“I don’t know,” I admit.
“But you’re not leaving.”
“No. I am not leaving.”
My hand tightens in his hair, tilting his head up. His lips are parted, swollen. His eyes find mine.
“Alexei.” My name in his mouth is a plea.
I should not do this.
I am already compromised. I have been compromised since I documented the color of his eyes.
I release his hair and reach for the restraint on his left wrist. The lock disengages.
His eyes go wide. “What?—”
“Don’t speak.”
I release the second wrist restraint. Then the ankles. The throat collar last.
He is free.
He does not run. He does not fight.
He reaches for me.
His hands find my chest, palms flat against my sweater. He is shaking.
“Please,” he says. “I need?—”
I know what he needs.
I grab his wrist and pull him up. He stumbles, and I catch him. His body presses against mine, heat and desperation. I am hard. I have been hard since my hand was on his throat.
“On your knees.”
The command emerges without conscious planning. He obeys instantly. His face is level with my hips.
I reach down and grip his jaw. His mouth opens automatically.
“You said you were mine.” My voice is lower than usual. “Show me.”
His hands move to my belt. The movements are clumsy, but he manages the buckle. My cock springs free. He stares at it.
Then he leans forward and takes me in his mouth.
The heat is overwhelming. Wet and tight. I watch his face—eyes fluttered closed, cheeks hollowed as he sucks, tears still leaking from the corners of his eyes.
He is crying while he worships me with his mouth.
My hand finds the back of his head, guiding his movements. He gags when I push too deep, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Look at me.”
His eyes open. Gray and wet and completely surrendered.
I thrust into his mouth. But this is different. This is not utility. This is something I have no vocabulary for.
