Release Date: Mar 16, 2009
Publisher Link: http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=433
Blurb: Book one in the Collared Series. An untrained submissive might not be what George wants, but Eric could be just what George needs. George McAllister knows better than to hook up with an untrained submissive. He doesn't have the patience to guide a novice through his first kinky experiences. His lovers know what they are doing and do what they are told. When he sees Eric dancing on top of a table in a kinky club, he assumes the beautiful young man is an experienced submissive. Then he sees the turquoise and leather on his neck and recognises it as a collar. Someone else already owns Eric. George has no choice but to walk away. Eric Jordan doesn't know much about kink and he has no idea why George is suddenly less than enthusiastic. But he knows what he wants and if he has to chase after George to get it, so be it. If George wants to believe the pretty bit of rock on his necklace means something kinky, that's fine. But Eric doesn't belong to anyone but himself and he won't give up possession of himself for one night in George's bed. An untrained submissive might not be what George wants, but he could be just what George needs.
With his back to George, the dancer lifted his arms and pushed his hands through his hair. His white shirt lifted and exposed his back, revealing tantalising glimpses of golden-brown skin.
As well as George could judge from his position several feet below the platform, the dancer was close to his height. But he was of a far slighter build. His cut off shirt sleeves revealed muscular arms. For a brief moment he turned and showed a well developed torso with defined abs. It was the lean muscle of a runner rather than the bulk of a gym junkie. He was just George's type.
George stopped again, hypnotised by the dancer's movement. A little voice in the back of his mind piped up, telling him a thirty-year old dominant should have more self respect. He should be ashamed of acting like a submissive teenager at his first school dance. His cock didn't give a damn. It reverted wholeheartedly to teenage enthusiasm.
For the first time in years, George could ignore the loud music and jostling crowd. In his mind's eye, he saw the table dancer spread out on his bed in his apartment. Golden skin sprawled against crisp white sheets. Black leather wrapped around the dancer's wrists and ankles. In the silence of the fantasy, he heard a hush broken only by his lover's frustrated whimpers as he teased him to the edge of his orgasm. George felt the smooth bare skin under his hands. The dancer arched into his touch, begging for more.
George's fingers twitched. He imagined burying his fists in the thick blond hair, holding him in place so he could take his pleasure as he wished. His cock jumped again. He pictured the dancer kneeling submissively in the middle of an empty room. The dancer's breaths coming in gasps, he broke their silence to whisper just one word- Master.
He hadn't felt such an instant pull towards another man in years. For all his sarcasm about the leather hook up spot, the club eliminated any need for subtle questions. Everyone was gay. Everyone was kinky.
The dancer was obviously submissive. No dominant would advertise his availability on top of a table. And a skilled observer could judge his preference for catching rather than pitching from the way his hips moved in the dance, pushing back against an absent partner on every beat.
Best of all, he appeared completely at home on the table. He wasn't new to the scene - he'd know what he was doing.
George smiled. It had been too long since a well-trained submissive knelt at his feet. Stepping forward in each moment of darkness, looking up in each light opportunity, he made his way to the base of the dancer's table and stood by the bottom step of the ladder as the song ended. The brief pause between songs brought black shoes and leather trousers down the ladder. The dancer turned and jumped the last step, landing snugly in George's arms.
"What the-" The dancer fought to keep his balance, pressing himself tight against George's body. Strong hands grabbed at his shirt. Big blue eyes looked up at George, full of surprise and confusion.
He was slightly shorter than George had guessed, barely scraping the six foot mark. They fitted together perfectly.
A shocked gasp, a quick inspection of his unexpected crash mat, and the dancer smiled. "Hi."
He didn't rush to pull away. George rested his hands possessively on his new friend's waist. Pushing back the cotton shirt, he trailed his fingers over the skin and leather.
George scanned the bare skin from the low slung waist and up over the lightly defined muscles, admiring his unblemished prize. Then he saw the leather around the younger man's throat and the blue-green stone suspended from it.
With a silent curse, George stepped back. "Sorry, I thought you were someone else."
Turning away from the beautiful young man, he stalked to the bar. All the good ones might be gay, but damn if all the good ones weren't taken too. The thin leather collar around the guy's neck didn't leave anything open to interpretation; neither did the turquoise hanging from it.
Just his bloody luck. The man was beautiful and kinky and he was already marked as someone else's lover.
"So, who do I remind you of?"
George looked over his shoulder. What? Oh, yes. He said he'd mistaken Eric for someone else. That had to have been the singularly most inane line George had spouted since his balls dropped.
"An ex?" the blond wriggled his way between George and the bar so they stood face to face. The crowd pushed them together, letting George feel the heat and strength in the dancer's body.
"No." He didn't remind George of anyone but the submissive he wanted to take home.
"Good." The dancer smiled again. "It's always off-putting when a guy screams someone else's name during sex. Mine's Eric, for future reference."