Chapter 10 Wesley
Wesley
The door thudded shut behind Ro, sealing us in. My driver didn’t so much as glance in the rearview mirror.
Ro sat on the white leather seat next to me, shoulders bristling, pressed tightly against the car door. He looked conflicted on whether or not he should’ve followed me.
I let the silence linger for a few minutes, allowing the tension to build. I shifted, one arm resting along the back of the seat, closing that space between us without touching him yet.
“We’re going to a hotel.” I tilted my head slightly, watching his throat work.
“Don’t read too much into me coming with you,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze.
I smiled softly at him. “Okay.” I leaned in, close enough to catch the faint scent of his skin beneath the adrenaline. “I’d like to establish a safeword with you before we arrive.”
His brow cinched, and his stunning eyes flicked up. “Why would we need that?” he asked.
I brought my hand up to cup the back of his neck again, thumb massaging into the tender hinge just below his ear. He stiffened for a second, but didn’t pull away.
“So that I can stop if anything gets to be too much for you,” I answered.
His lashes flitted, eyes displaying his hesitance. “Would you actually pay attention to it?”
I tilted my head. “Of course I would, Ro.”
He fidgeted with his hands, staying silent for a moment.
Ro’s knuckles went white where he twisted his fingers together, his defenses slipping just enough for me to see the raw nerves underneath.
“You don’t even really know me,” he muttered finally, voice low and sharp, as if the words could cut through his own unease. “Why the hell would you care if it was too much?”
I let my thumb drag slowly along the curve of his neck, breathing through the anger his questions caused.
I wasn’t mad at him—never him. He could ask all the questions he wanted, and I would always try my best to answer.
No, it wasn’t him. It was because of the reason behind his questions—the reason that made him think I wouldn’t care about his comfort, his consent.
“Because you are a person.”
His breath caught—just for a second—but it was enough. “What?”
“I’m not one to deprive others of their basic human rights.” I swallowed my rising emotions back down my throat and caught his chin in my hand, turning his face towards mine. “Do you understand?”
Ro hesitated, then gave a stilted nod. “Okay. Yeah,” he whispered.
“Good.” I leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, letting the words pour warm and slow into him. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”
He shuddered, and the sound he made—half scoff, half involuntary whimper—was addictive. I kept my touch light, yet grounding, as if I weren’t unraveling him piece by piece with every second of silence that followed.
“Pick a word, doll,” I said calmly, like I was asking him to choose between wine or whiskey. “Any word. Something you’ll remember. Something you’ll actually use if you need it. And if at any time you need to stop, you’ll say that word, because that’s what good boys do.”
I waited, patient and unrelenting, until he swallowed hard and whispered, “Betta.”
A smile curved at my lips as I brushed my fingers down his jaw. “Betta. Okay. I don’t think I’ve heard that one before, but that just makes it easier to remember.”
“I used to have a betta fish.”
“Oh? Did you like it?” I asked fondly.
Ro nodded, then turned to look back out the window. He murmured, “Yeah.”
The car rolled to a smooth stop outside the hotel.
“Stay close when we walk in,” I told him. “You look like prey right now, and I don’t intend to let anyone else catch sight of you like that.”
The driver stepped out first, circling around to open my door. I slid out smoothly, adjusting my jacket to hide my blood-stained side, before holding the door wide for Ro.
He hesitated a fraction too long before stepping out, eyes darting to the grand entrance of the hotel.
My hand settled at the small of his back, firm but not shoving, a silent reminder that I expected him to move with me.
He stiffened under the touch yet obeyed, falling into step just behind my shoulder.
The lobby was all marble and chandeliers, polished to a shine that screamed money. A pair of businessmen lounged in armchairs near the fireplace, a couple drifted past with luxury-branded suitcases in tow, and the receptionist straightened with a smile as I approached the desk.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Cohen.” Her tone carried the deference of someone who had checked me in before. “We’ve reserved the suite you prefer.”
“Thank you,” I replied, handing over my card with the ease of habit.
Beside me, Ro shifted his weight, restless, eyes scanning every corner of the lobby.
Anyone watching him would see tension, wariness—maybe even fear.
But I could see beneath it. I saw the way he stayed tethered close, instead of bolting, as if instinct had already decided that he was safest by my side.
The keycards slid across the counter. I picked them up and turned, brushing my hand along Ro’s lower back again. His body reacted before his mind did, leaning slightly into the touch.
We crossed to the elevators, and I pressed the call button before angling my head toward him.
“You’re doing very well,” I murmured, low enough that it was just for him.
His jaw clenched. “You don’t need to praise me for every little thing.”
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open. I guided him inside with a light touch, and when the doors closed us into silence, I stepped just close enough that his breath stuttered.
“No,” I agreed softly. “I don’t need to. But that won’t change the fact that I want to.” I smiled, calm and assured, as the elevator carried us upward.
When the doors opened again, I led us out into the quiet hallway, swiping my keycard at one of the two doors on this level.
Inside, the suite was everything I’d expected—polished opulence designed to impress without feeling gaudy.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline in sprawling light, pale curtains pulled back just enough to let dusk spill in like liquid gold.
A marble fireplace sat dormant on one wall, and the centerpiece of the room was the bed—enormous, dressed in silk and crisp linen, its headboard upholstered in dark leather that caught the glow from the chandelier above.
I let the door click shut behind us, snuffing out the low hum of the city outside. Ro stood a few feet from me, rigid as a coiled wire. His eyes darted everywhere—the chandelier, the seating area, the double doors that led to the bathroom.
“There’s just the one exit, no cameras,” I murmured, shrugging off my jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.
His gaze flicked briefly to my wound before darting away again, distrust etched into every sharp line of his posture.
But beneath that was the way his throat bobbed, the way his chest rose just a little quicker, the way his hands twitched against his thighs.
He wanted this, but was nervous. That was fine.
He’d learn eventually that he could trust me.
I stepped forward slowly, unhurried, until I was in his space again. My fingers brushed his wrist—just a ghost of a touch—and he flinched, but he didn’t step away.
“You’re beautiful, babydoll.” My voice was velvet as I lifted his wrist and turned it, studying the thin veins beneath his pale skin.
He shivered. “If you try anything, I’ll kill you,” he shakily threatened.
I smiled, bending just enough to let my breath skate across his jaw. “I don’t doubt that. If I harm you, you have every right to protect yourself.”
“Shouldn’t you at least get that taken care of first?” he asked pointedly, reaching out his hand to lightly brush my side.
I shrugged. “It’s hardly a scratch.”
Ro glared at me. “I’m pretty sure it needs stitches. At least fucking clean it.”
“Are you worrying about me? That’s awfully sweet of you, doll,” I chuckled.
He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. It’s not my fault if you get sepsis or some shit, though.”
I grinned. “As long as I get some time with you, I frankly don’t care what happens to it.”
His chest hitched, and I took advantage, guiding him backward step by step until the backs of his knees brushed the edge of the bed. He caught himself on instinct, palms splaying against the silken covers.
I caged him in without touching him yet, leaning over until his space was filled with nothing but me. “Will you give me control? You can take it back at any time.”
His lips parted, a breathless sound escaping before he could stop it. I let my knuckles graze down his jaw, tilting his face up to mine.
His jaw pressed obediently into my hand, and that was all the permission I needed.
My mouth found his—firm, claiming, a kiss meant to strip the air right out of his lungs.
He stiffened, hands pressing against the mattress as if debating whether to push me off.
But his lips parted all the same, a muffled sound spilling into me that I swallowed down like it was a form of sustenance.
I deepened the kiss, one hand sliding from his jaw to the back of his neck, holding him steady while my other traced down his torso, over the ridges of tension straining beneath his sweater.
He gasped when I grazed his nipples, the noise breaking the kiss just long enough for me to murmur against his mouth, “So sensitive. I like that.”
His eyes burned into mine, his body arching into me. I pressed him back onto the bed, not with brute force but with the inevitability of gravity itself, lowering him until he was half sprawled across the sheets.