Page 106

“Don’t worry, Haywood. This is for my own personal scrapbook. No one else will see it. I promise.”

Suddenly, the screen goes black, and Cole’s voice is muffled, but I can just make out him telling someone he’ll catch up to them before he brings his phone back to his face.

“I have to go, but I meant what I said. No touching yourself, fucktoy.” I could come just from that degrading nickname alone. “Now get in the shower and hurry to your next class. Good luck hiding that thing while you’re there. When I see you later, if you’re a good boy, I’ll take care of your little situation for you.”

With that, the call disconnects. I flop down into my chair, almost disoriented. My cock is harder than it’s ever been. My head is swimming with all the possibilities of what Cole could want to do to or with me when I see him again.

The last place I want to go right now is to my next class, but something tells me Cole will know if I skip, and until I fully see what I’ve gotten into, I don’t want to push the envelope.

Looks like it’s going to be a cold shower and the hope that this raging hard-on will die at least enough for me to hide it until I get back up here after dinner.

And on my knees for Daddy.

Chapter Four

Mason

If I thought getting through my second class with a raging hard-on was tough, it was nothing compared to sitting across from Cole at the dinner table. Every time our eyes met, all I could hear was, “That’s a good boy. Open your mouth for me and take a big bite.”

My only saving grace was the thin napkin I laid over my lap to hide the bulge in my pants.

Cole texted me a couple times during dinner to give me instructions. Stupid shit I’m sure was designed to test my willingness to follow his rules and keep myself in line in front of others. First it was to wait for him to get his food before I started eating. The second command was for me to accidentally get ketchup on my finger, then lick it off… slowly.

His final text came just as we were cleaning up.

Cole:

Go to my room and lock the door behind you. I want you naked and kneeling in front of the sofa, ready for me, by the time I get up there.

The napkin stood no chance against the violent twitch of my cock when I read that, as it slid off my lap and floated to the ground.

So, now, here I wait—in his room—for whatever the hell happens next. I’m tense with anticipation, goosebumps cover my skin both from fear and excitement.

My dick is so hard, it would only take a soft touch or a whisper of breath for me to come. Cole told me I wasn’t allowed to touch myself, and it’s been one of the most challenging battles of will power I’ve ever fought. Looking down, I take in the sight of me. I’m fully at attention, almost a painful shade of reddish-purple.

It’s at that exact moment I know I’ll do damn near anything he asks of me as long as it results in my own release.

Thankfully our room is designed in an “L” shape, with the sofa tucked around the corner and out of sight of the doorway when it’s open. So when I hear Cole unlock the door, I know I don’t have to worry about someone walking by in the hallway and seeing me like this.

He’s quiet. The only sound I hear is the door closing and the lock clicking into place again. Then soft footsteps until he rounds the corner and we come face-to-face.

Standing over me, he’s expressionless, but I can just make out a heated flare in his gaze.

“Finally.” His breath comes out in a rush, and a delicious chill wreaks havoc on my body.

I have to wonder what his satisfaction is in reference to. What exactly has he been waiting for? Me specifically? Or would having anyone in this position suffice? Because I don’t think I’d be able to do this with any random person. The idea of someone else standing over me right now—male or female—doesn’t turn me on in the same way. The idea of submitting to anyone other than Cole doesn’t turn me on at all. There’s a rousing sensation I feel that’s tied to Cole specifically. Without him, my body wouldn’t be plagued by the incessant buzzing I feel when he’s around, whether he’s being an asshole or not.

Lifting the hem of his shirt, he pulls it over his head. My mouth falls open slightly as he rubs a hand down his abs and beneath the waistband of his jeans. He’s all hard muscles and tanned skin, with a tattoo of a lion on his left ribcage.

That’s fitting.

He’s fucking beautiful.

A soft moan releases from his throat, and I don’t have to remove my eyes from his to know, without a doubt, he’s gripping his cock.

“Spread those legs for me.” He nods his head in my direction, and I comply immediately. “And clasp your hands together behind your back.”

Again, I follow his instructions.