Chapter Nine

I didn't go home the next morning—nor the day after that nor even the day after that. I went to work as usual, but every night that week when I got off and headed toward the bus stop, Michael would pull up in his big SUV, roll down the window and say, "Get in, baby."

And I did. I didn't know I could be so happy. I washed the clothes I wore to work each night for the first few nights in his state-of-the-art washer and dryer, along with my underwear and socks to have them ready for the next day. Then I sat around in a fluffy, white robe while he dished up dinner he'd ordered from some expensive restaurant or other until he came over and took me right back out of it.

After a week, I told him I had to at least go home and pack a few things. He said he'd drive me, but I made him sit in the SUV when we got there, citing how dirty and messy my place was. Thank goodness he didn't argue but just agreed, and I was able to run inside and pack up my work clothes and a few other casual things, along with my bathing suit. He kept saying he wanted us to go to his family's beach house—the one up near West Palm. I grabbed my laptop too. Then I put Fozzy at the bottom of a bag, along with a few of my special outfits. I told myself I wouldn't take any of my things out unless I was completely alone and behind a locked door. I thought I could hide them at the back of the closet until then, but it soothes something inside me to have them close by. When I got back to Michael's condo, I stuffed the bag at the very back of the guest room closet, which I'd claimed as "mine" and where I kept the rest of my clothes.

Life had become the best I think it had ever been for me.

I didn't move in with him completely yet, and he hadn't yet asked me to, but he seemed to want me to come over almost every night and that was enough for now.

He came to the club on a lot of the nights I worked, sometimes just to have dinner or socialize with friends in the bar. He'd watch me on those evenings I worked with a hot, possessive look in his eyes that thrilled me and made me feel wanted. Other times, when he came in, he wore leather and participated either alone or with another Dom in flogging demonstrations, or demos of rope techniques, both of which he really excelled at. The only time he worked with a sub was when he had another Dom with him, but I still got a little jealous. I tried not to, but I hated the idea that someone else could give him something I couldn't. I never said a word about it, though, because that was who he was, and I didn't want him to have to change for me and give up something he enjoyed.

I'd been staying with him most every night for about a month, when he finally found time to go up to his beach house a little south of West Palm Beach. We planned it for my next day off. It was only about a forty-five-minute drive, depending on traffic, and he said he needed to check on everything. We could spend the night and then drive back home in plenty of time for me to go to work that next evening.

When the day finally arrived, we got up early and ate breakfast. I would have skipped it, but Michael said breakfast was the most important meal of the day, so I ate a piece of toast and he frowned at me.

"You need more than that."

"Not really."

"Yes, really. I'm going to fix you an egg and you're going to eat it."

I kind of wanted to mouth off and snap back at him, but he was giving me that stern, Dom look he did so well, so I didn't say a word. And I ate the damn egg when he put it in front of me.

I used to say that I wanted someone strong enough to make me do what they told me to do. Not physically or in a harsh way, but by the strength of their personality—well, now I had that, and I thought people should be careful what they wished for.

Maybe having a "Daddy" wasn't just about getting cuddles and being cared for. Sometimes, it meant someone taking control and setting rules for you whether you liked the rules or not. You had to suck up all that "independence" you thought you had and realize that the rules were for your benefit. I was learning that more and more every day. I wondered what he'd do if I disobeyed, and I was a little afraid to find out. This was a Dom, after all, and I figured I'd get another spanking, only this time it would hurt and be all about punishment. And Tommy had reminded me just the other day that Michael was a sadist.

I decided to ask him about it, and he'd shrugged. "Sadist? That sounds harsh, doesn't it? I admit that I like control and domination. I don't know if I'd call myself that exactly. I like to take a sub to the point of breaking and then bring them back. I want to be his source of pain and pleasure but more than that. I also need to be his safety. To get him into subspace, so he can let the world fall away and know that I'll be there to catch him. I want to be the one who gives him whatever he needs. Sadism in my world isn't just about pain. It's being responsible for the sub's well-being. Mentally, emotionally and physically. It's a lot of power that a sub gives you. It's delicate and fragile and has to be handled with care and respect."

He looked at me then, like he was trying to be casual about it. "Are you asking because you might be interested in finding out more about it?"

This is what I wanted to say—

No, I don't want pain. I like the idea of having you as the source of all my pleasure and safety. I love that idea. And I love the idea of you giving me whatever I need. I wish I could do the other things that are important to you—but I just can't.

But this is what I actually said—

"Maybe. Are you saying you want to teach me?"

He smiled so big and pulled me into his arms and kissed me. "Oh, baby boy, you have no idea how much. Will you really let me try? We can make this work, baby. I know we can."

I wanted to believe him, and I wanted to please him, and so I agreed. Like I said, I had things I was keeping from him—important things—and they might be that deal breaker I always seemed to be waiting for. I knew I needed to tell him and let him decide what to make of my issues. But I kept putting it off.

If I'd been stronger or healthier, I would have just told him and trusted him to deal with it. And I would have told him I didn't want pain and I sure as hell didn't need it. But I was too scared of what he'd think of me.

He told me we'd start my "training" as soon as we got back from our trip to his beach house.

The day had finally come for our visit, and I'd been looking forward to it. It was a beautiful day outside and a perfect day for a ride. We took the turnpike and made pretty good time. It was my first time at his beach house, and it wasn't at all the way I'd pictured it. In fact, it was much better.

Instead of the huge mansion I'd halfway expected because of how fancy his condo was, the house was still large, but not outrageously so. It was an elegant, older white stucco with a red tile roof, and it was well maintained, with a beautifully landscaped yard. It had a modern design, all on one level, but the best part by far was the perfect view. The house overlooked its own small private beach, and it had huge sliding glass doors all along the beach side in the living room and master bedroom that opened onto a small pool area surrounded by an extravagant deck. It was gorgeous and expensive, and once again, I questioned what the hell I was even doing with a man like this and in a place like this.

I was standing at the glass doors looking out when Michael came up behind me and put his arms around my waist.

"What do you think?"

"It's wonderful. Why aren't you living here all the time?"

He laughed and nuzzled my ear. "My work is in Ft. Lauderdale so I need to be closer, but I do try to get up here as often as I can. I'm glad you like it."

"I love it. Thank you for bringing me."

"Of course," Michael said. "Make yourself at home, baby. Why don't we take off these hot clothes and get in the pool?"

"I'll get my swimsuit."

"No need for all that," Michael said, as he slipped his shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. I probably broke a few land records getting out of my clothes too, and when I was done, he stepped up close to me and cupped my bare ass before he took my mouth with his. He ground his cock into me, a delicious drag of friction and heat. His hand slid along my ass, palming me. I have to admit I squirmed a little because it felt so good, and it started up a little ache in my balls. He stroked my ass, easing a finger into me and massaging and stretching.

All the while he kept murmuring soft words to me, calling me his baby, his pet and his darling. The words should have made me feel embarrassed and maybe they would later on when I had time to think about them, but just then I liked them. A lot. Nobody had ever given me many endearments before, not ever. Michael was the first. I thought I could learn to love them coming from him. He pulled me over to the sofa and put me on my back. Then he flipped me on my stomach—damn, his strength always surprised me, and he was so bossy. I spread my legs, knowing what was coming. Or I thought I knew. I was shivering some—not because I was cold, but in anticipation and because I wanted him so much, and I wanted this to be good, here in his beautiful beach house for the first time. It was already a little like a dream.

He scrambled up to go search through a drawer in the end table, and I wondered how many men he'd brought here before me. But then I felt Michael's finger gently breach me, slippery with some kind of lube or oil. And I heard the crinkle of paper as he smoothed on a condom. And I stopped wondering and trying to make a problem for myself. We both had a life before we met, and I needed to just get over it.

Michael was breathing raggedly by this time. His slick fingers danced down my crease and massaged into me again. "Spread yourself for me," he murmured, and I blushed like hell, but I reached behind myself and grabbed my hips, doing as he'd asked. "I'll go slow, but I need you to push out a little. That's it."

The pressure began to ease for a moment and then a second finger joined the first. I felt the head of his cock, bumping against my hole. He nudged it inside, stretching me way more than his fingers had. I clamped my mouth shut though, because I didn't want him to stop and gradually, I felt my muscles finally relaxing. I did as he said and pushed out and then he was sliding inside me. It was always so good with Michael. My body was still adjusting around him, but he stroked in a few times and found my prostate again and I arched against him and thought I could come from this without even a touch to my cock.

"You feel so good around me. Such a sweet little ass. This little ass belongs to me. Say you're mine, baby."

"Yours."

He moaned and pulled me possessively closer.

My cock stiffened at the dirty talk. The burn was finally easing away a little more and I felt stuffed and full. He rocked against me over and over, and I was surprised at how excited it made me. I'm pretty sure there was a little begging involved on my part, and I pushed my ass back against him, asking for more. My head fell back on his shoulder as he leaned over me. He kept up a steady rhythm, pounding into me.

He eased his hand under me to caress my cock and just that much touch made me come. He joined me a minute or so later, and like every time with Michael, it was so good, I had to wonder how long this happiness could last. I wasn't used to it, and so I kept doubting it. I knew it was a bad habit, but it seemed I had a lot of those.

We went out to swim in the pool afterward and spent most of the day naked on his deck. He had fencing and shrubbery all down the back sides of his yard, and his beach was private, so I didn't feel self-conscious at all. Okay, that was a lie—I always felt self-conscious, but I got over it. Michael spread sunscreen over my chest and shoulders, then made me lie down so he could spread some on the lower half of my body—which led to more love-making. All in all, it was a really good day. One of the best I ever had.