Chapter 2

Gabriel carried on to the bar and sat down. He looked up from his phone after checking he had no messages from Clare and relaxed. No messages were a good thing. He chuckled as Patrick sat down next to him. "You slumming?"

Patrick returned the grin. The Daddy Dom was usually in the little room on Fridays, and not out here. "I haven't seen you for ages, and Charlie is busy playing with his friends."

"Uh-huh," Gabriel said and took a swallow of the light beer he'd ordered, nodding a greeting to Adrian who stood at the end of the bar.

Patrick raised his hands in a surrender motion, but he was doing his best not to smile. Gabriel laughed. "You can't help it, can you? You're a fixer, Patrick. All your friends know this, but I hate to tell you, I don't need fixing. I'm happy with what I am." He also didn't need Patrick's cupid tendencies focusing on him. Patrick didn't look in the least bit intimidated and ordered his own beer.

"How's the family?"

Gabriel shrugged. "The funeral wasn't great, but I've gotten Clare sorted into a new facility that has a custodian." Being with him hadn't worked; she was bored, and at his own place the stairs were impossible. It had been his sister who gently told him she wanted to live somewhere else, but he still felt like shit about it. She'd been stuck with their dad for a long time and, much to his shame, Gabriel hadn't realized how bad it had gotten for her.

Patrick nodded and Gabriel looked around the room, spotting the changes that had come with the recent remodel. The main space by the bar just had grouped chairs, tables, and sofas. Looked like pretty much any bar in the country. It was the rooms that stretched away from the main area that made this club a little different, and they were all based on the theme. There was a medical room that he knew Patrick had personally advised on kitting out, a medieval torture chamber, a classroom, a Victorian royalty chamber complete with a throne, a large bare space for whipping, and other rooms with beds that could be used privately or changed to fit themes.

Then there was the stage. Used for demonstrations, but also used for those that got off on being displayed or watched. It wasn't Gabriel's thing, but he respected everyone who came here because they couldn't find what they were looking for somewhere else.

Adrian had even discussed having specialty theme nights like a rodeo. Subs more than actual horses would be ridden, of course, and apparently the littles were interested in being ponies, which could be cute.

They both looked over at the door to the lobby as it opened and Gabriel watched as Rowan came in, a little relieved he wasn't intending on being on the door all night. He'd admittedly developed a soft spot for Rowan. Having witnessed it most of his life aimed at his older sister, he detested cruelty in all forms, but at least the sub, Matthew, didn't seem to be here, because he'd been especially nasty to Rowan. He watched Rowan look around hesitantly, then walk into the main room. Gabriel's eyes widened a little in shock when Rowan didn't head straight to the little room, especially when a Dom he didn't know stood up from a group and beckoned him over. "Who's that?"

There were a few new faces, unsurprising as Gabriel's visits had been few and far between lately.

"Paul Dennison," Patrick replied. "Dom from Florida. Moved here three months ago. All references checked out." Gabriel frowned as Dennison took Rowan's hand and led him to a separate table.

"A Dom? He knows Rowan is a little?"

Patrick nodded. "And Adrian is watching them." Gabriel glanced over toward the end of the bar where the owner of Escape, Adrian, was indeed monitoring them both.

Gabriel watched them as Dennison put a cushion on the floor for Rowan. Again, perfectly normal, except the cushion was way too small for Rowan, and even though Rowan obediently sat down and did his best to cross his legs, he didn't look comfortable.

"What is Dennison into?"

Patrick hesitated, and Gabriel quickly glanced back at his friend. If Dennison so much as got a nipple clamp out, he would...

You would do what? Gabriel put a break on his thoughts. He had no right to do anything, providing Rowan consented. Rowan might be submissive, but he was still a grown-up.

"Puppy play, from what I understand," Patrick said. "But he's not a daddy."

Puppy-play?Gabriel relaxed a little. That was okay. No whips or floggers. He turned back to watch them both. Dennison seemed quite attentive to Rowan. He'd gotten him a bottle of water and a straw. Rowan looked eager, curious. He could see the flush in the boy's neck as Dennison talked.

Good for him. He really hoped Rowan got what he wanted, and maybe Dennison would take him in the little room as a reward. He sternly told himself it was none of his business and began to talk to Patrick about the changes Adrian had introduced that he might have missed.

Every so often his gaze seemed to wander to Rowan, until much to his relief, after an hour, Rowan got up and went into the little room, and Dennison returned to his group of friends.

When Patrick also went back to the little room, Gabriel stood and walked over to where the subs were all sitting and picked one to negotiate a scene with. He was soon out of his head with every stripe he decorated the sub's body with.

Rowan

"Oh, my goodness," Charlie said, in awe. "You absolutely have to tell me what he's like, right this minute."

Rowan could barely breathe for excitement. He had an actual Dom interested in him. So, he wasn't a daddy, but Master Paul had hinted he might explore that option, and he didn't want to hurt Rowan, which as far as Rowan was concerned meant he could call himself anything he damn well pleased.

The only trouble was he'd asked Rowan to come in on Thursday because he said he couldn't possibly wait a whole week to see him, and Rowan had no idea how he was going to do that. He could hardly tell Master Paul that his mother wouldn't allow it.

Dash pulled his thumb out of his mouth when he clearly saw the reprimanding look Daddy Jensen sent him. "Why isn't he in here, then?"

Charlie frowned. "He knows you're a little?"

Rowan nodded, unable to keep the huge smile off his face. "He wants a puppy."

Abigail tipped her head to the side as if she was trying to puzzle things out. "What does that mean?"

Rowan lowered his voice so the Daddies couldn't hear. "Like the parties when we dress up," Rowan said.

"But that's just a party," Abigail said slowly. "Pretend for an hour."

Rowan nearly rolled his eyes. "Which is what you do every weekend, Abbie."

Abigail giggled because she knew it was true. She neatly split her life between being a little and being a renowned surgeon, and Rowan had absolutely no idea how she did it. If he had a choice, he'd want to be like Dash. Dash was lucky and got to be a little all the time.

Then he thought about what he'd said. Being a little wasn't pretend. Sometimes he pretended to enjoy what his friends liked because they were his friends, but he knew that being little fulfilled a need in a lot of them, and that wasn't pretend at all. He just didn't know what that meant for him.

Charlie gazed at him. "Do you know what being a puppy means?"

"Not everything," Rowan said, a little defensively. "But I have a few days to decide and do some research." The main thing was Master Dennison didn't want to hurt him. Puppies got spoiled, right? They curled up at their master's feet. So maybe if he lost a pound or two this week, he might find it easier to curl up. Which should be easy at his mother's. She was very strict about what he ate, which was usually why he stuffed himself on the weekend as Father didn't care.

He"d even seen a master with a kitten once. It had been nearly two years ago, when Rowan had first joined, but the kitten had been beautiful. She'd wound herself around her master's legs and made this purring sound, even as he had talked to other masters. Then he'd gotten his cock out and made her suck it while he finished talking. He'd told the other masters she needed her milk to settle her, but all the time he was involved in that conversation, her master constantly touched her. Stroking her back and playing with her furry ears. She'd looked at him like he'd hung the moon, but it had been shared. It had been obvious her master loved her just as much.

And that's what Rowan craved. And if he had to wear furry ears to get that, what did it matter?

**

The following Monday, Rowan obediently rested his fork next to his not-quite-empty plate of grilled chicken and broccoli. He knew how to behave. He always had to leave some to show that food didn't control him. That was one of the lessons Mother was so strict about, and he had no intention of ever making the mistake of finishing his meal. He knew better, and if her disapproving looks didn't remind him, then her harsh words certainly would.

"We have an appointment tomorrow." She dabbed at her lips with the napkin and fixed Rowan with her steely gaze. The one that always made him want to disappear.

"Yes, Mother?" Because he knew an answer was required.

"It's your annual check-up."

Rowan kept breathing, just.

"You know what happens. A scan. Make sure you take a spare pad, of course, because I won't be humiliated."

He nodded obediently.

"And I think we should visit the dietician."

His heart sank. Because of course, why just stick to making him feel disgusting because he needed to wear pads. Why not have all the humiliation in one day and have someone else tell him he was fat. "Yes, Mother."

His mother nodded and he let out a breath. He seemed to have pleased her with his ready agreement. Not always a given. Sometimes he was in trouble because he'd said yes too easily. Rowan started clearing the table as soon as his mother left the room, and his thoughts turned to last weekend as always. Mother had a new boyfriend, and he was biding his time to suggest he go to his father's house on Thursday so they would have privacy. He had to be careful and not appear too eager or she would say no. Then it would be a huge thing.

He went to his room as soon as he had finished clearing up, grateful as always that Mother seemed to think that imposing an eight o'clock bedtime on a twenty-one-year-old adult was acceptable. Of all the things she did do, not having to suffer her company a minute longer than that was something he was thankful for every day.