38. Ford

CHAPTER 38

FORD

Boston's cock against my prostate managed to force another orgasm out of me, this time the feeling of it rippling over my body from my toes to the top of my hair and back down again. It was consuming in the ways I'd spent my entire life avoiding, but with him, I never wanted another kind of orgasm ever again. I wanted to come like that, with him inside of me and me inside of him, for the rest of my life. Whether it was at my house in the city or on the farm that I knew would be ours, I wanted the rest of my life tied to the man who trembled above me, looking like a submissive prince with his chest puffed out, muscles tense with the force of his own release. His entire body quaked and he fell forward, landing with one hand beside my ear. He reached with the other to pet his way down the outside of my arm, drawing goosebumps in his wake.

"I'm so glad you're home," I said quietly, closing my eyes to enjoy the heat of him against me. "So glad you're mine."

He hummed, giving a little pump of his hips and pushing deeper into me. "So glad I propositioned you for sex."

I chuckled, grabbing him around the waist and tugging him the rest of way down. "I've never been happier about my reputation than I am every time I get to see you come, sweetheart."

"There should probably be something wrong with that."

Boston moved his hand down to ease his cock out, and I winced as he withdrew. He dropped onto the bed beside me, tucking himself against my side with a content and tired groan. It was beyond late and we were both in desperate need of sleep, but I wanted to enjoy every moment with him.

"Do you remember before?" He kissed my armpit and my cock moved.

"Before you?"

"Not that far back. I was thinking more about the time you tied me to the bed."

My dick gave another valiant twitch, eager to rouse from its previous state of exhaustion.

"I very much remember that," I told him.

In fact, I thought about it often. My relationship with Boston, at least when it came to kink, was different than anything I'd had before. Not to say I had much experience with relationships at all, but I'd always put much more focus on the roles and the formality of it than on the intimacy. Part of that was by design, to keep people at arm's length, but with Boston, he comfortably floated on both sides of my defenses. When he decided he wanted to call me Sir, it was everything, but when he didn't…there was no real loss. Both pieces of him made up the whole, and I was more than happy with the package.

"I want to try more of it," he whispered, scrunching his nose against my ribs. "I know I'm not good at it?—"

"Wait, what?" I rolled him onto his back, climbing on top of him and pinning his arms to the bed. His nostrils flared, and he blinked me into focus from the new position.

"I don't do it right."

"There is no right way, Boston."

He looked annoyed, sucking in a breath and rolling his eyes at me. "I don't do it all the time. I don't always call you Sir and I don't always let you be in control."

"Sweetheart." I tutted my tongue against the roof of my mouth, shaking my head. "I'm never not in control here. You don't have to worry about that."

"I don't?—"

"Do you remember when you made the choice?" I asked, tightening my fingers around his arms. "The choice to be with me? To let me be in charge?"

He nodded, breathless.

"Just because I'm not always ordering you around doesn't mean that's changed. This kind of thing…it doesn't look the same for everyone, and this is how it looks for us."

"Are you happy with how it looks?" he asked.

"I couldn't be happier," I promised, dipping down and dusting a kiss across his lips. Boston arched off the bed to chase after me, but I pulled away to repeat, "I couldn't be happier, sweetheart."

His lashes fluttered. "I love when you call me that."

"And I love when you call me Sir. And I love that you don't do it all the time so it's special when you do," I said.

"You call me sweetheart a lot." He smiled up at me, eyes still half closed.

"Because it's my job to take care of you, to make sure that you're happy."

"That's why you're buying me a farm? "

I stretched my back, a yawn escaping out of my mouth that was far too late in the evening for me to try to hold back.

"The farm is selfish," I said, swinging my leg around and dropping back down onto the bed beside him. I was happy to have him home and beyond thrilled to talk with him again. It had been so long since we'd had a chance, but if I didn't get him to sleep soon, I was going to pass out.

"How so?"

"If it's here, so are you," I told him.

"I'm wherever you are, Ford."

"Well." Another yawn. "I'm right here, so let's finish this conversation in the morning."

Boston laughed, rolling away from me and reaching back blindly to drag me closer.

"I love you," he whispered, burrowing into the sheets.

"And I love you."

The night flew by, and I woke up slowly, reaching for Boston and finding his side of the bed empty and cool. I rolled onto my back, picking sleep from the corners of my eyes and staring groggily at the ceiling as I waited for my eyes to start working. While I stretched my legs, Milo jumped up on the bed, smelling like cat litter and fish pate. He meowed and butted his head against mine, purring like a violent little machine until I untangled my arm from the sheets to pet him. The purring got louder, then he smacked me in the mouth with his tail and jumped off the bed.

I stretched for the nightstand, glad that I'd had the foresight at some point the night before to plug my phone in to charge. It was almost ten in the morning, and I was definitely late for work. A quick scan of my emails revealed I'd only missed one meeting, and I fired off a quick text to my secretary to let her know I'd be in before lunch.

How easily I'd gotten lost in Boston, when before him my life had revolved around random hookups and work and more hookups. I lost track of time with him, happy for the distractions. But now that he was back from California and our relationship was out in the open, it was time to face the real world with friends and responsibilities, and all of that shit we'd both managed to pretend didn't really exist.

I took a quick shower and got dressed in a navy blue suit, grabbing a pair of brown leather shoes and a matching belt, which I carried downstairs. I found Boston sitting in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand and a frown on his face.

"Good morning," I said, voice still thick with sleep. He looked up, eyes going wide when he saw me dressed and ready for the day. "You look miserable."

He raised his phone and gave it a shake before dropping it onto the counter. "My brother just fired me."

I sucked in a breath, and any goodwill I'd ever felt for my friend flew straight out the window and far down the street. I dropped my shoes and belt onto a chair and moved around the counter, taking him into my arms and kissing the top of his head.

"What do you mean your brother fired you?"

"He said he has a rule," Boston grumbled into my chest, arms sliding around my waist and holding me loosely.

"A rule about me," I remembered out loud.

He nodded.

Kale's rule was arbitrary and he knew it. We'd both enjoyed the game of it. He liked to pretend he had a say in my life and I liked the thrill of the chase. It was a win-win for both of us, even though my jaunt with his assistant before Boston had cost me a pretty penny in the end.

"I'm sorry, Boston."

He wiggled his shoulders until I let him go, then he walked around to the side of the counter where I'd left my belt and shoes. He picked up the belt, running the Italian leather through his fingers a couple of times before returning to where I stood. Without a word, he carefully threaded the belt through the loops of my slacks, bringing it together in the center and doing up the buckle. Boston smoothed his hands over the stitching on the top of the belt, just over my hip, then took a step back and looked down at the job he'd done. It was a simple thing, really. Putting on a belt, but it made my breath catch in my throat just the same.

"I wasn't going to work for him forever," he said, leaning around to get my shoes and then raising a brow at me in question.

I swallowed, managing a nod.

Boston slowly lowered himself to the floor in the middle of my kitchen, then one at a time, slid my socked feet into my shoes and made neat bows of the thin, waxed laces. Instead of getting up when he finished, he rested in that now familiar pose, palms shaking a little against his thighs. I braced myself against the counter, waiting for his next move while also trying to decide if he was waiting for instruction from me.

I studied the top of his head, the thick brown hair still tousled from sleep and sex, then I gently worked my fingers through the messy strands. Boston hummed and leaned into me as I finger-combed his hair .

"It's not a bad thing, is it?" I finally asked, tilting his head back and forcing him to look up at me.

He shook his head.

"This is what you really want to do, isn't it?" I asked.

He nodded, and my dick stirred behind the fly of my slacks.

"You want to serve me when it pleases you," I said, tightening my fingers in his hair. "And you want to go up to your farm and get your hands in the dirt on the weekends. Come home when you've gotten your fill and then give me mine, isn't that right?"

Boston groaned, hips giving a little circle as if to demonstrate just how much he liked the shape of his new life.

"If that's what you want, sweetheart, it's yours."

"I don't think I'm submissive."

"You look it right now," I said.

"Not all the time," he murmured.

"No. Not all the time."

Having him submit the way I used to have my hookups submit would have gotten boring before the month was out. I liked that Boston took what suited him, trusting me all of the time to know what he needed and when. It was a big responsibility and a steep learning curve, but I was sure we would figure it out.

"I made you coffee," he said, sucking in a breath and dragging his hands down the length of his thighs. He squared his shoulders, eyes far more focused than when he'd gone to his knees in the first place.

"I'm late for work, but I have time to have a cup with you before I go." I slid my hand out of his hair and held it out for him. His hand felt so good against mine, and I helped him to his feet, immediately bringing our bodies together so I could get at his mouth. He tasted like sleep and bitter black coffee, and I loved every second of it.

"Thank you for letting me do that," he said, pulling away for a breath. His cheeks were flushed and eyes downcast.

"Do what?"

"Your belt," he whispered. "Your shoes."

"Boston." I took his hand and placed it against my half hard cock. "Thank you ."

He hummed and smiled, stepping away and turning, then sliding a full mug of coffee across the counter toward me. I crowded in behind him, not ready to be away from him.

"What are your plans for the day?" I asked, raising the mug over his head to take a drink.

"I'm going to clean my mess of clothes out of your entryway," he said, mouth pulled into a tight line. "And then I'm getting lunch with my brother."