At His Throat, a Promise (48 page)

Fen held open the back door of the car—not quite like William"s understated luxury vehicle or Master"s ostentatious show of wealth, but something much more utilitarian—and Ellis climbed in after Caleb.

“I know it"s not much,” Fen said, laughing as the engine refused to turn over right away. When it did, there was a rattling noise so loud a woman walking by gave Fen a dirty stare. He smiled broadly at her, and to Ellis"s surprise, she smiled back and rolled her eyes. “But it"ll get us home.” Ellis thought about that as they drove. They headed to downtown Spire, a few blocks away from the Lounge, if his inner navigation was correct. Home. Why was it that every master he"d had—temporary or otherwise—had insisted on calling wherever
they
were “home”? It was never Ellis"s home. He was just there to get what he needed, never any longer than four years. So why 414

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home? Did masters expect him to think of their houses as home?

Was it a tease—something hurtful because they knew it could never be anything more than a temporary situation? Or were they just so ignorant of the plight of the slave that they simply didn"t realise how harmful such an innocent word could be?

Home.

Fen pulled the car into an underground parking garage. They all winced when the undercarriage scraped against a speed bump, but Fen just laughed it off and pulled into a spot.

They followed him into an elevator, stopping on the third floor for an older couple to get on. From their clothing, it was clear that they were working class, and if Ellis hadn"t been able to tell from that, the half-pitying, half-disgusted stares would have clued him in. Ellis looked at the ground.

The elevator ride seemed endless, but finally they stopped on the forty-second floor. Ellis knew it was high enough to make him sick if he happened to look out a window. He desperately hoped the place wasn"t set up like Master"s, with floor-to-ceiling glass instead of walls.

It wasn"t.

It was nothing like Master"s. The apartment was small and poorly lit. Unopened boxes littered every surface and empty space, and Ellis wondered how a newly freed slave could have so much
stuff
, but they all appeared to be new purchases, not packed possessions.

“Again, not much,” Fen said, sitting heavily on an overstuffed, second-hand sofa. “But it"s mine.”

Caleb was looking around with barely disguised glee, but Ellis knelt by Fen"s feet.

He was grateful. He"d be stupid not to be. Of all the horrible 415

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outcomes that could have come about, Ellis was very lucky none had befallen him. He was safe and owned. Really owned, and by a master who wouldn"t beat or rape him. Who probably wouldn"t discipline him, either, but in the long run, that would have to be enough.

“Come here, Caleb,” Fen said. Caleb approached shyly, and Fen frowned. “What happened to your knee?” Caleb looked down at it as if surprised. It was bruised with three cuts, one of them quite large. “I… fell.” Ellis sneered before he could help himself. “One of the guards pulled him from the van too hard and he landed on the gravel, Master.” Ellis blinked at the easy way he"d called Fen Master.

Could a human really be so easily transferred from one master to another? Had he felt absolutely no loyalty to Master… to Jude?

“Sit here.” Fen patted the couch cushion behind him. “And put your legs in my lap.”

Caleb did as instructed, blushing. Ellis felt a little cold.

“Ellis, could you please go fetch the healing salve—clear glass jar, I"m sure you"ll recognise it—from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom?”

The bathroom was barely more than a closet. Ellis found the salve—it was the same stuff Jude had provided. He opened the jar and smelled it.

“Here, Master.”

Fen looked up almost guiltily at Ellis"s voice. He"d been running his hand up and down Caleb"s slim leg. They were looking into each other"s eyes and it was so like William and Harte that Ellis felt a longing so deeply buried he"d thought it would never arise again.

“Master,” he said weakly. “May I go lie down?” 416

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“You know,” Fen mused. “I don"t think you should get used to calling me that.”

Before Ellis could ask what he meant, there was a knock on the door. There was no time to answer, for it flew open and a split second later, Ellis found himself on his back with his arms full of squirming, kissing slave.

“Wha… ?” He didn"t struggle—there was no point—but he tried to pull back far enough to really see. “Harte?”

“Oh, Ellis,” Harte gushed, his voice garbled because he was pressing wet kisses all over Ellis"s face. “We were so scared. We didn"t know
what
was happening. And we couldn"t get you. But then Fen contacted us. And everything"s going to be okay now.

You"re coming home.” Harte stopped talking to crash his lips against Ellis"s, and he could do nothing but accept the attentions as he tried to take in everything that had been said.

“What are you… ?”

Harte wouldn"t let him talk, and eventually Ellis just let himself enjoy the rapid-fire kisses. Harte was touching him everywhere, and even though his pressing hands hurt Ellis"s various injuries, he wouldn"t have asked him to stop for the world. Harte"s kisses, his touches, his body against Ellis"s—all were making Ellis real again, making him exist outside permission and punishment.

“Ah, the enthusiasm of youth,” came a wry voice from above.

Ellis had to push Harte away, and even then, he wrapped himself around Ellis like a vine. He looked up at William, knowing and hating but accepting that hope was written across his face for him to abuse, if he wanted.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice, crouching down and pulling Ellis into a sitting position.

“I"m fine. Mas—my master died.”

417

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

“I know.” William smoothed the hair that Harte had mussed up with eager fingers, tucking a strand behind his ear and gently cupping his cheek. “But it"s going to be all right.”

“Come on, little one, let"s give these folks some privacy,” Fen said, expediently lifting a laughing Caleb into his arms and leaving the room with him.

“They didn"t hurt you at the Facility, did they?” Harte asked.

He couldn"t seem to stop touching Ellis and was now rubbing his calf soothingly.

“Not at all.”

Ellis gave a squeak when William pulled him into his arms, the embrace firm enough to make Ellis able to believe he"d never be let go again. William settled them into the couch, cursing when he sank into the full cushions. Harte climbed up beside them and resumed manually reassuring himself that Ellis was in one piece, this time rubbing his back and neck.

“You"re coming back with us,” William said. His voice was strained. “Fen will be signing you over as soon as you"re ready, and then you"ll be mine. Do you understand? Mine.” Suddenly so full that he felt near to bursting or maybe floating away, Ellis remained mute and burrowed deeper into William"s embrace.

“And mine,” Harte chipped in. It seemed he"d lost some of his subservient attitude during Ellis"s absence.

A smile smoothed out Ellis"s perpetual look of worry as he thought about the fact that he could help get Harte back to that place again. If he wanted it. Ellis didn"t really care. All that mattered was that he was finally getting what he wanted. It had taken him seventeen years to figure it out, three months to understand it, only a moment to lose it, and another moment to get 418

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

it all back.

A cry of pleasure and a long groan brought Ellis"s head up from William"s chest. They looked at each other and Harte laughed as the sounds of Fen and Caleb making love drifted out to them.

“Thank goodness you"re not staying here,” Harte said. “You"d probably never get to sleep again.” Harte laughed but surprised all of them when it turned into a sob. “I"m sorry,” he gasped, a twisted smile on his face as he tried to both laugh and cry. “I just didn"t really think it would work.”

To Ellis"s surprise, this comment earned a glare from William.

Harte"s mouth snapped shut.

He knew he was missing something, but it didn"t bother him.

He was no longer an outsider, a nuisance, a temporary burden.

William must have been the master Fen had spoken of, the one to give him permission. They"d wanted him as soon as they"d heard Jude had died.

And at the Lounge, Harte had asked Ellis what he would choose between a master who loved him or one who thought he wasn"t good enough…

Ellis had chosen love.

Had Harte
known
something? Ellis glanced at him, trying to read his mind, which was usually fairly easy as his thoughts were written across his face. Harte looked away and bit his lip. He looked almost…
guilty.

Had they done something?

William"s face was closed to him as he tried to find his answers there. Jude had died of natural causes—Veerson had said that.

There was no reason to even suspect…

It was strange, though, wasn"t it… That Jude had died the night after he and William had shared drinks?

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AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

Ellis jolted a little when he noticed William was watching him.

The silence had grown conspicuous, and Harte was shifting uneasily.

Ellis made a conscious decision at that moment. It didn"t matter. It just didn"t. He had William and Harte. He had a real home—no matter that it wasn"t his, he belonged there, he felt it.

They wanted him there.

Leaning in and placing a kiss against William"s tight lips, Ellis put away his suspicions and lost himself in the warmth of a kiss he thought he"d never know again.

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AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

Despite his excitement to be back with William and Harte, the damage done to Ellis by Jude was too great to overcome quickly.

It showed itself in small things. The way he wasn"t comfortable eating at the table with William. How he found himself awake and alert, waiting for punishment of any of the multitudes of things he did wrong during the day that William wouldn"t punish him for.

The way he sometimes ignored Harte because he was so used to keeping to himself.

He knew William and Harte noticed. Still, he couldn"t stop himself. He wanted to be good for William; it terrified him to think that William would find his changed attitude lacking and send him back to the Facility. It didn"t matter how many times Harte said 421

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

William would never do that. Ellis felt like he was walking on eggshells, and all he really wanted was to retreat into his safe place again. Only they wouldn"t let him.

Despite his own setbacks, the schedule at the house was exactly the same as it had been before Ellis had left. It was almost like nothing had changed. They had lessons in the mornings. While William was at work, they watched television, studied, or went swimming. When William came home they had another lesson, after which was dinner. Ellis tried to adjust to the food, which was richer and more palatable than what he"d eaten at Jude"s. After that, William gave them each personal time. While Harte had his, Ellis would lie on his bed and stare at the wall, thinking about Caleb and Fen and how they were getting along, or even Gabriel and his horrible master. Mostly he didn"t think of anything at all.

Then when it was time for Ellis"s personal time, William would ply him with questions and Ellis would try to answer. He wanted to know everything about Ellis"s time with Jude. What he"d learned, what foods he"d eaten, what he"d done with his free time. Then William started to ask about Jude"s punishments and his rules, and Ellis found he couldn"t talk about it.

He just couldn"t. It was like there was a blockade in front of his lips. He was unable to explain the rules. He couldn"t describe the punishments. The most he"d been able to say was, “Hurts.” William hadn"t known whether that meant punishment always hurt, or that Ellis was hurting at that moment.

To be honest, Ellis himself wasn"t sure which one he meant. He
did
hurt. The beating he"d gotten had far surpassed anything he"d ever experienced, and he still got twinges of pain when he moved a certain a way.

But William didn"t get upset with him. He seemed to 422

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

understand. Or at least have patience.

Harte didn"t. Harte pestered and pressured and pressed whenever they got a moment together.

It all came to a head on Ellis"s third day back. He"d barely spoken, and then only when spoken to. He hadn"t been able to be intimate with Harte as the slave obviously expected. He wasn"t even sure if his parts worked anymore.

“Good morning… ” Harte crooned, the words drawn out as he crawled into Ellis"s bed and curled against him.

Ellis turned over and regarded Harte. It was strange to have someone so close to him, pressed up to him so intimately. In his sleep-addled mind, he was terrified for when Master came in.

“You should leave,” he mumbled, turning back away. “Get in trouble.”

Harte just laughed and nudged Ellis"s bottom with his hips.

“Trust me, we won"t get in trouble for this.” Ellis was uncomfortable. It was like a memory trying to escape but maybe it hadn"t really happened in the first place. All he knew what that the beating of his life had come directly after crawling into bed with someone just like Harte. He slipped out of the bed and went to the dresser to get his regular shift.

When he turned back around, Harte was naked on the bed, legs spread, and his slender, pink cock was rising from a nest of golden curls. His chest was flushed with need, and he squirmed a little as Ellis stared.

“Come on,” Harte whispered. He crooked two fingers at Ellis in a
come here
gesture.

Ellis"s mind seemed to shut down. Instructions. Those were good; those were important, easy, needed.

He got onto the bed and settled between Harte"s spread thighs.