When we reached the car, I opened the passenger dooragain and waited while Silas arranged himself in the seat and buckled in. As I was closing the door, he asked, “Would you tell me again?”
“Tell you what?”
“That you love me.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I closed the car door. I walked around the front of the car, climbed into the driver’s side, and leaned over the console, taking his face into my hands and holding him right where I wanted him.
“I love you,” I said for what must have been at least the fourth time that night. It didn’t feel any less scary in my mouth, but Silas’s reaction softened every time which meant I would shout it from the rooftops until we were both comfortable with the truth of my feelings.
I closed the small space between us and slanted our mouths together, kissing him hard and insistent. Silas moaned against me, going pliant as putty in the passenger seat. The sounds he made were enough to have me second-guessing my plan about nothing penetrative.
With great reluctance, I ended the kiss, but only so I could drive us home. As soon as we were back in the house, I was on him. My hands, my mouth, the press of my chest and my thighs against his. I backed Silas into the wall and buried my face into the crook of his neck like a famished man, licking sustenance from the curve of his throat.
He moaned, whispered a flurry of endearments that had my hands making quick work of our belts and flies. I pulled both of our cocks free and then shoved my fingers into his mouth, depressing his tongue.
“Suck them the way you like your cock sucked,” I demanded, and he did, welling saliva up into his mouth and gagging around my fingertips. When his spit ran down my wrist, I pulled my hand free and reached down low. Taking hiscock in hand, and then mine, I used the leverage of his back against the wall to make a tight channel for our shafts.
Stroking slowly, I nipped at Silas’s throat. He trembled, entire body alert and on edge as I stroked our dicks together. Precum slicked and smeared around my fingers, and it was so far away from being enough. I wanted Silas sweaty and ravished and bleary from it all.
“Tell me when you’re close,” I whispered.
I hoped it was soon because I was on the edge.
“Sir,” he rasped, hips thrusting against mine. “Close.”
I unfurled my fingers enough to let his dick fall out of my grasp, and when he cried out in absolute agony, I shot my load all over his violently throbbing cock. Silas’s entire body swayed, and he slapped his hands against the wall, on the verge of a tantrum that only made me come harder.
“Jesus fuck,” I cursed under my breath, letting go of myself before the sensation turned overpowering.
Silas pulled his lips between his teeth, and he blinked up at me, a hard press of eyelids that looked like they were working overtime to hold back tears.
“Strip,” I told him, taking a step back so I could watch the show.
His fingers fought him every step of the way, but he managed to get out of his clothes. Leaving them in a pile by the door, I next ordered him to his knees, and then lower, and then I told him to crawl. He followed behind me like an obedient—if not slutty—dog, ass in the air and cock jutting out between his legs. He crawled without protest all the way through my house and into the bedroom, and when I stopped, he stopped.
Together, we waited.
When I could hear my heartbeat back in my ears instead of feeling it in my cock, I went to the dresser to retrieve cuffs and a collar, some rope, an anal hook, and my favorite bamboocane. I dropped all the items on the bed for Silas to see, then I pulled a bottle of lube from the nightstand and added it to the pile.
“Is any of this a no?”
We’d talked about caning before, and it wasn’t a no, but it was also far from the enthusiastic yes I normally preferred.
“No, Sir,” he said, voice slightly hoarse.
“Stand up. Maybe just a little penetration.”
He climbed to his feet, standing tall as I fastened the thick leather collar around his neck. I loved the look of it, the way the supple leather contrasted against the smooth heat of his skin. I slipped rope through the O-ring on the collar and flipped the ends off his shoulders and let them tickle the small of his back. Next, the cuffs. Around his wrists with gentle kisses, and then I walked him into the closet.
It was a walk-in with a full-length mirror, and Silas had been in my closet plenty of times, but he’d never noticed the bolts—or the spreader bar—in the ceiling. Lifting his arms over his head, I hooked him up and stepped back. Admiring the way he was lifted onto his toes just enough to keep him off-balance but not enough to make him tired.
“Still good?” I asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
Then, the hook. I lubed it, eased it into him and groaned at the way it made him sigh like a well-tended cat. I notched the curve of the hook against his ass and threaded the rope through the ring at the end, pulling it all taut and ensuring his head was held straight.
“Look down,” I told him, and he tried, but the rope tugged the hook, the ball on the hook pushed against his prostate, and Silas was very close to crying about it. His cock was still hard, looking like it was about to burst. I pressed my finger against the underside of his chin and righted his face so he stared at our reflection, head on.
