How to Train Your Dom in Five Easy Steps (26 page)

“Yeah.” Jeff frowned, and Eddie felt bad for even mentioning it. Who needed to be reminded of being rejected by a parent? But Jeff’s expression soon turned to curious. “They took it okay, did they?”

“Absolutely fine. Belinda said she’d always known anyway, and Dad just gave me this excruciating lecture about safe sex.”

“You know what, I should probably be grateful the old man’s never going to do that.” Jeff smiled at last, and Eddie’s heart bounced around with joy.

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

Jeff’s smile broadened. He picked up his pace, yanking Eddie along with him.

“Whoa! What’s the hurry?”

“I’ve got to take this amazing man home and kiss him stupid.”

Eddie fizzed inside, like he was about to burst with happiness. “Just kissing?” he teased.

“First kissing, and then we’ll see where it leads. I’ve still got this pointy little olive fork I’ve been meaning to use on you. And I’ve been wondering what kind of mark a wooden spoon would leave on your arse.”

“Ooh, I’ve never been spanked with a wooden spoon before. Or tortured with an olive fork.”

“Good. Nice to know I can still show you something new.”

They were at the end of Jeff’s road, and Eddie had to get it out now before they got inside and he couldn’t speak any more.

“You know what the most amazing new thing you’ve shown me is?”

“It’s not my dick, is it?”

“Shut up.” Eddie would have punched Jeff’s arm, but with the way they were huddled together, he had to settle for slapping his thigh. “You’re dick’s gorgeous, but it’s not that.”

“What could be more amazing than my dick?”

Eddie slapped Jeff again for good measure.

“The most amazing new thing you’ve shown this old tart, is how to fall in love.”

“Oh.” They stopped outside Jeff’s front door. Jeff turned Eddie round to face him, his eyes searching Eddie’s. “You seriously mean you’ve never loved a bloke before?”

“Never. Not until now.”

“Then I’m proud to be your first.”

“And last.”

“And last,” Jeff agreed. “Now get your arse inside so I can turn it purple.”

“Yessir!”

Epilogue

One year later

Being on the beach with Eddie was dangerous, Jeff decided. August had decided to put on one last, late burst of heat, and so they’d descended on their old haunt of Weymouth beach, along with Maddy, Niall and the sproglet, and just about every other bugger in the whole of Somerset and Dorset, it would appear. And despite there being so many people around, Eddie insisted on wearing one of the skimpiest bathing costumes known to mankind. It was obscene. You could see almost everything. All those acres of golden skin, for a start.

Jeff really had to stop looking.

Eddie rolled over in the sand and put a hand on Jeff’s leg. “You know you should take your shirt off. This is probably the last chance we’ll get this year. September’s only a couple of days away, and then it’s a fast downhill slide to winter.”

“I think you’ll find we’ve got autumn to get through first,” Jeff said, doing his best not to look around him as he shrugged off his T-shirt. “Don’t blame me if everyone runs screaming when they see the gorilla on the loose.”

“Mmm, my gorilla.” Eddie ran his fingers through Jeff’s chest hair.

“Fuck! Don’t do that.” Jeff glanced over at Maddy and Niall, but they were too absorbed in cooing over the baby to notice Eddie touching him up.

“You worried people will know we’re gay?”

Jeff huffed. “If they haven’t already figured it out by the way we’ve been holding hands for the past few hours, then they must be idiots. What I’m worried about is me popping a boner on the beach. There are children around, for fuck’s sake.” He was going to have to take a dip in the sea to cool off at this rate.

“We need to find ourselves a gay beach,” Eddie said. “They’re the best. Everyone knows the score, and hard-ons are only to be expected. Welcomed, in fact.”

“There aren’t any gay beaches around here.”

“Oh really? And who made you the expert in all things gay, Mr. White? I’ll have you know there’s one at Studland Bay, and another near Sidmouth.”

“Well, what the hell are we doing here, then?”

“You love it here. Come on, admit it. You’re having a whale of a time. It’s like being a boy again.”

Jeff looked around at the kids playing in the surf and the boats out on the water. The sandcastles and ice cream and sheer hubbub of family life. “Yeah, okay. But I think we’re going to have to head back to the hotel before long. I can’t even look at you in those shorts. How can you wear them? What happens if you start getting hard? There’s no hiding it in them.”

“I think you’ll find I have enough self-control not to get hard.”

“Oh really?” The sadist in Jeff wanted to come out to play. “And what if I started detailing all the things I’m going to do to you when we get back to the hotel? Like hog-tying you and fucking your throat so hard you can barely snatch a br—” Uh-oh. Jeff’s little fantasy was making someone hard, all right. It was just a shame it was him instead of Eddie.

“I’m all ears. Carry on, Sir.”

Oh God. Just hearing that one word from Eddie’s lips was enough to pump more blood into Jeff’s cock. He grabbed his T-shirt and pulled it back on. It was long enough to cover his groin, thankfully. “Let’s go.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Seems a shame to waste the sunshine.”

“We’re not going to waste it. I think you’ll find it comes in the hotel window too.”

“You think so? At this time of day?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Jeff stood and held out a hand to help Eddie up. Not that Eddie needed it, but Jeff liked everyone knowing they were together. Strange, that. He’d thought he’d have been terrified to do something so simple in public, but once he’d got through the ordeal of telling his friends and family, a bunch of strangers held no fear for him. He was too conscious of just how close he’d been to missing out on all this to want to hide his love for Eddie.

And okay, so not everyone had taken his news well. His mates down the pub had given him a right good ribbing about it, but when he’d started taking Eddie down for the regular match night, most of them seemed to get on all right with him. And the ones who didn’t? As far as Jeff was concerned, they weren’t worth bothering with. Anyone who didn’t adore Eddie was an idiot.

And yeah, that included his dad, but who knew? Maybe he would come round one day. He could have all the time he needed, because he was family. And besides, Jeff wasn’t sure how much longer he’d hold up under Mags’s denial of sexual contact.

That woman definitely knew how to manipulate men.

Jeff just had to hope Eddie wasn’t taking notes.

“Are you two getting ice creams?” Maddy asked from under the shade of the giant umbrella.

“Actually, we were headed back to the hotel.” Eddie smirked as he goosed Jeff’s arse. Cheeky begger.

“God, didn’t you two get enough of each other last night?” Niall complained. “There was me, expecting a bit of adult conversation after dinner, and you two scarpered the moment you’d polished off your dessert.”

Jeff tamped down the urge to scratch his neck. “I was tired after the drive.”

Maddy snorted. “Eddie drove, didn’t he? Honestly, there’s me with a four-month-old baby, and even I can manage to stay up later than you two. No thanks to you, mister.” She made a face at Oliver and then blew a raspberry on his tummy. He gurgled back at her.

In some ways, Jeff thought, it didn’t matter if his dad never came round. These people were his family in a way his blood relatives never had been.

Although that didn’t mean he was doing an ice-cream run for them when Niall had a perfectly good pair of legs.

“See you for dinner later,” he said, before throwing his arm around Eddie’s shoulder and steering them both back towards the Esplanade.

“Can we get an ice cream on the way back?” Eddie asked. “I’ve got a bit of a sore throat. Somebody bruised it this morning.”

“Yeah, I think you’d better, because somebody’s about to bruise it again very soon.”

“Goody.”

Eddie took Jeff’s hand, and they walked back to the hotel.

Half an hour later, Eddie lay on his stomach on the hotel bed, completely immobilised. Jeff had bound his arms and legs in a mean hog-tie, and there was absolutely no play in the rope. Eddie had strained against his bindings to check, and now he could just relax, knowing there was absolutely no way he could move anything other than the safety bell in his hand. Well, that and his head.

And even that was clamped fast in Jeff’s hands while the man in question fucked Eddie’s mouth. Eddie was lying on the bed with Jeff standing in front of him. Eddie looked up and winked. Jeff saw it and grinned. This had become a new favourite position for them to play in.

Jeff’s fingers pinched around Eddie’s nostrils as he pushed deep into Eddie’s throat. There was no way of getting any air into his lungs. No way of moving, even.

Eddie had never felt safer in his life.

Total, utter trust.

Jeff had earned it.

Eddie’s lungs burned, and he started heaving for breath. Just as it got uncomfortable, Jeff pulled back. Eddie took a huge gasp around his cock, before Jeff pushed back in again. Jeff did it a couple more times until Eddie’s head was swimming. His eyes watering and his whole body deliciously alive.

And Jeff stared down at him, that look on his face again, like Eddie was doing something utterly amazing and awe-inspiring. That look Eddie had come to recognise as love.

“So good,” Jeff said. “Want to do this all day. But then I wouldn’t get to come all over your face.”

“You’re such a bastard,” he croaked, when Jeff eventually pulled out.

“Shut up, bitch.” Jeff smiled fondly and stroked his cheek before painting it in come.

About the Author

English through and through, Josephine Myles is addicted to tea and busy cultivating a reputation for eccentricity. She writes gay erotica and romance, but finds the erotica keeps cuddling up to the romance, and the romance keeps corrupting the erotica. She blames her rebellious muse but he never listens to her anyway, no matter how much she threatens him with a big stick. She’s beginning to suspect he enjoys it.

Jo publishes regularly with Samhain, but has also been known to edit anthologies and self-publish on occasion, although she prefers to leave the “boring bits” of the book creation process to someone else.

Visit
www.JosephineMyles.com
for more about her published stories, saucy free reads and regular blog posts.

Look for these titles by Josephine Myles

Now Available:

Barging In

Handle with Care

The Hot Floor

Screwing the System

Merry Gentlemen

The Bristol Collection

Junk

Stuff

Coming Soon:

Scrap

When Mr. Glad Rags meets Mr. Riches, the result is flaming fun.

Stuff

© 2014 Josephine Myles

The Bristol Collection, Book 2

Tobias “Mas” Maslin doesn’t need much. A place of his own, weekends of clubbing, a rich boyfriend for love and support. Too bad his latest sugar daddy candidate turns out to be married with kids. Mas wants to be special, not someone’s dirty little secret.

When he loses his job
and
his flat on the same day, his worlds starts unraveling…until he stumbles across a vintage clothing shop. Now to convince the reclusive, eccentric owner he’s in dire need of a salesman.

Perry Cavendish-Fiennes set up Cabbages and Kinks solely to annoy his controlling father. Truth be told, he’d rather spend every spare moment on his true passion, art. When Mas comes flaming into his life talking nineteen to the dozen, he finds himself offering him a job and a place to live.

He should have listened to his instincts. The shop is already financially on the brink, and Mas’s flirting makes him feel things he’s never felt for a man. Yet Mas seems convinced they can make a go of it—in the shop, and together.

Warning: Contains an eccentric, bumbling Englishman, a gobby drama queen, fantastic retro clothing, scary fairies, exes springing out of the woodwork, and a well-aimed glass of bubbly. Written in brilliantly British English.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Stuff:

A bell tinkled, announcing Mas’s entrance.
Cabbages and Kinks
, the hand-lettered sign on the door had announced, in an elegant script. What the hell was this place? Mas peered around as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, his nose wrinkling at the musty pong of mothballs. Both windows were blocked off by high screens, and the room was stuffed right up to the high ceiling with racks and racks of dark clothing. A chandelier hung from the ornate ceiling rose, but not one of those dangly crystally jobbies like they had at Crowther’s. This one appeared to be made of antlers festooned with cobwebs, only one of the bulbs giving off a feeble glow. The shop looked like the place where clothes came to die.

But when Mas took a closer look at the clothing, expecting to find ragged tatters and the ghosts of office parties past, the garments turned out to have life in them yet. He fingered the cloth of a pair of trousers hanging over the end of one of the free-standing rails in the middle of the room. He’d expected rough and scratchy wool, but the texture was silky. He picked them up to take a closer look. They were a burgundy tweed, lined in a soft cotton with a fine pink stripe, and the only label he could find announced Matherson Bros, Tunbridge Wells.

“Never heard of them,” he muttered to himself, still examining the cloth and the stitching. The style was like something you’d see in a period drama, and from what he could see, the label had been stitched on by hand. Just how old were these clothes? And where the hell was an assistant so he could ask? “Hello? Anyone here?” He waited, hearing nothing. The shop was weirdly silent for the city, perhaps coz of all those old clothes deadening the sound. “Hello?” he called again before raising his voice and trying a few more times.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming. I knew I should have locked the place.” A face poked around a curtain in the corner of the room. The suspicious and fairly hostile expression melted away as he took Mas in, then cleared his throat and came all the way through the curtain. There was a tall, lanky body to go with the wild shock of reddish hair and a ridiculously plummy accent. “There was really no need to shout.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t see anyone here. You could lose trade that way, mate. Gotta greet ’em at the door. Make ’em feel welcome. First rule of customer service that is. Or was that ‘the customer is always right’? Either way, you’ve gotta admit I’m in the right.” Mas grinned to show the bloke he was only teasing, and got a slightly cross-eyed stare for his trouble.

The man had probably the most bizarre dress sense Mas had ever come across, and he had some totally colour-blind, fashion-victim friends. But this bloke wasn’t in eye-watering neon Lycra club gear. No, he did quirky in a way that was simultaneously both more far out and more traditional, if such a thing were possible. He had on an old red military jacket—the sort that was all covered in braid and shiny buttons. Add in the lightweight linen collarless shirt and black waistcoat, and he looked like he was headed out to a pirate fancy dress party. It was just a shame he didn’t have the britches and long boots. The plain black trousers looked like a nice quality, though. Wool, Mas would guess, and he liked to think he had a pretty expert eye after spending the last year working in Crowther’s menswear department.

“Arrr, me laddie. You just need an eye patch and a parrot to finish that outfit off,” he said. “Maybe a wig too, although it would be a shame to cover up that mad hair.”

“A wig? What on earth do you mean?”

“You know, to give you a proper Jack Sparrow vibe. You are dressing up as a pirate, right?”

“Umm, no.”

“Oops. My bad.” Mas gave his best “whoops!” smile, and the man flushed. It shouldn’t have been so appealing what with him being a redhead, but instead of going beet red all over, he just got these two stripes of colour across his cheekbones. High, fine cheekbones to go with the jutting jawline and sharp nose, Mas noted with approval. Not a classically handsome face, but definitely a memorable one. But why was he blushing? Mas reviewed what he’d said. Not the Jack Sparrow crack, surely? You didn’t dress like this if you were embarrassed by comments. Oh. Unless it was all round general social awkwardness. A bit like Jasper, Mas’s sort-of ex.

A flare of interest sparked inside Mas. Mr. Cheekbones had just gone from interesting to fascinating. Fuck knew why shy guys turned him on, but there was something about blushes and stammers that was like catnip to him. Maybe it was the way other blokes underestimated them. Mas always got to feel like he was discovering a hidden treasure, and they were usually well worth the extra bit of time it took to get them into bed.

“So what’s the deal with this place?” Mas asked, trying for something less personal. Let Mr. Cheekbones relax a bit before risking embarrassing him again. “
Cabbages and Kinks
is a pretty weird name. I don’t see any cabbages around, although I’m thinking you might have a bit of a vintage clothing kink.”

Mr. Cheekbones flushed darker but gave Mas a defiant glare. “I like well-made clothes. They don’t have to be old, but they’re harder to find these days. Most garments are made of cheap fabric, shoddily stitched together by Chinese children. You get what you pay for, and the vast majority of consumers don’t want to pay a little extra for quality.”

Mas threw his hands up. “Hey, I’m not arguing with you. We’re on the same side here. Got to say, I love a man in well-put-together clothing.” He let his gaze rake up and down Mr. Cheekbones’s body, because he definitely wasn’t getting a straight vibe off this one.

But if Mr. Cheekbones was into men, he wasn’t falling for the bait. Not a problem. The shy ones were fun to flirt with, after all, and if Mas kept it up for long enough, he might get a glimmer of interest. He picked up the pair of trousers he’d been examining earlier. “So, how much are these? Couldn’t find a price tag anywhere.”

“No, I don’t tag things.” The man held out his hands, and Mas pressed the fabric into them. He watched as Mr. Cheekbones swiftly examined them with long, nimble fingers. “Oh yes. Hand-tailored. 1930s, I’d guess. For you…” And now it was Mas’s turn to be examined, although not with those deft fingers, sadly. Mr. Cheekbones stared him up and down, but not like he wanted to rip Mas’s clothes off and push him down onto his knees. Instead he felt more like a commodity being appraised for resale value, and shifted uncomfortably, wondering what value his shopworn uniform and rip-off designer bag would stamp on him.

But Mr. Cheekbones’s eyes just widened as his gaze came back to rest on Mas’s face.

“For me?” Mas prompted when the silence had thickened from uncomfortable to slightly creepy.

“Oh. Umm, yes.” Mr. Cheekbones shook his head delicately, as if shaking loose an unwanted thought. “I’d say twenty-five pounds.”

“Twenty-five?” It probably amounted to a bargain, but with the rent overdue, it was an extravagance he could do without. He fingered the fabric regretfully. “I don’t know. But they’d look hot with my black silk shirt.” If they fit the way Mas thought they would, Grant wouldn’t be able to resist jumping his bones. Not that he put up any resistance as it was, so maybe that wasn’t all that much of a selling point.

“Twenty, then? I couldn’t go much lower than that. Overheads, you know. How about you try them on? See what you think?” Mr. Cheekbones looked surprised at himself, as if he hadn’t meant to say any of that.

Mas really should have a word with him about his sales technique, not to mention his woeful merchandising, but he took pity on the bloke. And besides, he really did want to try the trousers on. “You have a changing room somewhere?” Must be behind the curtain, because there sure as hell wasn’t a cubicle in this room.

“Oh, I, erm, no. I don’t. But there’s the next room you could use. So long as you stay in there. Don’t go wandering.”

“Okay. Just through here, then?” Mas strolled over to the curtain, a heavy, dusty red-and-gold brocade complete with moth-eaten fringe at the bottom.

“Don’t take too long.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve had a lot of practise at dropping my trousers.” Mas couldn’t resist winking as he let the curtain drop back behind him, over Mr. Cheekbones’s shocked face.