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“What else would it be?” I kept my head high, forcing myself to meet his big brown eyes.

“What else?” He chuckled softly. “Since when did Santiago Mercer become the type to sit in the bleachers for four quarters like a football fan?”

“You don’t really know Santiago Mercer.” I tried to sound brave; instead, I just sounded stubborn.

George reached out, his massive, calloused fingers gently wrapping around the silk tie at my collar. My stomach flipped. He didn't pull, not yet, but the heavy weight of his hand resting against my chest made my knees throb with a sudden, aching weakness.

“Don’t I? Look at you,” George murmured, his deep voice vibrating through the floorboards. “A long way from a black hoodie. You wore this suit to show me how smart you are. How untouchable you are,” George whispered, leaning down until his lips almost brushed my ear, his woody cologne enveloping my senses. My cock throbbed, pulsing behind the tight dress pants, already leaking a steady trail of pre-cum against the fine fabric. “I see right through you, Santiago. Your fancy suit doesn’t hide your need. It doesn’t hide your desperation, or your leaking dick.”

“Ummhh,” I moaned as his big hand slid down, wrapping firmly around my length. His thumb ran slowly over the head through the denim, feeling the shameful wetness that had soaked straight through the expensive fabric of my dress pants.

“Don’t play games with me, Santiago. Tell me, why are you here?”

Tears of frustration pricked my eyes, but the dark, submissive current between us was an absolute physical weight. “I told you,” I rasped, my voice cracking as I looked up into his dark, possessive pupils. “I want you. I needed to see you.”

“Why?” George’s grip tightened on my tie, his other hand sliding up to firmly cup my jaw, forcing my head back against the wood.

“To prove I’m ready, Sir.”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled deep in his chest, the dominant beast fully awake. “Now, that’s an answer. Good boy,” he murmured, the praise melting my remaining defenses like wax.

George stepped closer, running his hands over the fine wool of my jacket. He slid the suit jacket off my shoulders, letting it fall to the side. “You won’t be needing this tonight.” The crisp white shirt beneath felt suddenly more exposed. “Now let’s see how well you kneel in these expensive boots, begging to earn my cock.”

I lowered myself down on my knees.

“Good boy,” George smirked, moving to a low cabinet near the galley I hadn’t noticed before. When he returned, his arms were full of new leather and rope. My breath caught.

My crisp white shirt, deep burgundy tie, and polished, Italian black leather boots were constant reminders that it was going to hurt. And just the thought of it made me leak.

George crouched in front of me, loosening my burgundy tie with deliberate slowness, pulling it free from my neck and setting it aside. Then he unbuttoned the top few buttons of my white shirt, exposing my skin. He rubbed his big hand down my chest, his eyes completely focused while my chest heaved to catch my breath. He leaned forward and bit my nipple.

“Ummhh,” a whimper escaped me, his hard stubble stinging against my smooth skin. He immediately soothed the ache by tracing his thick tongue over it.

He held my gaze as he reached into the bag, grabbing the collar. Heavy black leather, lined with something soft, a thick silver D-ring glinting at the front. He slid it around my throat over the shirt collar. The buckle clicked shut with finality. It was snug and tight enough that I felt it with every swallow, every breath. The D-ring rested cool and heavy against my sternum.

“Color?” George asked when my eyes filled with watery heat.

“Green, Sir,” I exhaled.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, hooking a finger through the ring and tugging me forward until our faces were inches apart. “Looks like it was made for you.” He pressed his mouth to mine, his kiss punishing and hard as he yanked upward on the D-ring.

“Hmmm,” I moaned with desperation, his tongue leaving no room for me to breathe. Then he pulled back, letting me catch my breath as he reached back into the bag for the cuffs.

Red leather, thick and padded on the inside with soft black fur. He fastened them tightly around my wrists.

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered, and I obeyed instantly. He clipped the wrist cuffs together with a short length of cotton rope, knotting it efficiently. The rope was softer than I expected but incredibly strong, holding my arms immobile. He snapped another set of padded cuffs around my ankles, still covered under my socks, while my boots flattened face down against the floor. The fur was luxuriously soft against my skin, a sharp contrast to the unyielding leather and chains pulling at my arms. He tested the buckles, making sure they were secure but not cutting off circulation. He ran another length of rope from the cuffs to the D-ring on my collar, forcing me into a slight, taut arch—chest out, shoulders pulled back. My half-buttoned white shirt stretched tight across my torso in this position.

George stepped back to admire his work, then picked up the short riding crop. He held my eyes, and I stared directly into his dark pupils when he asked again, “Color?”

I took a ragged breath. “Green, Sir.”

He nodded. “Walk on your knees. Chest to the couch.”

I struggled into position. Bound as I was, I shuffled forward on my knees to the couch and threw myself forward face-down, pressing my chest heavily against the leather armrest. My ass was presented high, completely vulnerable in the dim light. George stepped closer, his shadow engulfing me. He reached around and unbuckled my leather belt, the metal buckle clinking sharply before he slowly slid the leather free through the loops. Then he unzipped my suit trousers and tugged them down just enough to bare my cheeks, the fine costly wool pooling around my thighs while my boots stayed on the floor.

George’s hand traced my hips, his palm shockingly warm against my chilled skin. His big finger traced my crack down to my balls, and I opened up instinctively.

“Look at you loosen up for me, wanting me to fuck your hole. You think you are ready for me to take you bareback, Santiago?”