Pure Innocence (20 page)

Lee leaned forward excitedly. “Which is even
more amazing that he took you.”

Oliver quickly told him what Andy had said
about using the grip. That it was too harsh for Oliver yet.

“
Sounds to me like he’s
jealous and set you up to fail.” Lee stood and kissed him on the
cheek. “You’ve got him, Oliver. Really. So, go get your man.” Lee
giggled and added apologetically, “I have to go, I’ve got a new
barman to train.”

Adam rolled his eyes as Lee scurried away.
“He is so full of it, good job—I love him to death.” Adam turned to
Oliver. “Now.” He pulled at Oliver’s sweats. “I think we can find
you something better to wear, don’t you?”

Adam spent an hour patiently helping Oliver
to learn to “present” and they tried on and discarded more clothes
than Oliver had ever seen in his life. Finally, in desperation,
Adam was trying to prize him into a pair of green shorts. “Adam,
this isn’t going to work. I look stupid.”

Adam huffed and glanced around the racks of
clothes, and smiled. “Yeah, yeah it so is. Look at these.” Adam
drew a pair of soft-as-silk black leather full length pants.

Oliver grinned. Okay, well maybe it was.

Oliver looked up when he heard the music
start downstairs in the club. It was now or never.

Oliver—in the hopes that one day both things
that are so precious to me may be returned.

“
There.” Adam smiled. “You
look beautiful. Are you ready?”

Oliver swallowed. What if he panicked when
he heard the noise? What if Adam was wrong and Damon didn’t want
him, and what if Damon could never get past his desire to inflict
pain to bring pleasure?

Half an hour later and Oliver stood hidden
in a corner by the stage. The lights had dimmed around the stage.
The backdrop was a full replica of the Pure sign from above the
front door, and even Oliver, who was convinced he was going to
throw up, could appreciate how gorgeous everything looked. There
seemed to be an awful lot of people sitting in the booths around
the stage. He’d noticed a few boys and some girls kneeling on
cushions happily while their Doms talked. A man walked onto the
stage who Oliver vaguely remembered—he assumed it was Callum, as
Adam had told him everything that would happen.

Callum held the microphone up. “Good evening
everyone.” He smiled at the smattering of applause. Oliver locked
his knees to try and stop them from shaking. He really wasn’t sure
he could do this, Lee and Adam had been so convinced it would work.
All he had to do was show up—well, show up and kneel, because Doms
really liked that sort of thing, and it had worked for Lee. Adam
had promised him Damon wouldn’t come anywhere near him with the
whip. Oliver blew a steadying breath out. He knew that. He knew
Damon wouldn’t cause him pain, his biggest worry was if he was
going to be enough for Damon.

Callum started talking again. “We are
fortunate tonight Master Damon has agreed to demonstrate his skill
with the cat o’ nine tails.” An appreciative murmur rose from the
crowd. “As you know, Pure has a house rule of no blood and no
permanent marks, so this demonstration can be challenging.
Damon?”

Oliver held his breath as Damon walked on
stage, then he gasped. Damon’s face was pulled into a tight mask,
tired, bruised-looking shadows under his eyes, and his normal warm
grey eyes looked cold and lifeless, even from where Oliver stood in
the corner. He looked at the black dress pants and open-necked
charcoal shirt Damon wore. Had he lost weight?

Damon went to the cross and immediately
checked all the bindings, and ran his hand over the smooth surface
of the wood. Adam had told him no self-respecting Dom would use any
equipment he hadn’t personally checked out. There were some more
hushed murmurs as Alec appeared on stage and “presented” to Damon,
exactly the same way Oliver had been shown upstairs.

Oliver’s hands tightened. Alec was much
better at it than Oliver, he seemed to glide to the floor. Damon
stepped nearer Alec and said something to him, and Alec leaned in
nearer to Damon, as if for comfort, but Damon stepped away as if he
hadn’t noticed.

Which was ridiculous. Damon noticed
everything.

Alec stood and followed Damon, and then
Damon tied him to the cross. Oliver looked horrified at Alec’s
back. His own scars were awful, but Alec had no clear skin on his
back at all. Oliver blinked, and learned a hard lesson. There was
always someone with more problems than him.

Damon picked the whip up and stepped away
from Alec to try the whip out. He rotated his wrist, and brought
his hand down sharply. It was like a gunshot, and it terrified
Oliver so much, he didn’t know how he was still standing.

Such a good boy, Oliver.

Oliver put his hands to his
ears desperately and closed his eyes.
No,
not now.
He waited, completely sickened,
for the next crack, knowing it would be a lower sound, knowing that
when it hit human skin it didn’t have the same echo, knowing, with
complete and total certainty that when the blow fell he wouldn’t be
able to watch anymore. He couldn’t bear to see Damon like this,
soft, caring Damon who had never hurt him, and held his broken
hands with such care.

No, he couldn’t do this, he could never do
this, and Damon wasn’t throwing him away this time, because Oliver
wasn’t going to wait to give him the chance. The moment Damon swung
the whip, Oliver would leave. He was done.

Oliver held his breath for what seemed
forever, but there was no second crack, and cautiously he lowered
his hands. Everyone was silent, staring at the big man that stood
frozen in front of the cross with his arm extended, gripping the
whip like it was alive. Oliver stared, transfixed. Out of the
corner of his eye he saw Callum take a step towards him and Lee
take hold of his arm, shaking his head slightly.

Oliver swung his eyes back to Damon. So this
wasn’t supposed to happen then. As Damon threw the whip to the
floor, Oliver jumped along with everyone else at the look of
complete horror and self-loathing etched on Damon’s pale face.
Oliver couldn’t breathe as Damon put his head in his hands and sank
to his knees, disgust visible in the shake of his shoulders.

This was wrong. There was something so wrong
when those powerful shoulders bent in defeat, the hands trembling
as they tried to support the heavy head that appeared to contain
the worries of the world.

Oliver suddenly smiled—smiled because he
finally understood, and his feet carried him from his corner the
rest of the way across the stage to where the proud man knelt.
Damon didn’t need to carry the world’s troubles, he only needed
Oliver’s, and Oliver was going to give him every one.

“
Damon? Sir?” Oliver
whispered, bending forward, just getting his stupid hands to work
enough so they could cup Damon’s bowed head and raise it a
little.

Shimmering gray eyes looked at him in
complete wonder. “Boy?” Damon’s voice cracked and his arms reached
out almost beseechingly. “I couldn’t do it. I kept seeing you, and
I just couldn’t do it. I love you so damn much.”

This time, instead of Damon drying Oliver’s
tears as he had so many times, it was Oliver that wiped the tears
away under Damon’s eyes and smiled. He pulled the book out from
where it was tucked inside the front of his shirt, and held it out
to Damon.

“
I’m returning your book,”
Oliver said. There was a sudden spark of fear in Damon’s eyes, so
Oliver smiled, and added, “We both need to come home.”

Epilogue – 4 weeks later

Oliver kept staring out of the huge window
in the lounge. The entrance to the car park down below was just
visible if he twisted his head a little—well the ramp anyway, and
he didn’t want to miss Damon’s car driving in.

He knew Damon would be home soon from his
meeting with agent Kinley. Oliver knew the man who had attacked
them and had tried to murder him was still refusing to plead
guilty, but he wasn’t worried anymore. Next year was still a long
way off and he had Damon and lots of friends.

Today, as soon as Damon had left, Oliver had
called Adam, and he’d come over to help him prepare a surprise
dinner for Damon. Adam had left about an hour ago, and the lasagna
they’d put together was cooking. Damon knew he was going to be
here. He’d offered to take them to the restaurant he’d told Oliver
about when he was explaining the D/s dynamic, where the chef
decided what he was going to cook for you, but Oliver had managed
to find out where it was and somehow Lee had got Callum to get a
booking for the six of them next Wednesday instead. It was Damon’s
birthday, and Oliver was going to surprise him.

Oliver turned the oven down, then dashed
back to the window again. Everything was ready.

Damon had brought him home from Gage’s house
earlier this morning. Master Jameson, while believing what Oliver
had said about the scissors, had insisted that Oliver stay for the
full month at Gage’s house, and Damon—damn him—had agreed. They’d
had their first argument over that. Oliver was convinced that Damon
didn’t trust him, and Damon insisted he wanted to be sure Oliver
had choices. Damon had actually told him quietly that Master
Jameson had stuck his neck out for him taking him to Gage’s house
in the first place, instead of having him immediately admitted back
into hospital.

Oliver sighed and leaned his forehead on the
glass. He had the report from the clinic confirming he was free of
any STD’s in his pocket. He’d wanted to talk to Damon about it
before today, but he’d never managed to pluck up the courage, and
Damon had never brought the subject up. He was going to Pure with
Damon on Saturday for the first time since the demonstration.
Gage’s House had a nine PM curfew, and Oliver had felt silly going
to the club, only to have to be brought back early.

Oliver heard the key turn in the lock, and
whirled around to the front door. He’d missed the car. Damon
stepped through carrying a ton of papers. He was going to work
exclusively for Stealth for a six month contract initially to try
it. Damon had said working as part of a team would mean he was
available more for Oliver, and Oliver loved that idea.

When he came in, Damon never even glanced at
the kitchen.

He dropped the papers on the hall table, not
stopping to pick them up as most of them hit the floor. In seven
long strides he met Oliver in the middle of the lounge.

Damon cupped Oliver’s cheek, and Oliver
hummed and leaned into his warmth and strength. He brushed a thumb
over Oliver’s lips. “I was scared you wouldn’t still be here.”

“
I-I have something, Sir,”
Oliver added shyly. He might as well get all the embarrassing stuff
out of the way, because that was just...yeah. He pulled the report
from the clinic out of his pocket and his hand shook a little as he
held it out.

Damon smiled. He didn’t take the paper, but
reached in his back pocket and pulled a piece of paper out himself.
“Swap you?”

Damon leaned forward, but Oliver stepped
back. He held the paper out. “I want you to know. It’s important.”
It was important, and he was excited—something good he could tell
Damon.

“
Then you read mine also,”
Damon smiled.

Oliver opened his mouth to object, to say he
trusted him, but closed it, smiling. He scanned the sheet. Damon
was clean—of course he was. Oliver stepped forward and as he
fastened his lips over Damon’s both pieces of paper fell to the
ground. Oliver pulled back again before he got lost in Damon’s
amazing taste. “I made lasagna.”

Damon nodded and kissed the length of
Oliver’s neck. “Will it burn if you leave it too long?”

“
M-mmm.” Oliver shook his
head, barely. Damon had leaned him so far back if Damon wasn’t
holding him, he would have fallen to the floor. Just as Oliver
thought he was going to fall, Damon swung him up.
Oh.

Damon walked Oliver to his
bedroom—
their
bedroom Oliver corrected himself—and Damon laid him gently on
the bed. He pulled his shirt over his arms and Oliver gaped at the
smooth skin that hugged each muscle as it bunched and fell. His
fingers itched to touch, and he gently flexed the ones on his left
hand. Damon saw, and picked up Oliver’s hand, breathed a soft kiss
onto his wrist and the palm, sending sparks of warmth that seemed
to travel all the way up Oliver’s arm and down to his groin. He
trapped Oliver’s gaze with his own and ever so slowly he mouthed
each finger in turn, gently sucking on the tip, easing the stubborn
last two apart with his tongue, and licking the sensitive skin in
between.

Oliver’s eyes watered, and he tried to
swallow.

“
Hey, beautiful.” Damon
head dropped and he kissed away the wetness on Oliver’s face.
“Don’t go there.”

“
I—”

Damon swallowed Oliver’s words, and Oliver
felt his pants being unzipped over his rapidly swelling erection.
“I’m impressed,” murmured Damon.

Oliver deliberately misunderstood and
teased. “It’s the effect you have on me.” He heard Damon chuckle
but Oliver had known Damon was referring to the first pair of
zipped pants he had worn since the kidnapping. It had taken a while
for his right hand to be able to work a zipper.

But there was nothing wrong with his mouth.
Oliver nudged Damon until he was laying on his back. He looked at
Damon’s black pants. “Take them off.” He bent down to kiss Damon’s
throat, smiling when Damon frantically yanked them free.

“
I don’t think you quite
understand how this whole submission thing works, boy.”

Oliver’s lips moved lower, and Damon groaned
loudly. Oliver’s tongue worked Damon’s nipple. Damon tasted mildly
salty, and well, Damon-like. It had been so frustrating the last
four weeks when Damon had refused to do anything but kiss and
cuddle…and shower. Damon had still insisted he needed help to jerk
off, and he’d never dared explain to Dr. DeSouza how Damon’s
version of hand exercises were helping him. They definitely beat
colored pegs and all those showers meant he had to be the cleanest
person in existence…