Oh God. I love him.
I drop my forehead to his shoulder and stifle a giggle. “No, thank you, Daddy,” I say quickly.
He fingers my welts, drawing a light line along each one, reliving the intimacy of each stroke with me. His hands slide under my shirt, pawing my back heavily, digging into muscle and gradually working their way down again. This time, when he touches my ass, he finds all the places I’m not hurting and caresses me there. Rubbing and stroking. My head spins. My feet leave the ground. I exist in a space at least a foot and a half off the floor. Stuart’s there with me. Holding me, soothing me.
“I know that was hard. I know it was,” he croons, “but you took it likesucha good boy. I’m proud of you. So proud. So, soproud.”
My dick digs into his hip, hard and insistent, bringing me back down to Earth.
He takes my hand in his. “Come sit,” he says when we get to the sofa.
“Um, sit, Daddy?”
He smiles darkly, taking my jaw firmly in one hand, reminding me he’s the owner of every one of my fantasies. “Remember what I said happens to good boys?”
“Good things?” I squeak, immediately easing myself onto his lap with only the slightest of hisses.
He unbuttons my shirt, taking his time with each button, sliding his hand over the skin he’s just freed before moving on to the next one. I squirm, and not just because my ass has been pulverized. Ravenous desire burns under my skin, demanding attention. He eases my shirt off my shoulders and circles me with his arms, gently setting about undoing the strap around my balls. I sigh in relief when they’re free. He smiles and rubs his face against my neck. I rock my hips desperately, a subtle reminder to him that even though I’m behaving my ass off, I’m pretty damn close to losing my mind.
A big, warm hand slides up my inner thigh. I watch it, willing it to keep moving. Higher. Closer. Suntanned skin on mine. Weathered. Lined. Moving slowly, agitating the hair on my legs, making me tremble in anticipation. He pauses, and for a second, I think he’s going to stop, but he doesn’t.
Thank God and thank fuck.
He scoops up a handful of the mess leaking from me and wraps his hand around my dick. The pleasure is instant. Entirely absent one second, and then it’s there. There. Everywhere. Pure pleasure. Absolute ecstasy. A hard squeeze. A slow drag. A loud, frantic sound seeping from me. I thrust into his fist, gasping and crying out when my well-thrashed buttocks clench and graze against his lap. Deep, perfect pain that does nothing but heighten the pleasure. I ache. Inside. Outside. My balls. My belly.
“More,” I groan, voice shaking scarily.
He reaches between my legs with his free hand and curls his fingers into me. A lot. Three fingers easily. Maybe more. I’m suddenly full. Stretched and completely contained. Owned as he holds me open and strokes me at the same time.
My eyes slide closed. My mouth opens. My moans stop being separate things. They bleed into one. My heart squeezes impossibly hard. I arch back and scream, raspy and raw, broken and whole, as I empty my swollen balls into Stuart’s waiting hand.
27
Stuart
Istraightenmycufflinksand smooth down my lapel again. The whole black-tie thing isn’t really for me, but Elliot was nervous about attending this work function and asked me to come with him, so I’m here. His eyes darted from my face to my shoes twice when he told me about it, and his voice had a little husk that isn’t usually there. I’d never let him do anything that makes him look like that without me. So, of course, I’m here. In a shiny elevator, on my way up to a shiny floor of a shiny building downtown. I’m not a big fan of places like this. Give me a backyard barbeque and laid-back people over this type of thing any day.
The doors open, and I’m met by an expanse of mirrored surfaces, dark wood, and tile. I’m twenty-seven floors up, but I feel like I’m underground, stuck in a crystal geode.
I was right. It’s shiny as hell in here.
I mill around the perimeter, about to reach for my phone to let Elliot know I’m here when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I stop and turn around, fully expecting to look into big chocolatey eyes and a cocky smile. I flinch when I’m met by a cool blue gaze instead. A lithe figure. Dark hair and a delicate face I know well. A face I used to know better than any other.
“Hey you,” he says, curving a shoulder at me and sinking a hand deep into his pocket. His lips turn up in a well-practiced smile, parting slightly and offering me a tiny glint of an incisor. His eyes don’t flicker.
“Damien.” It feels strange to say it. Strange to see him. And strange that it’s strange, given how normal it used to be. I wait for bodily chaos to consume me. The last time I saw him, my hands shook and my heart beat faster for almost an hour after he left. This time it’s different. My throat feels a little tense, but the main thing I feel is surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see him. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know me. I’m always well,” he lies. He leans in close, placing a hand lightly on my chest, and kisses me sweetly on the cheek. The familiar scent of his cologne burns a little stronger than I remember. Too strong, I think. I step back. “I’m here with Jed,” he says as if I should not only know who that is but should be infinitely impressed by it. When I don’t give him the reaction he’s after, he adds, “JedBronstein.”
“Oh,” I say. That means less than nothing to me.
“He’s aproducer,” he explains, puffing a breath of air at me in a way I suspect is designed to make me feel stupid. “He’sfabulouslywealthy.” That time, his eyes flicker like crazy.
“Oh,” I say again. “Well, congratulations.”
He casts his gaze slowly down my body, eyes moving from left to right at my pecs and then down to my groin. He steps closer, crowding me.
“Wanna know a secret?” he whispers into my ear. “He’s completely vanilla.” He draws the last word out as if it’s distasteful. “Completely.”
