4

-MALCOLM-

I CLOSEthe door and watch him squirming on the bench. Of course I'm not going to leave him alone like this for two hours, that would be stupidly dangerous, there's too much risk of something going wrong while he's tied up. But he doesn't know that. As far as he's concerned he's been left like this, alone and vulnerable, being edged by the plug.

I settle down with my back against the wall, make myself comfortable and get my phone out. I've got two hours to kill. The next moment my phone goes off in my hand and I hurriedly mute it before it can give me away. I glare at it. Who the hell is texting me?

Josh: Drinks at Rocky's to celebrate the win!! See you there?

Me: Sure.

I'm not going to Rocky's, I'd rather grate off my own fingerprints than drink watered down beer with a room full of drunk meatheads. But it's easier to pretend to go along with it, they'd probably be more shocked if I actually showed up.

Josh: Awesome. You seen North anywhere? We wanna buy him a round.

I look up at North, half naked and tied to the bench.

Me: No.

There's something delicious about him tied up, helpless and squirming in the dark, while the rest of the team go out to celebrate his big win.

I check the time. One hour and fifty minutes to go.

The noises he makes around the gag are fucking hot. So needy and desperate. I watch the lines of his body tense and shift, and try not to think about Becki's lips on his cheek, and the way he smiled at her.

Does he like her? Why wouldn't he? I'm sure she's very attractive if you're into that kinda thing. That kinda thing being girls. I drag my wrist across my mouth, the tang of North still fresh on my tongue.

Is North into that kinda thing? I've never actually asked him, but it seemed obvious. I've seen them flirting plenty of times before. Does he like her? She's very different from me. I don't think it's possible to be any more different.

But he can like who he wants. I told him that. We're not . . . involved like that. So he can like who he wants.

Except . . . he said he liked me.

Apart from the fact that I have no idea why he would like me outside of a decent fuck, there's an even bigger question here. Could he like me and Becki at the same time, when we're so different? I lean back against the wall. Why am I even thinking about this? It's up to him who he likes.

About forty minutes in, his noises get more erratic and disjointed, and I sit upright. Are those sounds of distress? The noises grow more desperate, and I'm about to go over to check on him when he writhes, the muscles of his legs straining, pulls against the ropes, and groans loudly as his hips move in small, aborted thrusts. He grunts once more, a long drawn-out noise, before falling back limply onto the bench, panting through his nose. I raise my eyebrows. It looks like he's just had an epic orgasm in the cage. He must really like the idea of being left like this. I make a mental note to recreate it later in the safety of my own house. It'll be interesting to see how many times I can make him come while caged, with the right motivation.

I sit back down and wait.

When two hours is up I rise silently, open the door, and slam it shut again. He jumps, turning his head toward me as I move over to him.

I loosen the blindfold and the gag, turn off the vibrations, and he takes a deep breath. His face is flushed, pink, and dewy, his hair a mess. Cum leaks from his caged cock and pools on the bench between his legs.

"So, did you learn your lesson?" I say.

"Yes."

"Will you do it again?"

"No, sir."

Sir? That's new. I'm not sure what I think about that. I suppose I should have an official name during our sessions, and "sir" is a popular one. Something to think about.

"Good. Oh, one last thing."

I lean over him and press my mouth to the side of his throat, higher than the mark already there from earlier in the woods. I suck his skin into my mouth and work it, biting and licking. He grunts and tilts his head to the side, allowing me better access. When I'm done there's a livid red mark halfway up the side of his neck. It's high enough that it'll be hard to conceal. I look down at it. Why did I do that?

Once he's released I wipe him down with a towel from my bag, cleaning away the sticky cum from his thighs, then help him into his pants. He groans as he sits up, working the blood back into his limbs.

"Come on," I say. "You need a shower."

***

Water runs over his body as I rub him down, the sleeves of my undershirt rolled up. It'd be easier to take my own clothes off, too, and wash us both at the same time, but I'll have a shower after him. I'd rather keep my clothes on.

I can't get the image of him and Becki out of my head. Am I jealous over a kiss on the cheek? No, of course I'm not. I'm the one who just made him lose his mind and come. I'm the one he just let tie him up, putting his trust completely in me. I'm getting everything I want from North, in exactly the way I want it, so I'm not going to spare another second for Becki and her kiss.

"So, what did Becki say to you?" I ask.

There's silence, and for a moment I hope he didn't hear my question over the sound of the running water.

But eventually he replies. "I thought you didn't care?"

"I don't. You don't have to tell me. I'm just making conversation."

He looks at me, smirking. "Since when are you uncomfortable with awkward silences?"

I bristle. "Whatever."

He tips his head, sending a curtain of water down my front. "She was just saying well done. You know, for the game," he says, but I can tell that he's holding something back.

"And?" I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

He looks at me quickly and then away. "I think she asked me out on a date?"

I busy myself scrubbing the soap from his back, feeling the tense muscles under my hands. This is fine. This is what I wanted.

"You think?" I say.

He shrugs, sending more water droplets out, soaking my shirt. "Well, I didn't exactly catch everything she said. I was a bit distracted."

Yeah I bet, distracted by her kissing him and pressing her tits against him. I clear my throat before I speak again, leaving the shower to grab a towel and lean against the tiles.

"What did you say?"

After a long pause he shrugs. "I said maybe. I kinda panicked and I didn't know what else to tell her." He glances over at me from the corner of his eye, reading me, looking for any reaction. I'm careful to make sure my face is blank. "I'm not going to go though," he finishes.

"You should," I say.

He pauses in the process of wrapping the towel around his waist. "Really?"

He seems surprised, but why would he be? We've already been over this. Now it's my turn to shrug.

"You obviously need someone to—"

I look up as he emerges fully from the shower, and choke on my spit. The towel is slung low around his hips, and water runs down his body, dripping from his hair and chin and beading on his sun-kissed skin. The dim overhead lights pick out the lines of his toned body, long and lean. I've seen him naked countless times now, but I don't think I'll ever get over how incredibly fucking hot he is. And for some reason seeing him dripping wet, pink and warm from the shower, his eyes locked on me, it sets off some weird feeling in my gut. I want to whip the towel off him and lick the water droplets off his flat stomach. And at the same time, I want to wrap him up, throw a towel over his wet hair and tousle it dry. I swallow.

"To what?" he says.

"What?" I croak. What were we talking about? I've completely lost track of the conversation.

"I obviously need someone to do what?" he prompts.

I rub the back of my neck. I was going to jibe him about his feelings and wanting more from me than I'm willing to give, a petty knee-jerk reaction. But I don't know, it feels too fresh, too mean to be taunting him about. And it must have been hard for him to tell me. I have to admit, it was brave.

After everything I've done, all the shit I've pulled, he's still here. How many times has he forgiven me and agreed to carry on? I need to start giving him a break.

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter. It'd be good for you to go out with her."

"Oh. Ok." He seems disappointed but he gives me a half smile. "I kinda assumed you wouldn't want me to go."

"No, I told you that was fine."

"Yeah."

He dries himself off and I watch his hands work over his body. That smooth tanned skin with a dusky sprinkling of hair that marks so perfectly under my hands. My mark on his neck is bright red and speckled with burst blood vessels.

Mine.

"You really did play a great game today," I say softly.

He throws the wet towel at me. "It's all that extra training you've been giving me, Coach. Couldn't have done it without you."

An unsettling warmth spreads through my chest. "Yeah, you could have, Nolan. But I'll take the credit."