Page 170 of Naughty Dreams
After they worked that out, Sy had another question. “Speaking of New Orleans, you want to hit Club Progeny while we’re there?”
It was a fair question, since they were fellow submissives, even if Sy’s interests were toward Dommes and DJ’s were for…Roy.
“Haven’t thought about it yet.”
“I can get you in as my guest, so you don’t have to jump through so many hoops. I’ll say you’re one of the techs I’ve been working with, but Progeny’s good about discretion.” Sy pursed his lips. “Totally not my place, man, but the lyrics, and the performance you’re working so hard on. It’s a message, isn’t it? A declaration targeted at one Master.”
“If it is?” DJ met his gaze, trying to keep his own neutral.
“Depends on the Dom. It’ll make an impression, but usually what they want from us happens one-on-one, soul to soul. Not saying you shouldn’t do it. Just saying it’s probably not going to be the closer moment. Maybe just the attention-getting preface.”
It was what Julie and Madison had hinted at by encouraging him to do it as a private performance. And Des had said straight out.
The reinforcement was helpful, but brought a surge of anxiety. His “dramatic gesture” could be construed as wishful thinking, to gloss over any awkwardness and go back to the way it had been between them before, no big discussion needed. And he did want that, but he wanted way more than that, too.
He could handle this part. But he had no idea what that “closer” moment Sy mentioned would look like. Or if it was his will that would decide it, or Roy’s.
He noticed his hand was shaking, and put the bottle down before Sy could see it. His reaction wasn’t just about that. He was working through a lot of things right now. But he’d handle it, because he was the leader of this band, the head of his… Did he really have a family now, other than Marjorie?
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” He hoped his friendly nod to Sy didn’t seem like a brush off, but he barely made it to the closest bathroom and locked himself in before he threw up. Sitting against the wall, he let himself weep, his face in his hands, shoulders jerking. He needed Roy. He needed his Master.
It was starting to be his mantra.
A minor chord lick, suggesting the thrilling kind of danger, brought him out of his head. It was the text tone he’d assigned to Roy. Roy had sent two pictures of a burger joint in Texas, with cows peacefully grazing in a pasture next to it. In the second photo, there was a close-up of a pretty brown and white cow, her broad, wet nose reaching out to nuzzle Roy’s hand. Lucky cow.
Want me to ship her to you? She can live in the east garden.
DJ choked on a chuckle, his heart and throat aching. He’d rather Roy have said,I’ll bring her home to you.
He wanted to be home to Roy.
It wasn’t the first text he’d gotten from Roy. He sent one a day. Just one. An update on Gilda. A picture of her peeking around the giant gift basket DJ had sent with her favorite candies and fruits, plus an army of whimsical mushroom solar lights to add to the foliage along her front walkway.
An earlier text had asked if he was okay. If the hand was healing. How the stitches in his stomach were doing.
Another one let DJ know Roy was going to Texas to interview a potential client.
The communications were reserved, brief, but full of so much, if DJ wanted to attribute more to them.
Don’t overdo.
Give your hand time to heal.
You having nightmares?
That text had been followed up with a type of tea that Roy on “rare” occasions drank before bedtime, that helped. Two shockers. One, that Roy ever drank hot tea, and two, that he had nightmares bad enough to make him do so.
What were his nightmares about? His brother? Things that had happened to him in the service, or on jobs? Had what happened to DJ with Paul become part of that list?
He wanted to be there when Roy had them, put his arms around him and let him know he wasn’t alone.
He wanted that himself.
When Roy sent the question about the nightmares, DJ hadn’t answered. He’d responded with some lighthearted bullshit, told Roy to have a safe trip.
Okay, thanks. You didn’t answer the question.
You’re not sharing my bed, so what’s happening there doesn’t concern you, does it?
