17.

SEVENTEEN

Dominic

When the elevator doors open, I get up from my seat at the kitchen bar of Rafael’s penthouse. He halts at the sight of me. His cock is a visible rod inside his black leather pants. His jaw is set. He looks pissed.

He’s not the only one.

“You wanna tell me where the fuck you’ve been and why the fuck you haven’t answered me?”

He starts walking, boots thudding across the hardwood floor as he angles toward the other side of the bar.

That’s not fucking happening.

I meet him at the edge, grabbing his arm. I expect him to yank away or maybe hit me. What I don’t expect is the way he turns toward me and presses his face against my neck.

Like he needs me.

Like he’s glad I’m here.

What I really don’t expect is the way my anger fades as I put my arms around him. What I can’t quite think about is how right it feels.

My hands drift down to the small of his back. I frown.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask as I pull out the gun I find holstered there.

He’s still leaning into me when he answers, “A gun.”

“Obviously.” I set it on the counter. “Did you kill someone? Did you leave a mess?”

He draws back with a sigh and shrugs out of his leather motorcycle jacket. He lays it on the counter.

“Rafael—answer me.”

“No, I didn’t kill anyone. No, there’s no mess.”

“So what’s going on?”

He walks into the kitchen and grabs a bottle from the backlit shelves. He shows it to me, offering.

I grab two scotch glasses and go to stand beside him as he uncorks the bottle. I set the glasses down. He pours.

“I was following someone who’s been into the club a few times. Someone I flagged.”

“What does that mean?”

“Certain types of play get flagged for monitoring. Certain words. Or sometimes just a person I don’t like. Usually it’s nothing. But sometimes it’s an indication.”

“An indication of what?”

He shrugs. “Someone bad. Someone I need to deal with.”

I think through what he’s saying. “So you use the sex club to identify what, predators?”

“In part, yeah.”

“So it’s a honey trap.”

“One that’s caught a few flies over the years.

“And you kill them.”

Rafael turns to put his back to the counter and sips his scotch. He doesn’t answer and doesn’t need to. I’ve seen him in action more than once.

I ask, “Was the one tonight nothing or something?”

He crosses his arms over his ribcage, resting his scotch against his elbow. “I’m not sure yet.”

“So you were watching this guy.”

“Yes.”

“For three fucking hours.”

“Apparently.”

“And in all that time, you couldn’t reply to me?”

Anger flashes through his gray eyes. “You didn’t reply to me last night.”

“So this was you being a petty bitch?”

He scrubs at his face and suddenly looks so tired that I think, No. It wasn’t. It was something else.

I glance down at his crotch and feel something unfamiliar. I think it’s worry. “Why are you so hard?”

“Because I’ve had a prostate massager in my ass all night.”

“Jesus.”

“I need to come.”

My cock, which has been swelling ever since he walked in with his dick like that, throbs at the word. But he doesn’t get to ignore me and keep me waiting then demand my cock.

“Then do it,” I tell him.

He huffs. “You think I won’t jack off in front of you?”

“I know you will—because I require it.”

The anger fades from his eyes to reveal the truth. He’s upset. He needs me to take control.

I take his glass from him and set it aside. I start unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the muscled planes of his chest. He uncrosses his arms to let me pull the shirt from his waistband.

I grip his sides and rub my thumbs against the notched muscles of his abdomen, skimming down to his tattoo. I want to keep going. I want to touch his cock and his ass, but I won’t.

I step back and pick up my scotch. “Finish undressing,” I tell him as I lean back against the opposite counter.

“You’re just going to watch?” he asks as he takes off his shirt.

“You’ll know what I’m going to do when I do it. What you’re going to do is whatever I say.”

I can almost feel how he calms down. Sometimes he needs force, but not tonight. Tonight he just needs direction. I’m surprised to find that I’m okay with that. I love being rough with him, I love that he can take it—I need him to take it. But not always.

“Take off your boots,” I order.

He does it, letting them thump to the floor. He strips his socks off too.

“Pants,” I say when he’s done. “Slow. Keep facing me.”

He understands. He unbuttons them and drags his zipper down.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as he opens his pants to reveal the slutty, hot pink g-string. The cloth is stretched to its limit, barely holding his stiff cock. His swollen balls are spilling out the side.

My dick turns rock hard in my pants. I take a solid drink of the smoky, burning scotch to keep myself from grabbing him, spinning him around, and giving him my cock after all.

Rafael’s leather pants are pretty tight, so they cling to his muscled thighs as he pushes them down. God, he’s hot.

When he’s free of them, I order gruffly, “Turn around and bend over. Let me see what’s in your ass.”

He does it, revealing the hot pink strap threading along his crease, lying over the black base of the toy. I approach for a better look. It presses along his taint and nudges at his swollen balls from behind.

My cock throbs at the sight. I’ve always known how beautiful Rafael is. I’ve always known how sexy he is. But getting to see him like this, getting to touch him?

Sipping my scotch to keep myself grounded and calm, I take hold of the massager with my free hand and start pulling it out slowly.

“ Fuck ,” Rafael gasps, clutching at the counter. He’s breathing hard, the muscles of his back shifting under his tattooed skin. The geometric pattern interwoven with thorns and roses and skulls spreads from his spine to flare over his shoulders. It’s beautiful work.

But the toy has my attention as I watch it emerge from his body. My god, you’re beautiful. I love watching you. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but he doesn’t get words like that tonight. He’s in trouble.

When the toy pops free, Rafael’s hole flutters and tightens. I’m sure he feels empty. I hope he feels desperate. I need him to understand who’s in control.

I study the slight curve of the massager, the button at the base. I make him wait until he’s almost whining, then I push the toy back inside. I turn it on. His body convulses against the counter.

“On the floor,” I tell him. “Hands and knees. Face away from me and fuck your hand.”

He slides away from the counter and drops to the floor on all fours. He reaches under himself, gripping his cock within the cloth of his g-string. My body rocks with a wave of arousal as his arm starts moving.

I stay behind him so he can’t see me. I unbuckle my belt and open my pants. I shove my underwear below my balls. Taking my stiff length in hand, I start stroking. Relief washes through me.

God, he’s beautiful to watch with that perfect, highly sexual body, his defined ass framed by the hot pink straps, the toy vibrating visibly in his hole. He’s beautiful to listen to as he moans.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“You.”

“Doing what?”

“Fucking me.”

That won’t do. His mind doesn’t get to leave here to indulge in some fantasy of something that’s not happening. He’s been away all night. I need him here, present, fully with me.

I set my drink aside and pull my belt from my pants. I crack it across his ass. His body jerks, and he lets out a bark of pain. Red blooms across his skin.

I drop to one knee beside him. I loop the belt around his neck and take a firm grip. He chokes as I pull him up into a kneeling position. His hands instinctively grab at the constriction.

The hot pink cloth is pushed aside, his cock jutting free of it. He’s so fucking swollen, the veins heavy, the head flushed dark and flaring hard. Precum is pulsing from his slit, threading down to the floor.

I loosen the belt a little to let him breathe. I’m at his shoulder but still mostly behind him. He can’t really see me.

I whisper in his ear, “Stop thinking. All you need to do is feel. Now make yourself come.”

He wraps his hand around his cock again and strokes.

“Faster,” I order.

He obeys. His lips are parted, his eyes dark. His stomach is contracting hard.

He’s leaking enough precum to slick his cock, but lube would help. He’ll be sore. I don’t care. He deserves it. He should be glad I’m letting him come at all.

When he’s almost there, his hand frantic, his body curling, I tighten the constriction on his throat. He lets out a choked cry as cum leaps from his cock. It almost makes me come just seeing it.

His body tightens as he spurts, cum shooting high to land on the floor. My eyes want to close as the waves of arousal crash through me, but I force them to stay open. I don’t want to miss a second.

As the last of his release rolls down his hand, I use the belt around his neck to pull him backward, forcing his back onto the floor. His legs unfold. As he lies there, spent and staring up at me, twitching as the massager continues to vibrate inside him, I stand.

It doesn’t take much for me to come as I look down at him like that. A few strokes has my back tightening, my balls pulsing, and my cock shooting out ropes of cum that land on his chest and belly and cock.

The relief is brief and shallow. I’m still so damn angry with him. For ignoring me. For making it so I had to punish him, which punished me—because I didn’t get to come inside him.

I’m tempted to let him pass out here on the floor. He’s close to it, with his eyes half shut like that.

With my belt around his neck, with him covered in my cum, I’m reminded of how we started. How I left him that first night.

I almost do it. I know I should.

But instead I reach between his legs and turn off the vibrator. I pull it out. I get a kitchen towel and clean him up.

I even wipe away the tear that leaks from the corner of his eye before I haul him up and make him go to bed.