“I haven’t asked him. I suppose I just assumed. But then again, I don’t think it matters all that much. He seems to be thriving in our dynamic. And he’s dealing with enough of an identity crisis without adding sexuality into the mix.” I haven’t told them about Giovanni’s fits or the voices in his head or his suicide attempt—that’s for him to work through with Rebekah—but the scars on his arms speak to some of his challenges.
“It’s important though, don’t you think?” Rupert asks. “Sexual compatibility.”
“We’re very compatible,” I assure them. My mind drifts to last night when we tried out the swing for the first time. I had Giovanni suck me off while he fingered himself open, then spun him around and pounded his ass vigorously. The bruises on his thighs today were a nice reminder.
“Are you in a 24/7 dynamic?” Johann asks.
“It would seem so, though that wasn’t my intention.” From the beginning, it has always been about giving him the structure and stability he craves.
“He wants more,” Rupert says. The two of them have a habit of finishing each other’s sentences.
“What do you mean?”
“He wants a total power exchange.” This from Johann. I can’t help but feel as if they’re ganging up on me. “It’s in the way he defers to you and places you ahead of himself. He even references himself in third person. Did you tell him to do that?”
“No.”
“Have you considered a Master/slave dynamic?” Rupert asks.
“I haven’t, not really.” Notseriously, but they see it too.
“It’s something to consider,” Johann says.
Giovanni joins us then, climbing the ladder from the boat’s floating deck and swinging one tanned leg over the stern and then the other. I stand and swab him with a towel, taking care to dry his hair too, just as I would after a swim in the pool or a shower. Our company’s eyes are glued to us. Giovanni does make a lovely display.
“Thank you, Sir,” he says sweetly and drops to my side, using his towel to cushion his knees on the fiberglass decking. He lays his head in my lap and I stroke his damp hair. At his soft sigh of contentment, all three men look at me as if their point has been proven.
But they don’t know his family’s legacy. His grandfather would want him to lead the Aponte organization, perhaps not now but a few years down the road when he’s more stable. Our connection is lovely and something I’ll always cherish, but it will not last. How could it?
10
“Ihave something for you,” I tell Giovanni a few nights later. We’ve just finished with dinner and he’s clearing the table. Keller’s party is this weekend, and I’ve agreed to attend with some stipulations.
“Please tell me it’s not a prostate massage named after a French poet,” he snarks, referring to Hugo, who hasn’t made an appearance since his last masturbatory transgression.
“It’s a new outfit. Something leather for you to wear to Keller’s party.”
Joy alights in his eyes, and he rubs his palms together. “I feel like Cinderella being visited by her kinky godmother. May I have it, please?”
“Godfather,” I correct. “And it’s in the playroom.”
I follow right on his heels, wanting to see his reaction. He arrives at the dungeon bed to find four articles of clothing laid out for him: a classic bulldog harness with D-rings on the front and back; a leash that can also attach to his cock cage; a black leather mask with a zippered mouth; and a pair of stylish leather pants, also black.
“This is so you can zip my lip,” he says with a smile, holding the mask in both hands and tracing the soft calf leather reverently.
“Exactly. And then I can unzip it when I want to stuff my cock inside.”
“Is that why there are zippers on the pants too?”
“Yes, for easy access.”
“Will you make use of me at Sir Keller’s party?” he asks hopefully.
“If the situation is right, meaning you’re comfortable, my security is nearby, and we’re safe.”
“I love it,” he says. “Thank you, Sir. I’m going to look like a real leather boy.”
“The harness may feel like a restraint.”
