“He’ll get over it,” Moore took me off speaker phone. “You could take him to the club.”
Could and would were two separate things.
Before I could answer, Moore made up some excuse to end the call, and I was more than happy to let him use it.
Setting the now quiet phone off to the side, I looked down at the boy. His eyes were closed, mouth holding me as though I was something precious to treasure. I wondered if he was worried that I wasn’t hard.
For me, it was normal. I had learned long ago that I needed a deep connection to another before I could get my dick up and working. And even then, if my mind was clouded by other things, it wouldn’t work either.
It was never a bother for me, but for most partners, it was an end of a relationship when they figured out they couldn’t fix me.
I didn’t need fixed.
“Enough, you can let go now.” My voice was soft, barely above a whisper. It took Charles a moment to respond, his lips making a slushed noise as he backed away enough.
He didn’t move far, just enough for the cold air of the room to chill my spit covered area. Not the best feeling, but one I could ignore as Charles looked up at me.
His eyes were distant, glazed with something I knew. A thin trail of drool clung to his chin, catching the light.
“Hey, pretty boy,” I murmured, brushing my thumb gently beneath his lip. He leaned into the touch without hesitation, eyes fluttering closed like the contact itself was a relief.
It made me pause. Made me wonder how often he was touched like this without demand, without consequence. Surely someone had offered him softness before. Because no one survives without it. But the way he melted into my hand made me think maybe he hadn’t.
Not like this.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to.
Charles’ head rested against my thigh, breath slow, body still. There was no tension in his shoulders now, no hesitation in the way he leaned in.
I let my hand drift lower, fingers brushing gently along the curve of Charles’ neck, then settling at the nape. Not gripping. Just holding like a quiet anchor. I adjusted his posture slightly, enough to give Charles more space to rest, more warmth to lean into.
It wasn’t about claiming. It was about being there. And in that moment, I understood that power didn’t always come from control.
Sometimes, it came from staying. From choosing not to move. From letting someone else find peace in the silence you offered
I felt the shift before he saw it. Charlie’s breathing slowed, deepened. His head, still resting against my thigh, tilted slightly, the tension in his jaw gone.
Sleep crept in gradually, like it had been waiting for permission.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
I simply watched as Charles drifted, eyes closed, lashes still, lips parted just slightly. It wasn’t the sleep of exhaustion. It was the kind that came when the bodystopped bracing. When the mind stopped calculating. When the room, for once, didn’t feel like a threat.
I let my hand remain in Charlie’s hair, slow and steady.
Not to soothe but to just to stay. Because this—this quiet surrender—wasn’t something I’d earned. It was something Charles had given.
And I wasn’t about to break it.
Submission and subspace were two separate things that fell into the same category, and not always achievable. Forced submission wasn’t something I enjoyed, but yet, that’s how I got a sweet, quiet Omega to find a space to relax and forget about everything going on in the world.
The few Omegas I’ve played with fell into subspace easier, and I should have expected it to happen to this one, too. It was a precious moment that needed no words. Just a connection, and one that I would treasure for however long I could.
I could already tell that the next few days wouldn’t be enough time with this Omega, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that thought.
Instead, I forced my mind to focus on the moment right now. One minute at a time. I forced myself to enjoy the connection, to let it grow and see where I’d go from there.
For all I could hope the outcome would be like, it was twice as likely to fail like all others have in the past.
