“I broke skin.”
“But it was so quiet there. I didn’t want to leave.”
“I will not mar this beautiful canvas.” I kiss his forehead and lead him to the bedroom so that I may tend to him in comfort. It scares me that I might lose myself like that—that we both would. I take extra precautions with his aftercare—chilled towels and lotion, soft caresses, and my undivided attention, but the gash in his buttock is deep and still weeping blood. I call Dr. Greyson to come over and examine the cut, and he agrees it could use a few stitches, internal ones that will melt away and shouldn’t leave a scar. He injects Giovanni’s buttock with a local anesthetic and makes quick work of it. After the doctor leaves, Giovanni is too worn out to discuss it, so I resolve to wait until the morning. While I’m feeding him breakfast in bed, I relay my concerns to him, but he only shrugs it off.
“I liked it, Sir. All of it. If I’d wanted to stop, I would have safeworded.”
“You were in a lot of pain, though, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How did you feel during?”
“Free.”
Exactly.
“Tell me more.”
“You send me flying. I’m floating but still tethered to you. Like deep space. I know you can reel me in at any moment, but for a while, I just exist in this sphere of oblivion. Not really thinking or feeling or worrying. It’s quiet there, peaceful. The voices are silent too.”
I wonder if that’s one of the biggest draws for him.
“And how are you feeling today?” I run my hands over his purpled ass and thighs, mindful to avoid the cut. His skin is so tender he must lie on his stomach, propped up on his elbows in order to eat. “You must be terribly sore.”
“I don’t mind it. And I like it when you spoil me after.”
“Aftercare is a given. I will spoil you no matter how intense the scene. I don’t want you consenting to more than you’re comfortable with, ever.”
“I won’t,” he says simply and gives a disarming smile. “When can we do it again?”
“Not until you’ve fully healed.” It’ll take a week at least for his bruises to fade completely—and that gash—maybe longer. It’s one rule I can institute for our safety.
He pushes out his lower lip, sulking. “That’ll take forever.”
“We have to set some boundaries,tesoro.”
“But we already have. Limits, safewords, a signed contract…” He huffs, impatient as ever.
“What we have is very potent and needs to be tempered because while I do want to hurt you, I don’t want to harm you.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
I shake my head at him even while knowing it’s my own responsibility to pull back when he’s had enough, especially if he won’t. “That is exactly why we need rules. To keep you safe.”
“I’m always safe with you.” He pushes aside the tray and lays his head on his arm, looking so damn sweet and irresistible that I must lean in and give him a kiss. He rolls onto his back, and I adjust the pillows to ease his discomfort, getting lost in the plushness of his lips and the wet hunger of his mouth as I ravage him. There is so much warm skin, the softest velvet under my fingers, and every fine pore and hair follicle responds so eagerly to my touch. I stroke his cock and massage his balls with no certain purpose, just to have him in my hand.
“What do you want, Giovanni? Diamonds, rare books, those expensive high-top sneakers you were looking at online?” Maybe it’s guilt or maybe it’s gratitude that compels me, but I need the physical evidence of gifts to soothe my own conscience.
He gazes at me from under his lashes, biting down on his lower lip to torment me. “There is one thing, Sir.”
“What is it?” I will mortgage my penthouse to give it to him.
He leans up to whisper in my ear, “I want you to fist me.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. This fucking kid.
“Haveyou ever worried about taking too much?”
