5. Michael
Chapter five
Michael
M ichael caught Henri before he could hit the floor, though they still ended up there.
His eyes caught the name on the phone screen.
Marc Saint-Clair. Confusion flickered through him.
Henri had said he wasn’t seeing anyone. But that thought vanished as Henri started hyperventilating, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Michael shifted, pulling Henri back against his chest, between his thighs. “Breathe with me,” he murmured, placing a steady hand over Henri’s racing heart. “Feel my chest rise and fall. Match it.”
But Henri was beyond hearing, beyond reason. His whole body trembled as he gasped for air. “You have to go,” he choked out. “Please, you need to leave. Now.”
“I’m not leaving you like this,” Michael said firmly, maintaining the steady pressure against Henri’s chest. “You’re safe here. Just breathe with me.”
“No!” The word came out as a sob. Henri tried to pull away, but his movements were uncoordinated, desperate. “You don’t understand. You have to leave. Please. Please go.”
“Tell me why,” Michael said, holding Henri against his chest. “Help me understand why a text has you so terrified.”
Henri just shook his head, tears streaming down his face as he tried to pull away. Michael kept him steady with one arm while reaching for the fallen phone.
“No!” Henri lunged for it desperately, his coordination shot, but his panic giving him frantic energy. “Don’t, please don’t look! You can’t see...” His fingers grasped uselessly at Michael’s wrist as Michael held the phone out of reach.
“Please,” Henri begged, his voice breaking completely. “Don’t read it. Please don’t see... I can’t, if you see...”
Michael’s jaw clenched tighter with each message he read, Henri’s desperate pleas forming a heartbreaking soundtrack to the horrifying picture emerging on the screen.
Every text from Marc was a command, each response from Henri showing subdued compliance. The cruel words, the degrading demands, the threats wrapped in false affection.
Then he reached the photo, and his blood turned to ice.
Henri, naked and bent over what looked like a leather chair, his wrists bound behind his back with rope.
Tears streaked down his bruised face as another man, someone Michael vaguely recognized, stood behind him, one hand gripping Henri’s hip.
The photo was taken from the side, capturing the man’s profile as he turned partially away from the camera, but Michael could still make out the manic grin splitting his face.
The violation was clear, but it was Henri’s expression that made Michael’s vision blur.
Pure terror and pain, captured and saved.
‘Don’t you look lovely,’ read Marc’s caption below.
Michael’s hands shook as he set the phone down carefully, fighting the urge to hurl it against the wall. Henri was trembling against his chest, quiet sobs wracking his body.
The LaMontagne Foundation fundraiser flashed through his mind.
Marc’s possessive hand on Henri’s spine, Henri’s immediate stillness when Marc whispered in his ear.
Michael had thought it was typical wealthy couple dynamics.
Now he saw the flinch Henri had hidden, the way he’d gone pale before plastering on that practiced smile.
How had no one noticed? How had he not noticed?
“You need to go,” Henri said once his breathing had steadied.
Michael tightened his hold. “I’m not leaving you to put on a ‘show’ for that man. What he’s saying to you...”
“Stop.” Henri pressed his hands over his ears. “You don’t understand.”
“Help me understand.”
“I barely know you!” Henri’s voice cracked. “Just go! Everybody leaves. So be one of them, and leave.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“This isn’t pity.” Michael pressed his lips to the back of Henri’s neck, biting down and then sucking hard, leaving another mark. The action drew a soft gasp from Henri. “It’s rage.”
The intensity of his own reaction surprised him. This fierce protectiveness over a man he barely knew, yet somehow felt was his. His to care for, to protect. The instant possessiveness was odd, but he could analyze those feelings later. Right now, Henri needed him.
“Does Gabriel know about this?” The question came out harsh, anger at Henri’s brother rising.
“Yes.” Henri’s voice was quiet. “Because of Ellis, and Jean... Gabriel knows. It’s why I’m here in London, even though the EcoSphere acquisition doesn’t really need me.
He sent me away to get me out of Porte du Coeur.
Away from Marc. If he could have sent me away longer than a month, I’m sure he would have. ”
Michael grunted, his anger at Gabriel subsiding somewhat, though not completely. The man had let whatever this was go on far too long.
“I have to do what he wants,” Henri whispered, his body tensing again. “If I don’t put on the show, he might come to London.”
Michael went still, his arms tightening instinctively around Henri. The implication in those words, the genuine fear. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“You don’t know Marc.” Henri’s laugh was hollow. “He would. He has before.”
“Clarify that,” Michael said, his voice carefully controlled.
“Last year, I went to a conference in Chicago. Was supposed to be gone a week.” Henri’s voice was distant, remembering. “Just a week. On Thursday, Marc showed up. He’s not even in finance, but he invited himself to the conference anyway.”
“What did he do there?” Michael felt Henri shiver and reached for the comforter, pulling it down and around them both in a protective cocoon.
“What he always does,” Henri whispered. “Whatever he wants.”
“That’s not an answer, Henri.”
Instead of responding, Henri reached for his phone. “I have to reply to him.” His fingers trembled as he typed:
OK. Give me a minute.
The response was immediate.
Now.
Henri sighed, starting to stand. Michael’s arms tightened, keeping him in place. “Not until you answer me.”
“I can’t,” Henri’s voice cracked. “Not... not right now.”
Michael nodded, finally letting Henri rise. But Henri didn’t make it far.
He froze halfway up, thighs trembling, one hand braced on the mattress as he looked down between his legs. A strangled breath escaped him.
Michael followed his gaze and immediately understood.
His cum was leaking from Henri, a slow, glistening trail running down the inside of one pale thigh. Henri stared at it as though it were a wound.
“I need to clean up,” Henri said sharply, almost too sharply. He grabbed for the edge of the bedsheet as though he meant to wipe it away with whatever was nearest, breath already catching again.
Michael’s stomach clenched. Not with guilt, but something darker. Possessiveness. Seeing his cum on Henri, in Henri, lit a primitive fire in his gut. But he swallowed it back and sat up.
“Hey.” Michael was up in an instant, catching Henri’s wrist before he could scrub at himself. “Don’t. Hang on. I’ve got it.”
Henri’s fingers twitched in Michael’s grip, but he didn’t pull away.
Michael disappeared into the bathroom and returned moments later with a warm, damp towel. He knelt between Henri’s knees without ceremony, gently pressing the cloth to the inside of Henri’s thighs. His strokes were slow. Careful.
Henri’s shoulders dropped fractionally. He let out a shaky breath.
Michael didn’t speak until he was finished, swapping in a dry towel and brushing away the last trace of wetness. “There. All done.”
Henri nodded, almost too quickly, moving with purpose, and crossed to his open suitcase.
Michael expected him to pull out clothes, but instead, Henri reached for a familiar set of items with quiet efficiency: a large dildo and what looked like a collapsible phone stand.
Michael’s stomach dropped.
Henri didn’t look at him as he retrieved the stand. Just carried it back to the bed with practiced efficiency. He didn’t reach for the lube; it was already there, lying where they’d left it.
Michael followed, silent, and took the phone and its stand from Henri’s unresisting hands.
Set them up silently.
His mind, however, was spinning.
Michael’s jaw locked tight, but he said nothing. The careful efficiency in Henri’s movements told him everything he needed to know about how often this had happened before.
“What are you doing?” Henri said, his voice small, so unlike the Henri Michael had known.
“I’m not leaving you,” Michael said, his voice low and immovable as he adjusted the phone angle. “On the bed.”
Henri obeyed, slipping into position with muscle memory. His limbs folded into a practiced pose, the kind that told Michael he’d done this countless times.
Michael swallowed hard and reached for the video chat, hesitating just before hitting the button.
“How long have you been with Marc?”
Henri met his eyes, the hollowness behind them swallowing the air between them. “I’ve been Marc’s companion since we were seven.”
And suddenly, all the little moments from earlier clicked into place. The way Henri responded to direction, the hesitation before kissing, the careful way he held himself after.
This was what obedience looked like after twenty years of ownership.
Ownership.
Not love, not partnership. Ownership. Henri had been Marc’s possession since he was seven years old. A toy to be used, controlled, broken down, and rebuilt according to someone else’s twisted desires.
Michael’s hands clenched into fists. Years of systematic abuse, of having every natural response trained out of him until Henri couldn’t even recognize his own wants versus his conditioning.
The practiced way Henri had positioned himself, the automatic compliance. It wasn’t seduction. It was survival.
“You can leave,” Henri said, quieter now. “You should leave.”
Leave? The thought was absurd. Michael had stumbled into something horrific, something that should never have been allowed to continue, and Henri thought he would just walk away? Leave him to perform for his abuser alone?
Michael didn’t move. “No.”
I’m never leaving you again.