Chapter Twenty-Three
Rory
By the time we got back to Asher’s apartment, my dick felt like a tree trunk in my trousers. As soon as Asher’s flirtations had turned to sass and once Frankie started slipping into his dominant mode, I could only think about one thing.
“My sister is at the bar for a few hours,” Asher said, tossing his jacket on the back of the couch, then kicking off his shoes.
I cleared my throat, then stared at the shoes.
Asher sighed, then scooped them up. He deposited them by the door, then thought better of it and went to get his jacket too, hanging it in the closet before taking ours.
“Attitude,” Frankie said, clicking his tongue with disapproval.
“What?” Asher laughed. “A sigh? A guy can’t sigh now?” He grabbed his crotch, then looked up to us with puppy dog eyes. “Because if you want attitude…”
I rested my hand on Frankie’s back. “If Franklin says he doesn’t like your attitude, I hardly think arguing with him is a smart idea,” I scolded lightly.
Not grinning when I messed with Asher was turning out to be a bigger challenge than I expected. But when his cheeks flamed pink like that and he started fidgeting, my imagination ran wild.
I sat on the back of the couch, folding my arms over my chest. “What do you want him to do about it?” I asked Frankie.
He chuckled. “I guess if he’s going to be our boy, we need to figure out what kind of discipline works best.”
Asher sucked in his bottom lip. “I could listen to you talk about me all night long and be happy,” he said with a moan.
Frankie leaned against the back of the couch beside me. “Is that true?”
His eyebrows shot up when he seemed to realize what he said. “I mean, not really.”
I let out a chuckle that time, the expression on his face too priceless. “I guess the only way to figure out what kind of discipline works with Asher is to try them all. Don’t you think?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Frankie agreed. “It might take some time, but I can’t imagine Asher will mind. Do you, Asher?”
He stood in front of us, his arms hanging helplessly by his side. “Whatever you think I need, Daddy Franklin.”
Desire clutched my balls, and I batted down the urge to rush ahead.
Frankie stood up. His fingers danced by his side while he looked on Asher, studying him. “I think I remember a little fantasy,” he said. “Something you told us about right here?”
“That’s right,” I said, standing beside him. “Tied to the bed, if I remember? And we take turns fucking him. Although that seems more like a reward than discipline.”
Asher shuddered, and I saw his cock twitching in his pants. “Nope,” he said quickly. “Definitely discipline. That will definitely discipline me.”
Frankie turned to me, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I think we can find a way to make it work.”
“Show us your bedroom, boy,” I said sharply to Asher. “Now.”
He didn’t need any more instruction than that. For as much as he shot his mouth off, I was realizing that he was very good at following directions. Obedient, clear-minded, conscientious. I supposed those were the same qualities that made him so good at his former career, and I was glad that we could help him put that energy to more fruitful purposes.
The bedroom was like the rest of the apartment, fairly simple and minimal. The walls were gray, and the room was occupied with a bed, a rack of clothes, and a dresser, as well as a few framed photographs and a couple of comics he must have picked up from Northstar. I nodded approvingly as I looked around, glad to see everything tidy and in order.
“Do you have any hard limits?” I asked. “Anything you aren’t okay with?”
Asher shook his head quickly, then paused. “I don’t think so. No one has ever really asked before.”
Pain tugged at my heart as I thought of all the other men he had been with, people who hadn’t given him the respect he deserved. Luckily, Frankie and I had twenty years to explore together, and we had taken our time trying out different kinks and curiosities, to learn to do things properly.
“You remember what Rory told you before?” Frankie asked. “Red for stop, yellow for slow.”
