TripleThreat1 (3 page)

Leaning forward, I growled, making my displeasure clear.
“Just the details, Andrew. I need to know what Cranston looks like now? It’s
important.”

“
Oh my gawd
…you mean he’s some kind of nefarious
criminal? I had no idea.”

Andrew’s breathy lisp and wide-eyed brainless babble had me
contemplating my own crime. He knew who I was,
what
I was, yet for some
reason, he thought testing me was a good idea. His last comment officially sent
me over the edge. Scooting my chair closer to his, I leaned in and reached
under the table to grab his balls in a vice-like grip.

“Your audition is over, boy. I’m not in a market for an
untrained and disrespectful slave. What alterations did your boss make?”

Face pale and lips trembling, anyone would have thought he
was scared. Maybe he was, but his fucking dick pushed against my forearm, hard
enough to pound nails.

“Yes, Sir. Sorry. We added more to the chin, built up his
cheeks, lifted the eyelids, and narrowed the nose. Of course, he could easily
alter his appearance with hair, eye color—” He shut up when I squeezed harder.

Breathing through his mouth, his eyes unfocused, the asshole
looked like he was about to shoot his load. “Wh-what else do you need? Sir?”

“Is this him?” I slapped a photocopy on the table, using of
one of the IDs Carmine provided.

“Yes. Yes, Sir. Oh fuck—” His hips bucked once and hot
moisture spread down the front of his scrubs.

“Jesus Christ.” I pulled my hand back and grabbed a napkin
from the table. “You better get yourself a fucking Master, boy.” I stood and tossed
the damp wad on the table. “Clean yourself up and try not to make a scene when
you leave.”

Andrew’s whispered reply was barely audible above the chatter
of the soccer moms and teenagers at the surrounding tables. “Will you train me?
Please, Sir?”

I left the question hanging in the air, already on my way
home.
To Archer
.

The iron gates to the estate stood open, not totally
unprecedented when we had a large crew working, but unusual enough when I
wasn’t on site. A wave of unease passed over me as I drove quickly up the long,
meandering drive that wound through the park-like grounds. The house sat a
half-mile back from the road, screened from view by gently rolling wooded
hills. As I rounded the last bend, the front door came into view, along with
the expected vehicles that belonged to the gardening crew. I had no explanation
for the other three late model cars, the motorcycle, or the bicycle propped
against one of the pillars.

Taking the steps two at a time, I moved quickly, hands lose
by my side, unsure of what to expect. Yes, the logical part of my brain knew
we’d been conducting all sorts of meetings in preparation for the party, but it
was completely uncharacteristic of Archer to meet with anyone unless I was
nearby.

The foyer looked almost normal…if I didn’t count the five
strange men standing in a loose group near the doorway of the formal living
room. As one, they turned and watched me cross the marble floor. I stepped
inside, pulling the heavy oak door closed behind me, ignoring the murmured
greetings of the strangers.

“Hey,” I said, masking my concern once I saw Archer across
the room, staring out the window, apparently undisturbed.

Turning, Archer’s smile was easy, and relief washed through
me. I went straight into his arms and stood, breathing him in.

“Miss me?” he asked. The pleasure in his voice was evident.
He liked when my need for him spilled over.

“Always. What’s going on?” I tilted my head in the direction
of the foyer, leaving little doubt about the meaning of my question.

“I was conducting a few preliminary interviews.”

“Interviews for what, honey? Did I forget a meeting?” This
had all the earmarks of a conversation that was not going to make me happy.

“No, no, not at all. These men are here to interview for a personal
assistant position.”

“Personal Assistant? But, that’s
my
job, love.”

Archer stepped away from the embrace and took my hand,
leading me to sit beside him on the couch. “I’ve been thinking about this for
some time, I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I thought surprise would be
best.”

A slow burn started deep in my gut and I wondered if I was
going throw up right here or if I’d be able to hold on long enough to get to
the bathroom. I locked my jaw against the questions that fought to be asked.
His play—I would wait.

“I see.” I don’t know why I said that—stalling for time, I
guess. This simply wasn’t possible.

Archer smiled, as if pleased by my reasonableness. “Walker
already drew up the necessary papers, with legal protection for both sides. The
compensation is more than adequate.” He patted my hand.

I’d never seen it coming. To say I was stunned was an
understatement of epic proportions. Devastated. Shattered. Dying. Yeah, those
worked better. Realizing there was really nothing for me to say, I stood,
suddenly anxious to get going. If this ended here, then I needed to leave
before I lost it completely.

“Zachary?”

I shook my head and left. I made it two steps before Archer
caught my arm in a strong grip and jerked me around to face him.

“Zachary? Did something happen while you were gone? I should
have asked if everything went all right on your interviews, but—Jesus.” With his
hands still tight on my wrists, he examined my face. I blinked furiously
against the sudden stinging in my eyes.

“Zach…baby…what’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

I tried to turn away so I wouldn’t see the stormy blue-green
eyes, the face I knew better than my own. I had no words…I just wanted to be
gone. Yeah, I was acting like a fucking girl.
So what?
This man had been
my life for the last fifteen years.

There was a long pause before Archer’s grip on my arm
loosened and I jerked back. Long, strong fingers seized my jaw and tilted my
chin up. “Look at me.”

The deep rumble in his voice compelled me to do as ordered.
His face had gone pale, the tic at the corner of his left eye and the tight
muscles of his jaw showed me just how truly angry Archer was. For a long
minute, neither of us moved. Then on a sigh, he pulled me to him and enveloped
me in his arms, holding me so tight I struggled to breathe.

“Never. I will never let you go. You are
mine
. Dear
God, Zachary, don’t you know that after all this time?”

“But I thought—” My gaze cut to the door, thinking about the
men waiting outside… “You said there were legal documents and compensation. And
what the hell?
I’m
your personal assistant. I thought—”

“Yes, I can see how it might have sounded—to someone who
didn’t know me as well as you should. Obviously I’ve been remiss in making you
realize just how equal our partnership is. Zachary, I am hiring someone. You
are not my staff. We are partners in every way. I always assumed you understood
what is mine is yours. We do have a partnership agreement…”

“That’s business—” I was feeling stupid. Of course Archer
loved me.
Except…
“Archer, if nothing is wrong, why have I sensed
this…distance between us? It’s almost as if you’re keeping something back.”

He tugged on my arm and led me back to the couch, and we sat
turned sideways to face each other. “I suspect you’ve been picking up on my
secretiveness about this surprise. I was trying to do something nice and
instead I’ve managed to undermine that which is good between us. Let’s start
over.”

Clearing his throat, Archer patted my hand. “I am hiring a
personal assistant—this one will belong to both of us.”

“Belong?” I was still feeling off-balance and something
about the careful phrasing had me waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Archer smiled. “You know what I mean.”

“No…I don’t think I do.” I wasn’t trying to be obtuse, but
that didn’t stop the flicker of annoyance that flashed across Archer’s lovely
face.

“I got the idea from Angus. He recently purchased the
services of a fully trained slave from one of Tristan LeBlanc’s auctions.”

I gently squeezed his hand. “I don’t do slaves, Archer.”

“I know that, Zachary.”
Oh, boy. He’s definitely getting
annoyed.

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Are you happy, Zachary?” Archer asked, keeping me
off-balance. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “I took you away from
a job you loved—and the outlet you need. When we made the decision to go
exclusive, we still had the club for your dominant needs. When I retired—we
retired—it meant you no longer get to top and I truly do know how much you
enjoy both sides of the equation. I’m a greedy bastard.” My dominant,
masterful, confident lover was suddenly behaving in a very uncharacteristic
manner.

“Shh…don’t worry, Archer. We decided to take this step
together. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” It was true that Archer’s
increased need for privacy drove us to sell our phenomenally successful BDSM
club, but that was a step we’d both wanted to take. Years ago, owning a sex
club while maintaining our personal relationship had been a perfect way to meet
his needs as a Master and allowed me great latitude. When it started to feel
like just another job, we’d both known it was time to sell. I thought we’d both
been happy with the decision.

“What’s this all about, Archer? Are you having second
thoughts?”

“Not in the way you think. Zachary, I know I’m not enough to
take care of all your needs.”

Archer let go of my hand and stood, and I recognized the
action for what it was, a simple need to move, not nerves. Whatever Archer had
done, he was perfectly confident he’d made the right decision for both of us.
It would be up to me to decide how I felt about things once I understood the
agenda.

“I knew you’d never agree to select a submissive during one
of Tristan’s auctions, so I perused his temporaries catalog. Simply put, love,
these men are here to apply for a job. They’ve come fully vetted and medically
certified. I have their applications and resumes for your review. They know
what’s at stake—a simple contract for services. One year, paid in advance, at a
very favorable rate of compensation, and whoever you select is guaranteed that
we will provide everything that he needs during the time he is with us.”

Pointing to the stack of folders, Archer continued while I
bit my tongue to keep from interrupting.

“Each man has provided a list of the things to which he is
willing to submit, including his level of experience. I narrowed the original list
of applicants to these men, but if none of them suits you, there are more to
choose from.

Archer stopped speaking and looked at me expectantly.

“I don’t understand. Is this an assistant like in work? Or a
slave you want to watch me train and fuck?”
Yeah, I sounded bitter.

Archer sighed again. “The man you choose is here to be
anything you want him to be for the next year. He is yours. You are mine. You
will
always
be mine. But you have a powerful need to dominate at times,
and I cannot fulfill that—”

“I’ve told you it’s enough—”

I finally interrupted—something he hated and he cut me off
with a wave of his hand. Archer moved to stand so close I was forced to bend my
neck to look up. With his feet shoulder width apart, he had both balance and
leverage. As he pulled me to my feet, everything about him changed from partner
to Master and I understood this conversation was now over.

“You may have this room to conduct the interviews in any
manner you choose. You have two hours to make your selection and report the
results to me.”

The night of our party, I bypassed my typical club leather
and opted instead for a dark jacket over blue jeans. I wasn’t really a suit type
of guy—that was Archer. The jacket gave me a little bit of class and allowed my
holster to remain mostly out of site. Being officially licensed as an
investigator and bodyguard had its advantages. I stepped into the room, and the
first thing I noticed was the smell, an olfactory memory that had my dick
paying attention and my mouth watering.
Man, sweat, and leather. Fucking
hot.
Archer was right—I did miss some parts of our former life.

Although our house wasn’t the biggest in the exclusive Tuxedo
Park neighborhood, most people would describe it as a mansion. Tonight’s party
was in the seldom-used ballroom. The realtor might have used a little poetic
license to call the room a ballroom, but it was big enough to support a
stockade, a Saint Andrew's cross, a couple of cages and bondage chairs. Nothing
particularly elaborate, but there was enough variety once the other toys were
employed. Basically, when set up as it was for tonight’s party, the room
resembled a small, but well-equipped club, with multiple conversational seating
areas for more intimate exchanges. There might have been an ulterior motive for
hosting the party, but no one could fault either of us on our planning.

The snap of flogger against bare skin drew my attention to
the seating area to the right of the main doorway.
George Delaware
. As
usual, he was holding court, this time with three men who were all new to me,
and from the rapt expressions on their faces, they were probably new to the
party scene as well. George was gesturing with one hand and idly swatted at the
ass of his kneeling, hooded slave with the other. He was a self-proclaimed
expert on all things, including the lifestyle. Seeing him reminded me there
were things about managing a club I didn’t miss at all. I walked over and
dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, George,” I said and gave the narrow shoulder a
squeeze. He might have his uses tonight, but when we’d had Wilde Sides, George
bore constant watching. A Dom with a predatory habit of claiming and training a
slave only to abandon him after six months didn’t sit well with either Archer
or me. The squeeze to his shoulder was just enough to remind George that our
place—club or home—should not be considered a safe hunting ground.