CHAPTER ONE
James
May
Ican’t stopmy fingers from drumming against the steering wheel.
Traffic is ridiculous, which means I’m running the risk of being late. Well, not late, really, because I’m never late for anything, but running the risk of not arriving at least fifteen minutes early, like I do with everything.
What will Sir think if I’m not timely?
Tap, tap, tap, tap.My fingers continue to move as I sit at the red light, playing a rapid beat that matches my pulse.
This is my second time meeting with Colton, and I don’t want to disappoint him already. Even more importantly, being late would mess with my head, and it’s already hectic in there, no matter how much I try to pretend it’s not. That’s one of the reasons I need this—the discipline, the organization, not having to decide what to do. In every other aspect of my life, I need control, but this, in these moments and if I find the right Dom, I’m able to get out of my head and justbe.
I startle when the car behind me honks, letting me know the light is green.
“Get it together, James,” I say softly to myself, frustrated Iwas spacing out like that. I’m usually very good at holding it together—Idependon being able to hold it together.
Focus. Most of life’s problems can be dealt with by hard work, focus, and determination, so that’s what I force myself to do the rest of the drive to the house I own in a suburban neighborhood. It’s farther from the college where I teach political science. I don’t live here. I don’t even know why I bought it, but once I started meeting up with Doms, it became a place to do that.
I pull into the driveway at three. I park beside Sir’s older SUV. I don’t know what he does for a living, but from the things he’s said and his callouses when he touches me, I assume it’s something with his hands.
It fits him. I can’t imagine him doing anything else, which is…typically not my thing, but nothing about Sir is similar to any of the Doms I’ve played with in the past—the biggest being that he’s younger than me. Twenty-eight to my forty. He mentioned his age in his bio on the BDSM site where we met. I wasn’t sure it would work, how I would feel about submitting to someone younger, but when he messaged, it had been a long time since I’d given in to this need, and everything he’d said or done had been exactly what I’d needed.
I thought it’d be a one-time thing—it usually is for me—but here we are, meeting a second time for him to control and fuck me.
My fingers tremble, frustration making the back of my neck prickle. I should have been here before him. I hate that he arrived first.
Sir is already out of his SUV by the time I get out, walking around my vehicle toward me.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell him, and he frowns.
“You’re not late. It’s two fifty-five. We said three. You’re all good.”
I don’t know him well—or at all, really—but from what I’ve seen, nothing seems to rattle him. It’s like everything just rolls off his shoulders, this lightness to him I’ve never had myself, and frankly, wouldn’t know what to do with.
“Thank you, but I should have arrived before you. I don’t like to leave people waiting.” Maybe that goes back to the times I would sit outside after school or at my house, waiting for my mom to come and pick me up or unlock the house so I could get in. Most of the time, it was hours. I’m sure she was never on time for anything in her whole life, but if she was, she certainly didn’t care enough about me to ever be on time for me—or sometimes, to show up at all.
“Why does that not surprise me?” Colton…Sir—I don’t even know how to think of him—gives me a mischievous smirk that’s entirely too sexy. He’s a couple of inches taller than my five ten. He’s broader, his chest and arms thicker—something else that makes me think he has a physical job. Both now and the first time we met, and in his photo online, he’s had the same light scruff along his jaw. Dark-blond hair, and his blue eyes have little lines that says he’s spent a lot of his twenty-eight years squinting in the sun or laughing.
“Is there something wrong with being respectful?” Why do people act like it’s silly to treat everyone’s time with respect and expect the same in return?
His smirk grows. Why is he like this? So…unbothered and like he’s having fun just standing here doing nothing. “No. I like it when you’re a good boy and respect Sir.”
Shivers ride the waves and dips in my spine, warmth heating my groin, yes, but at the same time, it trips something in my brain, pushes this button I spent my twenties and part of my thirties denying was there, hating it because needing to be submissive made me feel weak.
Maybe it still does. I don’t know how I feel about itanymore, mainly because outside of these moments arranged with Doms who fit my needs, I try not to think about it at all. I don’t like to think about anything I don’t understand or that I can’t explain. The fact that this justis, that I crave this thing and it settles the chaos in my head—and yes, really turns me on—doesn’t suit my personality. “It still feels strange when you call me boy. Let’s go inside.” I nod toward the house.
“Because you’re older than me?” Sir asks. Yes, I’m going to try and only think of him as Sir. Colton is too personal, and that has nothing to do with why we meet. This is simply an arrangement, one where we fulfill each other’s needs, then go on our way. Hell, I might not even meet with him again after today. Maybe I should find someone else, someone older, someone who’s not so…him.
“Yes.”
“Is that a new limit for you?” Sir asks as we reach the door and I unlock it.
Is it a new limit for me? I can’t say. I’ve always felt a little weird about it, even though I’ve never mentioned it with a Dom before. I just…I don’t know. I’m not a boy; I’m a man. But I also understand what boy means in a situation like this. And as much as I don’t think I should like it or as much as it makes me… I’m not even sure how to word it. But regardless, it turns me on too.
“I’m not sure.” I lead him into the house.
