13
Evan
A bright, blue strobe light flashes off and on as mist from the fog machines fills the dance floor, which is packed for leather night at the Eagle. I’m dressed in the outfit Derek helped me pick out at Otterly. With a vodka Sprite in my right hand, I keep my left over my head as I move to the beat of Amber’s “Sexual.”
A big bear creeps up from behind me and starts grinding on my ass.
Normally, I’d be fine dancing with any stranger, but he’s particularly aggressive, and Derek and Jackson swoop in shortly after, obviously sensing my discomfort. It’s the sort of thing Frankie would do if he were here, but he had to work late, covering a shift, and should be coming soon enough.
Jackson pushes between the bear and me and grinds on me from behind while Derek dances in front of me, backing his ass up against my pelvis and shaking it like he’s trying to show me how a real power bottom does it.
Once the bear moves on, Derek glances over his shoulder, looking at me briefly before turning and starting to make obnoxiously loud gasps. “Oh, Evan, harder!” he calls out, moaning like he’s spilling his load all over the dance floor.
I burst into laughter, and as I move my hand toward my chest, I realize I’ve forgotten about the drink in my hand. It goes across my chest and down to the crotch of my pants.
“Fuck!” I call out. Derek spins around and assesses the damage. “Hey, dude. Keep the watersports confined to the bathroom, will you?” he asks before taking my hand and guiding me toward the bar on the other side of the dance floor, calling back to Jackson, “Bottom down, we need a medic, Daddy.”
Derek grabs some napkins and passes them to me, helping me clean up my mess. While working to dry off my crotch, I notice there are plenty of gazes shifting our way. Oh my God. They must think I’m a fucking klutz.
“They’re just jelly because they know they can’t hit this hot piece of ass,” Derek insists, and I can tell he’s just trying to make me laugh or feel better…probably both. As much as he gives me a hard time, he knows when I’m feeling vulnerable and is always there to stick up for me…like he was when that bear was dancing up on me and the way he took me under his wing after my breakup with Peter.
By the time we manage to wipe off my pleather pants, Jackson already has a new drink for me ready to go. He passes it to me when Frankie approaches.
“There you guys are,” he says. “Sorry it took me a bit. Had to shower and change.”
He wears a black leather H-style harness, his chest and torso on full display as he rests his hand on the waist of his dark-wash jeans.
“You missed it,” Derek says. “Your boyfriend here just got so excited on the dance floor, he wet himself.”
Frankie chuckles. “Oh, I bet he did.”
His gaze meets mine, and he offers that warm and ever-so-charming Frankie smile. It’s the sort of smile that assures me everything’s okay between us.
It’s been a few nights since we started puppy training together—since we had that first session when our lips locked, and we shared an intense, powerful kiss that even just thinking about at work gets my dick hard enough that I have to step closer to the counter to keep customers from noticing the bulge under my apron.
I wasn’t really sure what the kiss was about—the excitement of the moment or something more between Frankie and me. But when we went out that night, there wasn’t any uneasiness about it…or confusion…or worry. I could tell by the way he acted, by the way we were around each other, same as always, that regardless of what it could have meant, everything really would still be fine between us.
It’s actually been more than fine, though.
I’m not sure if it was just the puppy training or that kiss, but it’s like the connection that Frankie and I have always shared through our friendship has strengthened.
We find the rest of the gang and dance for a bit before Frankie and I take a break and get some more drinks for everyone.
“I like this harness look on you,” Frankie says. “Derek did a good job helping you pick it out.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I tell him, meaning it.
“Oh, this old thing,” he says playfully, earning a laugh.
“You know what you’d look hotter in?” he adds. I know he’s referring to the hood, but I like how even in this setting he didn’t say the words. He understands the importance of being discreet about it, and I trust he would never tell anyone about my secret, that he wouldn’t ever betray me like that. I think that’s part of the reason why I trust him so much in what we’re doing together with this puppy training.
Frankie’s never abused my trust the way others have.
When I was working as a model, there were always guys who tried to take advantage—photographers and even other models. It left me guarded and not very trusting of people. Peter managed to break through those barriers through manipulation, but Frankie has broken through by sincerely being a good guy.
The past few days, we’ve experimented more. Frankie is still trying to get me to open up to my puppy self, encouraging me through pushing, trying to help me. Something I’m deeply appreciative of—something I’m not sure I’d even be willing to really do without someone like him. If I had tried with Z, I know I would have backed out. I couldn’t open up like that, not to some stranger.
We hang out with the gang some more before we head back to Metropolis and get our usual Chinese order, watching the final episode of Big Little Lies and freaking out through every plot twist.
I lie in his lap, just in a pair of boxers as he offers pets and strokes the way he would when I’m in my puppy hood, because surely he gets why I need it.
When we finish discussing the conclusion of the miniseries, I’m on my back, my head in his lap.
He gazes down at me with this warm expression on his face.
He’s shirtless, in pajama bottoms, wearing his beanie, which he wasn’t wearing at the leather bar tonight.
I reach up and tug at the edge, pulling it down over his eyes.
He doesn’t fight me, just smirks before saying, “Ev, Ev, I can’t see…where are you?”
He feels around and starts tickling at my ribs.
“No, no, stop!” I call out as I retaliate with my own tickles. Soon, we’re both laughing our asses off.
“Truce!” Frankie cries out, and we both cease our tickle-attacks.
Frankie pulls his beanie back up, cocking a brow at me.
I’m still giggling a little bit when he says, “You down for training tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“Like we talked about last time, you’re still in your head a bit. And I’m definitely not all that convinced with your bark yet.”
“I’m trying.”
I kind of feel like I’m letting him down.
“Hey, hey,” he says. “We’ve only done this a few times. You’re not doing it wrong. I just…can tell that you’re trying, and I want to help. Is there anything I do that makes you feel uneasy? Or for you to feel like it prevents you from being yourself.”
“No, not at all. I don’t know if there’s anybody I would feel more comfortable doing this with than you.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” There’s a seriousness to the way he says that, in stark contrast to how playful we were just being. It’s the protective nature he has that always makes me feel so safe when I’m with him.
“Frankie, you’re not doing anything wrong. It’s just still a little strange. I feel like I’m getting better, but it’s like there’s this part of me that I can’t let go of.…I don’t know. Like there are all these people in my head, telling me that it’s stupid or crazy.”
“No, I get it. I feel that way too, even on the training side.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Do you think I feel totally normal telling you to heel?”
I laugh, but then say, “Say that again?”
“What?”
“Heel.”
He chuckles.
“I was being serious. I like the way you say it.”
“Heel,” he says in a low, commanding voice—that voice that gets me all worked up when we’re training.
I growl softly, and he doesn’t skip a beat: “Quiet.”
I obey.
“Good boy…good, good boy,” he says before offering me a gentle belly rub.
I kind of want to keep going, but he says, “Okay. I think we need to save the rest for our session tomorrow.”
He’s right, but I’m kind of bummed, because I’m enjoying the playfulness of the moment.
“I’ll do better with it tomorrow,” I say, though a little uneasy.
“Don’t worry, Ev. We’ll figure it out. You’re doing really well, and from what I’ve read, it’s not always easy to shake off those normal insecurities that we all have. We have plenty of time to figure this out.”
In a way, I feel like he’s talking about more than my puppy space. That he’s talking about us and whatever the fuck we experienced when we shared that kiss. There is no rush. We’re not desperately trying to figure out what it means or if it means anything at all.
Frankie will always be the one who gets me the way no one else can. That’s something I’ve known for a long time.
And I get him in a way other people don’t.
He wraps his arms around me. “Come on, Pup. Time for bed.”
He lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder, carrying me through the hallway to our bedrooms. When he reaches my doorway, he plants me down on my feet. “Don’t stress about this, Ev. You’re doing fine. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”
His words offer me some much-needed confidence.
“Okay,” I say. He leans in to me and kisses my forehead, the way we used to, but this time, there’s something much more meaningful behind it. There’s a connection we share through it that I don’t feel like we had before all this puppy-play stuff started. I close my eyes and savor the moment. Then he pulls away and runs his hand through my hair. “Night, Ev.”
“Night.”