“Never.” Crawford looked thoughtful. “Well, I’d never sell you off, and I don’t presently own the correct equipment to set up a full dungeon, but the wax is negotiable. I would never do it without your consent, though, and I would only ever do it if you acted out in a way that demandedpunishment.”
Acted out in a way that demanded punishment. Owen hadn’t considered it before. So far his greatest pleasure had been obeying Crawford’s word—but if he went against it? What would it feel like to be punished? To be held responsible for his actions? Owen wasn’t sure if he’d like itornot.
“But no, no contract necessary,” Crawford said with some finality. “Dinners out with me on weekends, cooking in my condo, relaxing here with me in bed… my goal is to make you happy. All I want is to give you the adoration youdeserve.”
“And my goal is to make you happy so I deserve your praise.” Owen drew nearer and put his head on Crawford’s lap. He couldn’t help but smile. “Does this mean the rest of my weekend isbooked?”
Crawford caressed the short hair atop Owen’s head, expression softening. Owen thought he looked gorgeous for his vulnerability, and Owen pressed a kiss to Crawford’s thigh in appreciation. A relationship. A real, honest to god relationship where they were equals, yet comfortable enough with each other to toy with their power dynamic. Crawford wasn’t going to shove him into a closet and breed him before he was ready. He wasn’t going to shame Owen for his body or call his masculinity into question because he was born with the wrong genes. Crawford was too goodforthat.
Maybe too good for Owen, if Owen was beingtruthful.
“I’d like it to be, if that’s what you want, too,”Crawfordsaid.
“It is,” Owen said, and he’d never been morecertain.
17
Crawford
Owen didn’t snoreinhis sleep, nor did he punch. Crawford waited a full month before cautiously testing what would happen if he woke him, interested to see what would happen, but his pet simply whimpered in protestation and opened his eyes a crack to look up at Crawford. He was docile and tender, and by the time month two rolled around, Crawford still couldn’t get enoughofhim.
Each Friday night, Owen made an appearance wherever Crawford asked. Sometimes they dined at Castyna. The wait staff grew to remember Owen’s preferences, and soon service was as smooth and automatic as it had been when Crawford attended dinner solo. Sometimes they met early at The Shepherd for drinks and bar food, tucked away in their booth on the second floor. On those nights, Owen would strip down to his boxer-briefs and sink onto Crawford’s lap, chest to chest. Those nights out usually ended early, but stretched on for hours in Crawford’sbedroom.
No matter how long their relationship lasted, Crawford refused to let others see Owen fully nude. That privilege was Crawford’s alone, and he guarded itjealously.
Four months into their relationship, while waiting at their favorite table in Castyna, Crawford received a textmessage.
I’m going to be late.Traffic.
Crawford glanced at the time—it was almost seven. There was no reason for Owen to be late. He finished work at five, and Crawford was familiar with the roads. Not only did Owen have enough time to shower and change, but he had enough time to make it to Castyna withoutbeinglate.
Why are yousolate?
There’s an accident and traffic is literallystopped.
I think that’s not the fullstory.
Owen knew what traffic was like around Castyna, and he knew to leave early to accommodate for it. This wasn’t their first time out, after all. With a hum, Crawford opened his traffic app and surveyed the route from Owen’s apartment to Castyna—there was moderate congestion, but no report of an accident or standstilltraffic.
Crawford’s text received noreply.
Crawford arched a brow and set his phone down. So far, Owen had been the perfect pet, both eager to please and quick to obey. Normally Owen didn’t so much as toe the line, but an indiscretion like this wasn’t only toeing the line—it was vaultingoverit.
Owenhadlied.
Even if it was a white lie, Crawford had caught him in it. Crawford didn’t take kindly tolying.
The sommelier brought Crawford his wine at seven sharp, and Crawford instructed him to pour a glass for his delinquentomega,too.
Whatever his reasoning, whatever the cause, Owen had made a choice. The consequences were now histobear.
* * *
“I’m sorry.”Owen was out of breath. He slipped into the seat opposite Crawford, and Crawford looked him over with a level gaze. Half an hour had elapsed since Crawford’s last text. “It was crazy out there, and I struggled to findparking,and—”
“Calm down, pet,” Crawford said. “I know you’ve had a busy evening. Have some wine. Relax. The weekendishere.”
Owen smiled and his whole face lit up with it. No matter how much time passed, or how badly he acted out, Crawford would never get over how gorgeous he was. “I’m glad. It’s been such a difficult week. How has your week been? The business deal with um, Yuliani? Did it gothrough?”
