Pup (18 page)
He started to pull away, and Micah grabbed his arm, eyes wide with alarm. “You’re not going to leave me like this, are you, Sir?” Micah looked down at his engorged cock, the head an angry color of red as it strained and bobbed. He met Tackett’s gaze with pleading eyes. “That’s just really mean, Sir.”
Tackett stepped close again, his lips next to Micah’s ear. “You’ll do good to remember this feeling, boy.” He reached down and pumped Micah’s cock once, making his pup groan. “Because the next time you tease me by wiggling your ass at me, you’ll have to ask yourself, are the consequences worth the fun?”
Tackett released Micah’s cock, grabbed the tray of steaks, and headed out to the patio, holding in his laughter until he had the door closed behind him. He wasn’t getting so soft after all, and he damn sure was able to control his urges. His cock was screaming at him for being a fucking dumbass, but his headthe one on his shoulders anywaywas applauding the lesson he’d just taught his naughty teasing pup.
Tackett took a bow and then added the steaks to the grill.
as rewarding as success can be, the fight to learn new lessons is a bitch. Some lessons, like the one he learned about never teasing a big ol’ toppy Dom, weren’t just difficult to learn; they were downright fucking painful. Tackett had made him suffer his blue balls all through dinner, dessert, and movie time. It took him two very painful days of bowing down at his Dom’s feet, going above and beyond what Tackett expected of him, before he earned the right to cum again.
From now on, he planned to hang on every word Tackett spoke, and above all else—unless he wanted his balls to turn purple and fall off—never, never, never tease the man.
Today he’d be learning a new lesson, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistakes he’d made in the past. If Tackett told him to jump, he’d be asking how high while already moving upward, and if the man wanted a spit shine to his boots with Micah’s tongue, well yuck, but he’d do it. He refused to fuck up anymore.
“What are your rules, pup?” Tackett asked, cutting the engine and turning to face Micah.
“Walk at your heel and no touching, Sir.” He bit his lip to keep the smile that threatened from curling his lip. He could endure clips, spanking, crops, banana cupcake batter; how fucking hard could walking to heel and not touching be? If Tackett had really wanted to make this a difficult lesson to learn, he should have instructed Micah not to talk, because that was far fucking harder than walking to heel. He had pockets to keep him from touching.
Micah looked over at Tackett and gave him a small grin.
I am so getting fucking laid tonight.
“Good boy.” Tackett stepped out of the car and waited for Micah to join him on the driver’s side before hitting the lock. Without another word, he turned and headed to the park where they’d be enjoying a day with arts and crafts.
Micah fell in step, concentrating on Tackett’s back, enjoying the way his muscles flexed and rolled with each stride. God, his man was sexy. All those lickable muscles right there. Mmm mmm mmm.
When they reached the first table, Micah nearly slammed into Tackett’s back, so focused on those muscles he hadn’t been paying attention. Tackett studied the table and picked up a small angel figurine. There were hundreds of them in various sizes, beautiful nude men and women, reminding Micah of the great works of Michelangelo, each body and facial feature beautifully defined. The only similarities between each piece were the large feathered wings that arched upward and fell gracefully to the feet of each figurine.
From where he stood, he couldn’t tell if they were made of plastic, wood, or marble. Perhaps they were painted bronze. He leaned in, seeing if he could tell by look alone, but was unable to distinguish what they were made of no matter how close he got. Tackett picked up a large, at least eighteen inches in length, angel. It must not have been heavy; he didn’t see the muscles of Tackett’s arms straining. “They are gorgeous,” Micah said in awe. “What are they made of?”
Tackett shrugged. “I have no idea, pup, but you’re right, they are beautiful.”
Tackett set the angel down and began to walk away.
“Was it heavy, Sir?”
Tackett didn’t answer him, just shrugged and kept walking.
The smell of cinnamon-roasted almonds was thick in the air. A crowded table with balloons of various colors attached seemed to be where the scent was coming from. Tackett must have caught a whiff of the delicious aroma too, because he headed that way. “Would you like to try one?” a young girl asked, holding out a basket of almonds.
“Thank you, don’t mind if I do.” Tackett took a nut and popped it into his mouth, humming as he chewed. “That’s very good.”
“Sir,” the girl said holding the basket out to Micah.
“Thank you. These are my favorite,” he told her, accepting the treat, chewing happily. The cinnamon, sugar, and spices mixed with the taste of the almond perfectly. Some of the best he’d ever had. They should definitely get a bag to take back to the penthouse with them. Micah reached for his wallet, planning to do that, when Tackett walked away and snapped, “One strike, boy.”
Micah’s face fell and the hand on his wallet froze.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
He looked at Tackett’s back and then to the young girl’s face, who appeared to be confused and a little scared.
Yeah, he was too.
Micah hurried and caught up with Tackett, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep from touching anything else.
“Hands at your sides, boy.”
“But, Sir.”
Tackett spun around and glared at him. “But what?” he growled.
“Nothing, Sir.” Micah sighed and pulled his hands from his pockets.
“Just focus on me, pup,” Tackett said, softer this time. “Walk close to me and don’t touch. It’s really quite simple. And before you ask, do it because it pleases me, boy.” Tackett reached up and touched his face.
“Yes, Sir,” he said with more conviction, pushing into Tackett’s hand.
“Good boy.” The smile Tackett gave him was worth it. He could do this.
The large display of framed landscapes and seascapes in vibrant colors looked so real. Micah was impressed; he honestly couldn’t tell if they were oil paintings or photographs. He smiled at the artist behind the table wearing a paint-stained T-shirt and jeans and couldn’t help but wonder if he wore those to make people think he’d actually painted them, when in fact they were taken with his digital camera. From the shifty smile the man returned, he would have to go with the latter.
Sneaky bastard.
His grandpa, while not very good, had taken up oil painting after he retired. Micah used to love the feel of the paintfilled canvas, smooth in some areas, coarse in others. Checking to make sure Tackett was still viewing the painting, his back to him, Micah arched a brow at the artist and discreetly ran his finger over the corner of the canvas.
“That’s two strikes.”
Micah’s head snapped up. Tackett was still turned away from him. How the hell had he known? Micah glared at the broad smile that had replaced the shifty one. Fucking bastard was in cahoots with Tackett. It wasn’t the old geezer in paint-stained pants that was the only sneaky bastard.
Micah glared at Tackett, but he kept his voice low and respectful. “Two strikes, thank you, Sir.” He curled his hands into fists and returned them to his sides.
Past table after table, Micah refused to look, keeping his focus on Tackett, watching each footfall, doing his best to walk at heel, anticipate the man’s next movement, and he was getting pretty damn good at it if he did say so himself. He noticed the way Tackett’s head would tilt ever so slightly when something caught his eye, and knew he would stop to inspect the wares. He’d also quickly caught on to the way Tackett would weave in and out of the crowd and which way he’d move, either right or left.
They didn’t speak, other than the occasional “What do you think of this, pup?” Tackett would pick up an object, always something stupid, like a pink teddy bear with a tiara or every goddamn puppy-dog picture or figurine he found, thinking that was some funny shit. It was at first, but the fourth or fifth time, the humor had worn off.
He knew the game Tackett was playing, or was it the lesson he was teaching? Either way, he’d figured it out. Concentrate on Tackett’s back, the way he moved, answer “Yes, Sir” or “No, Sir,” and pretend he had blinders on. He could do this.
Fifteen minutes later, he seriously doubted his conviction.
First, a sharp piece of the mulch along the path got stuck between his foot and the flip-flop and stabbed into the tender flesh of his arch. Second, the crowd was really heavy near the food tents. They’d gotten stuck behind a couple who had been pushing a stroller and not just any stroller, but the type where the two seats were attached next to each other that took up a fuck of a lot of room in heavy crowds. And why the hell didn’t they just fold the damn thing up, since the two blond boys of around three years of age wore harnesses with leashes attached to them, and they were jumping and screeching and kept cutting in front of the stroller. It wouldn’t have been bad—he could have tolerated the kids on a normal day—but he was bored and getting antsy, and the third time they stopped abruptly, he’d cussed under his breath and tapped his fingers impatiently on the table they were standing in front of.
“Three strikes.”
Great.
Micah took a deep breath, snatching his hand away, and irritated said, “Three strikes, thank you, Sir.”
The strike he got for the puppy was not his fucking fault. The ball of curly fur came running at him from out of nowhere, with his big puppy-dog eyes, pawing at his leg, little white fluffy tail wagging, begging for a pet.
Come to think of it, strike five wasn’t his fault either.
“Here, pup, have a taste.”
Tackett held the cup of freshly squeezed lemonade to his lips. The minute Micah grabbed onto the straw, and when Tackett’s brow shot up, he realized what he’d done.
Now, strike six was totally his fault since he knew not to argue with or question Tackett. His complaint of “That’s not fair, everyone automatically grabs the straw, Sir, it’s a reflex” helped him reach the half-dozen mark.
Yeah, that one was definitely his fault.
Tackett stopped at a table covered with fur throws, hats, mittens, pillows, and various other articles covered in, according to the sign, genuine rabbit and fox fur. Micah kept his eyes trained on the green cotton material stretched across Tackett’s back, watching as it shifted across the broad muscular back. It was hot, the temperature in the high eighties, and Micah could tell by the way the material clung to Tackett’s skin that he’d broken out in a sweat. He loved the taste of the man’s skin. The slightly salty taste added to his natural flavor when he sweated. He’d gotten his first taste the day they’d spent at Bobby and Rig’s near the pool, and soon discovered he not only loved the taste but craved it.
His cock began to perk up, filling as he remembered the way Tackett had looked that day. Sitting in nothing but a pair of swim shorts, the sheen of perspiration making all those gorgeous muscles glisten. Micah pressed a palm to his groin as the images solidified in his mind. Their first kiss, the way Tackett’s arms had felt around his heated skin, the roughhousing in the pool, and oh sweet fucking God, the sound of Tackett’s voice when he’d growled,
“You keep doing that and I will fuck you right here and now.”
“That’s it, pup,” Tackett growled, snapping Micah out of his daydream.
“What?” He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and get back to present time.
Tackett was standing in front of him. He hadn’t even realized the man had turned around to face him, that his nostrils were flaring and there was a deep scowl on his face. “Two simple rules, pup.”
Micah’s wrist was grabbed in a viselike grip, and only then did he glance down and realize his fingers were curled in the long strands of a fox tail. “I—”
“Shut it,” Tackett blustered, pulling Micah’s hand away from the fur and tugging him along.
“Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize—”
Tackett stopped short and spun around, Micah’s wrist still in his bruising grip. Leaning in close to Micah’s ear, he whispered, “If you say one more word, I swear I will beat your ass right here and now. Your choice, pup. Either shut your mouth or drop your pants.” Tackett pulled back, his eyes hard as he glared at Micah.
A shiver ran down Micah’s spine, curling his toes, and he instantly snapped his mouth shut and lowered his eyes.
“Good choice. C’mon,” Tackett said irritably and once again jerked on Micah’s wrist, forcing him to follow.
Bodies slammed into him, packages and bags scraped against his arms and poked into his side, but Micah barely noticed. He hurriedly followed Tackett, his focus on the man’s belt, doing his best not to stumble in the thick wood mulch beneath his feet. He didn’t dare falter or stop at the breakneck pace Tackett set as he weaved in and out of the crowd; had he fallen, he’d either be dragged or his arm ripped from its socket.
At the car, Tackett hit the key fob, never slowing his stride, and jerked open the passenger-side door. Micah scrambled inside and put his seat belt on, sitting ramrod straight in the seat. Oh fuck, he was going to get it now. With the aggression rolling off Tackett in waves, he was actually a little worried for anyone who would get in Tackett’s way when they sped back to the penthouse. At least that’s where he hoped they were headed and not to Micah’s small apartment. It wouldn’t surprise him if he was in fact going to be dumped on the sidewalk in front of his apartment complex.
Micah stiffened further when Tackett slid into the driver’s side, fired up the engine, and revved it. Should he try again to apologize, say something to soothe Tackett before they actually got on the highway and put all those innocent people at risk?
Tackett let off the gas, the engine going from an earsplitting roar to a low purr. Instead of putting the car in gear, Tackett took a deep breath and audibly blew it out. Then another.
“You had two simple rules, Micah.” Tackett held up two fingers. “Two fucking rules, boy, and in less than an hour you broke them not once, not twice but….” Tackett blew out another huffed breath and ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair. “You’re lucky I pulled you out of there at seven. If I’d let you continue, I don’t know that you could have withstood your punishment.” Tackett put the car in gear, and thankfully, when he stepped on the gas again, it was gradual and pulled out onto the road smoothly. Micah was shocked that Tackett was able to follow the speed limits, as angry as he seemed.
I’m sorry
was on his tongue, but he bit it, not letting the words tumble past his lips. How the hell had everything gone so wrong? He’d been given such a simple task, one he’d been silently mocking the big ol’ Dom for because of how easy the test was, and Micah couldn’t do it. He knew his mind wandered, knew shit came out of his mouth at times without going through the filter system before being spewed, but Christ, he’d never realized his fucking fingers were as impulsive as his brain. Other than the puppy and the roasted almonds, which were tricks in his humble opinion, Micah hadn’t realized how many times he touched things. He could have sworn he’d been focused on Tackett; he’d even learned to follow behind him and anticipate his movements. That took focus, didn’t it?
He stole a glance at Tackett out of the corner of his eye. The man didn’t appear to be out of control with anger. His face was neutral. No scowl, his brows not furrowed in the slightest, and from what Micah could tell, his jaw was relaxed. The calmness actually scared him more than the outburst at the park. Tackett was plotting and planning Micah’s punishment.
His ass was so going to pay for what his traitorous fingers had done. He slid said fingers under his thighs and sat just a wee bit straighter.
After one last look at Tackett, Micah closed his eyes and swallowed his groan. Tackett had a slight grin on his face.
Now he was truly afraid.
