The heavy and anticipatory pants of Smith’s breath was the only sound until I pulled off his shirt and tugged down his zipper. He was already hard, gasping when I reached behind the waistband of his underwear and stroked his cock. His entire body swayed into mine and when I released him, he whimpered.
“What do you want tonight?” I asked, smearing my thumb through his already leaking slit.
Smith blinked up at me like I’d asked him if he knew during what period the Diplodocus lived. I nodded my head at him, pumping my fist back down his cock to the root and squeezing hard around his base.
“Tell me what you want, baby.”
“I wantyou,” he rasped.
“Give me details.” I brushed my lips along the shell of his ear. “I want to make you feel good.”
Smith exhaled a shuddering breath against my chest, his cheeks darkening at the ask. “You said once my tattoo was healed, you’d…”
“I’d tie you up better,” I finished for him. “Did you want me to tie you up?”
“Tie me down,” he murmured.
“And you want me to hurt you until you ask me to stop,” I guessed, giving him another tight stroke. “But you don’t actually want me to stop.”
Smith trembled in my arms like a leaf.
“Give me some limits. Tell me how far is too far,” I whispered.
He was so hot and hard in my hand, so desperate.
He was quiet for a minute, then he finally said, “Don’t break the skin.”
“That leaves a lot on the table.” I pushed his pants and his underwear down, and toppled him backward onto the bed. He landed with a rough exhale of breath, legs spread and cock jutting up toward the ceiling. I reached behind me and grabbed my shirt, rucking it up and over my head. I tossed it on the floor, pressed one knee into the bed and leaned toward him. “Would you let me spit on you? In you?”
Smith’s eyes widened and a pulse of precum leaked from his cock, clear and shining in the dim light cast from the glow of Ev’s lamp on the nightstand.
“Duly noted,” I said with a chuckle. “And how does it stop?”
“Red.”
“Good boy.”
Smith shivered, his eyes rolling back.
He was…he was unlike anyone I’d ever met before him and certainly unlike anyone I’d ever meet again. It was impossible to compare him to Ev, but I’d also never wanted to. It pained me to know Smith had grown up in the shadow of three older brothers because, when I looked at him, he was so uniquely himself.
He was certainly nothing like Finn, but he’d always told me Marshall was the one he took after the most. The oldest, the most concerned, the worrier. I’d meet him eventually, and I was equal parts exhilarated and cautious about it. If the brother he idolized most in the world didn’t approve of me, would he walk away? Or worse, if Marshall didn’t approve of me would Smith stay just to spite him? Those were all problems for another version of myself in another time because this version of me had a naked Smith Covington on my bed, splayed out and hard, and wanting me.
I left him there, turning away to dig out leather cuffs and clothespins and a spreader bar. There were things in my bag I hadn’t used in years, things I’d never used but had foolishly bought anyway with the hope that someday there might come a time…that there might come a man. And now… here he was.
I returned to the bed and sat down beside Smith’s hip, tracing my fingers along his skin until I reached his hand.
“I wish I could outline each of your tattoos with my tongue,” he murmured when I tightened the first cuff around his wrist. “Would you like that? Would you let me?”
It was a loaded question asked in the heat of the moment, and my first instinct would definitely kill the mood. Smith had been more than accommodating and understanding about my asexuality, but I feared reminding him of it now would do more harm than good. The question hadn’t offended me any, and in truth, if he would like it, I would also like it. It might not make me hard and it might not make me feel the same kind of sexual pleasure he would if I were to tie him down and drawconstellations all over his body with my mouth, but that didn’t mean I hated the idea. Before I could tell him as much, he blurted a follow-up, “Never mind. That was a dumb question.”
I held out my hand for his other wrist and he dropped it into my waiting palm. I made sure to trace my finger around the bone before settling the cuff into place and tightening the straps, loving the way leather felt on his skin.
“Why was it dumb?”
“Because you don’t like sex the way I do,” he answered, following it up with a self-deprecating laugh. “And I really like it a lot. Especially with you.”
I smiled at that, folding my body over his so I could latch his cuffs to the bolts on my headboard. I’d never brought anyone home before him, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t prepared myself for the possibility of a partner I trusted enough to do it.
