9. Kyle

CHAPTER 9

Kyle

K yle jumped, startled, as Epsilon trailed his warm mouth along his neck and exposed collarbone and then snaked a hand around his waist. Deft fingers popped open the button on his leather trousers and slid beneath, drawing an inadvertent groan from Kyle as that same clever hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke it to hardness.

It took a moment to articulate words that were more than unintelligible grunts. "What…what are you doing?"

"Reminding you of who you are," Epsilon murmured. His hands abruptly disappeared, as did the heat of his body at Kyle's back, and Kyle turned to find the man sinking to his knees with smooth grace, his head lowered and arms folded neatly behind his back in the perfect pose of submission.

When Kyle was kneeling, he felt awkward and off balance. Epsilon looked like he fucking belonged down there.

And yet as often as it featured in Kyle's fantasies and dreams, he couldn't remember a time since his initial training half a decade ago that the Master had presented himself to him like this.

It was already doing wonderful and terrifying things to his dick.

Kyle touched the other man's hair almost hesitantly, a child in a room of delicate porcelain that he knew better than to handle…yet the temptation of doing so was too great. Epsilon pushed his head further into the contact, chasing a caress, with his eyes closed and a blissful look on his face that Kyle could have come from alone if he hadn't known it was just an act.

He pulled his hand back and Epsilon mewled feebly before raising his chin to seek out more affection. By the stars, he was good at this. Years of managing a House had not dulled his skills one bit: thirty seconds in and Kyle was ready to wrap him in a blanket and growl at anyone who tried to take his submissive from him.

Kyle had seen Master Epsilon flay masochists into unconsciousness, fuck men senseless in every which way, and display such cruelty to those who asked for it that even Kyle's usually eager cock had wilted in horror at the sight. But this was his other side, no less dedicated or tough, and Kyle felt a lump form in his throat at the gift he was being given.

He didn't insult Epsilon by asking if he was sure about this. He wouldn't have offered if he wasn't, wouldn't be continuing to do so now, with his head bowed and gaze fixed dutifully on the floor.

He knew what Kyle was capable of. He'd been the one to teach him. They were both familiar with the ways in which this could be called to a stop, and the cameras were still on.

No, the Master of House Epsilon was in no danger, but Kyle felt he might be. He remembered how hard this addiction had been to break back when his training stopped and he started to take clients, and he wasn't sure he could endure it again.

Yet he couldn't help himself.

Reverently, his fingertips traced Epsilon's face. Up his jawline, across the angle of his cheeks and down to that enticing mouth, before dragging his bottom lip down with his thumb. Epsilon waited patiently, eyes lowered and letting Kyle touch him as he wanted.

"Any injuries I should know about?"

"No, Sir," said Epsilon.

Kyle skimmed his hands lightly down the other man's neck, revelling in the vulnerability of the act as his fingers ghosted over his throat. Through it all Epsilon never untucked his hands from behind his back or withdrew from Kyle's touch, trusting him implicitly with his body even if he'd always avoided giving more of himself than that.

Kyle reached his collar and paused. Took hold of his expensive grey tie and tugged sharply to lift Epsilon's chin, watching the man's gaze flare with lust as the knot cinched tighter around his neck.

Fuck, he was beautiful .

He pulled harder, making Epsilon rock forward onto his hands and knees.

He could have fought back, but he didn't. Instead he knelt and submitted, doing nothing to relieve or escape his predicament, and his surrender was made all the more thrilling by it.

Kyle was careful to keep the makeshift leash taut as he moved towards the far wall, and the sight of the Master forced to crawl quietly at his heels made blood rush to his cock. Yet even in that demeaning position, pulled around by his own tie, Epsilon's movements were enviably elegant. His lithe grace and long legs made it mesmerising to watch, and Kyle wished there was more floor so he could enjoy it for longer. The line of delectable skin visible on Epsilon's neck between his neatly trimmed hair and the collar of his expensive shirt had him staring.

When they reached the wall and Kyle let go of his tie, Epsilon continued to wait on all fours for Kyle's permission before moving. Kyle let him wait, enjoying the way he was being obeyed without hesitation or protest.

That kind of trust was rare, precious, and utterly intoxicating.

"Now stand up and strip for me."

Epsilon did as ordered, but with slow, deliberate movements that Kyle might have chastised if he wasn't enjoying himself so much. First the man peeled the tie from his throat and laid its rolled form on the cushioned seat of the sofa, before following with his carefully folded waistcoat and undershirt. Next, his shoes and socks, with the latter placed neatly into the former, and his belt coiled atop both.

Kyle drank him in, from the small epsilon symbol tattooed over his heart to the Japanese lettering on his right wrist. His shoulders, while not broad, were well-defined with a strength that lent natural poise to his every gesture. Faint traces of muscle could be seen on his slender body, but it was his lithe frame and the fluid way he moved that was truly captivating.

Kyle pressed a hand to the growing tightness in his own trousers.

The light trail of hair across Epsilon's chest and down his abdomen added a hint of ruggedness to his otherwise smooth skin, balancing softness with a touch of natural masculinity. Kyle watched him hook his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers, caught by surprise when Epsilon undermined all of the gentle care he'd shown with the rest of his clothes by yanking both his trousers and underwear down in a single urgent move.

His cock sprung free, already hard and glistening at the tip. Kyle's breath caught.

Epsilon remained silent, but his expression held a glimmer of satisfaction that he was clearly allowing him to see. Kyle's eyes narrowed and he quickly closed the distance between them. The man wasn't known for being a brat when in his submissive form, but he had his moments.

So Kyle wrapped his fingers around Epsilon's dick and gave it two rough strokes, using his other hand to tug down cruelly on the man's balls.

Epsilon hissed, his own hands lifting on instinct to push Kyle away before he caught himself and forced them back down to his sides. His breathing was harsh and uneven, and his bare shoulders heaved as he sucked in air, clearly turned on.

By the stars, he was exquisite like this.

"Hands on the wall," Kyle ordered, turning him around to face it and immediately regretting the loss of the warm, silky hardness of the man's cock in his palm.

Epsilon's fingertips met the wall at shoulder height, his skin tone a few shades from Kyle's own. He probably would have widened his stance if Kyle told him to – he was an extremely obedient submissive, just as he was a terrifyingly demanding Dominant, and seeing his boss' switch nature play out the extremes was as hot as fuck – yet Kyle kicked his feet to force them wider apart, just for the pleasure of watching Master Epsilon stumble.

They may not have played alone like this for over four and a half years, but it felt like yesterday. Memories of his initial training came flooding back and almost overwhelmed Kyle with their intensity: of Epsilon serving him, pleasing him, letting him take him. Kyle had been fucking addicted to the man, and even as achingly hard as he was now – a state that Epsilon mirrored and was unable to hide when he stood naked and shivering against the wall – Kyle knew that this was a terrible idea. It was a relapse in everything but name, and if they continued, it would be hell on his body and mind to be cut off from it again.

Was a single half hour of pleasure worth the torment that would inevitably follow as he replayed it over and over in his mind in the weeks and months that followed, craving just one more touch, one more taste?

Yet as clear as it was that he should be putting a stop to this before it went too far, Kyle found it impossible to do any such thing. Desire surged through him, sweeping him away in a torrent of blinding need for the intimacy they'd once had. Kyle didn't care that Epsilon had been with many others since him; couldn't care because it was what both their jobs required, but working with the man every day and not getting to trail his hands across his bare skin like he was doing now had been the most exquisite, painful torture.

Kyle had no claim on Master Epsilon. For Kyle was nothing special; just one of his many employees, and even if he was sometimes trusted with more responsibility than the others, all it meant was that Kyle had been at the House the longest.

He had no right to this beautiful, enigmatic, frustration of a man before him, but still he wanted him so badly it hurt .

Kyle kissed the hollow between his shoulder blades and felt him tremble beneath his touch. Then he crossed to the toy cupboard, opening the second drawer from the top and pulling out his favourite flogger. Supple black leather with a tightly bound black and silver handle.

"Let me guess," drawled the Master. "Second drawer, silver stitched handle." Kyle looked over his shoulder, preparing a sharp rebuke, but Epsilon was still facing the wall, spread and bared where he'd left him.

Kyle eyed the other whips and floggers, tempted to choose another but strongly suspecting he was being manipulated, and then shut the drawer with his hip. Passing the sofa, he paused and pulled the other man's tie from underneath his folded shirt. Kyle remembered how well Epsilon had responded to being blindfolded, to having his sight removed and unable to see what was coming next, and sure enough, he heaved out a ragged, aroused breath as it was tied over his eyes.

"Do you not like my choice?" Kyle asked, trailing an amused finger over his bare hip. Epsilon twitched at the touch, but didn't make a sound nor pull his hands away from the wall. "Do you think you get any say in what I use on you?"

The Master could easily have broken character then, by reminding Kyle that he'd been the one to initiate this to help Kyle recover from what that client had tried to do to him. Or pointed out that Kyle was still his employee, or that the sub always had the balance of power in a scene, or a hundred other things that would have given the control back to him. But instead Epsilon hunched his shoulders as if expecting a blow from the flogger and said in a quiet voice, "I'm sorry, Sir."

"Liar," Kyle shot back, because he was. No wonder Epsilon had gained his Mastery at only twenty-four: the man was impossibly brilliant at being exactly what the other party – or parties – needed, and making them think they had earned it all on their own. If this was what he was like in business, there was no wonder their House was one of the most successful in the Coterie, despite being the newest.

Epsilon was too good at his job to visibly display his smirk, but Kyle was convinced he could feel it anyway.

He didn't mind. He'd make him lose all that composure soon enough.

Without bothering with a warning – a Master of a House didn't need one to know what was about to happen – Kyle stepped back and flicked the tresses of the flogger across his boss' ass, revelling in the way they thudded against his bare skin.

There. Those were the noises he had been looking for. A hiss of breath at first, then a huff of discomfort, and as Kyle settled into a rhythm but not a pattern, striking Epsilon's perfect body with varying force and all across his back, ass, and thighs so he wouldn't know where the next lash would land, the satisfaction of slight, breathy moans.

"That's it," Kyle encouraged, running a gentle hand across the Master's hot and reddened skin. His dick was starting to feel trapped by his half-undone trousers, but he didn't want to spare even a second for himself when he could be using it to lather attention on the other man. "You can take more, can't you?"

He was intrigued as to how Epsilon would respond to the question. He had no intention of stopping no matter what he said – other than for a safe word, obviously – but would Epsilon beg for him to stop, or to keep going? What would he think Kyle wanted? What did Kyle want?

But Epsilon didn't say anything at all, and Kyle let out an amused laugh. Either he was as uncertain about the right answer as Kyle was, or he was refusing to play into his games and letting his Dominant make the decision for himself. Clever bastard.

"Now you're suddenly mute?" he asked, giving him a hard flick to the inner thigh where the skin was nice and sensitive. Epsilon tossed his head, his fingernails scratching out his distress against the wall, and a rush of arousal washed over Kyle. "Answer me. Tell me whether you want more of this...?" He tugged open Epsilon's jaw and ran the flogger's leather tails across his lips. "Or this?" With his other hand, Kyle reached around and scored his fingernail along the slit of his dick, knowing the surprise touch would make the sudden sensation all the more intense.

Epsilon cried out and then bit down on the leather in his mouth, stifling the noise. Grinning, Kyle worked it out gently from between his teeth. He took the opportunity to peer up at Epsilon's face and noted the smile lingering on his lips beneath the edge of the blindfold.

Kyle dropped his voice to a whisper and purred the next words in his ear. "You want both, do you, sweetheart?"

"Yes, Sir." Epsilon's voice cracked between the two syllables and Kyle wondered what it was that had done it. The use of the endearment, perhaps? He'd chosen it purely because of Epsilon's comment to him earlier in the staffroom, but the moment it had left his lips, it had felt dizzyingly right .

The man's lithe body flexed and arched towards Kyle as if desperate for the next blow to land.

When it did, his soft moans filled the room. Kyle rode the high that it gave him to deliver pleasure like this, soaking in every movement and noise that he drew from his normally stoic boss.

And even though it had been years, he was pleased to find he remembered what the Master liked. He used it to satisfy and frustrate in equal measures, alternating his strokes to keep Epsilon on the edge and wanting more.

"Sir!"

The word was a plea of pure neediness, offering delightfully tangible reward for his work, and Kyle used the pause to shake out the growing ache in his wrist. Then without giving a verbal response he returned to the worship of Epsilon's back, legs and ass, carefully allowing the flogger's tresses to wrap around to lick at his ribs.

Epsilon shivered and groaned.

It wasn't about delivering him agony, not this. It was about sensation. Making a submissive feel not just where the hits landed but also how they landed, dancing across muscles and nerves in unique patterns of discomfort and pleasure.

A joy all on its own, and the agility of this particular flogger was what made it Kyle's favourite.

"I need you in me," Epsilon gasped, his fingers curling into desperate claws where they were pressed to the wall. That proud scorn and dignified poise of his was nowhere to be seen. "I need you to fill me up."

Kyle's mouth went dry. He hadn't expected the Master to let them take it that far, not after he'd already treated Kyle to more tonight than they'd enjoyed together in years.

"Then get on the bed," Kyle said hoarsely. Half-terrified that any distance between them might shatter the beautiful dream this night had become, Kyle plastered himself to Epsilon's heated skin as he staggered blindly across the room, guiding him to lie on the bed on his back. In an instinct instilled by habit, he spared a glance at the dog tags hanging from both of their necks to check the protection runes were still active.

Epsilon spread his legs without being asked, granting Kyle a gorgeous view of the way his hips thrust up greedily into the air to seek friction for his straining, leaking cock. His expression around the blindfold was delightfully tortured, and with the tie still wrapped over his eyes, Kyle could stare all he wanted.

And touch. He'd been given permission to touch and to have and to fill.

Lube was in easy reach, the benefits of taking someone to bed in a brothel, and Kyle's slicked-up fingers were inside his boss before he'd taken his next shuddering breath. Epsilon groaned and arched his back.

Kyle had him aching and eager, just the way he liked it. But he needed more. More, more, more.

Fucking addict.

He pushed the reproachful thought away. "You're just begging for it, aren't you?"

"Yes," Epsilon gasped, his usual composure unravelling under Kyle's hands as he worked him open.

"Then do so."

"Fuck me, Kyle," he breathed, and Kyle tsked, easing his fingers back out. The other man whimpered and reached out blindly for him, looking beautifully, tormentedly wrecked.

"That's not begging, sweetheart. It sounds more like an order, and you don't get to make those, not while I have you like this." Restraining his chin in one hand, Kyle leaned in and nipped at his neck.

"Please," he gasped out immediately, and the word shot heat down Kyle's spine. "Please, Sir. I'll be so fucking good for you."

There was nothing of the refined gentleman about the Master of House Epsilon now. In his place lay a whining, desperate submissive who was writhing helplessly on the bed and leaking all over Kyle's sheets. Needy, shameless, and loud.

Not wanting to take the time – or the space it would put between them – to undress properly, Kyle pulled his dick free from the confines of his trousers. It took only a couple of strokes to slick himself up, careful to lubricate the area around his Prince Albert piercing, and then he was pushing into Epsilon's tight, soft heat.

"Oh, fuck ."

Kyle didn't hold back. Some of his clients preferred gentle tenderness, and others needed to be folded in two and pounded ruthlessly into the mattress. Epsilon might not have been a regular of Kyle's, but he fell squarely into the latter category, and the moans and gasps of pleasure that erupted from his mouth told Kyle nothing had changed since they'd last played together like this.

He could easily get off on nothing more than the contrasts of the man, his brilliant contradictions. Because Master Epsilon might have been a cold-blooded badass, aloof and fearless and competent, but he also looked impossibly good taking a pounding.

As he fucked all that prim properness out of him, Kyle admired the strain in his neck, how his thighs were spread and pressed against Kyle's shoulders, and the way his lips parted on a soft scream. And then Kyle reached between his legs to take the man's delectable cock in hand, grinning at the way his breath hitched as he palmed the crown, and began to jack him off twice as fast as the pace of his own thrusts. Maybe he was showing off a little in his ability to maintain two rhythms, but it was more for the purpose of keeping his sub's head all over the place. Too much sensation. Too much movement. Nothing to see and everything to feel.

The man was mesmerising. The way he jerked beneath Kyle's grip, soft moans erupting from those perfect lips, sweat beading on his skin and hands fisting in the sheets.

"So good," Kyle breathed, nibbling on his neck until Epsilon shuddered beneath him. Then, with a clever twist of Kyle's wrist, his boss was coming all over his hand.

"Sir!" Epsilon cried. He clutched at Kyle's arms as he fucked him through his orgasm, head thrown back, and then melted bonelessly into the mattress.

The sight of his man so sated and pleased threw Kyle off the edge as well, and stars blossomed in his vision. He thrust hard, deep, needing to join them together so fucking permanently that Epsilon could never put barriers up between them again, and filled him up just as he'd asked for.