My stomach knots. I let go of his collar and take his hand in mine, threading our fingers together. “It’s just…”
I hate bringing up the past with Jackson. The last thing I want to do is give him reason to believe that I’m comparing everything with Dylan to him.
But we said no more secrets.
“After Dylan and I reported our relationship, it was shortly after that we got into that argument and he left.”
“Oh.” Jackson holds onto my hand a little tighter and tilts his head, giving me a small, comforting smile. “This isn’t the same, Isaac. I’m not like him. I’m not running from this no matter what.I’mstaying.”
I nod, wanting to believe that with every fiber of my being. But fear is stubborn, and trauma has long claws.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll report our relationship to the university next week.”
His smile grows, and he repeats, “Okay.”
I pull him into my arms, pressing a kiss into his hair in a way I hope feels casual instead of desperate. He melts against me, warm and trusting. I make myself breathe through the fear cresting quietly in my chest, hoping this doesn’t turn into another wound I’m forced to carry around.
I survived losing Dylan. But losing Jackson?
I don’t think I could survive that.
But I let his words play on repeat in my mind, letting them settle over me like a song meant only for us.
This isn’t the same.
He isn’t the same.
I’mnot the same.
Because one huge difference?
I’d never give Jackson the opportunity to walk away. I’ll fight for him until my last breath.
I’m not sure what wakesme—the sensation of my cock filling with blood or the low moan that scratches at my dry throat. As I slowly drift up through the darkness, my breath catches when I feel that touch along the underside of my thickening shaft, the one that must’ve been there before.
When I try to open my eyes, the darkness doesn’t go away. That’s when I register the soft cloth over my face. A blindfold. It makes my cock grow harder.
I start to squirm, and another realization hits me. My hands are bound. The silky rope is tied around my wrists, holding them directly over my head.
I whimper when that brush of something against my cock comes once more, and I thrust my hips trying to chase it. The featherlight touch moves to my balls, over my dick again, and then across my stomach. If I didn’t already know what it feels like when he teases me with his crop, I wouldn’t know that’s what it was.
“Isaac,” I moan, already panting.
The touch disappears, and I huff, pulling at the ropes around my wrist.
“Sir, please.”
The touch comes back, moving over my hipbone, my outer thigh.
“Good boy.”
I sigh and relax back against the sheets, sinking in the feel of the leather traveling over my body, mapping the shape of me. Each gentle sweep sends a shiver up my spine, small but hot.
The kind that makes me feel alive and wanted.
Sir doesn’t stop, his crop roaming my heated skin, and it feels like he won’t be done until it’s kissed every inch of me. I don’t know how long it goes on, my head all hazy and light. I can no longer pinpoint exactly where the leather’s touching me because I feel it everywhere all at once.
“What’s your color, sweetheart?” he asks, bringing me back to the surface.
