Jon

Hunger roused us from the bed sometime late morning. But even with my stomach growling, I was unable to keep my hands off of Micah. We stood in the kitchen, sharing a plate of eggs and hash browns. It was difficult to get him to eat, and I think despite the contentment on his face, when Micah is nervous he has a hard time keeping food down. Putting my hands over his we cut open an orange, the experience painfully erotic. Juice squirted from the fruit and splashed on his stomach. I was about to kneel in front of him and lick it off when I heard the lock turn in the door. He didn’t move, but I stiffened.

Angela. She still had a key. I haven’t seen her in six months, and twice I have asked for the key back. Well, fuck.

“You belong here,” was all I had time to say to Micah before she came around the corner.

“Jon, Captain Marks said you had a leave…of…” I stepped around the counter, thankfully not naked, unlike Micah, whose lower half was hardly concealed at this angle, but I gave her a solid look of annoyance. “My god! Jon, what are you doing?” Her face turned beat red.

“I should be asking you that question, Ang,” I said as I stepped up and jerked the keys from her hands. My voice was calm but inside I was furious. Slipping my key off of the ring I handed it back to her, “We are not together anymore, Angela. We have not been for ten months. You have no business walk—“

“For god sake, Jon! Is he a child? What are you thinking? You aren’t gay! I would have known.” Her eyes were glued with morbid fascination on Micah. I turned slowly and glanced at him, he was pale. Still. But, he didn’t move.

“I am not a child.” He surprised us both. “I am an FBI agent, actually. And, an adult.”

Well, technically he was a suspended operative, until after the trial, but it was true.

“That is ridiculous!” She was disbelieving. “Jon, Jon! My god, is this why you are on leave? He needs to go—“

“Angela,” I said it coldly, “He is my lover. Do you understand that ? I am gay. He lives here. You are out of line.” I didn’t touch her, I never have touched her in anger. But, I stalked closer and she backed up. “Get out!”

“Not until I see his ID,” she said furiously. I should mention she works for a non-profit agency that helps foster families get aid. My ex-girlfriend is not a bitch. She is a good-hearted, if narrow minded woman.

Micah stepped around us and went to the coffee table, and tugged his wallet out of his pants. She cringed when he approached and I glanced over at him, his not so small dick was not erect, but he is well formed, and for his size his cock looks big. Completely at ease with his nudity he flipped open the wallet, dug out a pair of ID’s. One had large blue letters, and the other was a Washington State ID card.

“The names are different,” she insisted.

“I am an operative for the FBI, Angela,” he said gently, and she blinked at him, “And I am nineteen years old.”

“Nineteen, Jon!”

“Time to go, Angela.” He took the cards from her limp fingers and he nudged her towards the door. I stared dumbfounded, as she allowed him to push her out the door maybe to avoid his nakedness. But she was silent as he snapped the door shut and bolted it.

“You are amazing,” I said.

“You said I belong here. That was all I needed to know. She is nice, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Stubborn, but nice.” He came to me and put his arm around my waist and slid down, pulling my khaki shorts to my knees. His fingers cupped my balls and his fist closed around the base of my cock. I stared down at him, watching as he drew me into his mouth. He amazed me. He is not a child. He handled her. The way he spoke disarmed her. He took over the conversation, drew her eyes to him. Gasping, I jerked as he drew me in, his nose bumping my stomach. The clasp of his throat made me groan. Fuck, he is really good at this.

He was an agent. And I know next to nothing about what he is capable of. But, it can wait til after…groaning I grab the back of his head, and I realize he needs this. This is he reminding me whom I belong to.

Maybe I need it; to remind me it is what I want. I was just challenged, and he is showing me the reason for it. God. The feel of his tongue as it cups and strokes up the base of my shaft pressing firmly as he gently pinches the seam at the center of my nuts. Oh holy hell, he swirls his lips and tongue around my glans, and kisses the head before dipping slowly back down as I fuck my cock back into his throat. He hums, and increases the pressure, the stroke and speed. My hand slams into the wall with a thud as I work to keep my feet, my orgasm threatening as he works my straining cock with ferocious hunger.

Palming my balls, he sucked back and I came in his mouth, over his tongue, growling and panting. Jesus, he sucked me off not two hours after I fucked him soundly and I came hard, filling his mouth. My constant state of arousal for ten months is being soundly undone by him in twenty four hours. Pulling him to his feet, I sucked his tongue into my mouth, enjoying my taste on him. I have never been one for tasting my own spunk, but on him it is ambrosia. My legs feel like jello. He smiles when I look at him sheepishly and pull my pants up. “What was that for?”

“Lunch?” He smiles, and walks back into the kitchen, and bites into an orange slice. Standing behind him, I lean into his body. He weighs almost half what I do. But, when I relax against him, holding him in the curve of my body, I feel comfort. Connection. Who owns whom, anyway?

He fed me orange slices, and I returned the favor. “How much training did the Bureau give you?”

“Hmm, well, they arrested me when I was fifteen. So, I guess, two years. Of a sort. I went through part of the training at Quantico. Driving, shooting. But, I have been involved in martial arts, Karate, since I was eight.” Looking at him, his slender build, he looks studious. Like an artist. Or a geek. But, his body is toned, sleek. When he locks his legs around my waist he is strong. He moves lightly, silently and is extraordinarily flexible, and from an x-rated standpoint it is fucking awesome. But, from a cop’s perspective, there is a great deal more to him than meets the eye.

“Are you interrested in being reinstated?” I am afraid of this answer. I don’t want him to go back to work for them. He is really suited for undercover work.

“Not really. My first love is technology and essentially, until someone realizes the prohibition they have placed on me is meaningless, it is the business I belong in. I want to complete my degree. I got caught because of money I spent, not because of money I ‘stole.’ Because I didn’t actually steal any. When I am 21 the international banking laws say the money I made reverts back to me. The government’s deal with me expires on my 21st birthday. After that, I plan to finish my degree.” I think I didn’t actually understand what he was telling me.

“What if they let you work in computer crimes, or—“

“To be honest, that would be fun. But, can you see them doing that? I have the equivalent of a 300 million dollar trust fund waiting for me. I think the government is still trying to find a way to claim it. Not going to happen, but—“

“Whoa. Wait. You are telling me that money is yours? 300 HUNDRED million dollars?”

“I am not sure how much it is now, I can’t check on it. The clock would reset if I did.” His expression became uneasy. “I don’t want it. I can just…you know, erase it when the time comes. I only need you.” I could hear the uncertainty in his voice, he was afraid. He was anxious that I was angry. God, I love him. I could care less about the money but the sudden reality of how fragile and vulnerable he was made my stomach knot.

“I don’t care about the money, Micah. I just didn’t realize how much danger you could be in. That is a lot of incentive for someone to harm you.”

“Very few people know about it. Hayden Moorhea, the director, my lawyer and you.” Lifting him, I set him on the counter, and he gasped as the cool tile pressed against his vulnerable places.

“Lawyers are sharks. Micah, this scares me. I’ve never arrested anyone whose criminal enterprises ever paid that kind of money.” I was saying these things out loud because the reality of it was coming to me in stages. “People kill for that—“ He kissed me. He was trembling, and he kissed me. His legs came around my chest, and his arms around my neck. I was scaring him. My hands came up and I cupped his face and pulled back. “Micah!” Fuck, this is really serious. The Ring is really nothing compared to this.

“You’re angry again,” he whispered, and god, I love him. I love his vulnerability. What the fuck is wrong with me? I need him to need me.

“No, I am concerned.” Stroking his jaw, my thumb brushing his ear, I licked his neck, nipping gently. If I lift his knees, I could…

My Cell rang, with Marcus’ ring. He is my partner, and if he calls I answer. I said as much and carried Micah to the living room to pick it up. Doesn’t mean I have to take my hands off of him. We established that I am not yet ready to do that. Sinking into the sofa, I kept his legs around mine, and pushed him back, so he was semi prone on my thighs, his erection right in front of me.

“Marcus,” I answered, smiling, distracted as I cupped him in my palm. He sighed.

“Fucking hell, Cooper.” Marcus was frustrated. “Why didn’t you take Angela’s keys?”

Ahh, shit. That woman.

“She is in Mark’s office right now, begging him to bring in Berg, and to call you down. She doesn’t believe Micah is an adult. Jesus Christ, Jon. How old does that boy look?” I could hear the squad room in the back ground, somewhat muted. He was in the corridor.

“Young. He is a witness, in a protection program. I came over here from the 3rd, call Nathan Bragh. And Eric Lore.” The first name was the captain from the Narcotics division, the second was a union rep, a gay one. “And I will meet you at Mark’s office in two hours.”

Micah was relaxed on my lap, his storm blue eyes watching me peacefully. Micah’s erection was still solid under my palm. In the warm light of summer streaming in the window I examined him. His cock was mine. It’s beautiful. The shaft is straight and round, the glans dark and full. Despite his circumcision he still has his frenulum, and contributes to his extreme sensitivity. The seam between his testicles pulls them up into a heart shape when he is close to ejaculation. Like now. Micah is still, holding his orgasm on the edge of a single breath, watching me.

“Don’t cum.” His lashes brushing his cheeks, he looks so sexy. His lips part and the white of his teeth shine in the light until he wets his lip with his tongue.

“Of course not, Jon.”

There, on the table, the little box. I got rid of the ones he came to me with, and I am fairly sure he hasn’t worn a cock ring since. His gasp was not fearful exactly, but it was uncertain. “I’ll never hurt you,” I murmured gently and he nodded. “Long day ahead. I don’t want you to forget where we were…” The lock fit snugly and he sucked in a hard breath, it was uncomfortable. Kissing him on his stomach, I dipped my tongue in his navel and he arched, slowly I sucked the skin above it, nipping, scraping my teeth, I wet his chest in a line to his mouth.

“Oh god, oh god…” He thrashed under me. Does it ever fade? This intense need I have for him? He can cum with the lock on, so I carefully untangle myself and stand. It is really just a distraction. It could get really uncomfortable, so I put one key in his hand and keep the other. Just in case. He lays his head back and smiles, “Oh hell. You want me to wear this…”

“Yeah, while we go clear up the little matter of me being a child molester. Have any ideas?” I was walking away when he laughed.

“How about some pictures of me when I was actually fourteen? The entire male world isn’t huge and buff. Some of us actually are at the other end of the spectrum. If I was a buff jock, she might be pissed but she wouldn’t be so fucking paranoid.” He groaned and rose to his feet. “This is weird, I have a padlock between my legs. Kind of neat, actually.”

Neat. God, I love this guy. He thinks sex toys are neat. I’ll die fucking him. I know I will.

Micah

Jon has this incredible ability to distract me from my anxiety. The money thing, well, that is going to be a problem. Really, until I saw it in his eyes, I never really considered the magnitude of what I had accomplished all those years ago. A big deal, that is what it was. A huge deal, messed up my life. But, you know, I didn’t think of it in relation to what other people could do with it. People kill, nations collapse with that kind of money.

But, right now, Jon’s life is in turmoil. His relationship with me is going to test his career. He has to face down a macho establishment and not look like a pedophile. Gonna be tough to make me look older, but I can look more experienced. So, he takes me home to dress. And I emerge looking a little wild, my hair spiked, and the bolt in my eyebrow and ring in my lower lip a shock to him. My black jeans are worn and hanging low on my slender hips.

The black t-shirt clings in all the right places, making my arms look muscled. Rings on my fingers and a leather flat strap watch band covers the tattoo. I look sort of punk grunge, but it looks natural on me. Strapping on my gun holster he stares at me wide eyed, and I slide into a leather jacket. Inside I carry my permit, and around my neck I tuck my ID.

“Can you use that?” He watched me put away the S&W compact 9mm. I smiled. Of course, I never have used it. But, I have shot the damn thing, and cleaned it. So, I just smiled.

“My mom’s eyes nearly bugged out when I told her you were my boyfriend. We have to come back for dinner Sunday night.” I told him; because my mom is a really awesome woman who worries so much she has ulcers.

“Of course. She handled it well. What about your dad?”

“He’s like an absent-minded professor. He’ll be okay. Let’s get the photo album.”

He caught me, his arm around my waist in my doorway, behind me is the room of a teenage boy, “and you need to move your clothes to my house Sunday too. Okay, baby?”

Again, I smile and turn in his arms, my hard groin bumping his thighs. Hell, I am still half hard, does he think I will ever say no to him. “Yes, Jon.”

And we left, meeting up with Jacob, who still makes me feel awkward, and drove over to the precinct. I tried hard to make Jon feel comfortable. He was, but…I know this was very hard for him. I have always been gay. The issue people are going to have is his connection to my rescue. My therapist is going to come unglued. I do mean unglued. That worries me a little. Last thing I need is to be committed for my own good.

Ugh!

The arrival at this police station is different from the last one. This is where the Major Crimes Squad department is located. It is also the central precinct building. The building is in Pioneer Square, and it has been refurbished, made earthquake-safe and has the look of a modern train station outside. Inside, there are metal detectors, and it takes ten minutes to get through security because, despite the presence of Jon, my badge and gun are scrutinized with no small degree of distrust.

Inside the squad room of this station, heads turn as we enter. Smiles land on Jon, and then blink over to me, hesitating. I am cute, sexy in a bad boy sort of fashion. Not the sort of man most cops consider sexy however. I am definitely gay bait. Most of these men and women have no clue about Jon. And the gun holster visible under my open jacket, combined with the gold badge hanging around my neck, draws fascinated glances. ‘Who is he?’ I see and hear as we wander past. But, as we near a bank of glass walls a hush seems to over take the people near there. These people know.

A big, uncomfortably, ominously big black man rises from a chair behind a desk stacked with papers and two computers…he smiles broadly. His teeth are very white, and I like him instantly. “Dude, finally.”

“What? I said two hours.” Jon and the man bump fists, and Jon smiles at me, “Micah, this is my partner Marcus.”

“Wow, hi.” He had been staring at me, and if he could blush I think he would have. Instead I reached out and he took my hand cautiously. Jon coughed. I let go. Oh yeah. That bothers him. Marcus blinked.

“It’s a handshake, Jon,” Marcus says.

“Don’t care.”

“Lore is waiting for you in your office, wants to talk to you before you go in.” He nods at Jacob and they exchange greetings. “You two can wait out here.”

I understand Jon has to talk to his union guy. Okay. When he is out of sight, Marcus, who is not shy at all, can’t control him. “You do look really young. Marks is gonna go apeshit.”

“Sounds messy,” I smile. “I am good at what I do, because I look young. So, I am old enough to work undercover, to risk my life for my country. Be tortured for my country, so I am not gonna take any shit over how young I look.”

“Jesus, Micah,” Jacob breathed behind me. “Thank god for Jon. You’d kill a weaker top.”

Our conversation was overheard by a number of officers. They kept glancing from me to the door behind which Jon, my lover, had gone. It was spreading. I am Jon’s lover. Marcus’ smile just grew wider. “I like ya. Ima physical guy, so I ‘spect Jon’s gonna deck me one of these days for grabbin ya.”

“Great!” I murmur dryly.

Behind me another commotion and I turn to see two FBI suits crossing the floor. This gets better and better. Angela broke my protection. The Bureau is concerned. One of them looks vaguely familiar; the other is holding a document, looks like a picture. He looks up, sees me, hesitates and looks back at the picture.

“Uh, detective Lfani?”

“That’s right.”

“Hello!” He smiles broadly and taps his chest, “Detective Morris, and this is Detective Stavich.” He reaches out to shake my hand.

“Don’t touch him,” Marcus says.

“Uh…” Morris blinked.

“It’s a personal idiom,” I explain.

“Yeah, mine,” Jon says from my left, “don’t touch him.”

“Well, uh. We are here to provide you with security until the trial. The director understands that your identity has been compromised.” Stavich is short, stocky and has a crooked eyebrow. I like him. He is barely repressing a disapproving smirk. He is glancing from Jon to me, and thinking, faggots! But, at the same time he is amused by his assignment and I don’t think there is a great deal of animosity or insecurity.

“You can say that again,” Jon scowls. “Look, you can camp outside my condo, but you aren’t coming in.”

“Your condo?” Morris looks at him blankly.

“Detective Lfani lives with me.”

“That’s where you have been.” Stavich nods.

“Ah, checking up on me?” I grin, of course they have been. And there is that other thing, that niggling feeling. I am an agent only because it is the way they keep track of me. At least now, anyway.

“Cooper.” Ah, the union guy. And the show is on. Into Marks’ office we go. This is awkward and what exactly was said I am not entirely sure. I know that Angela’s embarrassment knew no bounds when she discovered that yes; I am an adult and an agent. Marks’ idea that my youth was going to be a problem was disputed by the fact that it was the LEAST of his problems. The union guy made a huge stink, and Greta Berg just watched me thoughtfully, after arguing for ten minutes with Jacob over the nature of BDSM relationships and law enforcement statistics. By the time they were done arguing, half the men in the room had hardons. Being one of the two women, she grew increasingly uncomfortable until it occurred to her that I was the only technical ‘bottom’ in the room and was reveling in it. She flushed with amusement then, and Stavich was clearly attracted to her. But, Angela was oblivious. She was just jealous. It was a sad sight, and I felt pain for her.

Wow, can I tell you how good it feels to see a group of macho guys discover something about sexuality because of you? I couldn’t help but twitch my ass and roll my hips discreetly as Jon’s eyes narrowed and nostrils flared like a stallion’s scenting a mare. He was hard. Not a little, all the way. Jacob was hard. Morris was eyeing me like I was an alien, but he was fascinated.

Marks kept pinching his brow. I guess no one wondered if Jon was a faggot. It became irrelevant. It was all Jacob. I discovered a newfound appreciation for him. If it weren’t for the lustful way he looked at Jon, I might even like him. I am a bottom, a sub. Naturally. I suspect that Jacob likes conquest. He likes creating a bottom. And, I think for some men it is a very healthy experience. Letting go at the hands of someone as skilled as Jacob. His charisma is formidable. He is physically attractive, but not stunning. His shoulders are broad, but he is only about 5’10. He has a little extra weight around the middle, but not much. His dark hair is graying and he is maybe 45 years old. But his hazel eyes and deep voice are masterful, and alluring. He is innately seductive. Strictly speaking from a technical point of view, I wonder what it would be like to see him fuck Jon. Hot I bet, if Jon wasn’t mine.

When we left, I shook Marks’ hand and he stared at me, a little smile on his face. He actually looked amused at Jon’s jealousy and held my hand too long. We shared a smile. Oh, I was gonna get it. I shivered at the thought.

I wondered what the other officers talked about when we left. Disgust? Wonder? But, I could tell from Jon’s partner’s expression, things were going to be okay.

“I’m hungry,” I told Jon as we left the building. Jacob looked at me like I had lost my mind. “We’ve hardly eaten all day.” I smiled serenely. Yeah, my cock was throbbing, but…“I am sure detectives Stavich and Morris are hungry too. Let’s go eat.”

“Great idea.” Jacob hopped right on the bandwagon. I knew he would. He was loving his time with Jon. Why am I getting more comfortable with that? No idea and it doesn’t matter.

Jon actually smiled and relaxed. “Sure. Diamond Back’s Barbecue?” Oh god, that sounded really awesome. Ribs, corn…messy finger food. “Steve can meet us there,” he smiled at Jacob. I think he was catching on.

“I was thinking the very same thing.”

“You said food?” Morris said behind us.

“Yeah, Barbecue ribs okay with you, man?” Jon smiled.

“Fucking awesome, yeah.”

Poor Stavich, I could see he knew he was going to be surrounded by gay men who could barely contain themselves. But, his amusement never slipped. What is it about this guy? I don’t get a bad feeling, but just a feeling.

Steve and I sat next to each other, with our lovers on our outside. Of course, Steve found me attractive, and thankfully Jon didn’t notice. We shared our secret and hid it from our tops, a certain naughty pleasure. Of course, Morris took four beers before he realized Steve was Jacob’s partner. But, Jacob was working Morris. And the poor man, maybe thirty years old, was hooked. Goddamn shrinks.

It all started with Morris’ helpless curiosity. “I’ve never met a gay agent before,” he finally said to me. Stavich rolled his eyes and took a long drink from his beer. “I’m sorry, no offense bud.”

“S’ok, bet you haven’t met many fifteen year old agents either.” That had every eye on me. “I was fifteen, in college when I was…recruited.”

“Fifteen?” Stavich blinked. “You weren’t recruited then,” he said wisely. “You were drafted. They only draft special cases. What is your specialty and you can’t tell me working prostitution rings. You might be good at that, but no one is going to put you in at sixteen unless you have something else you can do.”

“I want to say something lewd.” I mused and Jon choked on his beer, his hand found my bulging package and he squeezed none too gently, his toy pinching me painfully. Sucking in a raw breath, I bit meat off the bone, peeling it back with my teeth and not finishing my thought.

Something dawned on Stavich, like he was piecing together a puzzle. His lips narrowed and I got the feeling like he figured something out and the dawning light wasn’t pleasant. “Your handler was Moorhead wasn’t it?” I think I was the only one who saw the hardening of his gaze.

“Yes.”

The world narrowed for me. I am an agent, but I have been messed up for a year and never really was cut out for the work. I am nineteen years old. Being an operative was a game to me. I threw myself into danger because I really had the irrepressible fearlessness of youth. I manipulated financial institutions for my own amusement, making wealth that men barter their lifetimes to garner. But, I do have some instincts.

“How much do you trust your friends?” he asked and the table quieted.

Morris’ head jerked, and Jacob turned his gaze on Stavich. Jon stiffened, his arm going around me. “I trust them implicitly.”

“You are in danger,” he said…and then smiling, he covered it with, “Lucky for you Morris is here to make sure nothing happens to you.”

“Damn right! Top of my class in marksmanship,” he hiccupped. We both knew the trial and Galforino was not the issue. Jon knew it too.

“You two have a van to sleep in? Doing shifts or what?” I asked, shivering. Jon’s hand kept petting between my legs. We drifted into a conversation about protection duty. And finally Morris left to go to the can.

“Moorhead is corrupt. If I am right, you are Slyd8x, the cyber banker. You had best disappear after this trial.”

Steve squeaked beside me. I tapped his arm, and he shuddered. “It’s okay, bud. I am fine.”

“He sold me out didn’t he?” I said it aloud. “I didn’t run into the ring, he…” I got dizzy. What better way to keep me out of trouble? Why would they try to sell me then? A mistake?

“He had a heart attack about two months after you disappeared. He was hospitalized. No idea, but that is when I started to…”

Morris returned. I think I was sent to auction because Moorhead couldn’t keep payments up on me. He couldn’t reveal my value either.

Jon leaned over and brushed my mouth with his, causing Morris to wriggle uncomfortably. “It’s okay, baby,” he said softly, only I could hear.

“I am not hungry now,” Steve said. And the evening ended rapidly. It was cute when Morris shook Jacob’s hand and even cuter when Steve stripped off his clothes outside Jacob’s car. Morris stared at the belt clad young man with horror.

“What is that thing?” I heard him ask, and Stavich said he was better off not understanding.

Inside the condo, Jon grabbed me. Didn’t even give me time to take off my clothes. He slammed me against the door and opened his mouth on mine. It was a kiss of fear and worry and love. We stood there a long time.

“Is that your gun or are you happy to see me?” he finally asked as he slid my jacket off. Together we helped me out of my clothes. He hung my gun belt in his hall closet next to his and it was sexy. Of course he carries a full size weapon. Too heavy for me. I have to use a compact model.

Naked, he picked me up and carried me to the bathroom, where we both brushed our teeth and showered. It wasn’t sexual, despite our arousal. Under the streaming water he told me, his lips pressed to my ear, that the condo was most certainly bugged, maybe even wired for video. I shuddered against him. I am afraid, so afraid I lose my erection. Not for me, but for him. Tenderly he removes the cuff, the ring. And we stand under the hot water for a long time, til it grows cold.

Wordlessly he makes love to me on the bed, under the sheet. He takes my cries into his mouth, pins me solidly to the bed and fucks me til I am sobbing into his mouth. He is rough and gentle, tender and fierce and ruthlessly pursues his pleasure after mine. Exhausted, we collapse, me on top of him, into restless sleep. I am certain I will not be able to sleep but…he has been fucking me for 24 hours, and I am truly worn out.

“State your name for the record.”

“My name,” I say this with a smirk and a roll to my head, making damn sure he understands I am fucking proud of it, “is Micah Rafael Lfani.”

“Do you swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you god?”

“I swear to tell the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me god.”

I’ve actually been called as a witness for the defense. We anticipated this. The prosecuting attorney’s office knew it would happen this way. As an undercover agent, I did not try to stop the killings, or at least that is what they want the jury to think.

“Hello, Micah,” said the defense attorney, already too familiar. He is jumping right in.

Turning to the judge I say, “Your honor, I would ask that the defense attorney address me as Detective Lfani, not by my given name, nor by sport, or son, or kid, or buddy. I believe I have earned it.”

“Indeed. Mr. Cohen, you may address the witness as he has requested.”

“Very well, Detective Lfani.” He bowed. I am lucky to have won this round and I don’t imagine for a second I am going to win them all. James Cohen is a formidable Master. Kind of handsome, too. He is maybe forty years old, tall and lean. He has long fingers, and dresses sharply. His dark hair is neatly arranged and his eyes are piercing and filled with amusement. He is a defense attorney, defending a man I loathe. It is his job, his calling and he is good at it. But, in his own way he is a good guy, too.

Doing the job someone must…with a drive and verve necessary for the rest of us to sleep at night. When a man is convicted, we have to know he has been given the best possible opportunity to exonerate himself. A civilized society has to be above reproach. Or something like that.

“Let’s get right to it then, shall we?”

“As you wish.” I plan to alternate between submissive and dominant behavior. He wants me and I can see it. I get a little thrill out of it. I wonder if he knows it. His eyes widen slightly. Oh sexy.

He spends time on my back-story as he knows it. This is the boring part. Where he examines how I came to be inside the ring as a captive. I really don’t know. I know I was in my cover house.

“That is the last thing you remember?” he taunts, “coming in through the screen door?”

“Sliding door, Mr. Cohen.” I correct him and he grits his teeth. “Yes. I was hungry and going to make something to eat. I don’t know if my handler, playing the part of my father, was home or not.”

“Isn’t that convenient? If I say you knew you where you were going, you consented to training and you say no, I don’t remember.”

“Well, first, I did agree to tell the truth, Mr. Cohen. And that is what I recall. I did not give my consent.”

“But, you want the jury to believe you were undercover while inside?”

“I was undercover,” I answer, gritting my teeth against my outburst. The prosecuting attorney plans to call me back up here to explain how I was divided.

“Why did you let those children die?”

“I did not let them die. Most of the ones your client is charged with killing, I never saw.”

“Your honor, please instruct the witness to answer only the questions posed.”

Sigh. I try, I really do. Rolling my eyes at the attorney, he in turn smiling at me. Damn, I love Jon, but this fellow really pushes my sexual buttons. Unusual for me. No one does that but Jon. Maybe healthy. Yeah, it is. He is attractive, nice to know I am going to be okay.

“But, you let Peter Strahan die, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“No? Wasn’t he whipped in front of you?”

“No, I didn’t let him die, and yes he was whipped in front of me.” The pain hit me. The memory. Cohen was smart; he stepped in closer when I tried to look past him to find Jon with my eyes. All I could see was Cohen. Fuck.

“Your honor, I’d like to admit defense exhibit…” And so the tape of Peter’s beating, and me standing immobile in the corner, unrestrained, was admitted. Remember, Micah, you had been beaten like this repeatedly.

“Here you are detective, standing by while this eight year old boy is tortured.”

“Yes.”

“How many others?”

“None. Peter is the only one I was res—I witnessed.”

“That you were responsible for?”

“No! If I resisted he would have been beaten more.”

“He was beaten enough to kill him, how could your resistance have failed to improve the situation?”

“I didn’t know he would die.”

“Who is beating him? Is that my client?”

“No. That is Master…” Fuck. The attorney smiles. “Red.”

“He was convicted, wasn’t he? You should know his name, you helped convict him.”

“I am sorry, I don’t recall it.”

“So, you only remember he was your Master?”

“Yes.”

“What did you call my client when you were under his care, Detective?”

“I only met him once.”

“What did you call him?”

“Sire.” The bastard smiled. Not the attorney, the accused. I felt my chin tremble. I am afraid and goddammit, I fucking hate this guy. But then, his back to his client, Cohen just watches me. Giving me that extra second to compose myself. Reward. If he was evil, he would keep pushing. But he is not. He is rewarding my pain.

He explored the fact that I say I was unable to escape but was often within sight of the door.

And in the end I really didn’t help his client that I could see. But, Cohen got a chance to work me over some, and his dick got hard doing it. He did that for himself. Like Jacob said, I am the most famous bottom in the country. Every top is curious about me.

After the recess, the prosecution called me as rebuttal. And, that is when it occurred to me that Cohen would redirect. Since it’s obvious that the prosecution knows more about me. And that makes him look less like he is attacking me, and more like he is attacking my story. Too late for me to warn the prosecution. Now, I just have to live through it.

“Hello, Micah.” I smile. Nora can call me Micah.

“Hello, Nora.”

“We have the history of how you ended up in captivity with your work with the FBI. But, we don’t have your history before you came to work for the FBI.”

“Objection, relevance.”

“Goes to state of mind, your honor, since the defense accuses the detective of failing to protect the children, the state will show that the witness was little more than a child himself. Micah’s history is relevant.”

“I’ll allow it, with latitude. No grandstanding, Ms. Stone.”

“How old are you Micah?”

“Nineteen.”

Everyone knows I am young, but the jury and courtroom did gasp softly. I look younger, but I am a detective so the assumption is older.

“You were barely eighteen then, when you were captured?”

“Yes.”

“Which means you were underage when you went to work for the FBI. How old were you?” We have worked out this line of questioning. But even she doesn’t know how much money was involved.

“I was fifteen and a half.”

“Fifteen! You went to Quantico to be trained as an FBI agent when you were in what? The ninth grade?”

“No Ma’am. I was a freshman in college, not in high school.” Cohen is rifling through his papers.

“Wow, college at fifteen. Not unheard of. But, it doesn’t explain how you ended up with the FBI. You had to be pretty special for them to emancipate you.”

“I wasn’t emancipated. I was in their custody.”

“You have a juvenile arrest record, don’t you, Micah?”

“Objection! I have no access to these records!”

“I’m sorry your honor, neither do I. I have only what Micah has told me. If he is willing, his records can be unsealed and presented to the defense.”

The judge turned to me, “You do not have to do this son.” Grr.

“It’s alright. I think Jon has a copy of my record, if it will help.”

I smiled. Jon, just saying his name relaxed me.

So, we took a short recess. It would take hours to decipher the magnitude of my crime from my record. The defense will read that I hacked into computers and diddled in some financial records. Because that is all they could prove. What they know is something else entirely.

“So you are a hacker?”

“Yes, that is the common term.”

“Your arrest record states you are guilty of digital fraud, and some complicated crimes relating to the Securities Exchange Commission. Who was your victim?”

“No one. I didn’t steal anyone’s money, I didn’t damage anyone’s systems. I moved money around. No one lost anything.”

“But you gained, didn’t you?”

“I have not seen a cent of it. But, on paper, yes. I do not have access to it.”

“How much money did you make, Micah?”

“303 million dollars.”

The eruption in the court took two full minutes to calm down.

“What happened to that money?”

“Nothing, it is still out there.”

“You made around ten times what Mr. Galfonico made in his slave enterprise. You kept it a good secret, didn’t you, Micah?”

“Yes.”

“You were worth more than any slave he ever possessed. Right under his nose, and you slipped away.”

“Yes.”

Galfonico’s fury reddened his face.

“But, you were in the custody of the FBI to keep you out of trouble, weren’t you, Micah. Because they still can’t figure out how to keep you out of where you want to go. But, they couldn’t arrest you for anything major.“

“There are flaws in the financial networks that control money and wealth in the world. Gaping doors that I exploited. Until they close those doors, I won’t be the last person to make use of them. What I did is rather like switching credit cards to get a lower rate and tricking the bank into offering you a negative rate. The more you spend the more you earn. But then, Discover does that. So does American Express. Moving money increases in value. Be the one to move it, and you are the one who makes the interest.”

“When does your probation end?”

“When I am 21.”

“The money is yours then.”

“Yes.”

I saw admiration on Cohen’s face. Worry too. How nice. He is right, I have been worked by the prosecution. Cohen is my enemies’ friend, but my enemies’ enemy isn’t my friend. I was so bent on bragging, that I missed the point of this. This has nothing to do with this case. This has to do with extortion. I am in more danger now than I ever have been.

“Nothing further, your honor.”

What?

Bitch. Even Jon stood in the background. His eyes flashing.

When it was over, Cohen didn’t redirect. For his part, I have to say he is a good man. I was sitting in a side bar room a couple of days later eating an apple, waiting for Jon to return, when he came in and sat down. He looked at me sideways in his chair and said, “You need to get lost, kid. You have a giant target on your back, and someone is gunning for you. And it isn’t my client. He is obviously not that smart.”

“I know.”

“You belong to Jon Cooper then?”

“Yes.”

“Shame!” he smiled and walked out. He has all the confidence of a true top. Sexy as hell.