The Mormon and the Dom (2 page)

Jeremy lifted his ass up high, giving Ronan the room he needed to finger him roughly.

“Let’s see if I can make you come this way.” Ronan had done his best, but he hadn’t been able to push Jeremy over the edge with just his fingers. Back then, he didn’t know what a prostate was. However, he discovered that getting on the bike and having Jeremy wiggle in his lap while he roughly stroked his cock gave both of them a powerful release.

For a first time, it had been incredible. As the school year went on and they found more ways to be together, they expanded their repertoire. Eventually, Ronan had learned how to manipulate Jeremy’s prostate. When he was able to give Jeremy hands-free climaxes, Ronan discovered he found immense satisfaction in pleasing his partner. In some ways, Ronan’s orgasm was secondary to Jeremy’s. Getting him all charged up and withholding release was the most empowering feeling in the world.

“But all good things must come to an end.”

Seconds later, his timer went off. Ronan sighed. He was hard, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to jack off. Not that he had an issue with self-love. Not at all. But he was tired of reaching back into the cobweb-covered memories of his past for masturbatory fodder. What he wanted was someone here and now. Someone fresh and interesting. Someone who would revitalize and recharge him.

“Why don’t you ask for a pizza while you’re dreaming? You’re about as likely to get that as you are the other.”

But that was silly. If he wanted a pizza, he could pick up his phone and order one. If he wanted a playmate, he could go to the corner of Ninth and Ninth at noon.

“And probably be horribly disappointed.”

When his phone rang, he answered without looking. It wasn’t Tony but the call he’d been waiting for from his bank. After five long years of sacrifice and financial wrangling, Ronan now owned his own business. Lock, stock, and barrel, the garage was his, along with the attached house. As of this morning, he’d become debt free. He actually had money in the bank and an individual retirement account. He’d told himself he’d be out from under all his financial obligations by thirty, and he’d only missed his deadline by a few months.

Ronan wanted to celebrate, but there wasn’t anyone he wanted to call. Like ordering a pizza, he could make a call and have someone come over, but the encounter would be as unsatisfying as the cardboard-flavored pizza. If he were going to have a slice, he would go to the place down the street where the owner used an actual wood-fired oven. Ronan supposed that was one of the other things he’d learned—settling never satisfied. He could eat any pizza to take the edge off his hunger, but only a carefully crafted pizza would be truly satisfying.

“God, I’m deep. I’m comparing all of life’s complex issues to pizza. Perhaps I’ll write a book called
The Zen of Pizza
.” When he looked up at the clock and realized it was fifteen minutes to noon, he got out of the chair.

Part of him wanted to go and put more layers of gloss on the bike he had in the shop, but the other part wondered what the submissive on the corner would be like. Ronan realized Tony had been very slick in how he set the encounter up. There was no commitment on Ronan’s part other than to go and see. Ronan believed that if he didn’t go and at least look, he’d regret it. If the sub wasn’t interesting, he could drive right on by without hurting the guy’s feelings or having to have an awkward conversation.

From his small collection of bikes, he chose the Goldwing he’d painted in royal blue and bright yellow. He put a spare helmet in the trunk, then put on his own. Refusing to feel defeated before he even got going, Ronan slung his leg over and took off before he could change his mind.

Chapter Two

Noah stood on the corner, holding the pink container by the string tied around the box. His insides were churning so relentlessly he thought he wouldn’t be able to eat the pie inside, even under pain of death. Well, he’d be able to get a bite in his mouth and swallow, but the lump of food would come right back up. Nervous didn’t even begin to cover how anxious he was. Every sound he heard seemed amplified. Each time a car slowed down, he thought the time to meet his Dom had come. But the cars were only turning the corner. When he realized they were waiting behind the white line of the crosswalk, he moved back from the edge and turned a little to the side. He didn’t want them to think he was waiting to cross the street. But then he worried the man who was looking for him would think he’d left.

Torn, Noah moved back to the edge of the sidewalk but pretended to look down at his phone so people wouldn’t think he was waiting to cross the street. Everyone seemed to be riveted to his or her screen all the time. He figured he would probably blend right in. For the life of him, Noah couldn’t understand why people were so consumed with what was happening somewhere other than where they were. He had friends, family, and acquaintances, but he wasn’t in constant contact with them. He occasionally posted on social media, but he didn’t really understand how anyone could spend more than a few minutes a day on there.

Maybe that’s my problem. I’m just not normal.

Noah had feared that was the truth ever since he was seven. It seemed to him his brothers lived for breaking things, while Noah was quite happy to sit and read. While they played video games, he would become lost in Narnia or Hogwarts. He liked his room to be tidy, while their rooms looked like a tornado had a fight with a shark. They ate like wild beasts, while Noah enjoyed savoring his food.

Thankfully, Noah had no idea what they liked sexually. He wasn’t
that
close with anyone, let alone his siblings. All he knew was what he craved. Noah had suffered with his twisted fantasies for a long time. He just assumed it was further evidence of his inherent wrongness. Of course, that was before he’d gone onto the Internet. Oh, he’d been using the amazing tool for years, but he never looked at
those
sites. He made a point of not looking because of church teachings. Somehow, if he didn’t look, he thought the yearning would go away. It didn’t. Noah craved submission the way others craved alcohol. The fantasies consumed him. It wasn’t like his occasional craving for chocolate. That he could have a bite of and feel satisfied with, but sex was like an addictive drug. Noah believed that if he ever gave in to his sick needs even once, he would never be able to get out of that hole. He would need darker fantasies to find release. The church cautioned about the dangers of porn and the harrowing reality of porn addiction. Noah envisioned a downward spiral of depravity that would end with his death by a kinky fetish gone wrong.

Believing that he had an addiction despite the fact he’d never actually done anything, he struggled to find ways to treat himself. There was nothing. The more he tried not to look, the more his brain filled in with epic dreams that were remarkably detailed. Something as simple as seeing a movie character in a leather jacket sparked wicked dreams filled with dark demands.

After trying so diligently to stay away from what he wanted and being woefully unsuccessful, Noah decided to go the other direction. Noah would wallow in perversion. He gorged on BDSM websites and books, and then he discovered the chat rooms. Realizing he wasn’t alone was initially empowering but then frightening. The fact that there were others who would be more than happy to give him what he wanted meant that Noah no longer had any excuse not to act. Oh, he’d told himself it was too dangerous. Strangers off the Internet simply couldn’t be trusted. God only knew what they would do to him. But he’d learned enough to know how to be safe. He grasped that they didn’t just meet and beat one another up. It was a dance with clearly defined limits and negotiated surrender. Safe, sane, and consensual. Once he realized it wasn’t a free-for-all, he felt marginally better. Still, he had debated the issue for months, and then he’d finally chatted online with another submissive who raved about a Dom named Ronan.

In short order, Ronan the Dom became an obsession.

Noah read everything the sub wrote about Ronan with envy and longing. When another submissive mentioned the same Dom, Noah quickly pumped his new source dry of information. Using the search feature on the chat room logs, Noah found nothing but gushing compliments about Master Ronan. As far as Noah could tell, he’d never left a submissive unsatisfied. Excitement had coiled through Noah, sparking new fantasies that were so intense he often came in his sleep.

After much agonizing, Noah finally contacted one of the subs privately, hoping to be connected with Master Ronan. Sadly, he said Ronan wasn’t around anymore. Crushed, Noah thought he’d waited too long. He was furious with himself for his hesitation. If only he’d acted rather than agonized. But then he’d met Tony. Noah had been chatting with a fellow sub about outfits when Tony popped in to talk about leather, which was his specialty. Tony made custom-fitted leather outfits for motorcycle riders and BDSM enthusiasts. After a long night of sharing secrets, Noah won Tony’s confidence, and Tony admitted that he knew Ronan personally.

Noah had been so excited he could barely contain himself. He had to meet Tony and get Ronan’s information from him. To that end, Noah said he wanted to buy custom leathers. As a professional, Tony was happy to meet with him. For the three days before their get-together, Noah had been nothing but raw nerves. He couldn’t sleep and couldn’t eat. About all he could think about was that he was going to meet a pervert in real life. This was no casual Internet chat where Noah could hide behind the name Blue-Eyed Surrender. What if Tony tried to molest him right out in public? Sure, he’d read about negotiating a scene, but that didn’t mean everyone followed the rules. Noah had purchased a can of pepper spray and kept it ready in his suit pocket.

Determined to be as safe as he could, Noah had arranged to meet Tony in a local sport-themed restaurant and bar. The suggestion had been to protect him from Tony touching him during the meeting or following him once he left. The place was on the other side of town from where Noah worked as an accountant. Also, the place was the type of establishment he never frequented. No one would recognize him there, and the place would be filled with lunch-hour people and therefore safe.

Noah had gotten to the bar an hour early so he could order a drink and try to calm down. He ended up feel horribly nauseated and almost barfed up his banana daiquiri. Girl drinks were supposed to taste like candy, but that didn’t mean they stayed down once they were down. When Tony came in wearing the leather hat he said he’d be sporting, Noah realized he wasn’t a drooling pervert slouching around in a trench coat. Tony was just an average, everyday kind of man. He appeared to be somewhere in his forties. He had a rotund tummy, a balding head under his leather hat, and oddly intense green eyes. Tony was friendly, professional, and never once made an inappropriate comment. It was obvious within minutes that Tony wasn’t even remotely interested in hitting on him.

Feeling safe in his presence, Noah had happily moved their meeting to a corner booth. After the lunch rush was over, he felt they had a surprising amount of privacy. Noah picked Tony’s brain about BDSM in general and how people hooked up in specific. After another round of drinks, this time a much less sweet margarita went down easy and made him feel marginally relaxed, and Noah finally summoned the courage to ask about Ronan.

“Ronan?” Tony’s smile had widened. “Aim high, Blue-Eyed Surrender.”

Tony had been using Noah’s screen name because he was still a little leery about giving out his real name. Noah wasn’t that common a first name. Not like Tony. Not that Noah believed that was even his real name. Then again, he did have a business. He’d even given Noah a card so he could come in and get measured for his gear.

“He wouldn’t want someone like me?” Noah wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t special. He was the typical boy-next-door with his light blond hair and big blue eyes. In the white-bread, corn-fed world of Utah, Noah didn’t stand out at all.

“He’d fucking
love
someone like you.” Tony laughed and then ate another buffalo wing.

“I don’t understand.” Noah had to twiddle his thumbs as he waited for Tony to finish dipping the appetizer into a small bowl of blue-cheese dressing.

“You look like innocence personified.” During the shift change, they got a new server, who promptly asked for Noah’s ID. He’d had to show his driver’s license a second time because the woman simply didn’t believe he was older than eighteen. Noah was twenty-two, but no matter how he dressed or styled his hair, he always looked painfully young. “Definitely Ronan’s type.”

“But?” Noah sat in agonizing frustration as Tony ate another hot wing.

“But he’s not into the scene anymore.”

Noah thought he might burst into tears. Setting his sights on Ronan, a man he’d never met, was ridiculous. So what if every sub he’d ever been with rated him eleven stars out of ten and swore they’d give the man a kidney if he needed it? Obviously, it wasn’t meant to be. If it was, it simply wouldn’t be this difficult to place himself in Ronan’s hands.

“Look, kid, you’re new to all this, right?”

“Does that matter?”

“To some.”

Noah waited for Tony to go on. He was learning there were a lot of pauses in the man’s communication style. It was frustrating, but there wasn’t anything Noah could do but wait.

Eventually, Tony explained. “Some Doms don’t like to train a newbie. It’s time-consuming.”

“So Ronan wants someone who looks innocent but knows everything?” It was totally perverse yet made sense somehow. Noah considered going to another Dom to get some experience, but he knew he wouldn’t. There was something about Ronan. Noah wasn’t foolish. He recognized that he might have deliberately set his sights on an unobtainable Dom to prevent himself from ever having to take a risk and do what he most wanted to do. But that didn’t mean he was going to be able to drop his idea overnight. Maybe with some time, he could find another and try again.

“Well, yeah, that sounds kinda stupid when you say it that way.” Tony picked up another wing and coated it liberally with dressing. “Why him?”