Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Clayton
I followed Felix through the wide hallway, the lights low and golden, until we stood outside his bedroom. He didn’t ask. He just nudged the door open, then turned to look at me, in that slow, careful way he had.
I noticed the bed first. King-size. Neat and crisp, the kind of sheets you only ever see in catalogs. Not a stray sock anywhere. My stomach flipped. He watched me. Not moving. Just waiting.
“Get undressed,” he said, voice low but not unkind.
My fingers went numb. I stared, but he didn’t fill the silence. He’d just stand there all night, I figured, if it was what I needed.
So I did. Pulled my shirt over my head, fumbled the jeans down, nearly tripped trying to step out of them. I’d never felt so exposed in my life. The bedroom was warm, but goosebumps still shivered down my arms. I forced myself to look at him.
He nodded, approval in the tilt of his mouth. “Good.”
The word hit hard. I stood there in my underwear, wishing I’d worked out more, wishing I was…something else. Not old, not soft, not me.
But Felix didn’t look away. He sat on the edge of the bed, slowly, then patted the spot beside him. “Here.”
I went. Of course I did.
The mattress dipped under my weight. For a second I didn’t know where to put my hands. He made it easy. Just reached over, took my wrist, and tugged me close. His other hand came up, knuckles rough, and grazed my jaw.
“You look good like this,” he rumbled.
I almost laughed. “You don’t need to flatter me, sir.”
“It’s not a compliment. It’s a fact.” His thumb swept under my chin, forcing my head up. “You looked good tonight. You look even better now.”
He kissed me. Not a gentle, testing kiss, but deep and hot. I melted, instantly, leaning into the heat of him. His hand went to the back of my neck, holding me right where he wanted. I didn’t even try to resist.
I’d forgotten what it was like to be wanted. Not just tolerated, not just…there. Really wanted.
Felix tasted like wine and something minty. His beard rasped my jaw. I groaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound. I felt his hand on my chest, spreading wide, covering my heart. Warm. Heavy. Fuck, I loved that.
He broke the kiss, gaze flicking over my face. “You need rules tonight?”
Did I? My brain spun. I didn’t want to screw anything up, didn’t want to break whatever this was.
“I—I just want to do it right, sir.”
He grinned. “If you do what I say, you can’t mess up.”
Relief almost made me lightheaded. He guided me into the bathroom, hand on the back of my neck, and even that was enough to make my knees go watery.
The space was huge, all glass and tile and a tub that looked like it belonged in a magazine.
Felix moved with purpose, turning on the taps, fiddling with something on the edge.
Bubbles. The scent was sharp and clean, and reminded me of him.
“Take the rest of your clothes off,” he told me, voice low.
He didn’t turn away. I knew he was watching, so I made myself slip the underwear down my thighs, bare the ugly scars and soft places that always made me want to hide.
Felix didn’t look away. Not once. His gaze didn’t flinch, either.
Just took every bit of me in, slow and deliberate.
I shivered. Shouldn’t have been cold, but I was. He saw it.
“Get in,” he said. “Careful you don't slip.”
He waited until I’d eased myself down, the heat shocking, almost painful, but so good it wrung a sound right out of my chest. I sank in up to my chin and just…
floated. All the aches, the bruises, the tight band around my ribs from wanting too much—all of it softened, just a little. I let my head fall back.
Felix didn’t leave. He rolled up his sleeves and sat on the edge, arm warm against my shoulder. He reached for a washcloth, soaked it, and squeezed it over my back, slowly. The water was hot. The touch was gentle. I shut my eyes, afraid I’d cry if I didn’t.
He washed my arms, my chest, careful around every scar. When I flinched, he made a small hum, nothing sharp, just patience. He did my shoulders, the backs of my hands, then my neck. I didn’t want him to stop.
“You’re holding tension everywhere,” he muttered as he found a knot at the base of my skull. His thumbs worked the muscle until I thought I’d melt into the tub. My mouth wanted to say something, thank him, beg him for more, I didn’t even know.
He got the shampoo and poured it over my hair. The lather felt good, better than anything I’d had in a year. He massaged my scalp, slow and heavy, and I moaned before I could stop it. Felix grinned, but it wasn’t mocking. He actually looked proud.
He rinsed me, made sure nothing got in my eyes.
He didn’t rush. He just kept washing until my skin tingled.
He even made sure to check the scrapes on my elbows, the ones I hated.
“You need to moisturize,” he commented, almost to himself.
“I’ll take care of it.” Like it was just a thing he did for people.
Like I was something worth taking care of.
I didn’t want to get out, ever.
He left me while he took a quick shower, then dried himself.
He bent and helped me out, wrapping a warm towel around me.
He stepped away, and for one heart-stopping second, I thought he’d changed his mind.
But he moved behind me, big hands settling on my shoulders, and squeezed, hard enough to make every muscle in my back go soft.
I slumped, letting him hold me up, because I knew he wanted to.
It was effortless, the way he worked his thumbs into the ache and just… waited for me to relax.
“Breathe,” he murmured.
I sucked in air, dizzy. My knees almost buckled. He held me steady, towel tight around my hips, and pressed his mouth to the side of my neck.
I shuddered. Couldn’t help it.
He grinned against my skin. “Sensitive?” His voice was soft, amused, but not unkind.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered. I must have sounded pathetic, but that made him hum like I’d given the right answer.
He walked me to the bed. I didn’t even try to fight the touch. I wanted it. Needed it. I was half-hard, aching, desperate for anything he’d give me.
He sat first, then drew me down beside him. The towel slipped, but I didn’t move to grab it. Not with his hand firm on my thigh, pushing me right where he wanted me.
“You nervous?” he asked, thumb rubbing circles over my knee.
I nodded. “A little.”
He waited.
“I just…” The words came out small, shaky. “I don’t want to mess up.”
“You won’t,” he promised. “You do what I say, and nothing else matters. Understood?”
Something unknotted in my chest. I nodded, and he grinned, slow and warm.
“Good boy.”
God, I’d never get tired of that.
He got rid of his own towel, and I couldn’t look away. He was huge, broad everywhere, more muscle than I’d ever seen up close. Ginger everywhere, even down below, the cock thick and flushed and already so hard I almost drooled. No way he wanted me, not really, but—
He caught my face with his palm, big hand spanning cheek and jaw, and made me look right at him.
“I want you here,” he rumbled. “You understand that?”
I nodded, but it wasn’t enough. He squeezed my jaw, not mean, just so I’d focus.
“I want you, Clayton. All of you.”
My heart nearly stopped. I swallowed, throat gone tight. The need in his voice was real. It wasn’t a joke, wasn’t a pity fuck, wasn’t anything except true.
I shuddered. “Yes, sir.”
He pulled me in for a kiss, and I just sank. His beard scraped my jaw, hot and rough, and his tongue pressed into my mouth, insistent. I let him take over. I wanted him to. It was easy, dropping into that space, letting him steer. He knew exactly what he was doing.
He pushed me flat on my back, bracing over me, all heat and weight and strength.
I wanted to curl up, but he spread my thighs and slid a hand up, past my knee, right to the soft skin at the inside.
I was shaking, my cock leaking onto my own skin, but I didn’t care. I’d do anything for him. Anything.
His mouth drifted to my neck. He sucked hard, not cruel, just enough to leave a mark. His teeth grazed the line where my jaw met my ear, and I shuddered, helpless, almost whining. He laughed softly, the vibration curling through my whole body.
He kissed down, slowly, and palmed both my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head like it was nothing. I didn’t fight him. I wanted it. Needed it so bad my eyes went blurry.
“Breathe,” Felix murmured.
I did, but it came out shaky, almost a sob.
He nipped at my collarbone, tongue hot against my skin. His other hand drifted down, slow, thumb skimming my ribs, then lower, tracing every scar and hollow like he wanted to memorize exactly what I was made of. I felt…wanted. Not tolerated. Not some leftover. I arched up to him, desperate.
He pressed his knee between mine and spread my thighs, pinning me wide. I could feel how hard he was, cock hot and heavy against my thigh, and I nearly lost it right there.
“Color?”
The word shot through me. “Green, sir.”
He hummed, pleased. I’d never made anyone happy with just a word before. He bent and licked a stripe down my chest, teasing my nipple with his teeth, and I jerked, gasping.
“So sensitive,” he said, almost to himself. “Perfect.”
He kept my wrists locked tight, but his grip never hurt. His hand drifted down, palming my cock, squeezing just once. I made a noise I’d never heard in my own throat before. He moved slowly, torturing me with the drag of his fist.
God, I couldn’t even think. “Please, sir. Please, I need you, I…please.”
He let the words hang, savoring every one. His hand was slick, working my cock slow and steady, thumb teasing the head, never enough but so good I could barely hold on.
“You want to come?” The words were rough, hungry.
“Yes, sir. Please. Please.”
“You will. But not yet.”