“Prove it.”
Noah tipped his head back and waited, eyes closed.
“Stick out your tongue.”
Noah didn’t hesitate. When he felt Adam’s spit on his tongue, hot and wet, landing in a thick string, he swallowed it like it was communion, a groan rattling out of him. By the time he opened his eyes again, Adam had fixed his mask back into place, the hollow eyes impossibly dark.
“I love when you’re this obedient,” he said, sliding his cock back into his mouth, his fingers twisting his hair at the root. Noah groaned around him, aching to jerk himself off but unable to do so, his bound wrists useless.
“You were born to be on your knees.”
Adam shoved his cock as deep as it would go, until Noah’s lips pressed flat against his skin and his air supply vanished. The only thing he could do was swallow, throat convulsing, tears spilling down his cheeks. Drool coated his lips and chin, dripping onto their hardwood floors in slick strands.
Adam waited until Noah’s vision started to tunnel before pulling free. Noah dragged in heaving breaths, spit stringing from his mouth to the swollen head of Adam’s cock. Even through the mask, Noah could feel the intensity of his gaze, like a hand closing around his heart.
Once more, he stuck out his tongue, eyes trained on his husband’s sweaty, heaving abs. He was close. Noah could tell from the tremor in his thighs, the way his cock jerked in his grip.
Adam came with another mechanical growl that should not have been at all hot, but somehow was. The sound was low and vibrating, a monster’s purr, as his salty release coated Noah’s tongue.
He swallowed it all, then opened his mouth to show Adam, tongue out, glistening, the perfect submissive picture.
“Is it my turn now?” Noah rasped, voice hoarse but wicked.
Adam stared down at him for a long moment, before his head turned to the bed. “Do you trust me?”
“You have to ask after all these years?” Noah countered.
“Get on the bed. Ass up.”
Noah frowned but did as he was told, careful to avoid brushing against the knife still lying there like a threat. He expected the mattress to dip under Adam’s weight, but it didn’t. Instead, he was left with his face pressed into the comforter, his ass high and exposed, cock drooling onto the fabric like proof of his own humiliation.
He stared at the knife—six inches of gleaming steel with a serrated edge. The handle was smooth, rounded metal, made for grip, almost too sleek. He didn’t recognize it, and that unsettled him more than the blade itself. How many toys did Adam have stashed away that he didn’t even know about?
The longer he lay there, the worse his anxiety clawed at him, winding his nerves tight. But it did nothing to ease the painful throb of his cock, dripping and aching for friction. He heard Adam moving around, slow, deliberate. The drawer sliding open on his side of the bed. A bottle cap clicking. Lube. Finally.
When the bed dipped at last, Noah almost sobbed with relief. Until Adam reached over him and grabbed the knife.
“Whatcha doing?”
“I thought you said you trusted me?” Adam’s voice had lost the mechanical distortion, but the purr was still taunting, dark silk over steel.
“More than I trust anyone else with a hunting knife,” Noah muttered, his pulse leaping, “but that’s a low bar.”
Adam chuckled—condescending, amused—the sound vibrating straight through Noah’s spine. It was the kind of laugh that said he was already five steps ahead, that Noah was alreadycaught. Fear spiked icy-hot along Noah’s nerves. He’d never been so turned on in his life.
When cold metal touched his rim, he flinched hard, an animal-like whimper clawing out of his throat before he could stop it. He knew Adam wouldn’t actually hurt him—wouldn’t—but his intrusive thoughts painted black anyway.
He gasped when the handle slipped past the first tight ring of muscle. It was bigger than it had looked, the stretch making him burn just enough to make his cock twitch. The sharp, metallic chill turned molten as it seated deeper.
“Adam?” His voice cracked on the name.
“Shh,” Adam soothed, one hand firm on his lower back. “You’re okay. You’re gonna like this.”
Noah’s shoulders ached from his wrists being pinned, but there was no sharp pain, only the overwhelming press inside him. The handle slid deeper, the smooth metal gliding, pressing and dragging over delicate skin.
The design was cruelly perfect—four thick beads stacked, each one stretching him wider, each pop dragging a cry from his chest until the last pressed right against that electric bundle of nerves. The flared base fit snug at his rim, the curve of the guard catching just right so there was no danger of the blade slipping further.
Adam pulled out slowly, then drove it back in, making Noah jolt and cry out as pleasure detonated low in his spine.
