Page 3 of Learning to Trust

A disturbing thought flashed through my mind—if he were my man, I’d sober him up and paddle his ass until it glowed red as punishment for drinking so early in the day.

There were two things very wrong with my thought—he wasn’t my man, and he more than likely wouldn’t be into the lifestyle.

I stood staring at him as he remained slumped on the floor. Close up, I was able to see just how fucking gorgeous the man was, and my cock swelled with hope when I imagined him tied to my bed, helpless while I pounded his ass.

“David Pennant?”

The man lifted his head and gazed at me through alcohol-glazed whiskey-colored eyes.

“Why aren’t I good enough?”

Okay—it seemed David was going to indulge in some wallowing despite the fact I was a stranger. He didn't give me a chance to answer his question before dropping his head and continuing.

"Five years. Whatever he wanted, I bought for him. I did everything he asked, and he repays me by fucking behind my back with the only friend he permitted me to keep." David lifted now tear-soaked eyes to mine. "What's wrong with me that the two men I trusted needed to fuck each other behind my back? This is the fourth time the pair have betrayed me and the third time a partner has suckered by me in the past twelve years. I'm done."

If I was ever asked about the kind of man who would make the ideal Sub, it would be David I'd describe. It seemed he was the template for what I looked for as a Dom—eager to please, pliable, and hopefully, spirit.

Warning bells sounded. There hadn't been a regular Sub in my life for eight years since my last—Mark, had wanted something permanent. I wasn't ready to settle; if I had been, Mark wasn't the person I would have considered. I doubted the man crumpled at my feet would be happy with a casual when we felt the urge, affair. But at this moment in time, David needed someone, and it looked like I'd drawn the short straw.

Setting my toolbox on the ground, I crouched in front of David, positioned both hands beneath his arms, and hoisted him onto his feet. I tightened my hold when he swayed in my arms, ensuring he didn’t crash back to the floor.

“Come on, let’s get you to the couch.”

I had no idea where his living room was located since his home was nothing like mine. When he steadied himself and attempted to walk on his own, I released him and followed.

David stumbled into a large living room with a wall of windows showing a view of my place.

A beige couch with two matching chairs was positioned facing a large flatscreen television hanging above a pristine marble fireplace. The floors were polished wood, as they had been in the entry foyer. Two small wooden tables held lamps with blue shades, and on a large wooden coffee table was a lowball glass and half bottle of scotch. There were no prizes for guessing where the other half of the bottle had gone. Obviously, the amber liquid was the major contributor to David's alcoholic stupor. When he collapsed onto the couch and reached for the bottle, I crossed the floor and snatched it from his hand.

“I think you’ve had more than enough for one day, probably a week. I’m sure your liver will thank me for taking this away.”

He attempted to push himself to his feet to retrieve the bottle but failed and fell back onto the couch. Anger sparked in his eyes as he turned them on me—his adversary. Good, at least he had some backbone.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Andrew—the locksmith you called.”

He studied me for a moment before his eyes ping-ponged between me and the window beside where he sat.

“You’re moving into Mrs. Whyte’s house?”

"Yes. Heather was my aunt and left her estate to me when she passed."

"She was a wonderful lady. I had tea with her every Sunday. Her lemon cookies were the best." He paused for a moment. "Both she and my sister tried to tell me Tristan was no good, that he was out for my money and to exploit my kindness. I should have listened."

So, this was the man my aunt had been encouraging me to meet for the past five years because she insisted we would be perfect together. I'd avoided being at her place when I knew he would be there. I was beginning to think that might have been a mistake.

“I miss her and our chats. She always knew what to say to make me feel better and to hug me after Tristan had done something to hurt my feelings.” Tears filled his eyes. “Heather was such a good friend.”

“I miss her too.”

He locked eyes with mine. "Heather died while I was in London, and I couldn't get a flight that arrived back in time. I have visited her grave every week, left flowers, and talked with her. Do you think she'll forgive me for missing the funeral?"

I’d wondered who had been leaving flowers on my aunt’s grave. The mystery was now solved. “I’m sure she would.”

His attempts to push onto his feet were again unsuccessful, and he gave up on the idea. “Give me the bottle.” He shoved out a hand.

I switched to Dom mode, thinking it may be what David needed at that moment in time. “No. You’ve had enough. Go upstairs, shower, and dress. Then make your bed and tidy your room if it hasn’t already been done.”