23. Gibson

23

GIBSON

“ L et me get to know you better,” Christian says against my lips as his cock grinds on my upper thigh, closer and closer to mine. Tempting me.

It hits me like a bolt of lightning. He wants me.

His mouth drops to my neck, and I suck in a breath as he lights up all the nerve endings screaming for it. Fuck, I want this, too .

But it shouldn’t be tonight—not after what I did to him. Not when he’s so soft and willing and out of his fucking mind.

“Fuck, I can’t,” I groan, trying to hold him still without hurting him.

“Please,” he whispers, his breath hot on my neck, stiffening my cock, too.

“Not here,” I tell him. “Not now.”

“Where? When? I want to feel you all around me.”

“You’re fucked up.”

“I don’t care.”

“I have to care, but Jesus Christ…” He’s getting all my most sensitive spots. He’s even rolling my nipple between his thumb an d forefinger, and it’s got me arching my back off the bed. “Christian, stop…Fuck.”

He sighs against my neck, his hips giving one final, long rock against my leg. “Then I need to go. I can’t be this close to you right now.”

The words cause a grinding sensation in my chest, and a frustrated noise leaves me.

“You need to eat.”

“I need…” He rolls onto his back and winces. “Fuck it, I’m not hungry.”

His cock tents the thin sheet covering his lower half, and I stare at it, my own needs thrashing against my better judgment. Maybe it’s just my luck, but I’ve never had a sub act like this after a scene. Not that he’s my sub. Or a sub. But in my experience they’ve just needed a snuggle and some petting. I’ll have to ask Emilia if any of her male submissives get hornier after an exhausting scene that involved sex already, or if this is a Christian-specific thing.

“You said you wouldn’t resist aftercare.”

He blinks and stares at the ceiling, a frown forming between his brows. “No. I didn’t.”

“Maybe not, but I meant to list that as a condition.”

“Too late,” he says.

“I suppose that’s true if you never want to be tied down again.”

His frown deepens to a scowl. “I didn’t say that. I just don’t need you to spoon feed me soup or whatever when I’m not hungry.”

“I just beat the shit out of you.”

“Look, I drank the water.”

I see he’s made it out of subspace just fine. It was nice while it lasted. But I like him like this, too, so I’m just fucked in general. “Can I walk you out? ”

He turns his head quickly to look at me. “Why? What are you gonna do when I leave?”

I honestly have no idea. I’m lost at the thought. “What are you planning to do?”

“I want to write.”

“Can you?” I ask.

“Yeah…I have a few thoughts I want to try and put together.”

“You should do that,” I say, hearing my depressed tone and unable to hide it.

“You don’t have to stay up here watching other people get off, you know?” he asks. “You could pop some popcorn, watch a movie. Read a book. Take a walk and look for empty buildings.”

“Lock a woman in a cage and make her purr.”

Christian’s gaze narrows. “I guess so.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I have plenty of options. I’d like to see to it that you’re fed and clean, but if you’re ready to go, I can’t stop you.”

“Clean how?”

“There’s a fully functioning bathroom behind that door,” I say tipping my chin over my shoulder.

He stares suspiciously at the door. “No thanks. I’ll take a shower when I get downstairs.”

I hand him the bottle of arnica gel. “Take this and put it over anything especially raw. It’ll make it feel better.”

He examines the bottle, turning it over to read the directions and ingredients. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He sits up, wincing again. “Yep.”

I get out of bed, picking my shirt up from the floor and shrugging it on. “If you need me, text me.”

“Need you for what?” he asks, a faint note of mischief in his voice.

“If you start to feel depressed or off or anything.”

“Do you think I will? ”

“I don’t know, Christian,” I snap, which I immediately regret. Gentler, I add, “But if you do, know I’m here, and I’d prefer you reached out rather than not.”

“Okay,” he says, more contrite as well. “Thank you.”

“I’ll leave you to change,” I say once I’m buttoned up and my shoes are on.

“Gibson?”

I turn to face him as he sits on the edge of the bed, still half covered by the sheet.

“Thank you for tonight. It felt—important.”

I suck in a breath, but it’s like trying to breathe through a straw. We had sex. I fucked him. I came inside him, and it was one of the most intense orgasms of my life. His hole was so tight it was like having my cock in a vise. It hurt. Perhaps not as badly as the flogging I gave him, or the way I stretched him, but I’d entered a certain pleasure/pain state, too, and I for one, could use a bottle of water and a snack. A hug wouldn’t kill me, either.

“I’m glad,” I say, trying not to show too many of my thoughts on my face.

He nods and averts his gaze. I take what feels like might be my only opportunity, while I have any self-control left, and leave him alone to change and leave, but instead of going into the club, I take the hidden stairwell back to my own penthouse, hoping a hot shower will make up for what I feel like I’m losing.

Christian is having trouble finding a comfortable way to sit. He’s long since moved from the chair to the sofa where he’s canted onto his hip, his laptop balanced precariously on one leg and his phone at his side.

I could stare at him constantly—just the way his hair is falling this morning is enough to hypnotize me, but I’ve got lunch with Senator Lawther to mentally prepare for .

I’m not sure if I’m lucky he’s in town, or intensely unlucky. Marianne made her delight—and her expectations—clear again this morning over breakfast.

This isn’t my first foray into blackmail, but it will be the first time I’ve ever wielded the leverage and not hinted at it—and it’ll certainly be the first time I ever used the information I have against a high level government official. I’m not looking forward to it, nor do I have any illusions it won’t backfire horribly onto me.

And not in any way I can plan for or defend. Do I have a lot of information about very powerful people? Yes. Might he also? Almost definitely yes. This is a huge risk, and one I’m not thrilled to take.

I’ve been tossing around the idea of having Christian come with me. While it’s not strictly business related, a show of solidarity could help. Graham might not come alone, either. But if he does, I doubt he’ll be open to discussing terms within earshot of my part-time executive assistant.

It’s likely best if he doesn’t come with me. I should keep this whole disgusting business between Marianne and me. My only reservation is I’d love someone objective to bounce this scheme off of. Or, perhaps more accurately, vent about it with. My relationship with my wife is not an area of my life I invite many people in to view, but ever since Christian and I were on the roof not eating Whole Foods salad, I’ve been wanting to talk about it. Maybe I’m reaching a breaking point. It was bound to happen eventually.

“Okay,” Christian says, shifting to his other hip with a grimace and moving his laptop accordingly. “Hendricks and Omar are rescheduled for Monday. Neither of them could do later this afternoon. So, unless you want me to reach out to some of your other Monday appointments, your afternoon is free.”

“Leave it open,” I tell him. I may need to get very drunk after this lunch. “Are you sure you’re all right? Do you want a Vicodin or something?”

He flashes me a dark look. “Maybe later. I’m fine.”

“You can’t possibly be fine.”

“We’re not talking about this right now,” he says, turning back to his screen. “You have four-hundred and twenty-one emails.”

“Well, if that’s the case, please be still,” I say.

“Yes, sir,” he murmurs, sarcastically.

I inhale deeply through my nose and try to calm down. I’m hopelessly on edge, and all Christian’s fidgeting and his yes, sirs are driving me out of my goddamn mind. I check my watch. 11:30. Fuck.

“You’re sure you don’t want me at your lunch?” he asks after a few minutes of scowling at his screen.

“Positive,” I say. “Why?”

“I could eat, but I assume it’s personal if you don’t want me there.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you there,” I hedge.

“You just said you didn’t.”

“It’s just better if you’re not.”

“You seem stressed.”

“What gave me away?”

“You’re not usually so savage with your ties.”

I have been tugging at the knot quite a bit. It’ll need to be redone before I leave to meet with Lawther. Christian’s mention of it, however, has me picturing doing something else with it—like tying his hands behind his back, jerking on the knot and making his chest jut out. Sucking a mark into his throat. I blink away the vivid image before I start getting hard, but not before I remember the way his mouth felt on my nipple, how eager I’d been to spread my legs and submit to him .

I’m sure this is some sort of transference. Marianne being a Domme in her own right has had me imagining many submissions over the last couple of years—letting her tie me up—even lock my cock in a cage so she feels safe while I pleasure her with my mouth. A few weeks ago, I would have given anything for one opportunity, but now, with this Avery mess between us and her stiffening at my touch, the thought of it arouses me less than the thought of allowing myself to be physically overpowered by this man I find more beautiful by the hour.

I’m acting out. Like a toddler who’s been denied his favorite toy. That’s all this is.

“Can you let my driver know to pick me up in ten minutes?” I ask, rising from my chair.

“Are you sure?”

I sigh. “Yes, Christian.”

“Need help with anything else?” he asks as I walk to the bathroom.

“Tempting, but I can take care of myself.”

Realizing too late how that sounded, I close the door only to confront my flushed face and fevered eyes in the bathroom mirror. No wonder he asked if I was stressed. Have I looked like this all morning? I need to get myself under control if I’m to have any hope of pulling off this lunch.

When I emerge from the bathroom with a cooler head and softer dick, he ruins everything by approaching me to straighten my tie.

With his hands against my chest, his knuckles grazing my throat, and his hair within smelling distance, I feel myself going weak. Soft on the inside. I should have jerked off.

“Now that your afternoon is free,” he says in a low, quiet voice, “Is there anything you want to accomplish, or is downtime something you enjoy?’

“Depends on the downtime,” I answer just as quietly.

“You want to tell me what’s up with this lunch?”

My tie can’t possibly be that crooked, but he keeps messing with it. I have no desire to stop him. “Meet me for a drink afterward, and I’ll fill you in. ”

“I can do that.”

“Yeah? You don’t have plans?”

“Nothing I can’t change.”

“You’d change your plans for me?” I ask, unexpectedly flattered.

“I like getting drunk with you,” he says.

“Hmm… Not sure what I think about that.”

“I think you like it, too.”

“Bold assertion,” I tell him.

He gives me a cocky half-grin. “I also think you like bold assertions.”

He finally finishes with my tie and rests his hands on my upper chest, lifting his gaze to meet mine. I wonder in a passing way, if my relationship with Marianne were what I’d wanted it to be when we got married whether the way Christian looks at me would affect me the way it does now. I’m terrified of the answer to that, because it could very well be yes.

Thank God for this open arrangement I’ve never once been grateful for.

“Where do you want to get drinks?” I ask.

He gives a casual shrug. “I’ve always wanted to try out the Downside.”

“You’ve never been?”

“Don’t you have to know someone to get in there?”

“Pretty boy like you?” I say. “Doubt it.”

He smiles. “Good luck with lunch.”

“Thank you,” I say, and it comes out a sigh.

He makes a low sound, almost like a groan, and I don’t know how the fuck I manage not to kiss him.