Thumbing his belt open, he orders, “Kneel in front of it, please.”
“Yes, Dr. Barlowe.”
* * *
Bram
One of the first things we updated in this house was the bathroom. We ripped out the nasty tub-shower combo and installed a spa shower. Anders mentioned that a couple of his friends use a fancy set of showerheads, but we kept it simple with a large, powerful rainfall showerhead installed in the ceiling and a handheld sprayer on the wall.
It comes in handy because cleaning up Nacho after defiling him on the beautiful pieces of furniture he upgrades is one of my favorite things. Watching the water trail down his wet, tattooed skin is a religious experience, and I worship frequently.
Right now, he’s leaning on his forearms against the wall, patiently letting me wash his body.
One of my favorite small upgrades is a push-button shower dispenser for shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Only…we’ve switched out the conditioner for shower-safe lube. It was one of Nacho’s better ideas.
Now that he’s completely clean, I pull aside one of his ass cheeks, admiring the puffy ring of abused flesh, still a little stretched from my appreciation. I can’t help my cock’s reaction to such a pretty sight, and I press the button on the lube dispenser. He moans when I slip inside him again, rolling his hips, squeezing me tight.
The more we explore BDSM, the more we understand that most of it isn’t for us. There are a few things that intrigue us, and now that we know how to approach new kinks, we’ve been exploring them.
One thing we learned is that Nacho doesn’t go into subspace, but he enjoys reconnecting in a non-play interaction, and I find it helps to ground both of us.
“God, I love you,” I say, gently stroking into him.
“Love you too, Bram,” he says sleepily, shifting his hips from side to side.
Even though we don’t come, we stay in this position for as long as my cock is able, then clean up again and head toward the bedroom, where an enormous king-size bed waits for us.
We meet in the middle, facing each other, our noses touching, satisfied, sleepy grins on our faces.
As we slide and fit our limbs together for a night of snuggling, I ask the question I’ve had ever since I saw him talking to Ant.
“Do you think Ant is going to be okay?”
Running inked fingers through my chest hair, he nods. “I have faith in him.”
“Good. Me too.”
Tracing the beautifully tattooed rose on his neck, I leave my concerns for Ant for another day.
“Ignacio?”
“Yes, Dr. Barlowe?” Nacho asks, adding a bit of defiance back into his tone.
“How attached are you to your last name?”
His eyes meet mine, riveted.
“Dr. Barlowe, you do know it’s inappropriate to request major life changes while in a power exchange, right?”
“Yes, I do. But I also know you like it when I’m inappropriate, Ignacio. Now, answer the question.”
“Well, I’m pretty attached to Rivera when my only other option isNacho Barlowe,” he says, laughing and shuddering at the thought.
“So Barlowe is your only other option then?” I ask, my heart pumping hard at how his eyes sparkle with mischief and affection.
He bites his lower lip, tightening his leg around mine, smelling like soap and sex.
“It’s the only one I’d ever consider.”
