GRIFFIN
Iwanted, so badly, to take his cock into my hand. I wanted to feel it in my fist, to stroke him again and leave him whimpering — to see the tears in his eyes all over again as he shamefully responded to my touch.
But he didn’t want it, and I found myself caring about that every bit as much as I hadn’t cared whether he’d wanted to blow me or not. It was painful, because I’d thought we were making strides when he’d sucked me, licked me, worshiped me.
When his cock had gotten hard from it.
It hurt to find things hadn’t changed nearly as much as I’d wanted them to, but at the same time, somethinghadshifted. I could either push and risk him resenting me, or I could let it go. I didn’t want to. I wanted to take him into my hand or even into my mouth. I wanted to bring him pleasure.
I wanted him to want it.
I wanted him to want me.
Time and again, we returned to that. Time and again, I realized he wouldn’t care about me that way — but then,things had already changed so much. Maybe he could care about me like that if I gave him time. That was all he asked for, time, and I could push him when I was tired of waiting. I could give him this.
“Okay, Toby,” I said at last. “Okay.”
Over and over, I repeated his true name, the name of the person I wanted rather than the name of the person who’d been a rude little shit to me when he’d first arrived — the young man I’d had to punish over and over again because he hadn’t wanted to learn the rules. Part of me missed that defiant behavior, but I’d seen flickers of it that I could handle.
Like when he’d insisted upon kitty play.
He shifted, the little bell on his collar ringing merrily. “Thank you,” he said, his voice strangled. He reached up, touching the hickey I’d left, and a surge of pride ran through me.
I’d done that. I’d left that, and he’d allowed it, and he didn’t seem angry about the fact that I’d marked him as mine. It was a pity tattoos were out of the question. I’d have loved to see him with my ink upon his skin, marking him as forever mine.
Maybe one day…
No. I couldn’t think about that possibility. He might settle in and accept his fate, but I couldn’t possibly think that he’d ever want it enough to stay with me of his own accord.
I couldn’t possibly think that he’d ever allow someone to take a needle to his flesh and leave a permanent mark on him, and I couldn’t risk allowing a tattoo artist to discover what I’d done.
But it was something to think about, something to fuel the dreams I had of him.
I reached out to touch the bell, taking it between my fingertips.
He went still, hardly even breathing, as I touched it.
I wasn’t sure what he expected me to do, but I didn’t like that apparently he expected me to do something unwelcome. It wasn’t meant to be like that, not really, but I knew in my heart that this was how it had to be.
He had to remain a little bit frightened of me, or he’d start to defy me again — and I couldn’t handle that. Not then, not ever, not truly.
“All right, kitten,” I said. “Let’s play.”
He might’ve rejected my touch, but he couldn’t reject me completely. He’d promised he’d be my kitty, and I didn’t take advantage of that nearly often enough. The ears and tail were one thing, the pretty collar around his throat another, but I wanted more. I wanted the enthusiasm that came from someone who truly wanted it.
He might not have wanted me, but he’d promised he’d want that. We both knew better. He only wanted it because he thought it was marginally better than being my puppy. That didn’t matter. He’d told me he’d do it, and I was taking him at his word.
He’d been fine with the stick and the feather, and he’d even batted around a ball of yarn the last time we’d played. But this time, I wanted him to put in real effort.
I went to the drawer at the side of the bed where I’d stashed some of the smaller toys, and I pulled out a laser pointer. I pressed the button, watching as the red light dotted the floor.
“Are you ready?” I asked him, experimentally moving it. I wanted to see him chase it like a cat would, to go utterly and completely into the role as he tried to catch the red dot.He knew as a human that it was futile, but if he wanted to play kitty for me, he’d have to act the role.
He nodded. His cock wasn’t hard anymore — which was a pity — but that was probably a good thing. I’d have been too distracted by watching it instead of watching him chase the dot across the floor.
And hewouldchase that dot.
At first, he only gave a half-hearted swipe at the dot. I frowned at him. That wasn’t acceptable. That wasn’t nearly enough, not when I wanted to see him do more.
