14. Gibson

14

GIBSON

T he only thing that gives away Christian’s uncertainty is the barely there crease of a line between his dark brows. Otherwise, his face is as still and stoic as usual. The only hint that the man even possesses a soul is in his burning blue eyes.

When he doesn’t say anything, I’m forced to fill in the gap. “You came here looking for something. You’re disappointed you haven’t found it. But I’ve seen you trying, and I think I might be able to help.”

“With a scene? Like a BDSM thing?”

When he says things like that, he sounds like a virgin. Like an innocent lamb I could lead any way I want. It’s beyond compelling, and I could stand here staring at him all day like this, but I need him to say yes.

“Let me help you, Christian.”

“Is this like—my bonus?”

I don’t smile, though it is cute.

When I don’t, he swallows hard. “Would it help you, too?”

The question catches me off guard. It’s a kick to the gut that knocks the wind out of me. I answer with a single nod .

“Okay.”

We stare at each other another long moment before I ask, “Would you rather here or in The Dungeon?”

“I—I’m not sure.”

“It’d save six flights of stairs to do it here, and I have everything I need.”

“Like what?”

“Restraints. A place to restrain you. A tool to make you feel something.”

His lips part, and his eyes go soft. “Okay.”

“Do you trust me?” I ask.

He nods.

“I won’t act without your consent. Say yes.”

“Yes.”

“And you can call me by my name. Sir would feel ridiculous after the week we’ve had.”

“Okay.”

“Since I’ll count this as your first time, I’ll give some options. Clothes on or clothes off?”

“Which would be better?”

I shrug a shoulder. “It’s completely up to you. Ultimately the experience is the same. Without clothes it would be more intense. It would leave marks.”

He gives it a moment’s thought. “Can I start with them on and see?”

“Of course. This next question, I can’t answer for you. If you get aroused, will you want to see that through?”

Christian puts a hand to his throat in a delicate gesture I’ve never seen him use before he ducks his head to the side. His answer is quiet. Almost shy. “Yeah.”

“Then I’d suggest a looser fitting pant.”

His gaze tracks to his suitcase—to those black joggers that have changed my body chemistry. If he puts on the tank, I don’t know what I’ll do .

“I’ll need a few minutes to get ready,” I tell him. “When you are, come into the other bedroom. No need to knock.”

“Okay.”

I turn, hauling in a deep breath as I cross the living room to the third suite. From beneath the overlarge bed, I pull out a drawer full of exactly what I promised him. I unfold a leather mat and place it on the bed, bending it to a forty-five degree angle for him to lie over with his ass up and his head down. I only need four cuffs since I plan to manage his neck myself. Finally, I bring out the softest leather flogger I own. I’m able to wield it well enough to leave a mark, but it’s less harsh than the braided one I use on more experienced submissives.

In case things escalate in a way I’m not expecting, I put a bottle of lube within easy reach and dampen a towel in the en suite, folding it before placing it on the nightstand. I talk a big game about knowing what he needs, but so much of domination is about responding in the moment. I like to be prepared.

He enters the room wearing the tank top—of course—while I’m attaching the wrist restraints to the board.

“Christ,” he whispers, looking around the relatively blank space.

The windows are covered with blackout drapes. The walls are black. The bed is ebony and dressed in black satin. It’s about the least fun playroom ever, but I’ve never had a reason to make it more interesting. I find that all the darkness limits distractions.

“I mentioned I’ve done this before.”

“I didn’t realize this was here the whole time.”

“Would you like music?”

“Sure.”

I reach into my pocket, take out my phone, and connect it to the bluetooth. “Preferences?”

“No,” he says, still eyeing the bent board.

“If you leave it to me, it’ll be maudlin piano.”

“That sounds perfect.” He takes a few steps closer to the bed .

Moonlight Sonata it is. It’s the first of many melancholy songs on a depressing playlist I like to listen to when it rains at night, and I’m in bed alone wishing for my wife. Might as well put it to good use.

As the first notes fill the space, Christian glances at me. “I might not recognize a single piece of art in this town, but that’s Beethoven, right?”

“Yes,” I say. Then I point to the board. “Head here. Knees here.”

He takes a deep breath and climbs on, moving into position so smoothly, it’s like his body is made of liquid. The moment his ass is posed, I get a sharp twinge in my groin. Licking my lips, I gather myself and lock him into place. I’d hazard a guess that he’s never looked as sexy as he does bent over black leather with his ass high and his cheeks pink.

I’m so grateful he chose to keep his clothes on. I’d be a mess otherwise. I’ve only gotten more attracted to him as the days have passed, which means the alcohol was an innocent bystander. His long, slim, tight body is purely wicked.

He’s been a slap in the face, waking up something inside me that wants to take and stroke and bite and hit. Something that wants to kiss and suck and thrash. Do I want to fuck him?

Yes.

So badly I can barely see straight.

I clear my throat. “There will be moments I ask you whether you want more or less. Be honest.”

“I will.”

“Your safe word is?” I ask.

“Sacrifice.”

I lick my dry lips and stare down at the sliver of exposed skin at his lower back. “There will also be moments where I’m very soft. The contrast makes the experience…brighter.”

“Yes, sir,” he whispers, and my cock swells. I thought it would sound silly, stupid. But it’s so right, so perfect, I pick up the flogger, place my left hand on his neck to hold down his head, and strike his ass with the leather straps.

He exhales, and his body loses all its tension at once, his elbows and knees sliding on the board. Immediately he tries to right himself, his neck pressing into my hand.

“My hand is here,” I say, giving his nape a firm squeeze, “To remind you to relax and let this be. You’ll get something out of fighting it, but it won’t be what you’re looking for.”

“How do you know what I’m looking for?”

“You’ve been telling me for five days.” I press harder with my hand and whip him again. “Now relax or safe word. Your choice.”

He lets his head rest, and I run my fingers through his hair, petting him like a good boy. “That’s right, Christian. More or less?”

“More.”

I don’t go harder, but I do go faster, lashing him twenty times across his ass and thighs. He takes it well—panting without whining. His body remains stiff with resistance. On the twentieth strike, I run the flogger’s straps up his crotch, over his crack and back down again. He’s shaking, still fighting to let his thoughts go.

“More?”

“Pull my pants down,” he whispers harshly. “P-please.”

Finally .

With the handle of the flogger between my teeth, I do as he wishes, exposing his ass and his upper thighs. My gaze zeroes in on his ruddy sack and his swollen cock, smashed against the leather, unable to rise.

I’m sweating through my shirt. I unbutton the top three buttons, but it’s not enough. Taking the whole thing off, I toss it to the floor.

I whip his outer thighs lightly for a long minute, getting him used to the feel of the leather on his bare skin, a hint of the bite it will have if I go harder .

“More or less?”

He lets out a soft whimper. “More?”

“More or less, Christian?”

“Less,” he pants. “Less. Please. Give me a second.”

I run the leather straps along his smooth, golden skin, desperate to watch those luscious cheeks turn bright red.

It takes me a moment to realize it, entranced as I am, but he’s crying. I no longer need to hold his head down because his face is buried in the mat as he quietly sobs.

“More?” I guess.

“Please.”

Aiming straight for the crease between his butt and legs, I strike him as hard as I’ve been craving. I repeat the motion multiple times until a pearl of precum slides down the leather mat. His cock jerks, and mine responds as if they’re connected.

“This will finish you, if you let it,” I tell him, breathless.

He sniffs and nods. I move the flogger in a rhythm, a circle, hitting every spot that’s red and bright and then softly stroking his genitals with it before beginning the circle again. One round is harder, the next is lighter, but I don’t stop. He’s sniffing and sobbing, whining and groaning, and all the sounds are like the filthiest porn. My cock aches to shove inside him and finish us both, but that wasn’t our agreement, and it isn’t what he needs. Maybe one day…

“Gibson,” he cries out, which is not his safe word.

He’s close. Precum pours from him. I return my hand to his neck, focus the flogger on gentler strokes between his spread thighs. On the fifth or sixth pass, he explodes.

His body spasms, bucking the restraints. Cum shoots from his cock, pooling in the bend of the board, staining the black leather with sticky white. I bite back a groan at the sight of it.

“More,” he begs.

Everything in me wants to use my mouth, but I drop the flogger and wrap my hand around his throbbing cock instead, milking him until the steady flow turns sporadic, and he’s shaking so hard I’m afraid he’ll pass out. I smooth my hand over one of his reddened ass cheeks and step back.

“Breathe, Christian,” I say.

He struggles. I see it in every jerking muscle fiber, but some air finally makes it into his lungs, and he lets it all go in a wrenching sob that threatens to break my heart.

Using the wet towel on the nightstand, I clean him with a few gentle caresses, then I pull his pants back up. I unbuckle the restraints on his ankles first, then move to release his hands.

I try to help get him upright, but he shrugs me away.

“No,” I say firmly. “We’re not finished.”

“Whatever you’re offering, I don’t need it.”

“You’ll take it. Give me your hand.”

His head turns, and his tear-stained glare is both angry and wounded. He slaps his hand too hard against my palm, and with one hand on his lower back, I help him upright until he’s on his knees. His ankle restraints were tighter so I give each of his ankles a rub to ensure good circulation. Touching the soles of his feet, I find them warm.

“Now lie down,” I tell him.

“I’m fine.”

Tears are still pouring down his splotched, red face, and every few seconds, a full-body shudder takes hold of him. If I don’t get a blanket on him soon, he’ll start shivering. Sub drop is real, and what he just experienced was intense for him. His hormones—his adrenaline—are all about to leave him in a rush. “Lie down, Christian.”

He wipes his face and turns his back on me, moving to the other side of the bed and curling onto his side.

Hastily, I remove the mat, folding it quickly and sliding it off the mattress.

Without wanting to make this more awkward for him, I put my shirt back on without buttoning it before grabbing the blanket from the foot of the bed. I climb in to sit next to him, propping myself against the headboard. “It would help if you’d let me hold you,” I say.

“I told you I’m okay.”

“Either you trust me, or you don’t. I’m not trying to take advantage of a situation. I want to take you through the experience safely, and if even a small part of you wants to do this again, you’ll do as I say.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “How do you want me?”

“Turn around and come here.”

Slowly, he drags his body through the motions. I gather him against my chest as soon as I have enough access to his torso to accomplish it. To my relief—and surprise—he drapes an arm around my waist and slots his leg between mine. Fine tremors continue to run through him, and I pull the blanket over us both.

“You did very well,” I tell him softly, speaking into his hair.

He lets out a heavy sigh and relaxes against me. I run my hand up and down his bare arm where chill bumps create friction against my palm. After a minute, I offer him a sip of water through a straw. “Drink.”

He does and then sags back against my chest.

“Why does this help?” he asks after a long minute or two of nothing but sad, beautiful music.

“It’s partly meant to reassure you that what you went through was a gift to me as much as it was an outlet for you.”

“It was?—”

“Shh…we can speak about it later if you like. Right now, try to relax. Focus on the moment. Let go of your thoughts again if you can.”

“Is there more to it than snuggling?” he asks, which makes me roll my eyes, but not with impatience. Just a reminder that he’s new to this, and our situation isn’t exactly conducive to this level of intimacy.

“Do you need there to be? It’s a two-way street. ”

“You’re blowing my mind a little,” he says in a rare moment of unguardedness. “I didn’t think it’d be like this.”

“This is what it’s like with me,” I tell him.

“I don’t hate it.”

“Good.” I stroke his arm slower. The chills are gone, leaving only the silky, lightly hair-dusted skin. The contours of long, lean muscles.

“Feels like there should be more, though.”

“I could get you into the bath…”

“No,” he says, lifting his head to look at me. “I mean if it’s like you said, then it shouldn’t be all about me.”

I stroke his face. “That’s how it works, beautiful boy.”

His eyelids flutter, and I see the drop as it happens. The fight leaving him. What I don’t expect, what I never could have seen coming, are his warm lips pressing into mine.

I choke back a moan, but his hand is moving up my chest now, and he’s leaning in. I can’t help myself from taking what he’s offering.

I part my lips, allowing him access but forcing myself to not take control, to be still. Unlike last time when I practically assaulted his mouth, I let him lead and take what he needs from me, giving him just enough to let him know he can continue as long as he’d like.

It’s not easy. My semi surges into a full erection with the wet laps of his tongue against mine. “Mmm…” The sound slips out as we continue to kiss gently and slow. It’s perfect. Possibly the best thing I’ve felt in years. Almost in as long as I can remember. His taste is like nectar he’s feeding me, and I accept the delicious flavor of him. So new. So enticing. So fucking hot, it’s unbearable.

His leg shifts between mine as he moves into my mouth from a new angle. His body rolls in the rhythm of a sensuous fuck. My hips tilt involuntarily, stroking my aching length against his bent knee .

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. Nor does it seem to bother him. If anything, the kiss only gets wetter, sexier.

I don’t mean to, but I put my hand on his ass, holding him in place for my cock to use. Our languid pace makes everything more subtle, even the way I’m grinding as he uses his whole body to make out with me.

It’s the biggest turn on, even though this wasn’t what I had in mind at all. I can’t believe we made it back to this place. That we’ve maybe made it to a better place.

His sounds are more restrained as we continue to rock into each other, never breaking mouth contact, swallowing each other’s soft throat groans and satisfied sighs. They’re a second course of this buffet of him. I wonder if he realizes just how sexy he is—that I’ve seen women and men and sex of all stripes, and very little compares to this .

Jesus Christ, I’m close.

I should stop, but I can’t bring myself to. I want to keep kissing him, and I desperately want to come. I move my grip from his ass to his hip, attempting to save myself the embarrassment, but it doesn’t do anything about his knee gently putting the exact right amount of friction on my cock.

Lust coalesces in my groin, aimed straight at that intense point of contact. Warmth pools in my core, and as his tongue slides over mine again, and his knee presses against my tight balls, I shudder out a breath that ends with a broken groan and cum gushing from my cock, enough to soak my pants in an instant.

I’m mindless as his lips suck mine. My hips jerk with each gush of my release. Everything feels softer. His lips, his body, this kiss that rocked my fucking world off its axis.

Out of breath, I retract my mouth, and he lets his fall to my neck where he leans his head against mine and breathes heavily.

“Was that okay?” he whispers.

Does he realize I came? Is he talking about kissing as aftercare? I can’t string a coherent thought together. All I’ve got is, “Of course.”

“We’re probably gonna have to talk about this at some point,” he says.

“We will.”

“How long until the car gets here?”

I check my watch. “Another hour.”

“I could fall asleep,” he says.

So could I. “Here?”

He nods.

“May I stay?”

“Of course,” he says, like it’s nothing—the privilege of sleeping in a bed with him. Yet, those two simple words rock me harder than the orgasm did.

We rearrange only enough to rest our heads on pillows. His knee remains in my wet spot, and I move my hand to his lower back where his shirt has ridden up. I splay my palm across his hot skin and let him nestle his forehead against my shoulder. Within moments, I’m in an utterly dreamless sleep.