dropped one of your bath bombs when Lee knocked on the door, and it broke. I picked up the pieces and placed them back in the basket.”
Carson smiled. “That’s okay; accidents happen. It’s a bath bomb anyway. Don’t worry about it.” He returned to the show playing on the television.
Oh.
I couldn’t help but feel a hollowness in my chest. What else had I expected? His blasé attitude felt wrong. I felt… lost, confused. Did I want him to discipline me? A riot of emotions swirled inside my chest, all fighting for supremacy. I was either a little or I wasn’t, a submissive or nothing. It was tiring trying to keep up with my flip-flopping emotions.
What the fuck did I want?
Frankly, I felt like a mess.
“Miller,” Carson whispered, interrupting my mental floundering.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
He wasn’t looking at me, but I felt like the center of his attention.
“Sure…?”
“Before, I mean, when you met…” Carson lifted a hand and waved.
Before I’d met Neil.
“Yes?”
“How deep did you get into the lifestyle?”
I grimaced, loathed to expose my naivety. “Not very. I mean, I read a lot but… it was only my third time at the local club when I met him. After that, he didn’t want me to go back so…”
“Right.” Carson nodded. “I feel like I need to explain a few things to you.”
I felt heat rising in my cheeks. I’d crossed a line at some point without realizing it, and now Carson was going to put me firmly back on the other side.
“Lee and I have an understanding. I have quite a few understandings with some of the submissives at the club. None of them are sexual in nature. I save that for the people I have relationships with. I wouldn’t have time otherwise,” he said with a short laugh. “I see myself more as a caretaker. Quite a few submissives, like Lee, need a steady, dominant presence to help them manage until they find that someone or someones of their own. Some submissives don’t do well without the semblance of a guiding hand.” He turned and looked at me. “Do you understand, Miller?”
“Yes,” I replied, wondering why he was telling me, and at the same time, wishing I’d met someone like him to look out for me when I’d first ventured into the club.
“You and I do not have an understanding,” he said softly, his hand coming to rest lightly over mine.
I couldn’t control my flinch, and his face gentled even further as I jerked my hand away from his.
“I could tell you were disappointed by my reaction to your confession.”
“No, I—”
“I could tell, Miller. It was written all over your face,” he said, interrupting my feeble protest. “Even if we did have an understanding, my reaction would have been the same. Accidents happen, and accidents don’t deserve correction. You and I do not have an understanding,” he repeated. “Would you like one?”
Chapter Eight
Carson
Leaning against the bar, I tossed back my drink as I watched the mass of bodies writhe on the dance floor. The sight of all those scantily clad bodies and glittered skin was usually more than enough to get my engines humming, but I felt… distant, untouched by the erotic sight before me.
I paused on the body of a slight boy with pale skin and dark hair as he twisted against the people around him. I knew he wasn’t Miller, but I felt the answering heat in my belly as I imagined him in this stranger’s place.
But his outfit was all wrong.
Instead of the black, latex shorts he wore, I pictured Miller in a pair of pink, lace panties, the delicate ruffles bouncing as he moved. I reached down and absently stroked my cock through my pants as I gripped his ass in my hand, the lace tickling my palm as I squeezed his ample flesh.
The boots could stay, I thought, eyeing the stranger’s black Doc Martens. But pink, my boy should always wear pink.
I lifted my gaze and stared at his bare chest. My Miller was shy, too shy to be so naked in public. I covered him with a baby pink lace t-shirt, a few sizes too big just to make him look that much smaller, like a little boy wearing his big sister’s clothes. I placed little flower rings on his nipples, nothing more than jewelry to accentuate his cute, biteable nubs through his shirt—a tease.
I squeezed down on my cock and moaned low in my throat.