Selfie (37 page)

When Noah walked into the house, I was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a loaf of bread in one hand and a soup pot in the other.

“Connor?”

“Do we want laundry?” I asked.

He took the pot away from me gently and put it on the stove. “Laundry?”

“For dinner.”

He took the loaf of bread out of my hand and set it on top of the refrigerator.

“It’s two in the afternoon, and we just had lunch.”

“But—”

Chest to chest, facing me, he slid his hand into the hair at my crown and jerked sharply, tilting my head back until I was staring at him with big eyes, my heart pounding suddenly in my ears.

“Connor!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Go upstairs, take off all your clothes, and be waiting for me when I get there.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Don’t touch yourself. Don’t play. We are
not
playing, not when you’re like this, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” My eyes dropped. “Thanks Noah,” I said softly.

My reward was a crack on the ass to speed me on my way.

My hands were still when I started to undress, but by the time I turned my phone off and put it in the charger they were shaking all over again.
Don’t mention Noah. Don’t talk about Vinnie. Don’t say anything about how miserable the press made the whole coming out process.
And a part of me was resentful. Levi Pritchard had practically gotten a parade in his honor—but this was his turf. Everybody knew him.

I didn’t realize what a rare and exotic bird I was until I added another color to the feathers in my tail.

I stood next to the bed, at parade rest, with my hands at the small of my back, and fumed. Seriously, what was he doing down there? How long would it take to lock up the house? Was he opening some windows, because the temperature had reached eighty, and it was getting hot in here, hot enough for sweat to drip down the small of my back, between my ass crack, down my neck—

Whoosh
!

And there went the air conditioning.

My nipples hardened to diamonds just that fast, and my balls drew up hard and aroused, next to my warm body.

Oh.

That’s
what he’d been doing.

A part of me relaxed. I was being taken care of. Unbidden, my fingers went to a tiny pointed nipple and pinched. It was like squeezing a bag of spices into a simmering pot—the scent, the saturation, the
sexual arousal
slowly steeped through my body, until all things ached pleasantly, and the anticipation of what Noah was planning was the only thing on my mind.

“You’d better not be touching yourself.” Noah’s voice echoed up the hallway, and I moved my hand quickly behind me again.

“Uh . . .”

He neared the doorway and leaned against the frame, eyes assessing me steadily. “You just touched, didn’t you.”

“Sorry?”

I loved his laugh so much. He walked into the room and started to undress. He’d worn a T-shirt and jeans today, because I’d been his only passenger, and I loved watching a man pulling his shirt off from the neck first. He’d been working out with me during breaks on the set, and his chest was starting to show the effort. Wide and dark, his pecs weren’t slabs of meat yet—but they were hard and unyielding. He was starting to get a tiny patch of
very
curly hair in the center, but I wasn’t going to mention it. I felt like it was for me alone.

“I need to know what you need.” He kept eye contact with me as he kicked his shoes and socks off in the corner by his dresser. “Some guys get off on punishment and smacks on the ass, and that’s fun, but you—”

“I just need . . . help,” I whispered. I needed to be told what to do.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, fingers at his fly. He stepped out of the jeans, his long, dark legs making the motion look even more graceful. His boxers followed, and he walked toward me, naked, confident, his attention burning on my skin. He invaded my space, his body heat making me flush before he even touched me. “So I’ll just call the shots.”

He traced a delicate line with his thumb down my throat to my collarbone. I tilted my head back just a little, giving him access to everything.

“You don’t like something, say so. You were pretty out of it—I’m going to be strict and intense until you tell me you’d rather do things another way.”

“Safeword?” I asked, because yeah, I read the porn.

“I’d prefer you just say, ‘Stop it, baby, it doesn’t feel good,’” Noah said, his mouth turned up, “but sure. Whatever you want the safeword to be.”

“Chihuahua.”

He buried his face against my throat and snickered. “You are not making it easy for me to be all sexy and dominant, you know that right?”

“It’s just, you know. If we had one, we’d have to stop having sex when it came in the room.”

He swallowed a smile and framed my face with his hands, while I kept mine obediently behind me. “Connor Mazynsky, you are something really special.”

I fought sudden tears. “Make it better,” I begged.

He nodded and straightened up, assuming that natural dominance like a cloak. “Boy, I seem to have misplaced my hard-on—get on your knees and find it for me. Do
not
use your hands!”

“Yes, sir!” I dropped my military attention and put one hand on the bed to lower myself when he stopped me and grabbed a pillow off the bed.

“Here, for your knees.”

I’d been doing a lot of stunts that week, and I nodded gratefully as I set the pillow on the ground first and then put my weight on it. From there, he looked like a god, a brilliant, diamond-black god of sex and strength, staring down at me kindly and blessing me with his hands on my cheeks.

“I take it back,” he said, face stoic. “Use your hands. I want to feel your hands on me, Connor. Can you do that?”

I smiled, so damned glad I could make him happy I wanted to cry.

“Yes, sir!”

I grasped him and stroked, relaxing into the sensuality of sex with the basic act of touch. He was fat and blood-filled in my hand, and his skin had the rich, slick texture that made
this
organ different than any other part of the body. I squeezed slowly up and slowly down, and then opened my mouth and wrapped my lips around his head.

And groaned in pleasure. Oh holy hell, he wanted a blowjob and I knew how to give a blowjob. I reveled in the stretch of my mouth around him, in the salty tang of sweat by his crown, in the tight pucker of skin around his scrotum, and the musk I inhaled when I lowered my head to the tiny pebbles of hair at his groin.

Good. Sucking this cock into my mouth was all that was good.

Noah’s hurried exhalation told me he thought so too, and I pulled back slowly so I could swallow him again.

His tightening fingers in my hair said something different, and I let him guide me, let him use me, sliding me forward and backward as he desired, slow, fast fast fast, slow—I shielded my teeth to protect him and put my body at his disposal. I so very much yearned to be used.

He thrust hard and deep down my throat, and I tasted the first glorious spurt of pre-cum before he pulled out.

“Stand up,” he said gruffly. “I want my hands all over you.”

He gave me a hand up, and I stood as he did exactly what he said—he skimmed his palms over my upper arms and down my spine with one hand, while with the other, he pinched my nipples in quick, hard bursts again and again.

I shuddered, and almost begged for him to just get on with it and bend me over. Then I remembered—he trusted me to be patient, to trust that
he
had my best interest and my best pleasure in his heart.

I could endure any amount of teasing if he had my best pleasure in mind.

He left my nipples alone, right before I was about to warn him that I’d come. The relief left me light-headed, and he easily maneuvered me until I was bending over the bed, my ass popped into the air, my dripping cock thrusting into nothingness.

“Stay there,” he whispered in my ear, and I worked hard to keep my knees from buckling, just from his voice.

He came back with lube and—to my surprise—soft handcuffs, a scarf, and the flogger/plug combo.

“I don’t want to use this plug,” he said, rubbing his fingers between my crease and claiming my hole as his own. “I want the flogger, ’cause it’s gentle. It’s just going to touch your shoulders all over, maybe edge you with enough pain to really feel. It’s not going to hurt, not really.”

I nodded, content with that trust, content with the knowledge that whatever Noah was doing, he was doing it for me.

“The cuffs don’t even bother you, do they?” he asked, searching my face.

“No,” I said, thinking about the safety of not being able to move, the absolute confidence of knowing someone else had this.

He swallowed, hard, and moved close enough to stroke my ass with a shaking hand. “Baby . . .”

“What?”

He shook his head. “Later,” he murmured. “I’m going to use the scarf instead.” He had to pull his finger from my ass to tie the scarf around my wrists, and for a moment, I wanted to protest. But once I felt the strength of the knots he’d used to bind me . . .

Oh. Oh yes.

He hummed and gentled my body with his hand, and everything was right with the world. “Just stay there.” He left for a moment and came back with a few more things and a towel. He laid the towel out and then laid out the lube and the flogger, a tiny leather paddle, a couple of plugs and dildos in varied sizes, and a leather cock ring.

“Wow,” I said, my eyes big.

He leaned over my back and selected the cock ring. “I’m going to put this on you,” he told me unnecessarily. “It’s going to make you ache, and it might put off your climax. You may beg me to take it off—and I will.”

My mouth parted, and my cock gave a vicious throb. “Not unless I use the safeword,” I breathed. The thought of begging to come made my knees weak.

“Okay,” he agreed. “If you’re sure.”

“I am so sure.”

He dropped to his knees behind me and kissed one cheek, and then the other. Then he groaned and spread me, and I felt his tongue along my crease and invading my pucker. I moaned, surprised. He’d promised the cock ring, promised the ache and the binding and the being forced into submission!

I started to shift my feet, and he pulled back enough to say, “Stay still. This is mine!”

Oh . . . okay. I was being claimed. His ass, his body to do with what he wanted. I closed my eyes and relaxed into the pleasure, so liquid, even with my cock hard and dripping, that when he wrapped his hand around my cock and secured the ring, I barely even shuddered.

“Comfortable?” he asked, rising to his feet.

“Mmm . . .” My hips rocked unconsciously as I sought to grind up against the bed, and he popped me lightly on the ass to keep me from moving. “Ahahah . . .” It was a greedy sound, because that sting of pain, that overt dominance, made me need.

“You want that,” he purred. He leaned over my back again, thrusting his cock along my thighs, leaving a trail of pre-cum down my left cheek. I sighed and wriggled against him, flexing my arms against the scarf at my wrists but still wanting more. He only kissed my spine gently and pushed back my hair to lick at my ear. From the level of the bedspread, with my arms still stretched in front of me, I watched him select the flogger, and I groaned.

I wanted that.

Not the pain, but the . . . the
absence
of everything else in my head. The stalkers in the bushes, the nonstop request for interviews, the constant invasions into my privacy, the wounded, faintly accusatory voice of Vinnie in my head, that worry about what was on the island, if Vinnie would be there and I could just talk, just explain . . .

Swack
!

The tails of the flogger layered my back with a mild sting, and the other noise disappeared.

“Are you here?” Noah asked sharply.

“Yes, sir!”

“You’re not on that fucking island, are you?”

I paused. “I was, sir,” I confessed, chest heaving with the weight of it.

The flogger fell heavily across my back again, and I grunted, each and every strip of leather striking a distinct pattern of nerve endings.

“Here,” Noah said, brooking no argument.

“Yes, sir.”

Again.

“Here!”

“Yes, sir!”

Swack
!

“
Here
!”

“
Ahhhhhh
. . .” Oh God! The heat building up on my back was edging into actual pain, and the result was . . . terrifyingly arousing. “I . . . I . . .” I started to thrust my hips against the bed, trying to find a hard place to grind my cock.

“Shh . . .” He soothed my back with his hand, the gentleness making me tremble. My ass clenched and opened again and again, craving, craving him, craving possession and craving more pain. “Here,” he murmured. He reached above me and found the lube and one of the smaller plugs.

I whined.

“Not big enough?” he asked, amused.

“I won’t feel it!” I protested.

“You’ll need to bear down on it.” He was so serious! “It’ll keep you in the here and now.”

“So will pain,” I said mutinously.

He grabbed my chin and turned my head sideways. “Are you questioning me?”

“No, sir.”

His expression softened. “Do you need to move? Are you comfy?”

I shifted and pulled my arms under my body. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“It’s not about the pain, Con.”

I frowned, because there was something wrong with that on so many levels.

“Con!”

“Yes, sir!” I snapped, my back heating up and throbbing with just the sound of his voice.

“Spread your legs and bend your knees, we’re moving on to the paddle now, ’kay?”

I closed my eyes and breathed out. “Thank you, sir.”

“But first . . .”

The plug he pulled wasn’t the smallest—but it was close. I stared at it, clenching and unclenching, simultaneously happy
something
was going up there and depressed it wasn’t bigger, or
him
.

He dribbled lube right down my crease, cold and surprising, and teased me as it dripped down, down, coating my hole. For a hopeful moment the coolness of the plug slid through it, slid into me, and then I was left wanting more.