue; racks of canvas; specialty paper with various textures. I wandered the aisles in a daze, running my fingers over the smooth wood of drawing pencils and soft paintbrush bristles.

In the back, I discovered a section for tattoo art, with binders of intricate flash designs covering a large table. I flipped through eagerly, admiring bold lines and vivid colors, until a book on Japanese tattooing caught my eye. I picked it up, immersing myself in stunning images of koi fish, samurai, and dragons.

Engrossed in the tattoo art book, I didn't notice a group approaching until they crowded into my personal space. I glanced up, startled, to find myself surrounded by grim-faced men and women, their hard, cold eyes and tense body language radiating menace. A sinking dread made me recognize them as cult members.

The man in front, tall and wiry with a shaved head and piercing blue eyes, loomed closer. “Elias.” He plucked the book from my hands and passed it to someone else. “Where’s your friend?”

My mouth went dry with fear, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. “He’s around the corner,” I lied.

He snorted. “You know it’s a sin to lie.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. The man's cold, merciless eyes bored into me. “I’m not lying,” I insisted, but my voice wavered, betraying my fear.

The others pressed closer, their expressions hard and unforgiving. The woman to my left, her graying hair in a severe bun, spoke next. “We saw you talking to that FBI agent, Elias. Divulging information about God’s chosen to outsiders is a grave sin.”

My blood ran cold. They knew about my meeting with Valentine. Were they watching me? Panic clawed at my throat, but I fought to keep my expression neutral. “I didn't tell him anything,” I said, but the denial sounded weak.

The bald man sneered. “Do you take us for fools? We have eyes and ears everywhere. We know you’ve been cozying up to the feds, betraying your family—the family that saved you from your life of sin.”

I flinched, shame and anger warring inside me. “You didn't save me,” I bit out, voice shaking. “What you did wasn't salvation; it was abuse. Torture. You tried to break me.”

The bald man scowled at my defiance and raised his hand as if to strike me. I braced for the blow, muscles tensing, but a familiar voice sliced through the silence.

“Is there a problem here?”

I whipped around to see Gavin striding toward us, expression hard and eyes glinting with fury. He moved with lethal grace, radiating dominance.

The cult members turned to face him, their stances wary. The bald man squared his shoulders, preparing for a confrontation. “This is a private matter,” he said, tone clipped. “It doesn't concern you.”

Gavin stopped in front of the man, looming over him. He stared him down, unflinching. “On the contrary, anything that concerns Eli concerns me.” His voice was low and controlled, but I heard the steel beneath. “So I'll ask again—is there a problem?”

The bald man's jaw clenched, hands curling into fists. For a moment, I thought he might swing at Gavin, but his gaze flicked to the side, noting the curious stares of other shoppers. With a barely perceptible jerk of his head, he signaled to the others, who backed away slowly, gazes still fixed on me with cold intent.

“This isn't over, Elias,” the bald man hissed. “You can't escape your destiny. The Prophet will reclaim what is his.”

With those ominous words, the cult members melted into the crowd. I released a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, heart racing.

Gavin turned to me, brow creased with concern. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” He searched me for signs of injury.

I shook my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “No, I’m okay. Just shaken up. Thanks for intervening.”

“Guess it’s a good thing the leather store was closed.” Gavin's expression softened as he squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded numbly. “Can we get out of here? I want to go home.”

Gavin’s hand was a comforting weight on my shoulder as he steered me out of the art supply store and into the mall traffic. I felt dazed, disconnected as we headed toward the exit, the plastic bags crinkling in my hands, knuckles white from gripping tightly.

“Breathe, Eli,” Gavin murmured as we stepped into the muggy heat of the parking lot. “You're safe now.”

I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to slow my racing heart. The asphalt shimmered in the midday sun, the air thick and oppressive. Gavin kept a steadying hand on my back as we wove between the parked cars to his waiting Subaru.

The cool leather seat was a shock against my overheated skin as I collapsed into the passenger side. Gavin slid behind the wheel, cranking the AC up to full blast. Frigid air washed over me, raising goosebumps on my arms.

“Do you want me to call Shepherd?” Gavin asked gently as he backed out of the parking space. His tone was carefully neutral, but I could hear the underlying concern.

I shook my head, staring out the window as the world blurred by. “No, not yet,” I muttered. “He’s busy. I don’t want to distract him when he’s with his family.”

Gavin glanced at me briefly, then nodded, respecting my wish for silence. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the steady rush of cool air from the vents filled the car, and I leaned my head back against the seat, focusing on my breathing like Gavin had told me.

You can’t escape your destiny. The Prophet will reclaim what is his.

A chill swept through me, colder than the blast of the AC. They weren’t just angry that I’d talked to Agent Valentine—I realized, with growing horror, they were desperate. Desperate people did reckless things.

“You’ll have to tell him,” Gavin said quietly, cutting through my thoughts.

I knew he was right. Shepherd needed to know, but right now, I wasn’t ready to face it— any of it. Not the cult, not Shepherd, not the weight of the truth pressing down on me like a tidal wave. But I nodded anyway, because Gavin was right.

“I’ll tell him,” I whispered, more to myself than to Gavin.

Gavin didn’t push. Instead, he drove us the rest of the way home in silence.