9. Henri #2
Henri looked away.
“I don’t know how to ask for things,” he said finally. “Especially when I think they’re wrong.”
Michael tilted his head. “Wrong how?”
Henri’s gaze flicked to the nightstand. He hadn’t meant to. But he saw Michael track the movement.
And understood.
Michael’s voice stayed steady. “Would using it help?”
Henri’s laugh came out sharp and bitter. “What kind of person needs a sex toy to function? I can’t even—” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. Normal people don’t need to be controlled with that just to get through the day.”
“Henri.” Michael’s voice cut through the spiral, firm but gentle. “Look at me.”
Henri dropped his hands, forcing himself to meet Michael’s eyes.
“You’re not ridiculous,” Michael said. “You need someone to take control right now. That’s not shameful—it’s honest. And this?” He gestured toward the nightstand. “This is a safe way to do it. A way for you to give me control without it being... without it being what Marc made it.”
“But it’s still—”
“It’s still a choice,” Michael interrupted. “Your choice. You’re asking for what you need. That’s the difference.”
Henri’s throat tightened as his tears threatened to fall. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”
“It makes it yours.” Michael stepped closer, not touching yet, giving Henri space to decide. “This isn’t about me taking something from you. It’s about you trusting me with something you’re choosing to give. Do you understand the difference?”
Henri wasn’t sure he did. But he nodded anyway. “If you’re the one holding the remote...”
Michael took his hand without hesitation, leading him to the bed and guiding him to sit. He crossed the room and opened the nightstand drawer, retrieving the sleek, charcoal-gray device. A plug—vibrating, high-end, deceptively elegant.
Henri flushed the moment he saw it, heat coiling low in his belly, shame and arousal rising in tandem.
Michael caught his reaction immediately. “Are you okay with this?”
“Yes,” Henri breathed. “The thought of you using it—” He broke off with a strangled sound, burying his face in his hands, humiliated by how badly he wanted it.
Michael gently tugged one of his hands away, thumb brushing over Henri’s knuckles. “You like it.”
Henri gave the smallest nod. “Yes.”
Michael sat beside him, voice low and grounding. “This is about giving you a space to let go, safely. On your terms.”
Henri frowned slightly, confused. “What do you mean?”
“If you want me to stop, at any point, you say stop. And I do. No questions, no negotiation.”
The words didn’t register at first.
Stop? That wasn’t... that wasn’t how it worked.
With Marc, there had never been a stop. Not even when he cried. Not even when he bled.
“Could we… now?” Henri asked, barely audible.
“You want to try it now?”
Henri nodded, throat too tight for speech.
Michael turned the box over, scanning the QR code on the inner flap with his phone. Henri watched as the app opened and paired; the interface was clean and efficient, with Michael’s name auto-filling on the registration screen.
Then Michael paused, and turned the phone so Henri could see. A block of text filled the bottom of the screen:
DEVICE REGISTRATION AND SECURITY:
Upon initial pairing with a mobile device, the product becomes permanently and irrevocably bound to said device’s unique identifier.
The product cannot be subsequently registered to or controlled by any other device.
In the event of mobile device loss, damage, or replacement, the product will be rendered permanently inoperable.
No warranty claims or replacements will be honored in such circumstances.
User assumes all responsibility for maintaining access to the registered device.
Henri read it twice. His breath hitched. It couldn’t be hijacked. Couldn’t be reassigned. Couldn’t be taken back by Marc.
“Wait,” Henri said, panic flickering at the edges of his voice. “What if—what if Marc already registered it? I didn’t open it, but he sent it to me. What if it’s already linked to his phone?”
Michael shook his head. “The app wouldn’t let me register it if it were. We’d get an error.” He tilted the phone to show the progress bar:
Pairing complete.
Registered to: Michael Taylor
“It works?”
Michael nodded. “It works.”
Henri exhaled.
“He probably expected you to send him the pairing info,” Michael added. “But since you didn’t… he has no access. He never will.”
Henri pressed a trembling hand to his mouth. “Why does that make me want to cry?” He let out a breathless, embarrassed laugh. “It’s such a basic thing…”
Michael didn’t answer. He just wrapped his arms around Henri and held him tight, resting their foreheads together in the quiet.
Henri sank into him. Didn’t speak. Just breathed.
Michael checked the charge, then set his phone aside and stood, drawing Henri gently up with him. The towel fell in a soft heap to the floor, revealing Henri’s arousal.
Michael palmed him gently, drawing a shiver and a quiet gasp. “Beautiful,” he murmured, stroking once, then again, before guiding Henri to turn. “Bed.”
Henri obeyed, moving to the edge and bending over instinctively, gripping the duvet. His breath caught again when he felt Michael’s hand skim down his spine.
“You ready for me, baby?” Michael asked, reaching for the lube.
Henri nodded into the bedding. “Yes. Please.”
Michael hummed softly, spreading the lube over his fingers, then down between Henri’s cheeks, circling his entrance with slow, deliberate pressure. “Still so responsive,” he murmured, dipping one slick finger inside, then pulling back to add another.
Henri gasped and spread his feet slightly wider, the position both familiar and strange under Michael’s touch. When Michael slid his fingers deeper, scissoring gently, Henri moaned and pushed back into the sensation.
“More,” he begged, his voice ragged. “Please…”
Michael pulled out without warning, and Henri whimpered at the loss until he felt something firmer press against him. The plug. Cool at first, then warm from Michael’s hands.
The tip breached him with ease, thanks to the lube and his own need, but Henri still tensed, bracing against the pressure. Michael kissed the space between his shoulder blades, hands steady.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, as he slowly eased the toy into place.
It wasn’t as large as some Marc had used, but it wasn’t something Henri could ignore, either. It filled him just enough to be present, to remind him he wasn’t empty. A weight, a pressure, not painful—just there. A reminder.
Then it kicked on, low and steady, and Henri let out a helpless groan, his knees nearly buckling as the vibrations pulsed through him. He fisted the comforter, breath caught in his throat.
“Fuck,” Michael whispered behind him, voice full of awe. “You look so good like this, baby. I’m going to take such good care of you.” Another kiss, warm and possessive, pressed between Henri’s shoulder blades, then Michael pulled away.
“Please,” Henri begged, legs trembling, needing more.
But Michael only chuckled, low and affectionate. “No, baby. You said you had emails to answer this morning. Your VPs are waiting.” He guided Henri upright with gentle hands.
Henri swayed slightly, still adjusting to the plug’s weight and motion. Michael’s hand curled around his cock for a teasing stroke before withdrawing. Henri whimpered, nearly chasing the contact, but Michael was already walking away, retrieving the clothes he’d laid out earlier.
Henri watched him with a dazed, hungry expression. “What are you doing?”
Michael glanced over his shoulder with a wicked smirk. “Don’t you think clothes might be too restrictive today?”
Henri’s arousal surged at the words. And God, how his body responded to that. He nodded, throat dry.
“Yes, sir.” The word slipped out, soft and instinctive.
Henri stilled.
Michael’s brow twitched, just slightly, but he didn’t comment. He returned to Henri, pressed a kiss to his temple, and murmured, “Good boy.”
He’d never called Marc that. Marc had been Marc, or when he was feeling especially cruel— Master . Sir wasn’t part of the script.
And yet it had come out so easily.
He was used to being naked on command. Marc had often kept him that way, stripped for punishment, for display, for convenience.
This felt different. But also, strangely, the same. The act itself was familiar enough to settle that uneasy pressure in his chest. Being bare, being watched, was a state his body understood. And here, with Michael, it wasn’t a violation. It was… comforting.
Henri let himself be guided through the townhouse, bare and flushed and half-hard, every step a reminder of the toy seated deep inside him.
Michael settled him into the desk chair, laptop open and waiting.
The leather was shockingly cool against his skin, making him shift.
The plug made the motion audible, a small wet sound that heated his cheeks, and he had to place his feet a little wider to feel stable.
Then Michael handed him a glass of water and leaned in for a kiss, deep and claiming. “Work,” he said softly against Henri’s lips. “I’ll be right here.”
Michael crossed to the couch and opened his own laptop, positioning himself with casual competence. From where he sat, he had a perfect view of Henri.
He tried to focus—really, he did. There were pending budget proposals, and the internal compliance team had flagged two emails regarding contract audits. But then the vibrations intensified, just slightly, and Henri’s breath hitched. His fingers paused over the keys.
Michael didn’t look up. But the smirk tugging at his mouth said everything.
Henri bit his lip and forced himself to keep typing.
The pattern held: quiet stretches of focus, then sudden spikes of sensation. A slow, deliberate rhythm designed to test his limits. Henri knew exactly what Michael was doing. And maybe that was the point.