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The Wizard's Boy
Breathless, hand clenched around his tumbler of whisky, Sand watched his human friend Jeff Michaels slide from his seat at Shifting Sand to kneel at the feet of his master and lover, Jason Lane. Despite the crowd in the club, the faint beat of pulsing music coming from another room that vibrated pleasurably through the soles of the feet and into the balls, Jeff showed no self-consciousness at displaying his loving submission. Like the kitten Jason sometimes called him, Jeff rubbed his face against his Master’s legs, opened Jason’s murder-red leather pants and eagerly sucked his erection.
Sand caught Jeff’s needy sound as he pleased Jason. Damn it, Jeff was a lucky man. He had everything that Sand had wanted for the long empty years of his existence—a master who forced Sand to his knees and made him happy to be there.
Jason’s head fell back, lips parted as he gently caressed his boy’s blond hair, enjoying the attention. Jason was always gentle, except when his werewolf nature dominated. But Sand knew that Jeff enjoyed it, gave himself freely to his lover.
"Why don’t you just go over and offer your services?" a voice growled from behind him as a fresh drink was slammed on Sand’s table, shattering the pleasant erotic spell.
"Ah, Daniel," Sand said.
The young man’s hot brown eyes contrasted with his silky, pale-blond hair. His skin held a trace of beard shadow but was otherwise smooth and tanned. Unlike the other servers in the club, Daniel was not wearing a loin cloth but jeans and a blue T-shirt splattered with paint. He liked working with his hands and spent his days in a woodworking studio, creating beautiful tables and chairs, chests and bed frames. He occasionally helped out in the club, possibly because he felt he owed Sand. Sand couldn’t be absolutely sure on that one—sharing wasn’t something taciturn Daniel did.
"Trust you to add to the ambience."
"Fuck ambience," Daniel said, tilting his empty drink tray against one hip. He was slender but wiry, still built like a starved wolf though he now towered over Sand. "And fuck you." He worked for Sand but wasn’t subservient, especially lately.
Sand’s pulse pounded in his throat. "Nice," he said lightly, knowing he’d get under Daniel’s skin. Sand loved to do that, taunt Daniel, ignoring the voice inside that said maybe that wasn’t wise. Daniel was growing stronger by the day, a powerful mage who wiped tables and gave everyone who hit on him a get lost look from heavy-lidded eyes.
Except his boss, Sand. Daniel’s eyes were hot and possessive whenever he looked at Sand, who could feel it even as he kept the younger man at a careful arm’s length.
"You want nice, hire someone else," Daniel muttered. He hopped into the booth next to Sand, dropping the tray and rag. He took a sip of Sand’s whisky, his moist lips ruby red under the light of a leather lamp shade from Morocco that graced the table.
Sand imagined those lips around his cock, tormenting him with unbelievable skill while ordering Sand not to come. He cleared his throat. "You aren’t off for another two minutes, ace," he said, keeping up their game and the pretence there was nothing more between them than employer and employee.
"I never really get off and do you want to know why?" Daniel asked.
"I have no idea, dear boy."
"I’m not your boy."