9

-North-

"ARE YOUready for your surprise?" I ask.

Mal stands in the doorway of his bedroom, summoned by my call after waiting patiently in the other room while I got ready. He crosses his arms and leans his hip against the wall, looking both unimpressed and suspicious at the big robe I'm wearing. Boy is he mad at me for pulling that well-being shit. After growling his name out, he spent the entire time in stony silence, alternating the focus of his glare between me, the professor, and the far wall. Professor Kane was smart enough not to call on him to speak again.

Afterward, I took a quick detour into town on my bike while Mal simmered on his own, and now I'm showered and ready to make it up to him. Big time.

But even Mal's sour mood can't put a damper on my elation. Ever since his dad left, there's been a kind of magic haze over everything. Everything feels so right and great and perfect. Against all odds everything has worked out. We're together, officially, and now that the team knows it, it's only a matter of time before everyone knows it. I'm sure I'll get some sort of negative reaction from some people, and while that thought makes my stomach twist, I'm not as agitated as I thought I'd be. Mostly there's just relief that I don't have to try to hide it anymore. I'm so happy and in love with this big grouchy hunk.

"This better be fucking good," he grumbles. "And if it's another cowboy hat I'm returning you."

I grin, spinning the tie of the bathrobe in lazy circles. "It's too late, you've already put your dick in me. No returns."

He scans me, probably trying to figure out where this is going, as his lips quirk up at the edge. He's pissed, but he'll forgive me. He always forgives me.

I reveal myself slowly, untying the dressing gown and letting it fall to the floor, feeling for all the world like a dramatic housewife. A buff, manly housewife.

Mal stiffens visibly, his eyes going wide as he takes in my outfit. Well, I don't think you can actually call something made almost entirely of leather strips an "outfit."

The leather harness goes around my neck—just above the discreet chain collar he gave me—around my shoulders, under my arms, and across my chest. Another harness sits across my hips, leather strips connected to more straps banding my upper thighs. The black leather and metal feels so good against my skin; it's snug and stiff, unbending and constraining. It feels like I'm already bound.

His eyes rake over me before being drawn down to my crotch and the underwear I'm wearing. They're lace, red and sheer, covering me while also being entirely revealing at the same time. I shift my hips, enjoying his reaction, and his eyes track the movement.

I got some funny looks earlier when I went into the store with my LCU hoodie pulled up—looks I'm getting used to when it comes to high-end and designer places. It's like they can smell the poor on me. But I had a secret weapon. One flash of Mal's golden card and it was all smiles and "how can we help you, sir's."

I got horny trying it on. The feel of it against my skin, the tight unyielding leather, and the thought of Mal seeing me like this. The anticipation was almost as erotic as the main event.

And the thought of spending Patrick Asshole Blackwood's money on obscenely expensive lingerie for his son to fuck me in gave me a spiteful thrill. It feels like a massive "fuck you" to him, even though he doesn't know about it. Poetic justice.

"Fuck," Mal breathes.

"What do you think?" I ask.

Instead of answering, he stalks over to me and grabs the back of my head with both hands. Our mouths clash so hard it hurts, and then he's plunging his tongue into me, kissing me with all the ferocious energy he puts into everything. His hands grip my hair tight, like he's worried I'll slip through his fingers, and I kiss him back with just as much force, flattening myself against him.

Without taking his mouth off mine, he pushes me roughly, leading me with the kiss, until I'm up against something hard. The hands tangled in my hair tug hard, jerking my head to the side and tearing the kiss apart. I gasp for air. He licks down my jaw and throat before latching onto the side of my neck. His other hand wanders across my body, tugging on the straps of the body harness, groping my cock through the lace as he makes noises of appreciation.

"I told you you'd like it," I gasp through numb lips.

He plunges his fingers into my mouth. "Shut the fuck up," he rumbles against me, "and suck."

Fuck me, yes sir.I suck on his fingers, trying to swallow them down as far as I can, and he plunges them deeper. It feels good but, god, I want more. I want his cock. Fuck I need his damn cock choking me right now. I try to slide downward but he tightens his grip and pins me in place.

"You're not going anywhere until I say you can," he says, still biting the tender flesh of my neck. I'm going to have the mother of all hickeys tomorrow. It's going to be impossible to hide, and if the guys see it they're going to know exactly who put it there and how. The thought is horrific, and excruciatingly arousing.

He lets go of my hair and tugs at the underwear. He doesn't take it off, though, just slips it low on my hips to release my cock and balls, and it digs deliciously into the creases of my thighs. He palms my dick, and I groan around his fingers as he brings his mouth to my ear.

"Oh, I'm going to have so much fun with you."

My pulse kicks up a notch at the promise in his voice.

"In the session room," he breathes. "Now."

***

There are only two laps I've ever wanted to sit in—mall Santa's, and Mal's. And they're both very different circumstances. For one, I usually don't have a boner when I sit on mall Santa's lap, and second, I don't have a metal bar strapped to my ankles holding my legs apart. But in both circumstances I'm still trying to convince him to give me what I want.

"Fuck, please."

I writhe in Mal's lap. We're sitting in what I call the "horny boy" chair—the one he occupies when he makes me get myself off for his viewing pleasure. I'm sitting sideways on his lap with my arms folded behind me and tied behind my back, wrists to elbows. They're attached to the harness strap around my neck with a length of rope, so that if I pull down or squirm too hard I choke myself.

My legs are held open with a spreader bar, my red underwear snapped down just below my balls, and Mal strokes my cock languidly while he sucks on my nipples. They're red and sore, and every suck, every stroke of his tongue, every bite of his teeth expertly timed with a stroke on my dick, sends a flash of painful pleasure through me that has me jerking and choking myself.

"You're body is so fucking perfect," Mal says as he circles one of my pink, swollen nipples with his tongue, and I squirm, thrusting my hips and cock up into his fist.

"Mal," I beg. I don't know what I'm begging for exactly. All I know is that I'm goddamn desperate.

He's been leisurely enjoying my body for what feels like hours, bringing me to the edge and letting me hang there before drawing back again. It's been pure erotic torture and I'm going to fucking explode if it lasts a second longer.

"God, you look so fucking good."

He's still fully dressed but I can feel the hard heat of his cock pressing into my asscheek through the fabric of his pants. It's so close, but out of reach. I want it out so bad, I'm ravenous for it.

"Mal," I half-choke, half-groan. "Please."

He squeezes my cock and bites down on my nipple at the same time and I cry out. My arms jerk and the strap around my neck digs in. Every time it pulls tight I get a thrill of arousal so sharp it makes my head spin.

"Fuck, Mal, choke me. Please," I gasp.

He lets out a growl and slots his hand around my throat. It feels fucking good, but it's not enough.

"No, with your cock," I rasp, staring at him. "I want you to choke me with your cock."

His eyebrows rise, and I keep on babbling.

"Please. I need it so bad. I don't want to be able to breathe because your cock is fucking choking off my air. I want it stuffed so fucking far down my throat I pass out. I want to gag on it. Please. Please, Mal. Make me black out with your cock."

I'm aware that I sound utterly fucking ridiculous, but there's nothing I can do, I don't have any control over the words coming out of me. It's a need, an urge. I need his cock choking me right now as much as I need to breathe the oxygen I want him to deprive me of. As much as I need to eat, to sleep. I can't survive without it.

My request is enough to knock him out of our session. Mal just stares at me, his hands have gone still, and I buck my body against him. A crease forms between his eyebrows and he puts a hand against my chest, holding me still, although his eyes are still just as ravenous.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yes. I know we haven't gone that far before, but I need to try it. Please Mal, I trust you." I lick around my lips and gulp. He still hesitates, still unsure, but I can tell he wants to do it just as much as me. "And you can trust me, too, I'll use the signal if I need to. Please, let me do it."

Slowly he licks his tongue over his lips.

"Ok."

He shifts, lifts me off his lap and pushes me down onto my knees on the floor, holding me steady while I find my balance. Then he sits back in the chair and undoes his pants.

I lick my lips as his cock springs free, huge and hard and already glistening with precum. My mouth waters at the thought of how much it'll fill me, how much it'll choke me. My breath catches.

Mal settles back into his groove and his posture becomes arrogant again, then he jerks his chin at his cock, instructing me to go to work. I lean forward, nuzzling my head between his thighs, and lick from the bottom of his sack up the full length of his cock. He shudders.

I circle the tip of his head with my tongue, licking up the precum and tasting the salty tang of it, letting out a satisfied hum.

He slides his fingers into my hair and closes them in a tight grip, twisting my head up to look at him. With his other hand, he pushes my lips wide open, sliding his fingers in and out, once, twice, sliding them deeper each time until they brush the very back of my tongue and my throat tightens instinctively. He pulls his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva across my bottom lip, and grips his cock.

He guides it between my lips until it fills my mouth, and I lick the underside of it in little flicks with the tip of my tongue. I look up along the length of his body, and he's staring at me, his dark eyes burning and deep. His face is twisted in a scowl of tightly controlled pleasure.

"Safe signal," he grunts.

I snap my fingers behind my back, a loud click, eager for him to push forward between my already stretched lips. He's so big my jaw is starting to ache, and it's agony sitting here held in place with his cock just resting on my tongue. I need it to plunge into me, cut off my air. I need it to own me.

His lips curl slightly at one corner and then with a sudden thrust of his hips, he forces his cock down my throat. My body stiffens and my eyes water as my throat automatically tries to force him out, gagging on the hard length of him.

Using the grip on my hair to hold me in place, he starts to pump, working up until he's fucking into my throat, deep and hard. Drool slides over my lips and down my chin.

Then with a grunt he rams in hard and doesn't pull out again, just gives small, aborted thrusts as I swallow around him and take him deeper than ever before.

My throat is screaming at me, my jaw is on fire. The lack of oxygen makes my head spin. My body fights to pull back but I can't go anywhere—I'm bound on my knees and held in place by hands so strong they could snap me. I surrender myself to him entirely as my eyes roll back in my head and tears stream down my cheeks.

My hips jerk on their own and my cock bounces in the air, dripping precum as the sheer inescapable pleasure grips my body in a chokehold. A few more seconds and I'm on the cusp of passing out. Darkness leaks in to fill the edges of the room.

And, fuck, why does it feel so fucking good? To have his cock forced so far down my throat that the world wavers? Everything is dark and hazy and I teeter on the edge of climax—

—a moment of suction, a loss of pressure, and suddenly my throat is empty and my lungs automatically suck in ragged breaths. His cock is gone, and the sudden rush of oxygen has my head spinning as the world comes back into focus again.

He's holding my jaw in his hand, watching me closely, and I can see the relief in his eyes. I blink the tears out of my eyes as my body shudders, and I whimper, a pathetic frayed noise, because I want his cock back again.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Why did you stop?" I rasp.

I expect him to say something about not wanting to hurt me, but instead he narrows his eyes, digs his fingers into my jaw, curls his lip and says, "You've had enough of my cock, you greedy fucking slut. You'll get more when I give it to you."

My hips jerk involuntarily. Any protest freezes on my lips in the face of his un-fucking-believably sexy sneer. He takes his cock again and holds it an inch from my face, the head glistening with my spit, taunting me. He keeps it there for a moment, just out of reach.

"Now," he says. "This is going in your other hole."

Before I can react, he stands and drags me across the room by the bar between my ankles, stopping in front of a huge full-length mirror on wheels tucked in one corner.

"And you're going to watch me do it."