But he could.
He was shuddering against the couch, limp except for the death grip in my lapel, his entire being distilled down to sensation and response. When I hit the inner limit—a tiny, rubbery injunction deep inside him—he yelped as if startled by his own body. I left the sound in, just a little, and ran my tongue along the curve of his ear. He let out a strangled groan, and the next thing I knew, Cove was coming, rocking gently in my grip, tremors traveling the length of his body.
I tugged the sound free, unbothered by the gush of white spend that splattered onto my hand and fumbled a trembling Cove onto my lap. He was a ragdoll, pliant and soft, all fight burned out of him. I cradled his head in my hands and kissed him again, softer and slower, indulging in the fact that this beautiful creature was all mine.
He hummed against my mouth, a little airy “mmm” that felt almost bashful, and when I drew back to look him in the eye, he held my gaze for a long time without blinking.
“Are you okay?” I asked, brushing strands of hair from his face.
“Mhm,” he purred.
The next night, I brought out the suction cups.
I’d ordered them on a whim, but the moment I pressed one to his nipple and set the pump, his entire body reacted as if I’d delivered a jolt of electricity.
I watched with fascination as the suction brought his nipples up into fat, dark peaks that begged to be bitten. I worked his cock with one hand and his chest with the other, alternating between the pumps and my teeth until he was gasping, hips rolling up in search of friction.
When I finally let him come, I left the cups on until he whined, then pulled them off and licked the swollen buds, savoring the way he shivered.
On the third day, Mark arrived.
He wore an ill-fitting sport coat and a mask of professional cheer, but I could see the suspicion in the way he scanned the foyer, the way his eyes swept the aquarium displays behind me looking for movement.
I greeted him with a fake smile and a handshake, keeping the door open just long enough for him to see the security panel and the silent, watching Ben at the kitchen pass-through.
“Welcome,” I said. “Cove is just finishing up a water change in the main system. May I offer you a cup of tea or coffee?”
Mark hesitated, then nodded. “That would be great. Thank you.”
He followed me into the kitchen, his gaze flicking to every doorway, every corridor, as if he expected to see Cove dart across the threshold. I made him coffee, black, and sat across from him at the bar, infinitely amused when his lips pinched from the taste.
“I’m glad you could make the drive,” I said. “Cove’s spoken very highly of you.”
Mark sipped the coffee, his hands shaking a little. “He’s a great kid. Sharp. I was worried about him, to be honest. I hadn’t heard from him, and—well, you know how it is.”
I smiled, all teeth. “It’s difficult to keep up with old friends when you’re as busy as he is.”
Mark nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. “I’d love to see him, if he’s available.”
“He’ll be along in a moment,” I lied.
I gave him the tour, walking him through the aquarium wing, the humidity and light pressing in as we moved from tank to tank. He fired off questions, some technical, some personal, all with an edge of urgency I found almost charming. I answered each one with absolute clarity, never once giving him a foothold. He kept looking for Cove, kept glancing at his phone as if expecting a text message to rescue him.
When we reached the quarantine room, I keyed in the code and gestured for him to enter first.
He hesitated on the threshold. “Is Cove in there?”
“He’s waiting for you,” I said, and followed him in.
The door closed behind us with a soft magnetic click.
Mark turned, and I let him see something in my face that wasn’t hospitality.
“You’re not going to leave this place alive,” I told him. “You understand that, don’t you?”
He stepped back, eyes wide, shoulders bunching to run.
Mark’s mouth opened. “What the fuck—”
