Galan
Belladonna Mansion
Casey’s Condo
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
His boy dragged his fingers across his chest after their embrace, as if reluctant to release him.
The notes from Mendelssohn’s ballad still hummed in the air between them, mingling with the low hush of the ocean filtering through the open balcony doors.
Casey’s cheeks were flushed and his breaths quick, but his voice was steady when he asked, “Are you hungry, Sir?”
The ask was simple, but it carried a weight that made Galan’s heart skip.
He gave a single nod, and Casey lit up, tugging him toward the kitchen with a little more confidence.
Galan sat in a plush ivory dining room chair and accepted the hors d’oeuvres tray of strawberries, cantaloupe, and Brie placed in front of him.
The kitchen was sleek with its stainless-steel appliances, marble counters, and recessed lighting, but it was warm with Casey inside it.
Casey moved quickly, placing a half-roasted chicken and asparagus in an oven to warm before slicing a loaf of garlic bread.
After he set the meal before him, Casey hesitated at his side, wringing his hands.
“Permission to kneel, Sir?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “At your side, while you eat.”
Galan studied Casey’s vulnerability for a long moment before he inclined his head.
Casey sank to his knees gracefully, folding his slender frame against Galan’s leg and resting his cheek on top of his thigh. Every now and then, his gaze flickered upward, not seeking approval, but reassurance as a soft sigh escaped his pretty lips.
Galan ate in silence, though his mind was loud with thoughts of how he could be everything Casey needed and more. When he finished, Casey took his plate, humming softly to himself as he cleaned the dishes.
“Would you like to see the mansion, Sir?” Casey asked with a shy brightness that made Galan smile.
He stood, took Casey’s hand, and kissed his knuckles before he said, “Lead the way, beautiful.”
The Belladonna mansion revealed itself slowly, like a bride lifting the veil from her face.
The hallways were long and lit by ambient lights, with mirrors lining the walls, and antique rugs stretching across the center of the polished wood floors.
Casey walked ahead, barefoot with light steps, pausing here and there to share small details of his favorite aspects of the house—a painting Thorn had acquired in Paris, a century-old grandfather clock that still chimed every hour.
Casey didn’t lecture him or over-explain. He just let the opulence speak for itself.
Galan followed in silence, but inside, his heart pounded wildly.
He became hypnotized by the sway of Casey’s rhythm, the curve of his hips and the way they shifted with each step.
The outline of a perfect ass made Galan’s hands flex with want. He imagined what it would feel like to hold Casey still beneath him and give him his weight…and his cock.
He ached to pull Casey close to do the one thing this mansion couldn’t. Hold him back.
They passed a wide set of glass doors, and Galan stopped.
A stocky man was standing alone outside by the pool. He stood with his head tipped back, staring at the dark sky, littered with gray rain clouds.
The light from the terrace cast a shadow over most of the solemn expression on his face. Though he wasn’t moving, he stood like a string being pulled so taut it was about to break.
Casey lowered his voice.
“That’s a new gentleman, Jonah. Thorn welcomed him a month ago. He doesn’t join us much. Only comes out late, when we’ve all gone inside.” His boy’s tone was tinged with pity and curiosity. “He doesn’t have a condo, so his room doesn’t have a full kitchen like mine.”
“What’s up with him?”
Casey sighed. “I don’t know, Sir. He’s a big guy and acts like his weight is a curse. I think he’s been shamed for it most of his life. You can see it in the way he moves, like he’s apologizing for taking up space.”
Casey was watching the man as well.
“He won’t eat with us and only comes down when he’s sure everyone’s in their condos. I remember one night I came down and saw him in the kitchen, just making a sandwich, and he jumped like I’d caught him stealing. Like feeding himself was some kind of crime.”
Galan pulled Casey close to his chest.
“I just know he’s hurting. And Thorn said he lost the true love of his life many years ago.”
Galan frowned. “Grieving, huh?”
Casey shook his head. “Not death… literally lost him.”
More questions formed from that weighted mystery, but Casey tugged gently at his hand.
“This way, Sir. I wanna show you my favorite room.”
When Casey opened the tall double doors, Galan gazed up at a cathedral of books.
Bookcases rose from the floor to the ceiling with ladders resting against the shelves.
He inhaled the richness of leather and ink and couldn’t help smiling again—that was twice in the last half hour.
A vast hearth dominated one wall, crowded by deep leather chairs and ottomans, perfect for hours of reading.
Casey moved as though he belonged there, trailing his fingers along the spines of novels that looked old enough to be first editions.
He pulled a volume here and there to show him, but Casey also allowed him space to explore on his own, and Galan appreciated it.
Casey balanced his neediness and independence masterfully.
Galan wandered deeper into the room until he came across a heavy album.
He carried it to a chair, sat down, and flipped it open.
It was page after page of photographs—smiling couples outside and some inside the mansion.
Galan understood…they were success stories. Survivors. Love redeemed.
Casey drifted back to him, pausing until Galan crooked a finger.
Wordless, Casey climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs as though it were the most natural place for him to be.
Galan spread his hand along the base of Casey’s spine as he continued to turn the pages.
His boy pointed out the names and stories he knew.
Casey met his gaze before he leaned in and brushed his soft cheek against his beard. Galan hummed his approval and kissed him on his temple.
It was sweet, almost innocent, yet a sharp current of need made his breath catch.
The first quake of thunder rumbled outside, making Casey flinch. He tried to smile it off, but the grip Casey had on his shirt told the truth.
“Come,” Galan murmured, closing the album with finality.
Casey
Back in his condo, for the first time since he’d moved in, the air felt intimate and the walls closer.
The overwhelming weight of Galan’s presence filled more than the room. It pressed against him, steady and immovable, like a wall built to catch him if he fell.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous, not even in front of thousands on a stage.
No, this was far more stomach-clenching.
Every flicker of Galan’s intense gaze to his, every tic of his jaw, made Casey’s pulse trip over itself.
He wanted to be flawless for him. Wanted to prove he was worth the risk, worth the contract, worth being claimed.
But fear gnawed at him—that Galan would see through him, see the cracks, and walk away like everyone else had. And yet, under the fear, there was something else… something softer. A fragile warmth that Galan emanated from deep inside.
Casey could feel it.
He’s the one.
He fixed Galan a drink, moving more slowly now, fatigue and nerves making his hands tremble faintly.
He set the glass in Galan’s hand, then perched on the edge of his chair.
A yawn slipped from him, but he kept his eyes glued to Galan’s, afraid that if he looked away, Galan might vanish.
The thunder cracked again in the distance, and despite how hard he tried to remain still, he jumped.
“You should rest,” Galan said, his voice low.
Casey shook his head, knew he was being stubborn. “Not yet.”
I don’t want to miss a single moment with you .
“Bed,” Galan said again, firmer this time, but he softened the command with a gentle touch.
In his bedroom, Galan helped him out of his shirt. Every movement was deliberate, adoring.
He folded the garment neatly and laid it aside before turning back to draw down the covers.
Casey slipped between the sheets, his eyes clinging to his Galan’s every motion.
His Sir sat at the edge of the bed and brushed a lock of hair from across his forehead with a touch so steady it made him ache for more touch…lower.
“Have you made up your mind about the contract?” Casey whispered. He wanted to know and he didn’t.
“I have,” Galan admitted, jaw flexing.
Casey nodded. “Will you tell me?”
“No. Rest.”
Galan caressed his cheek one last time and left the room.
I’ll wait. However long it takes, Sir. I’ll wait.