The Dark Collector (3 page)

He sets a tray on the table next to the armchair, then sits. “Excellent work, pet. Come kneel beside me.”

When he drops a pillow on the floor beside his chair, it’s clear what he wants. I crawl to him and arrange my knees on the pillow.

“Look at me,” he orders. I look up and my breath catches. His morning stubble is a black shadow across his face, making him look rakish and ruthless, but there’s a softness in his expression. He places his coffee cup to my lips and cups the back of my head with his other hand as I take a cautious sip. It’s bitter, black, not at all how I drink it, but I take it like this because it’s what he’s offered. There’s satisfaction in that for me, for accepting his choice. I may only be his for a weekend, but the submission to his will feels good. Next, he holds a bite of something warm and cinnamon-smelling to my lips. I don’t break eye contact, I just open my mouth as he slips the pastry inside.

His fingers follow it into my mouth, salty skin after sweet pastry. I nibble and lick playfully at them until he pulls them away with an indulgent smile. “Good pet.”

He feeds me half his breakfast, sharing his coffee and his cinnamon roll and praising my antics as I try to taste more of him than the food. This reminds me of that last intimate morning with Jeffrey, but it’s soothing anyway. I can be this part of myself with this other man, this man who loves Jeffrey’s art, and it’s okay. I lick at his palm again and try to catch his fingers with my lips.

He laughs, ruffles my hair, and then stands, taking the tray back to the kitchen. I wait for him, staring at the floor, my heart beating a cautious refrain.

When he returns, he guides me to my feet and leads me back down the hallway, past the gallery, to a large, airy room dominated by a gigantic bed. “Time for your bath, pet.” He opens the door to an en suite bath and gestures me inside. His shower is all marble and shiny chrome, decadent and beautiful. He adjusts the water temperature for me.

“Clean yourself everywhere. I’ll be inspecting you afterward. If you miss anything, I’ll know.” He winks, making me shudder in anticipation of his “inspection” even as he puts me at ease. He leaves a fluffy white towel on the warmer next to the shower, places a new toothbrush next to his by the sink, and leaves me to it.

As I lather myself with his fancy, rich-smelling soap, I can’t help but wonder about my handsome dom-for-the-weekend. My first impression of him had been of darkness: dark hair, dark eyes, a dark suit. But his personality, what little he’s shown me, has been light and playful. He’s been mostly gentle with me—dominant, yes, but careful. He’s given me roughness when I’ve needed it, but otherwise he’s treated me like some precious
objet d’art,
something he’s afraid will break. I’m pretty sure he can tell I like to be bossed around, but he’s not sure how far he can take it.

I’m almost ready to step out of the shower when I see the nozzle on the wall.
Oh.
He did tell me to clean everywhere. It takes a moment of tinkering with the hardware on the wall to figure out which knob would switch the water, another moment to find the waterproof lube hiding behind the shampoo.

It feels good when the cold metal slides over my prostate, reminding me how he’d plugged me last night. Warm water cleaning me out feels good too, and my cock gets hard. I’m tempted to jerk off there in the shower, because
ohmygod
it
really
feels good, but he didn’t tell me to come.

He didn’t tell me not to. He didn’t tell me I have to wait for permission.

It’s so damn tempting. I squeeze my cock, slide my hand around on it…
oh.

But I want to make him happy, and I want
him
to make me come, so I finish my intimate cleaning and dry myself off. After toweling my hair dry and brushing my teeth, I return to his bedroom. He’s sitting at the foot of his bed, waiting for me.

“All clean?” He raises an eyebrow and I nod.

“I asked you a question, pet.” So he’s going to make me say it.

“Yes, Sir.” I kneel at his feet. “I’m all clean for you, Sir.”

“Good. Stand up and put your hands on the bed.”

I obey, even though—maybe especially because—the position leaves me feeling raw and exposed. He pushes my feet apart with one of his own, spreading me wider. I blush, feeling hot all over. He runs one hand down my spine oh-so-gently until his fingers slide against the cleft of my ass. An involuntary shudder wracks me.

“Did you clean here?” His middle finger drums against my hole, the odd percussion sending my hips thrusting back to meet it.

“Yes, Sir.”

He moves behind me and I know he’s looking at me, staring at my most intimate places. He spreads my cheeks with his hands and stares. It feels dirty. I’m clean for him, but his inspection feels dirty. Heat creeps up my spine from the place where he’s staring.

When his tongue slides over me, I jerk against him. His hands run down my arms to grip my own.

“Hold still, or I’ll bind these.” Not an idle threat, I know he means business. If he bound me, he’d own what happened between us, and I could give it all to him. I could just be his plaything, his toy, his slut.

“Yes, Sir.” I want to be bound, so when he licks me again, from my balls to the base of my spine, I jerk again, this time on purpose.

He chuckles against me, gives me one last swipe of his tongue, and disappears.

I wait there, chest heaving, until he returns. He drops the heavy leather cuffs onto the bed in my field of vision, and I shudder again. He picks up first one, then the other, fastens them around my wrists, and pulls my wrists behind me to the small of my back where he locks them together. As if he knows how a rough touch will gentle me, he shoves my face down against the soft coverlet, sets his palm between my shoulder blades and leans close.

“Don’t move.”

I relax my shoulders against the bed as he spreads me again, prodding me with his tongue, slicking me with spit. He slides a finger inside me, dry, but enough of the lube lingers from the shower that it goes in slick. He finds my prostate quickly, and circles it with that probing finger, massaging me. I groan into the bed, but I hold still for him.

“Good, pet. You just needed a little help. Would you like me to fuck you?”

I shudder again, the thought of that big uncut cock sliding inside me is completely arresting. Last night would have been too soon, it would have been him
taking
something from me, but now? Now I want him.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Ask me nicely.” His finger disappears from my ass.

“Please, Sir, will you fuck me? Please put your big dick inside me and rut in me until you come.” Saying the words makes me want it even more. I hear a crackle of foil and the
snick
of a lube bottle opening, and then I feel his cock against my hole.

He presses in gently, for all I’m barely prepared for him. He invades me, slowly, steadily, one hand on my shoulders, the other at my hip. The initial sting as he breaches me makes me groan, and that hand on my hip tightens as he pushes deeper. I let out a breath on a shuddery sigh and my body opens, relaxes, takes him inside.

“Oh, you’re so good.” He groans as his hips slap against my ass. “Such a good little pet, so sweet, taking my cock.”

I rock back against him just slightly—to encourage him because that kind of praising top-talk always turns me on. He finds his rhythm then, not rough, just steady, and his hands slide under my body to work my cock. I thrust back with my hips, startling us both, and his teeth come down on my shoulder. It’s a marking bite, but it’s tentative, an acknowledgement that he knows this was Jeffrey’s thing, but I like it, and I push back harder.

He sinks his teeth into that shoulder and worries them back and forth slightly. Heat spikes inside me, shame and arousal at being mounted, bitten, owned.
Yes.

“Oh, God, pet, the things you make me want,” he whispers, then he licks over his bite and grabs my hips with both hands.

He pushes into me in hard, forceful motions then, fucking into me hard enough to make it
hurt,
and I cry out a little sob of “
Sir!”

His body stills against mine, and a heavy shudder works through him as he comes inside me.

He withdraws almost immediately, leaving me unfulfilled: chest heaving, arms bound behind my back.

He disappears into the bathroom without a word and he’s gone a long moment. When he finally returns, he’s disposed of the condom and he’s brought a washcloth. He washes my hole gently, wiping away the lube. I whimper, because I want him back inside me, him, or a dildo. I want to be fucked. Hell, I’d even take the plug and that slow handjob again.

“Tell me,” he orders.

“I want to be fucked, Sir. I want you to own me, make me come
.”

“Shhhh, there’ll be time for all of that.” He strokes my back with one hand, then he unfastens the cuffs and frees my arms. He massages them slowly, working the kinks out, meanwhile my poor cock is hard and achy and my balls feel like they’ll just burst if he doesn’t…

“Oh, come on. It’s such a pretty hard-on, pet. It would be a shame to get rid of it.” He drops a playful hand to my cock and squeezes gently. “I think I’ll keep it awhile.”

I didn’t see the cock ring in his hand when he came back from the bathroom, but I sure feel it wrapping around me, and that’s okay, because with his ring snug on the base of my cock, I won’t come, and I can stay hard and beautiful the way he likes me.

“Good,” he praises as he fastens the ring.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“Thank you, Sir, for putting your ring on my cock, for making me keep my hard-on for you. Thank you for making me beautiful for you.”

I shudder. It’s the kind of thing Jeffrey would have done, and I’d always done this for him, withheld my orgasms. Being told I have to wait makes my body thrum in excitement.

He pulls me upright and then wraps his arms around me in a gentle hug. He rubs my shoulders and smiles. “I have big plans for you, pet. But I need to get some work done. Will you keep me company while I work?”

“But, it’s Saturday!” I blurt out.

“Yes, it is.” He frowns. “I often have to work on Saturdays, but I promise I won’t be long. Simple correspondence is all.”

“Why don’t you have a secretary?” The words feel sullen coming out of my mouth. Clearly the guy is fantastically wealthy. Why wouldn’t a secretary take care of correspondence for him? Then he could take care of this raging hard-on he’s got wrapped up in a cock ring.

“You’re prying.” He smiles. “I like to write thank you notes myself. Having my assistant write them for me would be rude.”

“I see. You’re right, Sir. That wouldn’t be appropriate at all.”

So I kneel at his feet, erect, while he writes out his thank you notes. Every so often, he ruffles my hair or strokes my cheek. I arch into his touch, welcoming it, waiting for the next when it disappears. I keep my eyes lowered so every touch is a surprise. Over the course of the morning, my knees begin to ache and my back stiffens. I try to hold as still as possible, but eventually, a muscle twitches. Then another. Then I shift slightly in place. The discomfort actually makes me hornier, and the pressure of the cock ring reminds me I’m at his mercy. I’ve always loved being vulnerable like this, on my knees, or tied up. It was Jeffrey who taught me it was okay to want these things.

“Everything all right, pet?” His voice is so loud after the uninterrupted scratch-scratch of his pen.

“Yes, Sir.” I shift slightly as I say it.

“No, you’ve been on your knees too long. I can finish these later. Come on.” He pulls me to my feet and tilts my chin up so I’m looking in his eyes. They’re a dark, warm brown, filled with compassion. “I’m not a sadist. I don’t get off on hurting you. I might from time to time because
you
like it, but I don’t want you to suffer in a completely non-sexual way because I get lost in my work. Let me call out for lunch and then we can play.”

He grasps my cock in one hand and leans close as if he’s going to kiss me. His lips are beautiful, framed as they are by black stubble, and I want to feel them, want to taste them. Just as suddenly, however, he drops my cock and looks away. Instead of his kiss, I taste bitter disappointment. I should have known this isn’t that kind of arrangement. This is about lust and power and that damned painting.

Affection has no place in that arrangement. Kisses are for lovers, and we aren’t that, are we?

****

The lunch, when it arrives, is exquisite. I know you can get almost anything delivered in New York, but I’m still surprised to be served a fancy restaurant lunch from the dark collector’s hands instead of something more mundane like pizza. And I don’t know why I’m still thinking of him as “the dark collector” when he’s clearly so much more than an art collector.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks me. “You have the strangest expression on your face.” He slips a piece of asparagus between my lips, and I nip at his thumb, just a little. He laughs and pats my head. I think about his question as I chew, and then I answer with a question of my own.

“What do you do, Sir? For a living? That you need to spend over an hour writing thank you notes on a Saturday morning?”

He sighs heavily, as if my question actually hurts. When he speaks, it’s in a carefully measured tone.

“I own things. Companies. Galleries. Properties. I own lots and lots of
things.
When you own lots of things, people give you more things. Or they do nice things. Or they say nice things. Or they invite you to things. And so I thank them for
things.
”

Oh.
And I think about the paintings and photographs in his gallery, the Kuypers and the Mapplethorpe, and the other artists whose work was neither important to me nor relevant to me, and how those were just more
things
to him,
things
he owned. And how the painting which was so important it compelled me to kneel at his feet and be fed scraps like a dog, it was another
thing.
A thing he could trade for my company, and how on earth could I be so important I was worth
that
?