At His Throat, a Promise (2 page)

“Hasn"t your master told you not to overextend your welcome?” the man growled. He wasn"t huge, but he was definitely muscular enough to do some serious damage to Ellis, not to mention the fact that Ellis wasn"t legally a person, and not even property without a master. His dark brown eyes held Ellis in place without mercy.

“I"m so sorry, Sir.” He tried to fall to his knees, but the tall man wouldn"t let go of his arm. “I just wanted to say thank you.” The man narrowed his eyes. He looked to Harte, who nodded.

“He didn"t do anything, Master,” Harte said quietly.

“Go sit,” the man demanded of Harte, who obeyed without a glance back to Ellis.

Ellis kept his eyes on the floor and his posture submissive.

“You need to be more careful,” the man said in a stern tone.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

The man practically threw Ellis"s arm before he stormed away.

Ellis saw Harte kneeling with his head down beside one of the empty stuffed chairs, waiting for his master. Harte"s master sat heavily in the chair and touched Harte"s hair with his fingers. Harte didn"t move, but Ellis saw the master speak to him. After a moment, Harte looked up with a brilliant smile and crawled into his master"s lap. He straddled him and began kissing his neck and throat, burying fingers in the master"s softly curling brown hair until the master tilted Harte"s face up and they began to kiss very 7

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

slowly, very deeply.

Ellis"s heart burned with something unfamiliar. He looked around to the other chairs and booths. None of the other masters were touching their slaves quite so softly, almost reassuringly.

Certainly Ellis"s old master had never—

“Not collared?”

Turning around, Ellis saw the voice belonged to a tall, thickset man with red hair and deep frown lines.

Ellis shook his head.

“Come with me.”

Ellis followed obediently. The man led him to a booth near the back of the room, very secluded. Ellis felt his stomach churn, but he had expected this.

Sitting, the man opened his trousers. He softly stroked a half-hard cock while gesturing for Ellis to kneel before him. The cock was veiny and looked monstrous—not huge, but just ugly. It was leaking cloudy fluid, and Ellis felt his hands twitch.

He couldn"t do it.

“What are you waiting for, boy?” the man snapped, gesturing with his cock.

Ellis forced himself to kneel between the meaty thighs. If he ever wanted to find a good master—hell,
any
master—he had to do this. If word got around that he"d refused, he"d never be taken in.

He"d be sent to the Facility, and he doubted he"d make it through three years there.

But even with all this incentive in mind, when he leaned forward and opened his mouth, he just couldn"t force himself to do it. He hesitated, and the large man reached forward and gripped Ellis by the back of his neck, forcing him closer. Ellis gasped reactively and jerked his head to the side, cringing as pre-come 8

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

smeared along his cheek.

“You have a death wish, boy? Do you have any
fucking
clue who I am? You better suck me if you don"t want to end up in a gutter.”

But Ellis ducked out of the hold and scrambled backward on his hands and knees. He tried to jump to his feet, but the large man backhanded him across the face, and Ellis went sprawling, his face burning.

“Excuse me!”

Ellis almost sobbed when he heard Harte"s high and clear voice. Harte would be horribly punished for interfering.

“What?” the large man snapped. He leaned down and hauled Ellis up by his sheath, which stretched and ripped under the assault. The white linen garment, resembling a shapeless dress, wasn"t meant for such treatment. Throwing Ellis against the wall, the large man, cock still on display, wrapped a hand around Ellis"s neck and bore down.

“You"d better not hurt him! He"s my Master"s!” Eyes streaming, Ellis tried to shake his head at Harte, but he wasn"t able to move enough.

“Your master"s?” The man laughed. “I don"t think so.” Ellis watched in horrified confusion as Harte"s hand shot high into the air like an overeager student"s.

Mere seconds later, Harte"s master was at his slave"s side.

“What is it?” he demanded, taking stock of Harte.

The man who had Ellis pinned loosened his hold a little, and Ellis took a rattling breath, drawing Harte"s master"s attention.

“He tried to use that slave without asking you,” Harte said pleadingly. Harte"s master opened his mouth to protest, but then a long, silent look passed between the two. Harte"s master eyed the 9

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

small blond very carefully before nodding.

“Is that true, Igor?” Harte"s master asked in a pleasant voice.

“He isn"t collared!” Igor protested, but he let go of Ellis"s neck just the same. He seemed to notice his sorry prick was flopping freely and zipped himself up.

Uncertain what else to do, Ellis dropped to his knees and ducked his head, reminding himself not to hold his breath.

“I"m not his master,” the brown-haired man said casually. “I"m just his sponsor.”

He doesn’t mean it
, Ellis told himself quickly to subdue the flare of sheer want.
He’s just making his slave happy
. Though why a master would ever want that, Ellis had no idea.

“He doesn"t even have a sponsor tag,” Igor said smartly.

Ellis darted a look from beneath his hair and saw that Igor had a cruel grin stretched across his features, but Harte"s master was collected, almost bored looking. Harte was kneeling as well, beside his master"s feet. Ellis averted his eyes when Harte shot him a cheeky grin.

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“If I may?”

“Speak.”

Harte looked up at Igor, his derision evident in his posture if not his attitude. “The tag ripped when we were dancing. I was just going to tell Master when you…
waylaid
Ellis.”

“You were right to come me,” Harte"s master said smoothly.

He brushed back Harte"s hair, and Harte leaned in to the gentle touch. They both looked expectantly at Igor, whose face had gone ruddy.

“Why did
he
not tell me this?” Igor said, making one last effort.

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AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

A conspicuous silence reigned for a moment until Harte"s master adopted an apologetic tone and said, “He is difficult, Igor.

Quite contrary at times.”

Igor was at last placated by the excuse. He bowed stiffly to Harte"s master and walked away.

Harte"s master sighed, his face weary. He didn"t look at Ellis once, but fixed his gaze on Harte, who looked up at him adoringly.

“You will be punished for that, Harte,” he said in a low voice.

Inexplicably, Harte looked almost pleased. But then he sobered and said, “Please, Master. He doesn"t have a master.”

“Get up,” the master said irritably. “Follow me.” He walked away toward the booths, and Ellis kept his head down. They had saved him from one master, but they had also done irreparable damage to his reputation. He"d never find a master once word got out that he was
difficult
.

Harte stood quickly and followed his master, but he stopped a few steps away and hurried back. Grabbing Ellis"s arm, he said,

“Hurry! Master"s already in a mood, we don"t want to keep him waiting.”

“Harte, he doesn"t want
me
to follow!” But Harte just dragged him along, depositing them both into seats at the booth. The master sat across from them, a drink in one hand, the other arm stretched over the back of the seat.

The master called a waiter over and ordered two glasses of water, one with lime. There was only uncomfortable—for Ellis, though Harte and his master both seemed content—silence until the water arrived. The one with lime was for Harte, who meticulously twisted the fruit over his water and placed the refuse on a napkin. He licked his fingers while the master watched avidly and Ellis tried to pretend he didn"t see.

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AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

“Where is your master, then?”

“Dead, Sir,” Ellis said, not looking up from the table.

The master sighed again and took a drink. Ellis could feel both their eyes on him. “And he did not provide for you?”

“No, Sir.”

The master swore violently, and Ellis jumped, but did not otherwise react. He had disappointed the master somehow, but he had no idea what he"d done.

“You realise, of course, that a boy your age without a collar in a place like this is no better than a whore?” Ellis nodded. Worse than a whore. Whores were paid.

“Then why?” Harte asked softly from beside him.

Ellis looked to the master for permission to speak, as he hadn"t been the one asking the question, and he received a nod. “I had to do something. They only gave me a week before the Facility.” Harte gasped and his master went tense all over. Ellis was practically shaking with not knowing what he was doing wrong.

“Master, please,” Harte said insistently.

“Harte, you know how I—”

“But he
needs
us.”

A long moment later, the master said, “When they said you had a week, did they say specifically to find a master, or would a sponsor do?”

Ellis found he could barely think straight enough to recall. “I-I don"t know, Sir. There was a lot of… legal talk, and… ” The master waved him off. “No matter. I"ll find out. Stay here.” He gave a pointed look to Harte, who was all innocence in return. The master left the table, and Harte watched him walk away.

“Master"s a lawyer,” Harte said. “He"ll find out what the rules 12

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

are. If you only need to find a sponsor, I"m sure Master will take you in.”

“Why are you doing this?” Ellis asked, knowing he sounded desperate. He"d never known a slave to look out for a fellow slave, especially not to this extent. Most slaves wouldn"t even share wound salve after a lashing.

“I like you,” Harte said simply. His fingers brushed over Ellis"s where they were clenched on his leg. “Master does, too.” Ellis wanted to laugh—aside from maybe Igor, there was no one who seemed to like him less. Harte"s master was tough and unyielding, and yet Harte acted as though he were a teddy bear.

“Do you think you"d like to belong to us? To Master, I mean?” He smiled winningly, but Ellis"s jaw dropped at his gaffe.

Recovering himself, Ellis said, “I think I should like it very much.” He recognised the stiffness of his tone, but he let a small smile soften the words.
But I won’t get my hopes up
.

Harte nodded happily and bounced in his seat along to the music. Ellis studied him from the corner of his eye. Harte was beautiful, that couldn"t be denied. He seemed to be about sixteen years old, but he"d have to be a little older to be so comfortable as a slave.

When Harte"s master returned, Harte went perfectly still and drew his lower lip into his mouth. He didn"t say anything, but Ellis could tell it was a near thing—he wanted to speak. Badly.

The master took a few leisurely sips of his drink while watching Harte watch him. He seemed amused.

After an interminable time, Harte finally sucked in a deep breath, and Ellis felt exasperation with him yet again. The boy just invited punishment. It was a wonder he could walk at all if he incited reprimand as often as Ellis suspected he did.

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AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

But the master stopped him by holding up his hand. He gave Harte a chastising look, but Harte didn"t even bother to look chagrined.

“It looks as though,” the master said very slowly, looking at Ellis, “we will have a houseguest.”

Harte made an odd sound in his throat and launched himself sideways at Ellis, who was too stunned to do anything but allow himself to be hugged.

“Sir?” he said in a dazed voice.

“A sponsor is perfectly acceptable. I just have to find you a master, that"s all.”

“And he"ll find you the
best
one!” Harte cried excitedly. “Or the second best.” He gave the master a look of such gratitude and devotion that Ellis almost felt like he was intruding on a private moment. But Harte"s master didn"t smile, only nodded shortly and rose.

“I doubt I"ll be getting any more networking done here tonight,” he said in a lamenting voice. “Now that Igor"s spreading the word like wildfire.”

Harte yanked Ellis"s hand until he came out of the booth, and they followed the master, Ellis still completely stunned.

And the master had predicted, word had gotten around. A squat man with an intensely receding hairline stopped them before they reached the door.

“William! You"ve taken another slave?”

William, as was evidently Harte"s master"s name, shrugged lazily. “I have.”

“Oh, that is too rich!” the man chortled. “Only what… a week after you declared you"d never take another? That little Harte, dearest Harte, was all you"d ever need, and once he turned twenty, 14

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

you wouldn"t take another?”

Harte was blushing furiously and trying to look submissive, but Ellis saw the wild pride desperate to burst out. Ellis had never heard a master speak of a slave as this man was claiming William had. It was unfathomable.

“Well, as you know, I work long hours, and it wasn"t fair to Harte.” William"s voice was short and brooked no dissension, and the other man saw that, too.

“Very good. Well, he"s a pretty thing, isn"t he? And those eyes… oh, yes. Quite lovely. They contrast beautifully, the two of them, don"t they?”

William simply nodded. The man floundered for a moment before addressing Harte. “And you, boy? Do you like this new creature?”

“He"s very satisfactory,” he said, sounding almost haughty.

Ellis was sure he saw William"s lips quirk upward before he schooled his features into disdain and gave Harte a sharp look.

“Good, good! Well, best to you, William. I do hope you come show them both off. We miss you in the Circle, you know? And these two together would be nothing short of stunning.”