At His Throat, a Promise

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

… Nestled between two taller buildings on either side, the unassumingly named club glittered with deceiving joviality, beckoning all and sundry within. Promises of debauchery and deviance seeped from the blacked-out windows, enticing, alluring.

The Lounge.

Ellis wished he had reason to pause before opening the heavy wooden doors of the last resort. He wished he needed to smooth down his already bone-straight black hair or adjust his white slave clothing.

Unfortunately for him, he looked impeccable, which was all the more dangerous in a place like this.

With a deep breath, Ellis pulled open the door and stepped inside.

The Lounge was massive. A long, crowded bar took up one wall.

On the right side, clearly delineated, was a series of booths and tables, along with settees and wide, cushioned chairs. Though he"d had the blush trained out of him, it struggled to come to the surface as his eyes passed over the myriad slaves and masters in various states of undress and arousal.

He wasn"t supposed to be on
that
side, anyway.

On the left of the room was a crowded dance floor. Near-naked bodies writhing and moans that could be heard even over the pumping music. All of this made Ellis feel extremely out of place. As far as he could see, there was no one else that was… like him.

Trying his best to look meek and unassuming, Ellis moved into the throng of sweaty and sweet-smelling bodies. Without choosing a partner, he began to dance. Again, the blush tried to force its way out, but Ellis quashed it. This sort of behaviour was typical and even expected of a slave…

ALSO BY LILITH GREY

Trust Your Tutor

AT HIS THROAT,

A PROMISE

BY

LILITH GREY

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK

This book is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author"s imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

Copyright © 2011 by Lilith Grey

ISBN 978-1-61124-218-8

Cover Art © 2011 Trace Edward Zaber

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For Catherine, with love

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

Nestled between two taller buildings on either side, the unassumingly named club glittered with deceiving joviality, beckoning all and sundry within. Promises of debauchery and deviance seeped from the blacked-out windows, enticing, alluring.

The Lounge.

Ellis wished he had reason to pause before opening the heavy wooden doors of the last resort. He wished he needed to smooth down his already bone-straight black hair or adjust his white slave clothing.

Unfortunately for him, he looked impeccable, which was all the more dangerous in a place like this.

With a deep breath, Ellis pulled open the door and stepped 1

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

inside.

The Lounge was massive. A long, crowded bar took up one wall. On the right side, clearly delineated, was a series of booths and tables, along with settees and wide, cushioned chairs. Though he"d had the blush trained out of him, it struggled to come to the surface as his eyes passed over the myriad slaves and masters in various states of undress and arousal.

He wasn"t supposed to be on
that
side, anyway.

On the left of the room was a crowded dance floor. Near-naked bodies writhing and moans that could be heard even over the pumping music. All of this made Ellis feel extremely out of place.

As far as he could see, there was no one else that was… like him.

Trying his best to look meek and unassuming, Ellis moved into the throng of sweaty and sweet-smelling bodies. Without choosing a partner, he began to dance. Again, the blush tried to force its way out, but Ellis quashed it. This sort of behaviour was typical and even expected of a slave. No one would pay him any real notice.

For a few blissful moments, he was able to lose himself in the music. The beat was constant, predictable, and it made dancing mindless. No one seemed to notice him—but why would they, when they all had lovely and willing slaves of their own?

“Hey!” came a bright voice from behind him.

Ellis turned, hope rising in his chest, but felt that emotion slip away when he realised it was only another slave. “Hey.” Ellis hoped his disappointment didn"t hurt the smaller boy"s feelings.

“You dance really well.”

“Oh.” Ellis laughed a little uncomfortably. He looked around for the slave"s master, but didn"t see anyone. “Thank you.”

“I"m Harte.”

“Ellis.” He didn"t hold out his hand. That might not go over 2

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

well with Harte"s master, wherever he was.

Harte was small, lithe, and blond. A favourite type among larger masters who considered themselves more impressive by the disparity in size between themselves and those they owned. But Harte had something different, a spark in his dark blue eyes, an energy in his body, even when he was standing still. His fey-like features suggested an innocence that was impossible considering his station.

His collar was heavy black leather, and it didn"t have a lock on it. Harte was owned.

Ellis started to turn away; he wouldn"t be drawing the attention he needed if it looked like he was with an owned slave.

“Want to dance?” Harte asked from behind him. When Ellis turned, Harte was already doing so.

He did dance beautifully. There was no wonder in the fact that Harte was owned. His slim hips rolled, the shape of his body evident beneath his white slave sheath. His arms were over his head, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure. His master must have been very proud. It took a lot of practise and natural skill to look so pleasing.

“Dance with me!” Harte demanded. He grabbed Ellis"s hand and yanked him closer, and Ellis had to go or lose his balance.

Ellis"s dancing was more tentative now. Uncertain. He kept a wary eye on the dance floor for Harte"s master. He didn"t want to ruin his chances on his first night.

But Harte was having none of that. He wound spindly arms around Ellis"s neck and pressed their bodies together. Ellis tried to back away, but Harte"s hold was true, and he just moved with him.

“Hey, you can do better than this,” Harte chided. “I saw you earlier. You"re
good
.”

3

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

Ellis was more than a little uncomfortable. He couldn"t remember the last time he"d had someone in his arms, rather than the other way around. Harte was almost treating him like a master—except for what he was saying—establishing Ellis in the more dominant position. It wasn"t the way slaves usually danced together.

“Harte, I—that is, it"s very nice to meet you, but—”

“Oh, all right!” Harte said, laughing a soft, guileless laugh. “I"ll be normal. I just thought you looked lonely, and Master said I could keep you company while you waited on whoever you"re waiting for.”

Ellis was flooded with relief. “Your master knows we"re dancing, then?”

Harte looked confused. “Of course. I wouldn"t be doing it if he didn"t.”

It was then Ellis realised Harte was a
good
slave. He"d almost thought they were a myth.

“Can we dance normally, then?” Ellis asked, still distressed without the clear demarcation of their roles.

“Sure. Sorry, I just don"t dance with other people very often.

I"ve almost forgotten what it"s like to dance with another slave.” They settled into a more comfortable position, Ellis"s hands on Harte"s hips, Harte"s hands on his waist. Harte kept bringing them closer together, insinuating a slim leg between Ellis"s so their groins were pressed together. He was shocked to learn Harte was hard. If his master found out… Ellis himself had taken precautions.

A cock cage—a metal figure-eight that curved his cock practically in half—guaranteed a lack of erection; it had been a gift from his master, and he"d grown accustomed to wearing it. Any eagerness on his part would diminish his bargaining power. Not that he had 4

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

very much of that.

Harte"s movements were slowly graduating from appropriately seductive to an attempt at completion. “Stop it,” Ellis hissed, trying to pull himself back.

Harte looked up at him with wide, limpid eyes, pleasure writ across his features. “Sorry, I—” He laughed almost nervously, and Ellis suddenly realised he was entranced by this creature.

“Master"s been teasing me all night.”

“Then you should know better than to come, especially with someone else!” Ellis said, using his grip on Harte"s hips to put a little distance between them.

Nodding morosely but still with a wicked grin, Harte allowed Ellis to manipulate him into more proper dance moves. Ellis let himself get lost in the rhythm as he glanced around, taking in every master and a few of the slaves. What would it be like to belong to that man? He seemed to treat his slave well, though the slave had a bright but empty look in his eyes—drugs, then. Or to that master, whose slave was heavily scarred but looked deliriously happy as his master bit his neck hard enough to draw blood.

“You"re not collared!” Harte whispered without provocation.

Ellis froze. “No,” he said slowly, trying to gauge Harte"s reaction.

“I"m so sorry.”

Ellis frowned. Not a response he"d expected, but perhaps it wasn"t unusual for a slave who seemed so happy. “It"s all right.

I"m trying to find a master tonight.”

“Here?” Harte asked incredulously. He looked around as if casting judgment on every single occupant in the Lounge. “But everyone here
has
a slave.”

Ellis sighed. He wouldn"t have understood it himself if it 5

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

hadn"t just been explained to him. No one told slaves things like this. “I know. But I"m not allowed to…
advertise
anywhere else. I can only hope someone wants a second, or that I impress someone enough for word to get out.”

“Oh. Then you probably shouldn"t be seen with me, huh?

People will think we"re owned together.” It was true, but Ellis was loath to let Harte get away. He hadn"t spoken to anyone without fear of reprisal in so long. “It"s okay,” he lied.

Harte calmed easily and threw himself back into the dancing.

Ellis gave thanks again for the cock cage.

“So where are you from?” Harte asked, looking up into Ellis"s eyes. Ellis felt pinned by that gaze.

“Spire,” he said. “It"s not far—”

“I know.” Harte laughed. “We"re from Spire, too. Well, originally Master"s from West Menson. We only come here so Master can show me off and make business contacts.” He moved closer and whispered conspiratorially in Ellis"s ear, “He doesn"t like it here very much. Says it"s the wrong set of people.” Harte"s candour had Ellis looking around nervously again. A slave, talking so freely. Ellis might get himself in trouble if this kept up.

“So, um, what happened to your old master?” Harte asked.

Ellis shook his head. He definitely didn"t want to talk about that.

They danced in silence a while longer, but then Harte pulled away. “It was really nice to meet you, Ellis,” he said with sweet formality. “But I should probably go.”

Harte turned to leave, and in an unintelligent move, Ellis grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He wanted to say something, 6

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

thank-you
, maybe. For being understanding and sweet and beautiful when Ellis hadn"t had any of that in so long.

But he didn"t even get to speak when a strikingly handsome man whose presence was as imposing as his height and breadth grabbed Ellis"s arm and gripped it impossibly hard. Ellis let go of Harte, who was looking on in surprise.