Carter’s out of bed now. “Yes, I cleaned you up after you passed out. I didn’t want to accidentally get spooged.” He looks entirely too amused at the mortified sound I make over that matter-of-fact statement. “Buddy, you’re adorable. I’ll go start the coffee. You go wash your face. You’ll feel better.”
He heads out of the room. He’s wearing boxer shorts.
Last night…
There are bits and pieces of memories swirling around, some clearer than others. IthinkI remember everything clearly up until the car ride to Susa’s.
I remember us talking a little. Something about Doctor Who rings.
The porn.
I shiver as I remember the sound of his voice in my ear, firm and commanding, as I jerked off.
I remember experiencing pleasure so intense I literally passed out.
Fuck.
I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom and use it, wash my hands, my face. I shuck my underwear and pull on a pair of sleeping shorts from my overnight bag before I make my way out to the kitchen.
Carter’s already set out a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water for me on the counter.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome…boy.”
I freeze, gooseflesh rippling my skin.
“How does that make you feel?” he asks in a conversational tone.
“How does what?”
“That. When I call you boy like that.Boy.”
I think I whimper as my eyes drop shut. Part of me wants to slither to the floor, onto my knees, so I can kneel before him.
I can only nod.
When Carter speaks again, it startles me a little because he’s standing right behind me now, his quiet voice in my left ear.
“What if I tell you we can make most of your fantasies come true for you,boy? What if I tell you I was once exactly in the position you’re in? What if I tell you not only am I okay with you calling meSir, capitalS, but I’d like to help you explore those fantasies?”
It’s hard to breathe, and not because of the hangover.
Because it feels like I’m perched upon the precipice, hanging from the apex of somethinghugeand I’m terrified to let go and fall into Carter’s waiting arms.
I’m also terrified tonotlet go.
“What’s the…what’s the catch?”
“There is no catch. You decide you want to stop doing it, we stop.”
My hands are shaking too badly to open the bottle of ibuprofen. So badly, in fact, that it sounds like I’m playing maracas until Carter’s hands close around mine, he takes the bottle from me, opens it, and shakes three tablets into my palm. Then he closes the bottle, sets it down, and leans against the counter, right next to me. I sense him looking me in the eyes—rather he’s trying to, because I won’t meet his gaze yet.
Ican’tlook at him yet. I swallow the tablets and chase them with water. I have to hold the glass with both hands.
I’m still trying to process that not only is he not going to use what I did last night against me…he wants to help me do…more?
“Slow breaths, buddy. You’re going to hyperventilate.”
