Pulp Friction: Atlanta

Triple Threat Chapter 5

An hour later, I was still chafing from Archer's apparent decision to take Jeremiah after the party. I'd tried to shrug it off, but it had burrowed into my subconscious like a splinter and I couldn't seem to stop picking at the wound. For his part, Jeremiah proved to be as efficient in leather and mesh as he was in his usual khakis. Although I was drinking club soda—I was working after all—my glass was never empty. With his gaze lowered and walking behind me, Jeremiah managed to anticipate my direction, my needs.

Despite the hour, a few late arrivals still trickled in, and the crowd pushed at maximum capacity as we moved toward midnight. I recognized a significant number of our guests from our club days, but I noticed many were strangers, definitely people we hadn't invited. Good news for us.

Over the course of the evening several subs had presented themselves and requested my attention, however, none of them were Franklin, so I passed without explanation or excuse. A small commotion near the door drew my attention and I looked up in time to see two masked men talking with the doorman before they entered and moved into the crowded room. The mask actually made it easier to recognize Franklin—I wasn't distracted by the new face or hair color, all I saw was the familiar slender frame. It was hard to disguise a backside that you'd striped with a riding crop.

The man with him was exactly who I'd expected. Good to know.

"Showtime," I murmured.

"Found him?" Jeremiah leaned in to whisper his question, and his breath tickled against my cheek. I turned to face him and our gazes locked for a long moment.

"Put your fucking eyes down, boy."

"Yes, Sir." Jeremiah's response was immediate and damn if my dick didn't notice. Turning my back on my young assistant, I scanned the room looking for Franklin and worked at shoring up my determined indifference. I sternly reminded myself that these scenes, the smells, the public sex, were not for me tonight. For fuck's sake...this was a cover story designed to draw in our target not an actual training session for the boy. Fuck. For Jeremiah.

Franklin stood near the bar, but pressed up against the wall, observing the crowd. There was no sign of his companion.

The next thirty minutes were the most critical part of our strategy. Would Franklin risk discovery by doing a scene with me? We'd decided to make it nearly impossible to turn down, but I was worried about putting Jeremiah in over his head. I thought about making a last minute change—it would be simple to walk over to Franklin and with some covert prodding from my thirty-eight, convince him to leave the room with me.

I stopped short of the bar and pulled Jeremiah into my arms so that his back was against my front, my hands on his hips. As we swayed to the music, I rapidly whispered a review of our plan. Apparently Jeremiah thought it was a better idea to get into the mood of our little role-play, and he ground his ass back against my aching dick. The little shit. Of course, I knew a lot of tricks that just might send the boy running. I traced one hand over the mesh front of his shirt and slipped the other inside the tight leather shorts. With a quick twist of his nipple and a tight grip on his balls, I supported Jeremiah as his knees gave way.

"Oh fuck." The moan was hot and Jeremiah's chest rose and fell rapidly under my hand. So much for pretending.

There was no way Franklin could avoid spotting us from where he stood.

"No coming until I say so, boy," I growled over his shoulder. I was loud enough to be heard too...as I'd said, it was show time.

"Master, may we have a third tonight? Will you teach me?"

It wasn't the line he was supposed to say, but as improv, it wasn't bad. I stared down at him, gauging his interest and ability in acting and realized I had severely underestimated this man. His lack of experience in BDSM did not translate to stupid. I should've known that Archer had selected the applicants carefully. When we were done I was going to go back and pull out Jeremiah's application and study it more carefully.

"Hmm...might do you good to see how a well-trained sub behaves. If I can find me the right submissive..." I looked around, as if considering several options. "I want him," I said, pointing toward Franklin. "Get him to come with us for a scene and I might let you come tonight. Otherwise I'll bind your balls until tomorrow."

Jeremiah smiled and the heat in his look left me breathing a little harder. I bet the little fucker was an actor. He went up on his toes and pressed a quick kiss against my lips before turning away. Then Jeremiah, who hadn't displayed a hint of anything slightly feminine all week, bent his elbows, relaxed his wrists, and positively swished his hips when he walked. I watched as he closed the distance to Franklin and noticed several others turning to watch him as well. Where the fuck had that come from?

As they spoke, Franklin shook his head at the first question...whether anyone would be waiting if he went to a private party upstairs. Franklin had dressed for clubbing, and swayed slightly to the music as they spoke. Jeremiah danced his fingers up the buttons of Franklin's shirt then flirted with the edge of his mask. Franklin smiled, glanced over to where I stood, arms crossed, flexing a little in the flicker of the lighting. He seemed to think a long time about the second question, then nodded.

Whatever Jeremiah's words to Franklin, they worked, because the two of them linked hands as my very versatile new personal assistant led Franklin toward the back of the house and the stairs that led to the second floor. They moved through the crowd with several backward glances in my direction and what looked to be honest-to-god giggling. I shook my head, amused at the antics, and reluctantly impressed with Jeremiah's success.

I trailed slowly behind the two men, waiting until I made eye contact with Archer from across the room, before I followed them upstairs.

The bedroom we'd converted for tonight wasn't large, but the four-poster bed was perfect for what I needed. By the time I got to the room, the lights were dimmed and the sheets pulled back to clearly reveal the restraints at the corners of the massive bed. Both men were naked and kneeling with their heads bowed—more orchestration by my helpful assistant, I supposed.

Taking a riding crop from the umbrella stand next to the door, I stepped to where the two men waited. I stroked Jeremiah's black hair for a moment before wrapping the spiky strands in my fingers and tugging his head back.

"Jeremiah? Did you remember to ask if this man is experienced in bondage and discipline?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What's his name?"

Franklin started to speak, but I silenced him with a sharp snap of the crop against his hip. I heard his slight hiss, knew it was only a tease of what he'd be hoping for.

"He asked to be called Midnight, Sir."

I barked a short laugh at the clichéd name. "Very well, Midnight. You may call me Sir or Master. My rules are simple. You do what I say, you take what I give, and you don't come without my permission. Do you have a safe word?"

"Yes, Sir. Coffee."

"Coffee? All right. If you say coffee, all action stops. No hesitation, no question. Just stops. Otherwise we go at my pace. Jeremiah is mine. I take care of his needs. For tonight, you will also be mine. Climb up on the bed face up, spread eagle. Jeremiah, I want you to fix the restraints."

"Yes, Sir," they replied in unison.

As soon as the first cuff was fastened, I relaxed—Hartfield wasn't going anywhere. Jeremiah finished attaching all four cuffs, then stepped away from the bed with a satisfied smile.

"Nice work, Jer. You can go ahead and get dressed." Turning my focus to the man on the bed, I grabbed the spandex hoodie that completely covered his head and yanked, none too gently. The mask pulled up with a crackle of static electricity that left his dark hair standing on end and almond-shaped eyes wide with surprise. Up close, the sharp cheekbones and shape of the chin gave him the look of a mixed race Asian. It was nice work. I'd have passed him on the street without a second glance. I smiled and grabbed his stubby left pinkie finger, twisting hard. "Hello, Franklin. How's life?"