At His Throat, a Promise (52 page)

“Come in, Harte,” William said, still leaning over Ellis and kissing the sweat from his body.

Harte came into view, smiling, fingers reaching out to touch Ellis"s collar. Feeling protective of it, Ellis put his own hand on the collar, but Harte just continued to grin. His eyes fell on Ellis"s lips, and he bent down, placing a sucking kiss on the corner of Ellis"s mouth. “Missed some,” he explained, licking his lips and kissing Ellis on the mouth.

“Ellis, go clean up and meet us by the front door,” William 449

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

instructed, bodily pulling Harte away, a soft smile on his lips.

Peeling himself off the desk, Ellis used the hallway washroom to tidy himself up. His ass was sore and ached a little when he moved, but the idea that he"d have that feeling all day was something to treasure. He wondered if other slaves—besides Harte, of course—felt that way about their masters. Not that he could even really say how he felt… or thought he felt. Not when Alastair had told him what happened to slaves or masters who admitted their feelings.

He met them at the door as instructed. Even though Harte wasn"t moving, excitement was a tangible thing on him, seeming to come off him in waves. William was holding his upper arm as if to keep him in check.

Ellis tied on his sandals, his finger running over the scar on his foot from his journey into the forest. William did have a habit of saving him.

“Into the car, and no sex of
any
kind, you two,” William warned, opening the door for them.

“But Master, Ellis got to—”

“Ellis just got collared. Don"t you remember when I collared you?”

Harte"s eyes glazed over and he promptly forgot about the unfairness of the situation. Ellis didn"t even need to ask; it was surely a tale of carnal deviance, and the telling of it would just put him in a physically uncomfortable position.

William seemed to drive more slowly than usual, which made Ellis take a page from Harte"s book and practically vibrate with anxiety. The only times William had ever taken them anywhere, they"d had to stay in the car—unless it was something like the costume party at the Cohens".

450

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

To his surprise, they didn"t drive into downtown Spire, but instead, turned west where they should have continued south.

They drove through what seemed to be a village. Ellis was shocked at the amount of slaves he saw. Slaves were usually kept at home, only showed off within specific circles or at places like the Lounge. Here they were walking around freely, some without even masters or mistresses by their sides.

“It"s like a town of slaves,” Harte explained quietly, noticing his consternation. “People who are proud of their slaves or who want their slaves to be comfortable come here. Master says it"s no good to keep slaves inside for four years. Slaves need to meet other slaves and be members of society. Some slaves lose their personality if they"re kept inside too long.”

“I should have brought you earlier, Ellis, but I confess I enjoy keeping you to myself.” William"s eyes were kind in the rearview mirror, and Ellis ducked his head in pleasure.

They pulled up in front of a quaint restaurant with an old wooden sign announcing that it was called
Wender’s
. Ellis and Harte got out after William opened the door for them and followed him into the restaurant.

A server seated them at a booth with cracked vinyl material that made the backs of his thighs itch as he slid in, making room for Harte beside him. William sat across from them and smiled at the looks on their faces as they tried to get comfortable.

“The owner"s a master, a former slave himself, though so long ago he"s probably forgotten just how short those tunics are and how sensitive the backs of a slave"s legs can be.” William winked at Ellis, who squirmed and realised that, indeed, his behind was positively aching from both his caning and William"s cock. But the pain was almost pleasurable, except when he tried to move and 451

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

stuck to the seat.

“Must be a sadist,” Harte grumbled, tugging his sheath down to no effect.

“Probably,” William said without concern.

A waiter, neither a slave nor a master, came up to their table and asked for their orders without blinking an eye.

Ellis let William order for him, amazed that a working class person didn"t seem to care that there were slaves in plain sight.

Working class people mostly hated slaves—or slavery itself, they claimed, though it didn"t stop them from glaring at slaves whenever they came across one. Of course, they didn"t seem to mind the institution so much when their child was bright enough to get into a professional position, trading the child into slavery at the first chance they got in exchange for the prestige that came from having a professional in the family.

Their food came back almost suspiciously quickly, and Ellis was shocked to see that his was fish and chips and Harte"s was the seafood linguini. Though not as strict as Jude had been, William very rarely allowed them that type of food. His mouth watered and he took a sip of his drink.

Which he immediately spat into his napkin.

William laughed heartily and Harte giggled, seeming unable to control himself. Ellis pouted a little and glared at the drink. It had burnt his throat and was just plain
awful
. He didn"t understand why they were laughing at him.

As they continued to do so, Ellis began to heat with shame. On his
first day
being collared, he had embarrassed himself. His eyes burned with tears that he was determined not to shed, and William finally took pity.

“It"s not your fault,” he explained, reaching across and taking 452

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

Ellis"s hand, forcing the fingers out of fist they were clenched into.

“Harte did the exact same thing, except on his plate, not his napkin.”

Harte nodded rapidly, smiling as if proud of the fact. “It"s true.

I ruined the food but Master made me eat it anyway
and
finish the rest of the drink.”

“I am the height of cruelty,” William deadpanned.

“Do you want me to finish it?” Ellis asked nervously, eyeing the glass.

William nodded. “It"s an acquired taste, but I think you"ll enjoy it.”

“It"s a gin and tonic,” Harte said, sipping his own drink, which was orange and smelled almost as bad as Ellis"s. “Mine"s a screwdriver. Master made me drink a bunch of different ones, and this is the best.”

Alcohol. Slaves were forbidden—Ellis looked around as if Facility guards would be watching his every move. Of course no one was there, and the waiter had served the drink, so he obviously didn"t care. Taking another tentative sip, Ellis found it wasn"t as bad when he didn"t try to quench his thirst with it.

By the end of the meal, Ellis had tried a dirty martini, which he didn"t like much at all, and a gin and cranberry drink that was tolerable.

Or more than tolerable, he decided, finishing his second.

Harte spilled his drink, which was apparently very funny to him; his laughter seemed very loud until Ellis realised his own was joining it. He snapped his mouth shut, a hand clamping over it as he lowered his face in embarrassment. Harte wrapped his arms around Ellis"s shoulders and nuzzled his cheek.

“Don"t be shy,” he murmured, kissing Ellis. “Master doesn"t 453

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

mind or else he wouldn"t let us do it. But it"s a special occasion.” Looking up at William, Ellis could see he really didn"t mind.

The master was drinking only water, but he seemed very amused at his slaves" antics, not angry at all like Ellis would have expected.

Ellis gave Harte a nod and a nervous smile.

He let Harte kiss and pet him without really reciprocating.

Being expected to perform at a party or privately for William was one thing, but being intimate in public, in a restaurant—no matter how deserted—seemed a little much.

When Harte"s hand slid between his thighs and fondled his rapidly hardening cock, Ellis couldn"t hold back a rather loud and pathetic whimper.

“Enough, Harte,” William said, though his tone was affectionate instead of stern. “We"re leaving now.” Harte pulled Ellis from the seat and took him to the car while William paid the bill. Ellis tried to hide behind Harte, the evidence of his arousal too obvious for his liking. Harte pushed him up against the car and set to biting his neck, hard enough to be painful if he hadn"t been a little drunk.

William opened the car door and they fell in gracelessly, Ellis on his back and Harte on top of him. A moment later they were driving.

The motion made Ellis a little dizzy, and he tried to sit up so he could get his bearings, but Harte was too heavy and too intent on mauling him. He gave up and closed his eyes against the blurring car.

That was much better.

With his eyes closed, the sick feeling went away and he could focus on Harte"s mouth on his collarbones, Harte"s teeth on his nipples—where was his sheath?—and Harte"s hands all over his 454

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

groin and ass.

“Better not come,” William warned from the front seat, and the words were like ice water on Ellis"s privates.

It felt too good but he
wouldn’t
get punished for disobeying.

“Stop, stop,” he said, aware that his words were slurring a little.

He was relieved when Harte pulled back, looking a little alarmed. “Are you okay?”

“Don"t want to come,” he whispered. He wasn"t afraid of punishment—he"d proven to himself time and again that he could take it—but disappointing William wasn"t something he would ever do if he could help it.

Harte was visibly frustrated, but the high points of colour on his cheeks and the way he was panting only made Ellis feel better; he"d saved them both from chastisement.

The drive back seemed to take much less time than the drive out, and when the car pulled up in front of the house, Harte didn"t even wait for William to open the door before he got out, for once opting not to drag Ellis behind him.

He found his shift and put it on quickly, not even bothering to wonder how it had gotten off his body in the first place. Stumbling a bit in his sandals, Ellis managed to get out of the car—was it still moving?—and promptly fell into William"s arms.

Without thinking, he tilted his head up and closed his eyes. He wanted a kiss. He loved being kissed by William, being
owned
by William, and William was
his
, so if he wanted a kiss, he was going to get it.

Thankfully, William had no problem with this plan, even if he didn"t really know it was a plan at all, because he leaned down and took Ellis"s lips softly. Too softly. Ellis pushed up into the kiss, pressing his body against his master"s and making it known that he 455

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

wanted
more.

“Let"s get inside, shall we?” William suggested, looking around.

Following suit, Ellis realised they were still by the car.

Honestly, couldn"t William have brought them inside before kissing him? The trees provided cover, sure, but it was
outside
.

He swept passed William into the foyer where he ripped his sandals off. Stupid things. He much preferred to go barefoot if he could. Ellis stared in confusion at the white slave"s shift in the middle of the floor. He looked down. He was still wearing his…

That meant someone wasn"t. Harte. Harte was somewhere in the house—upstairs, because the shift was near the stairs—naked, without clothes, wearing nothing.

He informed William of this new development, not caring that his master watched in amusement as he ran up the stairs in a decidedly undignified fashion. He
never
ran. He was going to have to apologise so much. He really was embarrassing himself.

He decided he was no worse than Harte, the slut, who was on his hands and knees on William"s bed with two fingers inside his own ass.

Knowing better—unlike
some
slaves—than to enter William"s bedroom without permission, Ellis waited for the master to catch up. It didn"t take long; William nodded at Ellis once he reached the top of the stairs, and Ellis entered the bedroom, taking off his shift and crawling onto the bed.

Harte immediately pounced on him, as only Harte could seem to do, landing Ellis on his back and straddling him. “You"re going to fuck me so hard,” he said, groaning as their cocks ground together.

William was at the side of the bed, undressing. Ellis wanted to 456

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

help, even reached out a hand, but William ignored him. He stood watching his slaves, fingers a loose ring around his thick and swollen cock. Ellis licked his lips without thinking as he took in the impressive sight of his master.
His.
This man owned him; he belonged to William, this pillar of strength, immovable, implacable. Ellis felt safer, knowing that his master was so big, so strong. He also couldn"t deny the way his ass felt empty and wanted to be stretched, filled, pounded.

“Lower yourself on him,” William said gruffly to Harte.

Harte wasted no time, lifting up and poising Ellis at his already slick hole. Ellis could do nothing but watch and
feel
as Harte sank onto him, that glorious, impossible tightness taking him over, gripping him so hard it was almost painful.

Panting and flushing all over, Harte seated himself, his hips twitching with the need to move, but William hadn"t said that.

“Open your legs, Ellis.” William crawled onto the bed and helped, spreading Ellis"s thighs wide. Harte got into a crouching position, his feet on the bed beside Ellis"s hips. William lifted Ellis"s ass straight off the bed, which in turn forced Harte up.

Then William moved so his knees were under Ellis"s back, his cock ready to pierce Ellis. A moment of perfunctory stretching with the lubricant Harte had left on the bed and then William was pulling Ellis onto his cock, not waiting for adjustment, just filling him.

“Oh, fuck,” Ellis whispered, the curse an indication of just how out of control he felt.