Free Birthday Licks by VJ Summers Page B

sneak a taste of Thomas’
skin. “But you are young.”
    Duh . He was young, not stupid. He’d been out since he
was sixteen. He knew all about the descriptors. He knew he wasn’t a twink,
wasn’t quite cute enough for it, but he’d never thought about what he was .
    “Okay. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking for a daddy.” Not
that there was anything paternal about Thomas. Or Vincent, for that matter, but
the longer Ryan looked at Thomas, the farther away Vincent seemed.
    “You might not want a daddy,” Thomas murmured, “but you
desperately need someone to teach you the rules.”
    There were rules for just coming to the club? Ryan
considered it for a moment. Yeah, he could see it. These people had tacitly
agreed to play a game while they were here. Games had rules.
    “Tell me,” he said, but the tone of his voice made it a
request rather than a demand. Thomas smiled and dropped his hand.
    “First, take your shirt off.”
    Ryan obeyed, crossing his arms in front of himself to grasp
the yellow cotton and pull it over his head. The t-shirt, a gift from his
ex-college roommate, featured a birthday cake with a decidedly phallic candle
and the legend “A Pinch to Grow an Inch.” It had struck him as ridiculous—which
made him immediately love it—when he’d put it on. Kneeling in front of Thomas,
it just struck him as somewhat juvenile.
    “Excellent,” Thomas murmured as Ryan folded the shirt and set
it on the floor next to him. “Now, hands behind your back, grasp the opposite
wrist.” Ryan complied quickly, unconsciously responding to the command in
Thomas’ voice. “Elbows at a ninety degree angle. Keep a solid frame. Thighs
apart. Back straight. Shoulders back, chest out.”
    Ryan obeyed, each command wrapping around him, wrapping him
in an unfamiliar and unexpected sense of rightness. The anxiety of Vincent’s
perusal was gone. Hell, his awareness of Vincent as anything but a vague
phantom was gone. There was only Thomas.
    “Very nice,” the man in question murmured. The snap of
command was softened, but something in that suede voice still prodded at Ryan.
“Lower your eyes now. A well-trained submissive would never make eye contact
unless invited.”
    This time Ryan hesitated. He didn’t want to give up the
connection he felt in Thomas’ gaze. The older man raised that challenging brow
again, and Ryan opened his mouth to explain. Before he got the first word out,
though, Thomas’ eyes narrowed, silently admonishing him to shut the hell up. If
it wasn’t his place to make eye contact, it certainly wasn’t his place to speak
without permission.
    Reluctantly, he dropped his gaze to the dull silver buckles
on Thomas’ boots.
    “Not bad,” Vincent observed, and because he no longer had
Thomas’ gaze to hide in, Ryan flinched. Thomas seemed to read his body
language, or maybe his mind, because the Dom ran his fingers through Ryan’s
hair, a caress as different from Vincent’s rough pulling as his commands were
from Vincent’s arrogant demands.
    “This is your kneeling display position.” Thomas’ voice was
matter-of-fact. Instructional. Every word throbbed in Ryan’s dick like a
heartbeat. “Think of it like a military ‘at ease’. It’s the stance you take
unless directed otherwise.”
    “Okay.” Ryan’s answer was rewarded with a sharp tug to his
hair, and it was still nothing like Vincent’s touch. “What?” he asked. He’d
waited to be spoken to. His eyes were still on the toes of Thomas’ boots.
    “Okay, Sir ,” Thomas corrected softly.
    Duh. Again .
    “I’m sorry, Sir. I know that.” Ryan tilted his head in
thought, started to speak, then stopped himself. He felt Thomas’ eyes on him,
waiting for something. For him to screw up again? Finally, he couldn’t stay
silent. Thomas’ quiet attention was too much, and Ryan’s mouth was moving
without his permission.
    “May I ask questions, Sir?” At least he’d been polite.
    “Go ahead, boy.”
    Why does it