Page 20 of No Rules
“Good boy.”
Alex leaned against Master Mark’s strong chest, unashamed to give in to the need to cuddle. His body still hummed and tingled with the aftershocks of their play, but the embrace grounded him in reality once more.
“Are you all right, Alex?” Master Mark asked, his voice warm.
“Better than all right. I feel…alive.”
“Good.” Master Mark brushed a few stray strands of hair from Alex’s face. “You did incredibly well today, pushing your limits and surrendering to the experience. Did anything hurt too much or feel uncomfortable?”
“No, Master. It was…perfect.” Alex closed his eyes. “I never thought I could experience something so incredible. The pain mixed with pleasure, the humiliation that somehow made me feel more connected to myself than ever before…”
“Embracing your submissive nature can be a powerful and transformative experience.” Master Mark ran his fingers along the lines of Alex’s collarbones. “And I’m honored to be a part of that journey with you.”
“Thank you for helping me grow and being there for me.”
And if a small part of Alex thought of Ryan, even as another Dom held him, he’d never admit it. Not even to himself.
6
Gayle Tuite was sweeter than Tupelo honey and impossible to hate, and Ryan resented the fuck out of her for just that. She and her husband, Tom, were Jesse’s neighbors, and they’d been the ones who had referred Marilyn to Wander. Since they were close friends of Marilyn, Ryan had thought it smart to talk to them and see what they knew. In their late fifties and married for over thirty years, Tom and Gayle were one of those annoyingly happy couples, the ones with endless rows of pictures of their five kids and nineteen grandkids on the wall.
Gayle served coffee so weak you could see the bottom of the cup—Ryan could barely prevent himself from wincing when he took the first sip—with home-baked snickerdoodle cookies. Was she entered in a Housewife of the Year contest or something? Their house—more like a mansion and one with an even grander view of the Mohawk River than Jesse’s—was spotless and homey, radiating money without being ostentatious.
Ryan was perched on a pristine cream-colored sofa. Alex, who eyed the coffee with equal distrust, was to his right, and Tom and Gayle sat opposite them on the other couch, this one with a flower pattern in soft pastels. Barf.
Then again, Ryan wasn’t in the best mood to begin with. Not that he ever was, but he’d awoken that morning with an angry bee in his proverbial bonnet at the thought of the session Alex had done with Master Mark. And his temperament hadn’t improved when Alex had shared some of his experiences during breakfast, gushing about how much he’d loved it. Ryan had wanted to bend him over the table and fuck that glee right out of him, but even he wasn’t that cruel.
Even if he resented the fuck out of Mark having the privilege of training Alex, of marking him and fucking him. Which, of course, only pissed Ryan off more because how could he be angry about something he’d caused in the first place? If he’d wanted to train Alex himself, he should’ve said so when Wander offered. But he hadn’t, so now he had to live with that decision.
Anyway, they weren’t here for Ryan to stew on whatever was bothering him today. He had a job to do.
“How did you meet Marilyn?” he asked.
“She and I grew up together,” Gayle said. “I lived one farm down from hers, and my older sister, Missy, was Marilyn’s best friend.” Gayle’s face clouded over, and Tom took her hand. “Missy passed away two years ago. Cancer. It was swift, thankfully.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ryan said, then waited the appropriate beat. “What was your first reaction when you heard about Sam’s Promise?”
“We didn’t hear it. We were there when it happened,” Tom said gravely. “And let me tell you, we were in utter shock. He was such a beautiful horse, and to see him go down like that? I’m not ashamed to admit I was in tears.”
“Marilyn loved that horse,” Gayle said softly. “She cares a lot for her animals, but Sam’s Promise was special. She’d named him after the love of her life, and she had such high hopes for him. He’d done so well in prior races, and we all thought…” Her voice broke, and she took a moment to compose herself. “We all thought he’d win the Travers Stakes, you know?”
“Did you bet on him?”
They nodded in unison. “Several bets, in fact,” Gayle said. “We bet on him to show, place, and win. If he had, we would’ve made…” Gayle looked at her husband. “Well, we would’ve made a lot of money. Not that that matters most. My father always said you shouldn’t bet with money you can’t afford to lose.”
Must be nice to be rich enough to afford a loss like that. “Did Marilyn bet on him?”
“I didn’t ask her, but she always does. It’s part of her ritual by now, and horse people are superstitious people.” Gayle smiled as she shook her head. “You can try reasoning with that, but it won’t get you anywhere. She’s a stubborn one, Marilyn.”
“‘Stubborn as a mule with a burr under its saddle,’ as my mama would say,” Ryan said, smiling at the thought of his mom.
When he looked sideways, he caught Alex staring at him with wide-open eyes and his mouth agape. When he met Ryan’s gaze, he closed his mouth and looked away. What the fuck had he been so shocked about? Ryan had mentioned his mom and her love of Texas metaphors before, so what was the big deal?
Gayle chuckled. “That sounds like Marilyn, all right.”
“Anyway, back to the betting. Who else would’ve bet on Sam’s Promise?” Ryan asked.
“Anyone, really,” Tom said. “There’s the occasional better, the people visiting the track for a day who don’t know what they’re doing. They would’ve bet to show, most likely. But the connoisseurs, those with insider knowledge? Most of them would’ve bet on Sam’s Promise. He was the favorite to win by a long streak.”.