4

-Malcolm-

I KEEPNorth's body pressed against mine and one hand cupping his ass while I check my phone. For moral support. His warmth feels so good pressed against me, and the round globe of his ass cheek sits perfectly in my hand, slick with the lube.

I brace myself as I open the message and see my father's name on the screen, but instead of the accusations and threats I'm expecting, it's just two short lines of text:

Father: My business is done. Won't be back to the house.

Father: Get a fucking girlfriend.

A wave of relief washes through me as the meaning of his message sinks in. He's leaving. Thank fuck, he's leaving.

Whatever Coach told him must have been good enough. I've never liked the man so much. Maybe I'll have to make an anonymous donation.

I scan the words again, not believing I'd be this lucky. I thought we'd fucked up for sure. That my father would've caught on about North and I. But no, maybe he really is that oblivious. For once, I'm grateful that he's such a huge narcissist.

I sag against the chair and North senses my reaction.

"Is it him again? What's he say?" He leans away from me and looks like he's ready to fight again, that fierce glow lighting his blue eyes.

I show him the screen and his eyes flick over it before he deflates as well, looking relieved but also disappointed. Is it because he didn't get a chance to size off against my father? The thought makes me smile. My golden retriever has teeth and, for once, he wanted to use them. I guess that makes me feel kinda special—that he wanted to go to bat for me—but my father is not a man you want to face off against, and not just because he's big. It could only have ended badly. This way is for the best; he's happy that he's still in charge, he's made his point, and hopefully I won't have to see him again for another five years.

North sits back on his haunches in my lap. I can see the thoughts flickering through his head, processing the last few days and coming to terms with it all now that it's over.

"I can't believe your dad wanted me to help you get a girlfriend," he says finally and snorts.

I'm already feeling a thousand times better.

"Yeah. Little does he know I've already got one."

"Hey." North punches my arm and I almost drop the phone. "Anyway, can you imagine? ‘Hey ladies. Check out my friend. He's a ten, but he'll leave you chained up in his basement.'"

I give his ass a squeeze then pull my hand out of his pants, grab the packet of sanitary wipes from the glove compartment and clean my fingers. "It worked on you didn't it?"

"Pfft. Yeah but I'm a special kind of weird."

"You're the perfect kind of weird."

North gives me a look that's touched and gooey. I guess I don't say nice things to him enough. I'm going to have to work on that.

Which reminds me. Now seems like as good a time as any, while I'm riding on the high of freedom. I clear my throat and reach into the glove compartment again, North shifting on my lap, and pull out a flat blue box with golden lettering. It's been sitting in there for a while now.

I hesitate, and then pass it to him without saying anything, and he accepts it.

"What's this?" he asks.

"Something I should have given to you ages ago," I say.

He narrows his eyes, suspicion warring with excitement on his face. "What is it?"

"Just open it, idiot," I say, smiling.

He eases the lid off and fishes out a silver key on a metal loop. I got it cut back when I was training him to pass that test, but I never gave it to him. Guess I was embarrassed at being overeager. Even now I feel stupidly nervous, considering he's already agreed to move in with me anyway. But it feels big, far bigger than the small key in his hand.

"A key?" he asks, but he's giving me that look again that makes me feel warm in too many places. It crawls up the back of my neck, threatening to take over my whole face with burning warmth, and I try to play it cool.

"It's for the front door. If you want one to the back you'll have to earn it," I say and he laughs. "I'll hire a company to pack and move your stuff tomorrow."

"I can do it myself," he says. "It's hardly a lot. It'll only be a few boxes."

"So?"

You could say I'm not the most emotionally outgoing person—and bears shit in the woods—because sometimes the words feel too big to fit out of my throat, and my body feels so stiff with the need to touch him that I can't move. So instead, I buy him clothes, and medicine, and someone to move all his shit for him, and hope he gets the message.

He rolls his eyes but doesn't fight, then lifts the other item out of the box. It's a short metal chain, silver, with a hoop at one end and a bar at the other. He looks confused. I clear my throat.

"It's a discreet collar that you can wear every day. If you want."

"Oh," he says. Pink crawls up his neck and tinges his cheeks and ears. "Can you put it on me?" he asks.

He leans back, giving me space, and I reach over and loop it around his neck and slip the bar through the hoop, my fingers brushing the skin of his throat. It sits snugly around the base of his neck, and . . . it looks really fucking good. The possessiveness I feel every second of every day rises up inside me like a tidal wave.

"I want you to know that you belong to me, constantly. Every second of every day, you're mine." I can't stop the growl of my words. The thought of anyone else touching him stokes a fire inside me. And the thought of North looking at anyone else the way he looks at me—giving them attention, letting his blue eyes graze over their body—it's enough to make my breath catch. I don't want that. I never want that. Ever.

North touches the chain with his fingers. "Thank you. I love it," he says earnestly.

Fuck. All of the blood in my body is rushing toward my dick. After the last few days I need to release all of my tension, right fucking now. I need to hold him down, own him, push him to the limit, until he makes those wild noises that are as addicting as a drug. I need to fuck this beautiful man.

And judging by the way he's looking at me—his eyes hungry, his face flushed, the strong line of his jaw clenched—he's feeling the same.

"Let's get home. Now."

He jumps back into the passenger seat and I'm tearing away before he's even got his seatbelt on.

I want to get my fingers back inside him, to tease him and build him up until we get there, but I need two hands to drive the Porsche.

Fuck it, I'm getting an automatic ASAP.

***

By the time I pull up outside the house, my dick is throbbing and the bulge in North's pants is huge. He's as ready to go as I am and my mouth waters at the prospect.

My seatbelt is off, and I'm on top of him in the passenger seat, reaching blindly for the door handle. We scramble from the car, groping and stumbling in the direction of the house, lost in our heady rush. I can't keep my mouth off him for one second.

I kick the door open, and we almost fall over the door step, a tangle of limbs and breathless need. The side table by the front door topples over onto its side, sending everything flying, and I throw my keys down into the mess without a care. Then North's back is to the wall, and I'm pressed against him. My hands find their way under his shirt and shove it upward, exposing the smooth golden skin of his torso. I lick down it, circle his navel and then come back up. I find one nipple and bite down. He groans and arches against me, pushing the hard lump of his erection against my side.

I go to unzip his pants, find they're already loose, and plunge my hand inside, grasping his hard, hot cock. He makes another noise, moving against me mindlessly. I tangle my hand in his hair and pull his head back, mouthing my way up to his throat while I handle his dick roughly.

We get lost there for a moment, breathing against each other's mouths until I manage to break away, breathing heavily. I'm just about ready to come, but I've waited days for this, and I'm going to make it fucking last.

"On your knees," I growl.

He drops like I've kicked his legs out from under him, his knees hitting the tiled floor with a thud.

"Get your dick out."

He fumbles with his fly, frantic to do as he's told, gets his stiff cock out, and then drops it, leaving it standing stiff with his hands by his sides. He won't even hold himself unless I tell him to. And fuck me, he's perfect. Absolutely perfect.

I take a shuddering breath as my willpower vanishes.

I fuck him right there on the hallway floor. His asshole is still lubed enough to make it smooth, but with just enough drag to set my teeth on edge in the best way.

While I slam into him, I twist my hand in his hair, the other working his cock, and suck red circles onto his neck, across his back, and between his shoulder blades. Wild noises spill from his mouth, and I drink them in like they're vital. Like they're my oxygen.

He comes first, spilling across my hand and the cold tiles, and I'm not far behind. Biting down on his shoulder, I plunge my fingers into his mouth, making him taste himself, and he sucks at them greedily, and his asshole clenches around me until I'm grunting my orgasm against his shoulder blade.

Fuck, I've missed this.

When the last tremors of my climax stop, I roll off him and lie on my back, panting. His pants are halfway up the stairs—I don't even remember throwing them—and his top is bunched up around his arms, exposing the full length of his godlike body.

"Fuck me," he groans.

"I already did," I breathe.

He laughs and rolls over, leaving a puddle of cum on the floor. "Well I don't know about you, but I feel much better."

I roll my head, my cheek pressed to the cold tiles. He looks hot as hell, pink faced and ravished, hair a mess and eyes heavy with satisfaction. His spent cock rests against his thigh, and his limbs are loose with relief.

"We're not done yet," I say. We have a lot to make up for, and I'm only just getting started.

His eyes widen and his full lips part soundlessly.

"Go get your cage," I say.