Switch – Serving his Master series Book 6

They might both be Doms… But only one is the Master…

A high-powered banker by day, Dane Bishop prides himself on being the reigning king of the Austin BDSM underground scene. Sub boys line up for the chance to serve the powerful Dom. For Dane, the clubs are playgrounds, and he’s at the top of his game.

Nathan Levi is an artist and a romantic. He isn’t concerned with conforming to what others expect of him. Happiest in ripped jeans, a paintbrush in his hand, he sees the beauty and passion in life. Romance is an adventure, and D/s is just part of the journey. Normally, he’d never look twice at a player like Dane, but something in the man’s eyes speaks directly to Nathan’s quietly dominant soul.

When it comes down to brass tacks or broken hearts, which man has the fortitude to be the true Master, and which has the inner strength to be the true submissive?

Switchis a stand-alone Serving His Masters series novel. Powerful M/M BDSM with a romantic twist.


Chapter 1

“Gin and tonic. Extra lime.”

The bartender, a tall, narrow-shouldered man with blond, receding hair and a rather spectacular curling mustache, nodded with pursed lips, as if he disapproved of Dane’s choice of drink, or maybe just of Dane himself.

Dane was dressed for the evening, wearing his standard black leather pants and boots and a black silk shirt, de rigueur for Doms at the BDSM club to which he was heading.

While waiting for his drink, Dane glanced around the dimly lit room of The Iguana, a small bar located in Austin’s downtown warehouse district. He’d never been in this particular bar before, and indeed had only recently become aware of its existence, courtesy of a friend who made it a point to scope out every gay haunt in town. The bar wasn’t strictly gay, but it was gay-friendly and it was close to Boot Camp, his ultimate destination.

His gaze landed on an older man with silver hair and the bulbous red-veined nose of a heavy drinker. The man smiled broadly, revealing large, white teeth that probably cost him a fortune. Dane nodded in acknowledgment, though he didn’t return the smile. I see you, but I’m not interested.

The bartender placed his drink before him. Dane lifted the thick wedge of lime from the edge of the glass and squeezed the juice into it, watching it fizz. He dropped the lime into the glass and took a long, satisfying drink.

The wall behind the bar was mirrored, which made the room look larger than it was and gave patrons seated at the bar the advantage of seeing who was behind them. For some reason, something compelled Dane to look up at precisely the moment the man came in the door.

He experienced a sudden sense of recognition, though he would have sworn he’d never seen this particular man before. He was of medium height and build, his hair dark and hanging in a loose shiny wave to his shoulders. His eyes were dark too, gleaming against pale skin. Several days’ worth of stubble etched the pale skin from his cheekbones to his throat.

The guy looked like a college student from a distance. He was wearing a faded T-shirt with a small tear at the neckline. When Dane swiveled slowly on his stool, he saw the guy was wearing old blue jeans covered in grayish dust, a hole in one knee.

Their eyes met and Dane felt an actual tug in his gut, as if someone had reached inside and yanked. The man had a hawk-like nose, prominent in a long, narrow face. His lips were red against his pale skin and dark shadow of a beard. He was compelling to look at—not precisely handsome, yet there was a power in his face that drew Dane to him, capturing him with its quiet strength. He held Dane’s gaze, his expression calm, even knowing.

Dane was the first to look away.

He swiveled his stool back toward the bar and drained his glass. His cock was bent uncomfortably in his pants, having risen of its own volition at the sight of the stranger. He raised his glass toward the bartender, who moved toward him to refill it.

In the mirror he could see the man moving toward him. He waited, not breathing as he watched to see if the man would sit near him. He had no idea if he was gay or straight, or anything else about him. All he knew was he wanted him to sit beside him.

As a rule, Dane gravitated toward clean-cut young men like himself who could pass as straight and vanilla, with no piercings, tattoos or slave collars to give them away. This guy was probably a bum—a high school dropout who worked in construction and couldn’t even be bothered to change his pants before heading out. Whatever strange attraction he felt for the guy would no doubt be dispelled the moment he opened his mouth and drawled, “Howdy, ya’ll.”

The man sat two stools down from Dane. He signaled to the bartender, who approached him with a broad smile. “Nathan, you’re back. When did you get in?”

“Good to see you, Martin. I just got back last night.”

“You’re probably still jetlagged. You want a beer?”

“That’d be great. A Guinness. Oh, and maybe a burger? I kind of forgot to eat today.” The man, whom Dane could now identify as Nathan, gave a sheepish grin. His voice was deep and rich, fuller than Dane would have expected. The accent rolled with a charming Southern cadence.

The bartender laughed indulgently. Dane could hardly believe this was the same tight-lipped, disapproving man who had served him a moment before. “When you get to working, you just shut out the entire world, don’t you? Sarah says we’re going to find you one day passed out on the floor from starvation in front of one of those paintings or sculptures of yours.”

An artist. Well, that was intriguing. Though the term was probably loosely applied to someone trying to make it as an artist someday. Dane turned back to his drink. He glanced at his watch. He should probably pay his tab and leave. There were plenty of eager sub boys waiting for his attentions at Boot Camp.

He found he didn’t want to go—not yet. He tried to think of various casual, friendly ways to start a conversation, but found his tongue curiously tied. Say something. He tried sending a telepathic message—Look this way so I can smile at you.

As if he received the message, Nathan chose that precise moment to turn toward Dane. For a second Dane worried he’d spoken aloud.

“Excuse me, but have we met?” Was this merely the overt southern friendliness Dane had yet to accustom himself to, or was Nathan hitting on him?

“No.” I would have remembered. He smiled in what he hoped was a nonchalant way. “But it’s nice to meet you now. I’m Dane. Dane Bishop.”

Leaning toward him, Nathan reached out to shake his hand. He wore a gold ring on the third finger of his left hand with some kind of insignia on it. It looked heavy and expensive, not in keeping with the rest of his bedraggled appearance.

“Nathan Levi, at your service.” Nathan inclined his head, smiling to show small, even white teeth. Nathan slipped off his stool and moved to the empty one beside Dane. He tilted his head, as if measuring the dimensions of Dane’s face. “There’s something familiar about you. I don’t quite know what it is.”

The bartender distracted them by setting a large mug of dark beer in front of Nathan. He lifted the mug and drank deeply. The bartender told him his food would be ready shortly. Dane waited impatiently to resume their fledgling conversation.

He liked the sound of Nathan’s voice. It was a warm voice, the tone rich like dark rum, smooth and strong. Again, he wondered if it were merely a pickup line, or did Nathan share the peculiar sense of recognition Dane had experienced when their eyes had locked?

Dane knew he’d never seen the man before, but the recognition he felt was for something deeper than a passing acquaintance. Though he knew it didn’t make sense, it was almost as if a connection had been forged between them the moment Nathan had entered the bar, something that skipped over details like time and place, vaulting directly to the soul.

What the hell was going on inside his head? Dane wasn’t given to these ridiculous poetic turns of mind. Maybe that drink was stronger than he’d realized.

The bartender finally stepped away to help someone else. Nathan turned toward Dane and picked up the thread of their dropped conversation. “Maybe you just look like someone I used to know. Or maybe I’ve seen you in passing. For a big city, Austin can be a pretty small town.”

“Yes, that must be it,” Dane agreed, though he knew it wasn’t true. He would have remembered that face, those burning dark eyes, those lush red lips. Jesus, he needed to cut it out. For all he knew, the guy was straight.

Why not find out now and save a lot of heartache later? He cut to the chase. “I was just on my way to Boot Camp. You know the club?”

Into the scene or not, he’d yet to meet a gay guy in Austin who didn’t know of the club, or at least its reputation as the hottest, and most exclusive, gay BDSM club in Texas. If he was met with a blank stare, he’d pay his tab and hit the road.

“I’ve heard of it.” Nathan smiled and glanced down at Dane’s leather pants. “I guess you’re dressed for it.” Dane looked down at his very expensive leather pants, which probably cost more than Nathan earned in a week. He was decidedly overdressed compared to Nathan’s faded, ripped jeans and T-shirt.

Still, Nathan’s response proved he knew what Boot Camp was. Which didn’t necessarily make him gay, but at least it didn’t rule it out.

“I suppose I’ve given myself away with my uniform.” Dane admitted. “You ever been there? It can be quite a spectacle, especially to the uninitiated.”

“No. It’s not really my scene.”

Dane’s head swarmed with questions. Excitement hurtled up through his gut. What did Nathan mean, it wasn’t his scene? Did that mean he wasn’t into BDSM per se, or just that he didn’t go for the public scene, or that he wasn’t gay?

“I’d love to take you sometime. You could come as my guest. The scenes can be very intense, but it’s all consensual. Like I said, I’m going tonight. I just stopped here for a drink. I’ve been meaning to check this place out for a while now.”

The ball was in Nathan’s court. He could toss it back with a “Yes, I’d love to go with a complete stranger to a BDSM club,” or the far more likely, “Thanks, but no thanks.” What he actually said was, “So, if it’s not too personal, how long have you been submissive, Dane?”