Mark may be in charge at the office, but at home he's... POWERLESS.
When Mark orders his boyfriend-and-employee David to get coffee, David is offended. He's the Chief Technology Officer for their company, not some lowly secretary! But he's ready to make Mark understand what it means to lose control of a situation. It's time for one of their games...
This SPICY 5,000 word story contains BDSM elements, a male/male couple, and lots of sex! If you like gags, restraints, and sensory deprivation, you'll love this story!
Powerless
Stella Notecor
© Copyright 2011 by Stella Notecor
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Image: Jimmy Thomas (romancenovelcovers.com)
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each person with whom you share it. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or have it purchased for you, please visit www.stellanotecor.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
POWERLESS
By Stella Notecor
David marched out of the conference room and allowed the door to shut loudly. To think he was being sent to retrieve coffee, as if he were a lowly secretary. Mark was meeting with the CEO of a small company they hoped to acquire, and when the CEO complained he was thirsty, he sent David to find something to drink. Considering David set up the meeting, being kicked out was humiliating.
David straightened and turned towards the mess hall. He would retrieve the coffee, but he would not be made to feel powerless.
He’d show Mark how it felt to lose control of a situation.
~*~
Mark sighed and slid his key into the door lock. He opened the door and stepped inside his apartment, flicking on the lights. Oddly, the room remained dark.
He wiggled the switch up and down. Nothing. The bulb must have burned out. He headed towards the dim glow of his computer on the other side of the room. The door closed behind him, pitching the room into darkness.
Halfway to the computer, someone grabbed Mark around the waist and covered his mouth with one hand. The person pulled him against his body, and Mark could tell his captor was taller and stronger than him. He froze. The man held him closer. He was naked—his half-hard cock pressed against Mark’s ass.
His assailant pressed a squishy object into his hand. “That is your safe object,” he whispered, his stubble tickling Mark’s ear. He leaned back into his captor, recognizing the man’s voice as David’s.
“Drop the ball, and I stop immediately.” His safe object was a boob-shaped stress ball his brother gave him as a joke after he came out to his family. According to his brother, every man needed a pair of boobs to relax with. Personally, he preferred squeezing a different pair of balls when he was stressed.
“If you understand, nod your head twice.” Mark complied. David’s hands fell away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the room.
A moment later, cloth brushed against his cheek. The glow of the computer disappeared as it covered his eyes. Before Mark could ask why David had decided to play, a part of the mask was pulled under his chin and tightened so he could not open his mouth.
“Are you able to breathe?”
Mark nodded. The mask didn’t cover his nose.
“Good.” Hands fell to Mark’s shoulders. “Undress yourself.” David’s voice moved away. “I’m turning on the lights.”
The chain of the lamp by his bedroom door jangled. Mark couldn’t tell if the lights came on or not; the mask kept him in the dark. He strained to hear David’s movements as he struggled to take off his clothes with only one free hand.
Mark stripped off his jacket and shirt, dropping them to the floor. A thumping sound came from the corner near his desk.
He kicked off his shoes and socks. The cushions of the couch made a strange “whumpf” as David took a seat.
Mark unbuttoned his slacks and pushed them down to the ground along with his underwear. He bent slowly, allowing David a prime view of his ass from the couch. He straightened up, taking a moment to caress his growing hardness before placing his hands at his side.
He expected to be reprimanded for touching himself without permission, perhaps even spanked. Instead, he heard nothing—no reprimand, no movement.
Just silence.
Mark stood in place for a long time, waiting to see what would happen next. Time stood as still as he did. Finally, growing impatient, Mark made to turn towards the couch.
David’s voice came from near the bedroom door—at least ten feet to the left of the couch. “Do not move.”
Mark froze. He clenched his safe object. David had been sitting on the couch. Mark heard him take a seat, but he never heard him get up.
What was David doing? Why was he making Mark stand still? Thoughts flickered through his mind. The earlier sounds had come from more than one part of the room. Had David invited someone else into the game?
No. They never told anyone about their games, let alone invited them to join in.
Mark was Chief Executive Officer of an international technology company. David was his Chief Technology Officer. The only people they associated with daily were other employees. They couldn’t bring any of them into the game, not without dealing with sexual harassment charges. The only employees even near their ranks were the Chief Financial and Chief Security Officers, and neither man was the type to be interested in the things David and Mark did.
At least… Mark didn’t think they would be interested…
Mark’s hand spasmed, squeezing the boob-ball tighter. David was in charge during the games. He made the decisions, and if he had decided to bring someone into the game tonight, there would be a good reason for it. Mark closed his eyes beneath the blindfold and forced his muscles to relax. He trusted David.
If he listened hard enough, he thought could hear David breathing, but it might have just been the rush of blood through his head. Actually, his head felt a little fuzzy. Mark breathed in deeply, but his head remained strangely empty. He almost felt like he was going to pass out. He continued breathing deeply, and he bent his knees and relaxed his grip on his safe object slightly. Dizziness, quickly followed by a flush rising in his cheeks told him that the increased circulation had sent blood rushing to his head. At least he wasn’t dizzy anymore.
Sweat trickled down his back and legs, tickling as it moved. The room seemed warmer than usual. Beads of sweat slid down his forehead and were caught by the edge of the mask’s blindfold before they could sting his eyes. After the sweat dried, it made Mark itch. He barely kept himself from scratching at the salt trails.
Mark’s legs started to ache. He shifted his weight, trying to give each leg a break. His feet felt numb on the hardwood floor. The squishy boob in his hand grew heavy, pulling on his arm. His whole body felt thick and stiff.
After what felt like hours, David whispered in Mark’s ear, “Good boy.”
Mark tensed, a shudder crawling up his spine.
David placed a hand in the middle of his back and gave him a little push. “Head for the bed.”
Moving forward obediently, Mark trusted David to steer him away from any obstacles. He brushed up against the doorframe to their bedroom, and it helped him orient himself. He sped up, more confident in his location. David’s hand fell away as he outpaced him.
Then he rammed into a chair, crushing his penis painfully. “Nhhhh!” he whined through his nose as he clutched at his crotch.
“Naughty boy.” David’s hand landed on his shoulder. “You know better than to take control.”
He nodded and caressed his throbbing dick. It didn’t hurt half as much as his wounded pride, but it was easier to soothe the physical pain.
David turned him. “Slowly this time.”
Mark shuffled forward.
“Faster.” David swatted his hands. “And no touching.”
He released his dick but kept a firm grip on his boob-ball. Knowing that the furniture had been moved left him feeling lost. What else had been moved? The table? Their bed? He paid close attention to David’s hand on his shoulder, stopping when he squeezed lightly.
“That’s a good boy.” David’s hand drifted up to his hair. “That’s a very good boy.” He rubbed Mark’s head as if he were petting him.
He leaned into the soft touch, tilting his head closer to David’s hand. The tension melted out of his shoulders.
He didn’t need to worry about where he was. David would take care of him.
David’s hand disappeared, snapping Mark out of his relaxed state. “Bend over.”
He bent forward at the waist and stood waiting. Rustling noises came from in front of him—it sounded like the restraints were being readied. The noises stopped, and he strained to hear something else.
David’s hand brushed against his backside. It was the only warning he got before he was promptly smacked on his right buttock. He fell forward and landed on the edge of the bed.
“One—for trying to take control.” David gave him another hard swat on the left side. “Two—for fondling yourself.” A third impact landed in the middle of his ass. “Three—for fondling yourself a second time.”
So David had noticed his misbehavior earlier. His ass burning, Mark wanted to regret it, but he couldn’t, not when it meant having David’s attention focused solely on him.
He rested his weight on his elbows, pulling his face out of the bedspread. Would he be smacked again?
The bed creaked and shifted. “Get up here.”
Mark nodded and scrambled up onto the bed. He knelt, hands resting at his sides, and waited.
In the silence that ensued, every noise seemed twice as loud as it should. David’s breath was harsh and heavy. The slightest movement by either of them made the bed squeak madly. The quiet of the room convinced him they were alone, as he heard nothing but their breathing and the bed. He relaxed a little, letting his muscles unwind.
Mark’s legs ached after a few minutes in the same position. He tried to shift subtly, but the bedsprings gave his movement away.
“Be still,” David snapped.
He froze in place. While gaining David’s attention was always good, displeasing him was a very bad idea. He had been forced to sleep on the couch often enough to know what the impatient tone in his voice meant. David never punished him without reason, but Mark hated having to be punished at all.
Forcing himself to remain still, Mark focused on what he could hear. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. David’s breathing was a soft echo compared to the loud hiss of his own. Each breath he took made his heart race a little faster. His cock was still sore, but it was valiantly rising to the occasion again.
Whoosh! Mark twisted towards the noise and rush of air that accompanied the air conditioner as it kicked on. The sudden movement left him off balance, and he toppled onto his side.
David laughed. Mark cringed and curled into a ball. God, he could be such a wimp. He squeezed his boob-ball. He should have expected the air to kick on—he’d noticed the heat of the apartment before.
David’s laughter trailed off, but Mark contemplated releasing the boob. He didn’t enjoy being humiliated.
A soft caress trailed down his exposed spine. “Sorry,” David murmured. “I didn’t mean to laugh.” The bed creaked. A line of kisses traced the path his hand had taken. “It startled me too.”
Uncurling himself, Mark waited as the kisses moved from his back to his arm. David mouthed apologies as he moved up his body until finally he pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead.
Humiliation was not part of their games. It never had been, and it never would be. Years of being taunted by school bullies had destroyed any chance of that. But David hadn’t minded when Mark nixed that aspect of power-play.
Mark let David roll him over onto his stomach. He could touch the headboard with his fingertips, and as he shifted, his hand bumped into one of their restraints. He grabbed it, eager to get on with the game and move past his embarrassment.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded, and David shifted next to him, tugging the restraint from his grasp. The rip of Velcro echoed in the room. David slid the cuff around his wrist and tightened it. When he didn’t continue to the other arm, Mark held up his boob-ball and squeezed it.
“Alright, alright.”
David strapped him down, making sure his arms and legs were tightly secured by the restraints. Then he climbed off the bed. Mark heard a creak he thought belonged to a chair.
Then David was back on the edge of the bed. “I bought you a present.” Something brushed against his neck. “Drop your ball if it’s too much.” He slid something over Mark’s head and covered his ears. Just like that, all the soft sounds he had been able to hear before disappeared. His world narrowed down to two senses: touch and smell.
His hearing gone, Mark had to interpret the movements of the bed to figure out what David was doing. The way the bed sunk and then rose suddenly made him think David had climbed off. When there was no movement after that, he decided that was exactly what happened.
Feeling lonely, he turned his head towards where David had been. As he moved, the soft satin of their best sheets rubbed against his stubble. He grinned. The sheets on the bed this morning had been a particularly rough cotton, certainly not something he wanted against his skin when all he could do was feel.
Mark took a deep breath, and his smile widened as far as the mask would let it. The stiff fabric bit into his cheeks, but he couldn't care less. There was a slight scent in the air that he knew didn't belong there. It was the scent of his favorite candle, a clean linen scent that reminded him of his mother. He breathed it in, savoring it. The smell was so light, he never would have noticed it without the mask and earmuffs. The candle hadn't been lit—he couldn't smell any smoke—but it was nearby, probably on the nightstand.
He wriggled a little on the bed, tugging on his restraints. David hadn't told him he had to stay still. He sniffed at the sheets, taking in the scent of their meadow fresh laundry softener. His own musk nearly overpowered it, and he wrinkled his nose. He wouldn't have stopped at the gym after work, or he would have at least showered before he left, if he had known what David was planning.
Normally David gave him some sort of heads-up when they would be playing a game. Even when he didn't tell him, Mark could see it in his posture and the way he acted. At work, David listened attentively and did as he was told, the perfect employee. At home, he and Mark kept things on more equal grounds, sharing the chores and fighting over the remote like a typical vanilla couple.
During their games, David ruled.
Sometimes that total control leaked into their daily lives. The signs were indirect, unnoticeable if you didn’t know to watch for them. David would be subtly dominant at work, nodding politely when given an order, then handing it off to some other unsuspecting employee. At home, he'd fix his gaze on Mark and demand a turn with the remote.
And Mark would acquiesce because he knew what that attitude meant. It meant he could give up control. It meant he could relax, knowing that all he had to worry about was whether David was pleased with him or not.
The subtle messages went both ways. When he was stressed, he'd start to take a step back in the boardroom, letting David do the speaking. Or instead of jockeying over whose turn it was to take out the trash, he'd haul it to the chute without being asked. Usually David would get the hint and he'd take care of him, giving him the break he needed.
Maybe that was the reason behind tonight’s game. Things had been really difficult at the office with a big merger and the acquisition of a smaller company both happening within a month of each other. Mark had been stressed, but he didn’t think he’d been sending out signals. David knew him better than he knew himself though, so maybe he had seen something in Mark that he hadn’t.
The thought made his heart speed up. He’d been with so many guys who didn’t get him, who expected him to always be as in-charge and powerful as he was in the boardroom. David got him in a way no other man ever had.
Mark pressed his cheek into the silky sheet. His evening stubble scraped across the fabric, sending shivers down his spine.
His dick took notice of the sensation. It had been hard for so long he had almost forgotten about it, lost in the dark silence of his thoughts. He remembered it now though, and he rocked his hips slightly, pushing it against the sheets. The satin didn’t have enough friction, so while his movements felt good, they weren’t enough. He rocked harder, grinding into the mattress.
Pain blossomed across his ass. He sucked in a breath. David had spanked him again, harder this time. Evidently moving wasn’t allowed.
He let out his breath in a whoosh as something tickled his left foot. It felt like a feather duster was tracing his footprint, following the edge of his sole from his heel to his toes and back again. Then it slid down the middle of his foot.
Fuck, that tickled! He jerked his foot away from the feather duster. A hand came down on his ass. He froze.
The feather duster returned, this time on his right foot—the more sensitive one. He swallowed hard.
The duster moved up his foot from his toes, past his heel, then his ankle. It traced his calf muscle, making him shiver. His skin prickled with goose bumps as the feathers caught on his leg hair. It slid up the back of his thigh, barely caressing the bottom of his butt cheek, before sliding back down to his foot.
It lingered at his foot this time, swirling in circles at his arch. He held his muscles taut, trying hard to remain still, but his reflexes got the better of him. He twitched, his foot sliding away from the acute stimulation.
Ouch! He was smacked again, quick and hard, and before the pain even had time to fade, the feather duster was back.
He held himself rigid this time. He could stay still if he tried harder. The feathers swirled around the arch of his foot. They tickled so much it hurt, but Mark bit his tongue and held still. After a few minutes, the feathers moved on, and he nearly sighed in relief.
The duster travelled back up his leg to his backside and lingered there, tracing his buttocks and sliding down the crack of his ass to brush against his balls. The sensations were exquisite, but they weren’t enough. He ached to move, to rut against the bed, but he held still, the threat of another spanking heavy in his mind.
At last, the feather duster was pulled away. Instead, David used his fingers to tickle Mark. He started with his feet, both of them at the same time. His short fingernails traced the edges of his feet. Mark shivered involuntarily.
David began to move upwards, drawing patterns on his calves. He lingered in the crease of his knees, then drew zigzag lines up and down his thighs. Each line got closer to Mark’s ass. Finally, he slid one finger across his butt. Still far too gentle for Mark’s preferences, the finger wiggled into his ass crack, then slid down until it stopped at his hole.
The other hand moved to his hip and urged him up. Mark struggled but managed to pull his legs towards his chest, propping his ass up in the air. The restraints on his arms were too tight to pull them into his body, so he was stuck with his face against the sheets.
The finger on his ass began to press harder. Mark pushed back, opening up for it to slip inside. Shit, he always forgot how much he loved the burn of being stretched open.
The hand on his hip disappeared, and a few moments later, cold lube dripped onto his ass. David’s finger slipped out of him long enough to gather up some lube. Mark relaxed as much as he could, and his muscles easily loosened up enough for two of David’s fingers to press inside.
Something changed then, and David sped up. His fingers brushed against Mark’s prostate, and he moaned. Instead of spanking him, David did it again. Mark arched back into his touch, reveling in the intense pleasure.
A third finger joined in, spreading Mark wide, then a fourth.
The bed shifted and Mark imagined he could hear it squeaking. He pressed his face against the mattress and shoved his ass into the air. He was beyond ready. The fingers disappeared. David settled into place and eased his cock into him. Mark grasped at his arm restraints, holding them tight.
Then David pulled out and slammed back in. He set a harsh pace, hitting Mark’s prostate every time. Mark whimpered under the assault, but he didn’t move. David had control, and Mark was happy to give it to him. His cock ached, but he didn’t even try to reach for it. David gripped his hips and thrust faster, ramming deep inside of him. Shit, he would hurt tomorrow, but right now it felt like bliss.
David tugged on his hips, knocking him off balance. His knees slid across the satin, spreading him uncomfortably wide. His cock barely brushed against the sheets. It wasn’t enough, and yet it was. He could feel his orgasm building up in his balls. Locked in the dark silence, all he could do was feel.
David thrust again and his knees slid even further apart. He could feel a burn in his muscles now. His hamstrings ached, and the only thing that kept him from falling flat onto the bed was David’s harsh grip on his hips.
The pain battled with the pleasure he was feeling. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to scream or cry.
David released one hip and reached around him. He grasped his cock and tugged.
Mark exploded.
He screamed, though he couldn’t hear it. He lost his balance completely and fell flat on the bed. David slid down along with him, the new position forcing him to shorten his thrusts.
His climax rocketed through him. Without his sight or hearing, every sensation was heightened. He could feel his screams rattling through his bones. His nerves tingled from the tips of his toes to his ears. Even his heart beat felt stronger and faster than normal. As his blood pulsed through his body, his cum leaked out of his cock, an afterthought in the aftermath of his explosion.
Each of David’s thrusts bumped into his ass, scooting his whole body across the slippery sheet.He drifted, losing himself in David’s rhythm until the steady thrusts stuttered to a stop. David collapsed onto him. Mark took a deep breath and pressed himself into his lover. He wanted to feel him inside and all over. David must have though he wanted him to move, for he rolled off Mark’s back.
He began to remove the restraints. Mark lay still as they were removed from his wrists and then his ankles. He smiled when he felt David pull off the earmuffs. The mask came off next. He opened his eyes slowly. The room was brightly lit, and he had to blink until his eyes adjusted.
David sat next to him, a peculiar look on his face.
“Hi,” Mark croaked. He cleared his throat. “Hi.”
“Hey.” David dropped something on the floor, probably the mask. “You okay?”
Mark held up his boob. Even in the midst of his orgasm, he’d held onto it. “I’m good.”
He nodded. With one fingertip, he brushed a lock of Mark’s hair from his face. “I don’t get you.”
“Hmm?”
“I tied you up, left you blind and mute, and you grinned about it.”
Mark fought the urge to bury his face in the mattress once more. “Yep.”
“I left you powerless. Didn’t it make you angry?”
He shook his head. “I trust you.”
David frowned, his forehead creasing. “It’s not about trust.”
“But it is.” Mark rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand so he could see David’s face better. “I know you won’t abuse the power.”
“And if I did?”
“You wouldn’t.”
David turned away. “I already did.”
“How?”
His shoulders slumped. “I started a scene angry. I know better than that, but I wanted you to understand.”
Mark sat up completely. He scooted until he could sit on the edge of the bed. Setting aside his boob ball, he grabbed David’s hand. “Understand?”
“I’m not a secretary,” he mumbled.
“No, you’re not,” Mark agreed, though he wasn’t sure where this was going.
David threw his free hand into the air. “I’m not a barista either!”
“Nope.”
“Then why send me to get coffee?” He turned to Mark. “Why me? Am I so useless?”
Oh. That’s what this was all about. “No, you’re not useless.” Mark pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s stubbly cheek. “I was just jealous.”
“Of me?”
“Nope.” He turned David’s head toward him and kissed him hard on the lips. “Of all the attention you were giving to that CEO.” The lecherous old man had spent the entire morning leering at David. “I sent you out because I didn’t want to share you with his greedy eyes.”
David pursed his lips. “You’re lying.”
“And why would I do that?” Mark shook his head. “You’re much more valuable to me in a sales presentation than you are getting coffee. I just couldn’t stand to have him looking at you.” He groped his ass. “This is mine.”
“Oh.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry about—” he motioned to the mask on the floor “—all this.”
“Hmm, don’t be. It was perfect.”
“I took my anger out on you.”
“You still kept it safe and consensual. You gave me a safe object and you made sure I was okay when I floundered.” Mark wagged a finger at him. “But if you’re still feeling naughty, I’d be happy to spank you!”
David let out a laugh. “I don’t think so.”
Mark twined his fingers with David’s. “Next time, we should talk first.”
David sighed. “Yeah.”
“But afterwards…” Mark handed him the boob ball. “Well, I like being powerless.”
About the Author
Stella Notecor believes that love has no boundaries and we cannot help who we love. This belief is reflected in her stories which involve homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, pansexual, transsexual, etc. characters. She refuses to limit herself to writing one sexuality. Instead, she writes what the story requires, be it a straight, gay, or polyamorous relationship.
If you are interested in reading more of her stories, please visit her website at www.stellanotecor.com or sign up for her newsletter at newsletter.stellanotecor.com.
Liked This Story?
Try another of Stella Notecor’s books!
Read on for a preview of the first two chapters of her novella The Broken.
THE BROKEN
James guards his
secrets.
Uncertain as to whom he can trust with his
family's secrets, James Bradford has lived a lonely life since
becoming Baron of Riverside. When he meets an equally enigmatic
violinist named Sheamus, he begins to wonder if he's found someone
with whom he can share everything.
Sheamus guards his
body.
No one has ever shown Sheamus Flynn affection except
his mother. That changes when he meets James, but Sheamus cannot
trust him. Sheamus has been used by his master, Cade Edward, and he
knows better than to believe James could ever love a mere
servant.
They both guard their hearts.
Over the
course of the 1876 Social Season they cautiously fall in love, only
to be violently ripped apart by Edward. Defeating Edward's deceptions
will require both of them to share long guarded secrets.
Can
they trust each other?
This 30,000 word SPICY story
contains BDSM elements, a male/male couple, and lots of sex!
CHAPTER ONE
The high, mournful notes of a violin beckoned James into the manor. He nodded to the butler and handed off his cloak to his manservant, Richard, who went to join the rest of the servants waiting for their masters.
James entered the ballroom and headed towards the music. It was more than a little rude to arrive and not greet the host and hostess, but for once he didn’t care. Propriety be damned, he had to know where the music was coming from. He edged along the dance floor, avoiding both the dancers and the observers, and headed towards the stage, a small raised platform, where the musicians for the evening sat.
The notes of a piano, a clarinet, and a violin intertwined perfectly, creating music more wonderful than any James had ever heard before. The beauty of the music could all be attributed to the violin player. The man slowed and hastened his own playing to match it to the others, playing softly at moments when the others were more powerful and loudly when they were quiet.
The music flowed through the crowd, infecting them with the urge to dance. James had never seen a group of dancers enjoy themselves more. The music was a waltz, by Chopin, James thought, though the tempo was a tad faster than normal. The men and women on the dance floor hardly seemed to notice, but he could tell from the flushed cheeks and broad smiles that they were enjoying the quick pace.
It was all due to the violinist. The trills of his violin pulled the rest of the room into his music and swept them along on the song. James watched him push and pull the bow over the strings as his fingers danced along the neck, nimble and graceful.
The long fingers captivated him, but not as much as the violinist’s face. The man was fully involved in the music, his eyes closed, one foot silently tapping out the beat. His hair, long and black, was pulled back from his face and tied with a ribbon at the nape of his neck, and the man paid no attention to it as he played. James was amused as he watched it flip and flop all over the place with the violinist’s harsh movements.
As the song ended, the violinist’s movements slowed until no more notes echoed in the room. Only then did his eyes open. James found himself staring into them, fascinated by the brilliant green. The man gazed at him in return for mere seconds before shuttering his eyes and turning away. The man’s glance made James’ breathing stutter and his hands tremble.
He moved away from the platform, anxious to escape before anyone could see how the musician had captivated him. It was dangerous to pay too much attention to a man. Loving men was a perversion. Should anyone accuse him, James would face harsh fines, perhaps even a prison sentence. James didn’t dare open himself up to accusations about his preferences—he had too many other things to hide.
Glancing around the room, he spotted Elizabeth Osmond staring longingly at the dance floor. James headed in her direction, partially out of pity for her, but mostly for his own benefit. What better way to hide one’s proclivities towards men than by dancing with a woman? He pasted a smile on his face as he grew closer to the beautiful young lady.
The smile she offered him in return was quite attractive, but it did not tempt him in the slightest. James felt sorry for the girl. She’d likely end up a spinster, as she was already twenty-two years of age with no marriage prospects. She had been out for four years, but the gossip amongst the ton was that not a single man had shown interest in her.
James bowed to her. “May I have the honor of dancing this set with you?” he asked, presenting his hand.
Miss Osmond nodded and took it softly, her white kid glove skimming over James’ calluses. He led her to the dance floor, pulling her into position near three other couples as a quadrille began. James could hear the violin above the other instruments again, its notes twining around the spinning dancers and twirling them ever faster.
Following the head couple, he danced carefully with small steps to match his partner. He kept his eyes on Miss Osmond and the dancers around them, refusing to allow himself even a glance towards the musicians. They danced in silence for a few moments until Miss Osmond leaned towards him and whispered, “You seem terribly distracted; I am rather afraid you shall trod on my feet.”
James laughed lightly at her jibe, knowing she expected him to be offended by her mention of her lower limbs. “Fear not, my lady, for I am quite fleet-footed. I shall do my best to offer my attention to you though, rather than focusing on the beautiful music.”
They stepped around and then moved back together, continuously circling about their part of the dance floor. “The music is extraordinary, is it not?” she murmured when they were near enough to speak. The steps of the dance sent her whirling away seconds later, saving James from having to voice his opinion on the music… or the musicians.
Moments later the music brought her back, a gleam of gossip dancing in her eyes. “Lenore Edward informed me that her father hired the pianist and clarinetist for tonight, and it cost her father more for the two of them than all of the food.” Miss Osmond shot him a saucy smirk. “Do forgive me for speaking of money, Lord Riverside. My mother despairs of ever taming my tongue.” She paused momentarily. “I find topics which I am not to discuss most interesting.”
James clasped her hand and squeezed it gently enough that those watching would not see it. “I would agree, though not in the presence of Lady Catherine Osmond. Your mother is a most formidable woman.”
Miss Osmond burst into raucous laughter, startling the couples around them and earning herself a sharp glance from the aforementioned Lady Catherine. It took three turns about their section of the dance floor before she could calm down.
“My lord, that is an understatement if I’ve ever heard one!” she exclaimed. Breathing harshly for a moment, she brought herself back under control. “Still, we’d best turn our conversation to a different topic. My mother has ears like a hawk, and I’d do well not to irritate her. She is already quite irked that I turned down Sir Mitchell’s offer to dance earlier this evening.” She snorted, an unladylike sound that suited her. “As if I would dance with that buffoon. He’d likely trip us both in the middle of the Grand March.”
James watched the young girl flush with frustration. The strong emotion brightened her eyes and warmed her cheeks, making her look quite attractive. It was a pity that such emotions were considered unfeminine—Miss Osmond’s true beauty would never be allowed to be seen in polite society. She’d likely spend much of her time this Season as a wallflower.
“I do not believe that is the most prudent topic to discuss, my dear,” he whispered quietly in her ear, wanting to save her from possible embarrassment if her mother caught wind of her speech.
She blinked at the reprimand and nodded. “Of course, my lord. My mouth does tend to run away with itself. Perhaps… the music, since you spoke of it.”
James wished he had not. It was too bad the girl cared nothing for society’s rules or he would silence her with a reminder that conversations should not be held on the dance floor. Instead, he offered little of his own opinion, asking her, “What of the music?”
“Why, the utter pull of it! I’ve never heard such wondrous music in my life. I do imagine that Sir Cade’s money was well spent on the musicians.”
James nodded in agreement. “And which of the instruments do you prefer?” he asked softly, hoping she would pick the right one.
She did as he hoped. “I must say that I’m quite in love with the violin. I attempted to play it once and could wrench only the most bothersome sounds out of it. I’m jealous of that man’s talent with it.”
James turned to look at the violinist again. The man’s passion for his music sent frissons of desire through James, and he had to look away. He covered his interest with a nonchalant, “He is quite good.”
“He’s more than good. He’s amazing. Miss Edward told me that he’s been with Sir Cade’s estate since before she was born, and that her father has not had him play at a ball in fifteen years. She believes it was because her father was saving him for her coming out ball. He has played for private parties though. He played Vivaldi’s Spring at a high tea Miss Edward put on this winter and it was easily the best music I’ve heard in ages.”
Miss Osmond gave a put upon sigh. “My mother is glaring at me for talking too much. Nevertheless, it’s her fault I am the way I am. She thought that dragging me to the theatre and orchestra would make me a clever but docile wife. She never realized that my intelligence would only tempt me to learn more.” Her eyes glittered. “You mustn’t tell anyone, but I’ve even been to a women’s suffrage meeting!”
James laughed, though nowhere near as loudly as Miss Osmond had earlier. The song ended and he walked her slowly back to where her mother stood glowering. “I won’t tell. Do try to temper your tongue though. Your mother would have the vapors if she knew what we’d spoken of.”
She frowned but bit back a response as he returned her to her mother. He bowed deeply and she offered him a curtsy in return. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Osmond.”
“Likewise. If it pleases you, do let us dance again. I’d like to continue our conversation.” The sparkle in her eyes told James that she knew she was not supposed to be so forward as to ask a man for another dance and that she had done it to irritate her mother.
James suppressed a grin and backed away as Lady Catherine began to berate her daughter for her lack of manners. He had enjoyed their time together, but he would not dance with her again that night. He dare not give her nor her mother the idea that he might be interested in courting her. Instead, he made his way around the room, dancing with as many women as he could, especially widows and spinsters. He didn’t learn anything else about the violinist, as the other women he danced with did not attempt to converse with him beyond a few niceties.
Nevertheless, he wanted to learn more about the man. He decided to visit Edward later that week and thank him for the invitation to the ball. It would be a good excuse to inquire after the violinist and perhaps contract him for a ball or two of his own.
~*~
James visited the manor only three days later. He knew he should have waited longer, but he hadn’t been able to forget the violinist. Three days had seemed like an eternity.
James handed his calling card, which bore his full title—James Bradford, Baron of Riverside—to the butler and was quickly shown into Sir Cade Edward’s study. The baronet stood as he entered, offering his hand.
“Lord Riverside, how nice to see you. May I enquire as to the purpose of your visit?” The older man’s eyes were flinty. James knew Edward hated that he was a baron whereas Edward was a mere baronet.
“I dropped by to thank you for the invitation to your daughter’s debutante ball, Sir Cade. It was truly lovely.” James couldn’t help but emphasize their difference in status by addressing him as Sir—etiquette declared it the appropriate title for a baronet, whereas James, as a baron, was lucky enough to be called Lord.
The man flushed a mottled puce, which contrasted badly with his foppish blond hair that was beginning to gray. “Of course, milord. My wife and I were grateful for your presence.” Edward smiled but his teeth were clenched.
They spent a few minutes making small talk about Parliament and the recent changes in the economy. Edward began to grow antsy, so James brought up his real purpose for visiting. “I enjoyed your ball tremendously. The music was especially wonderful. May I ask how I can contract the musicians? I’m planning on having a few small balls this Season.”
Edward smiled darkly. “I’ll write down the addresses at which the pianist and clarinetist can be reached. The violinist, however, is a member of my own estate, due to a large debt he owes me.”
“Is that so? Would it be possible for me to hire him from you?”
Edward shook his head. “I’m afraid not. My daughter grew up listening to his music, and I’d always planned for him to play for her debutante balls.”
“I’d pay you enough that you could hire someone else,” said James. He knew he sounded anxious, but he didn’t care. Something about the violinist entranced him and he wanted the chance to get closer to him.
Edward seemed as though he were contemplating the offer, but James tried not to get his hopes up. Sure enough, Edward refused. “Having him play exclusively for my balls will serve me far better than money ever could.”
Good music could make a ball, but that seemed a bit extreme. Still, James knew what Edward needed: connections for his daughter. “Perhaps a trade would be more in order?”
Edward visibly perked up. “What kind of trade?”
James fought a grin. “My manservant plays the piano, flute, and clarinet extraordinarily well. I’ve had him tutored in instruments since he was a young boy, but I would like him to learn at least the rudiments of violin playing. In exchange for your violinist staying at my manor and providing daily lessons to the boy, I will loan you my manservant for your balls. He would present a good image to your guests, I promise.” And James would have access to the violinist every single day.
Edward frowned. “It would be nice to have a larger variety of music, which his skills would afford me...”
“I would also, of course, offer your family a standing invitation to all of my events this Season.”
“Will you be having many soirees?” Edward’s eyes glittered with greed. Miss Edward would be able to meet titled men at James’ events, giving Edward the chance to secure a prominent husband for his daughter. James had known Cade Edward for years, and the man never stopped trying to secure a higher social standing for himself.
“I’m planning on three or four balls and a good many small dinners with friends. This is the ten-year anniversary of my mother’s death, and she always loved the Social Season. Filling Riverside Manor with gaiety will be a tribute to her memory.” It was the truth, and it worked well for James’ purposes. He didn’t think it would matter to Edward, but he added, “That’s why I want to contract your violinist. The violin was my mother’s favorite instrument.”
Edward ran his hand through his hair. “Your mother was a gentlewoman, God rest her soul.” James lowered his head as if saddened to remember her passing, but it was really to hide a frown. Edward, barely out of mourning for his first wife’s death in childbirth, had attempted to court the Dowager Lady Riverside a mere week after she stopped wearing her widow’s weeds. His mother had been a gentlewoman, but she had still cursed the man many times over for his callous actions.
“I’ll gladly allow you to hire my musician, so long as both he and your manservant are made available to play for each of my balls,” Edward continued. “There is, of course, the matter of a contract.”
James took a moment to grin while Edward couldn’t see his face. He straightened his expression and raised his head. “I’d be happy to sign one. Do you have time to write it now?”
“Yes, yes.” Edward had already placed a sheet of paper on the desk before him. “I’ll make this short...”
Edward scribbled down the terms of the deal and handed it to James to read. He corrected a few things, and when they had both agreed upon the terms and the price to hire the violinist and signed two identical copies of it, they stood and shook hands.
“I’m glad that I was able to visit today, Sir Cade. I do believe everything will work out wonderfully.”
Edward agreed and escorted him to the door, where James’ carriage stood waiting.
James took his coat from the butler. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day, milord,” replied Edward.
James was halfway down the steps before something occurred to him. He turned halfway around so he could see the door. “Sir Cade, I didn’t think to inquire before, but what is your violinist’s name?”
“Sheamus.” Edward’s eyes gleamed. “Sheamus Flynn.”
CHAPTER TWO
Sheamus stared across the bed at the wall. Edward moved above him, his body rocking into Sheamus’ and slamming him into the bed over and over. There was pain, of course, but it was no worse than normal.
Sheamus closed his eyes, the flowers in the wallpaper fading into darkness. He had learned to let the music in his head envelop him, removing him from the outside world. A whisper of a song drifted past and he grasped it, drowning himself in Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The lonely introduction pulled him away from the bedroom and into a peaceful world far removed from his own.
He remained in that world until a familiar grunt told him Edward had finished. Edward collapsed on top of Sheamus and tried to bury his nose in Sheamus’ hair. He flinched away as soon as he touched it. “Your hair is disgusting!”
Sheamus had covered the dark strands in animal fat the cook had given him, but he didn’t dare tell Edward that. “I apologize, master. I haven’t washed it recently.” It had been an attempt to keep the man from holding Sheamus close after he’d used him. Sheamus could fall into his music during the act itself, but the moments spent in the man’s arms were inescapable. When he was younger Edward had used the time to forcibly bring him off, but thankfully, he no longer bothered with that.
“Well, wash it tonight. You’re going to the Riverside manor tomorrow, and I don’t want him sending you back because you’re unclean.” Edward rolled out of the bed, grunting when his feet hit the floor. “Go start packing. You’ll be there for a few months.”
This was the first time Sheamus had heard anything about leaving the manor. “Master, why am I being sent there?” He sat up gingerly and found the pain was bearable. He sighed and rose to his feet, dragging his clothes back on over his sore body.
“Lord Riverside has decided that he wants you to tutor his musician. You’ll be there the majority of the Season, except when you’re playing at my balls.” Edward was wearing his dressing gown when Sheamus turned to him. “Fix your hair. You know better than to leave looking like that.”
Sheamus nodded and smoothed down his slimy hair, grimacing inwardly at the feel of it. “Yes, master.”
Edward waved his hand toward the door. “Go on then.”
Sheamus bowed deeply. He exited the room, closing the door softly behind him, and then headed for the servant’s quarters. Once he had reached his room, Sheamus stripped off his clothing and stepped into the tub of warm water left waiting for him, probably by Adam. The man cared too much for other people; it would be his downfall one day.
Sheamus luxuriated in the water, using the bar of soap on his nightstand to wash out the grease. He was glad it had kept Edward away, but he wouldn’t be able to do it often. Thankfully, he would have nearly an entire summer before he would have to submit to the man again.
It was illogical to dream of things that could never be, but Sheamus found himself imagining a life at the manor of Lord Riverside. He hadn’t been off Edward’s land in years, so he had no idea what the manor would look like. Even if Lord Riverside required Sheamus to perform every day it would still be a wonderful vacation—Sheamus played daily anyway. Music was his escape.
The water grew cold. Sheamus hoisted himself out of the tub, shivering in the icy room. April was still a bit chilly, especially at night, but Edward refused to let the servants have fires past the end of February. Sheamus pulled on some long underwear and his clothing, so that he could take the tub outside to dump it.
Adam Harris was entering his room across the hall as Sheamus exited his. “Can I help you with that?” he asked.
Sheamus’ arms were already aching and his body was feeling the pain of Edward’s rough treatment. “Yes, thank you.”
Adam grasped one of the handles on the tin tub, holding it steady while Sheamus grasped the other. “I overheard Edward speaking with Lord Riverside earlier. You’ll be going to the Lord’s manor for the rest of the Season.” He shot a glance at Sheamus over the dirty water. “Did you know?”
Sheamus nodded stiffly. “The master told me a little while ago.”
Adam looked away. “Is it wrong of me to wish you weren’t going?”
With Sheamus gone, the person Edward would call to his bed most often would be Adam. “No. It’s understandable.”
They reached the door to the outside and Adam opened it. After pouring the water onto a flowerbed in silence, they headed inside. Halfway back to their rooms, Adam spoke again. “I can’t turn him down, not with Lucy counting on me.”
“You needn’t explain yourself to me.” Sheamus opened his door. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Harris. Sleep well.”
Adam snorted and opened his own door. “As if I could sleep knowing he might call for me at any minute.” His door slammed shut before Sheamus could answer, not that any response he could give would make the situation more palatable.
Sheamus entered his room and shut the door firmly behind him. There was no lock; Edward did not allow them. He stripped off his clothing, but left his long underwear on, and slipped on a nightshirt. Lighting a candle, he set it next to his music stand and removed his violin from its case. Ever since he was little, Sheamus had played a song before bed, as his mother had. His lullabies had been played on the very instrument he held. He smoothed his hand over the neck and plucked a few strings. The D string was a little loose, so he twisted its peg to tighten it and bring the instrument into tune. Once that was done, he shuffled through his sheet music and pulled out Mozart’s Violin Sonata No. 21. The music was well worn and Sheamus didn’t actually need it, but the feel of it in his hands brought back memories of his mother attempting to teach him to read the notes on the staff.
He supposed it was rude to play the instrument so late at night, but no one had ever complained, so he continued.
He placed the music on the stand and settled the violin under his chin. The groove fit him perfectly, a testament to how often the instrument was used. He ran the bow across the strings a few times, making sure the instrument was in proper condition, and then he launched into the song with a vengeance.
His mother had played this song when she was angry and did not want others to know. He could remember her playing it late into the night when his father came home drunk and empty handed, unable to get a job as an Irishman, and during the days they spent huddled in a small inn, playing for food and shelter in the inn’s barn. The money listeners paid them was never enough for a warm bed inside the inn, but the innkeepers were sometimes kind enough to offer them a place by the fire in the kitchen instead of in the hay with the animals.
He let his anger flow through the strings. It was a sad piece, and not an angry one, and that was what made it perfect. His mother had hidden her rage in the bittersweet notes, as Sheamus did now. He knew the others in this wing of the manor could hear the song. They would think him broken and bitter, but he wasn’t. He could care less what they thought. He was strong and his mother’s memory strengthened him further.
The bow continued to dance over the strings, Sheamus’ anger pushing it along. He could feel the music begin to speed up as he grew more enraged, but he slowed his breathing and the bow. Towards the end of the song, he let his bow grow slower and slower until the last note reverberated across the room. As it faded away, so too did his rage.
He sighed and returned the violin and the music to their places. Standing and stretching, Sheamus remembered Edward’s admonishment to pack up that night. He looked around the room. Aside from his clothing and violin, there wasn’t much to take. His mother’s shawl and his father’s family bible were all that were left of his memories.
He crawled into bed, determining that he would pack in the morning.
~*~
Sheamus stepped out of the carriage and was directed to the front door by the driver.
“You’re to report to Mrs. Bartow in the kitchen, sir. Hurry or she’ll snap your head off and serve it for supper!” Kevin chortled so hard his cap fell off the messy brown hair it rested on. “I’m kidding, of course.”
Sheamus raised an eyebrow at him. “I’d assumed.”
The young man rolled his eyes and snapped the reigns. Sheamus supposed he had meant to mutter “arsehole” under his breath, but it came out loud and clear. Sheamus replied, “I heard that.”
Kevin’s peals of laughter filled the air, and Sheamus headed towards the main building. The door to the kitchen was easy to find—it was propped wide open and the smell of a stew floated through the air. The woman he assumed to be Mrs. Bartow stood at the table, chopping vegetables.
“Good day, ma’am,” he greeted her, carefully laying his things far away from the splattering stove.
She looked him over, peering down a nose as sharp as her knife. “You’re the violinist then?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well. You are to report to the east wing, second floor, third door from the end on the left.” She pointed towards a door on the opposite side of the kitchen. “Well, off you go!”
Sheamus stared at her for a moment, and then shook his head disbelievingly. “Could you repeat that?”
She snorted. “And the master said you were a smart one. Kevin!”
“He headed towards the barn with the carriage.”
She glanced at the door and shook her head. “Take a seat at the table till he arrives. I’m too busy to be showing people around.” Sheamus sat down and watched her work. She bustled across the room to grab an onion, which she chopped and tossed into the stew. As she was slicing a potato, a young man entered the kitchen. Mrs. Bartow turned and smiled at him. “Richard, darling, your tutor has arrived.”
The young man pressed a kiss to Mrs. Bartow’s forehead, stealing an apple from the bowl on the counter behind her. “Thanks, Mum.” He turned to Sheamus, palming the apple as he did so. “Hello—Mr. Flynn, was it?”
“Yes.” Sheamus stood and held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. …?”
“Bartow—” Richard shook his hand “—but please call me Richard. My father is Lord Riverside’s butler, so I go by my given name to avoid confusion. And if you’ll excuse me, I’m due at a small event. Riverside likes to lend me out to his friends for parties; he says it’ll help me make connections among the ton.” Richard grinned. “Of course, the only people who try to connect with me at these things are pretty young girls, not that I’m complaining.”
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