Casey
Orion’s Surfside Veranda Restaurant
Chic’s Private Beach
His pale-blue silk shirt—matching the color of his eyes—was fitted to his slim frame and tucked into tailored black leather trousers that clung in all the right places.
But it was the diamond-and-sapphire-encrusted white-gold collar around his throat, just above his open neckline, glowing like a beacon, that made Galan’s heart thud with boundless pride.
Casey had insisted all evening that Galan was doing too much tonight, repeating over and over that he was his Valentine’s gift.
But Galan refused to let his boy believe he was undeserving of fine things.
Tonight, he’d spoiled him with balcony private box seats to a modern dance ballet at the Chrysler that’d made Casey’s eyes mist, followed by an extravagant candlelit dinner in a four-star rooftop restaurant on Chic’s Beach.
Casey was beaming with wonder the entire time, even as he insisted he didn’t need all this.
Now, on the way home, Casey was nestled in his arms with those bright eyes shining up at him.
They were just approaching the city when his boy asked softly, “Sir… my friend is doing a demonstration at The Kingdom tonight. He asked me to come for support. Could we…?”
Galan’s gut tightened. The club. The same walls where he’d lost his last boy to another Sir.
The same ravenous crowd of men who would give their right nut to lure such a luminous submissive as Casey into their reach.
He wanted to bark a stern no. Every instinct told him to lock Casey away and never let him within a mile of any BDSM club.
But he could not refuse him—not tonight, not ever.
They’d been together every night since they’d met, except for the few days he’d had early morning surgeries.
Casey had shown up at his practice twice with a surprise homemade lunch.
They’d gone on several dates where they’d talked for hours, getting to know each other better.
Their lovemaking was off the charts.
Most importantly, anytime they’d been in public, Casey’s gaze never wandered. He’d only had eyes for his Sir.
Casey had more than shown how special he was to him. He’d earned his trust, and it was time Galan showed it.
He leaned back against the smooth leather, forcing a calm smile as sweat beaded at the back of his neck.
Casey was fucking gorgeous tonight.
His eyes sparkled blue and the silkiness of his ivory skin glowed from his good mood.
Fuck.
His boy drew appreciative stares anywhere he went, and Galan… Galan was proud enough to want him seen but never touched, not even approached.
Casey must have felt a ripple of his unease because he slid gracefully onto his lap and rested his hands against Galan’s chest.
“Sir,” he whispered, nuzzling under his jaw, “I’m only going to support my friend. But make no mistake, everyone will see what’s true in my heart”—Casey ran his fingertips over his collar—“that I belong to you.”
Galan swallowed, nodded, and gave the driver the new destination.
When they entered, just as he’d expected, heads turned.
All eyes cut toward Casey, draped on his arm, radiating elegance.
He walked close to him, gaze cast down, refusing eye contact with any Sir or Master who prowled the floor.
Casey only spoke when approached by other submissives, and even then, he began every word by introducing his Sir first, showing the entire club where his devotion lay.
The owner intercepted them midway through the club, smug as ever, his smile dripping with jealousy.
Galan flexed his jaw but kept his voice level.
“Quite the diamond, Galan.”
He ignored Big Ben’s comment and said, “Casey is here to see Jason’s show.”
“Then right this way.” Ben stared at Casey. “I have a VIP table in front of the main stage.”
Galan tracked the eyes that followed them like vultures.
He almost missed Casey signaling the bartender.
When they reached the table, Galan was shocked by Casey’s formality.
Casey slipped his Sir’s coat from his shoulders and reverently draped it across the back of his high-backed chair, never raising his eyes higher than Galan’s chest.
With a subtle press of his hands on top of Galan’s shoulders, he guided him into the seat. And right on cue, a waiter approached with a bourbon neat—top-shelf—and presented it to Casey.
His boy set it on the table before him, then, with a swan-like grace that stunned the room into silence, lowered himself onto a red velvet pillow at Galan’s feet.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Galan heard a Sir behind them reprimand his sub, “You see, boy? That’s how it’s done. Take notes.”
Casey knelt—poised, still, and gorgeous—his gold collar catching the low club lights, and Galan’s throat burned with emotion.
Several kneeling subs adjusted their slouched postures to mimic Casey’s position.
Galan reached down, caressing his boy’s jaw before stroking a fingertip over the collar, letting every eye see his claim.
It was a ceremonial vow and a triumph. His Casey was indeed his .
But after only a minute, Galan’s need was too much. He lifted Casey’s chin, bent low, and kissed him long and deep, relishing the salacious moan Casey blessed him with.
He tugged him onto his lap. Though he adored his boy kneeling, he loved him far too much not to keep him in his arms.
The demonstration ended an hour later. Galan was finishing his second drink, his nose buried behind Casey’s ear, when a tall, handsome man wearing a designer black suit brazenly approached their table.
Galan lifted his head, glaring at a Sir standing within eight feet of his boy.
“That’s quite a beauty you have there,” he said, his hungry gaze roaming down Casey’s back to where his ass was on his thigh. “Do you ever play with other couples? My boy is in the back preparing for his rope play demonstration. We’d love to entertain you two…perhaps tonight.”
Casey glanced up at Galan with narrowed eyes. “Permission to answer, Sir?”
Galan nodded as rage curled hot in his chest.
Casey’s gaze stayed lowered, but his voice was gritty, steady, his words a blade wrapped in velvet.
“With respect, Sir, the answer to your question is no, we do not. I wear this collar as proof that I belong to one man, and one man only. No one else will ever touch me. I will not even gift another Sir the courtesy of my eyes, let alone my body.”
His tone sharpened, cutting but elegant.
“And should another boy dare to touch my Sir, it will be the last thing he touches with that hand. So you should leave our table now before you further embarrass yourself by standing in front of a man so far above your worth that your presence here taints the very air my Sir breathes.”
Galan barely controlled his urge to pump his fist in the air.
He cupped Casey’s throat, hand resting over the gleaming collar, and kissed him soundly, pouring every ounce of gratitude and love into it.
It was the best Valentine’s gift he’d ever been given—his boy’s loyalty, spoken to their world for all to hear.
Casey was quiet during the drive home, as if he wanted to give Galan time to soak in what he’d done, the fire in his words, the way his boy had shone tonight like a superstar.
His hand hadn’t left Casey’s thigh the whole ride, possessive but gentle, stroking his thumb in slow circles of devotion over the fine fabric of his tailored pants.
Back at Casey’s condo, he’d barely let the door close before he backed his boy against it and kissed him as if he hadn’t in weeks.
The scent of Casey—clean, powdery, and sweet, blended with the spice from his own cologne—intoxicated him.
Casey melted into him, sighing his name in worship.
The clothes Casey had dressed him in ended up in a trail across the living room floor. Once in the bedroom, Galan slowed everything down, wanting to take his time and show Casey just how much tonight meant.
He lay his boy on the bed and touched him with gentleness, kissed every part of his body with patience, murmuring gratitude into every inch of his boy’s skin.
“You gave me the best night of my entire life, sweetheart,” Galan whispered as he slid inside him, slow and deep.
Casey gasped his name again and again with every thrust.
Their rhythm was unhurried but intense, every groan laced with emotion.
He held Casey tight, and sucked his on his throat, his collar cool against his tongue.
Casey wept softly, and Galan knew it wasn’t from pain as he licked away every tear.
“Please, Sir,” Casey pleaded, his hard cock leaking against his stomach. “Tell me I can come.”
Galan let himself go—wholly, without fear—inside the one who had rebuilt his faith.
Casey trembled beneath him, every sinewy muscle taut, every breath a desperate plea for more.
Galan tightened his hand around Casey’s hot dick while he claimed his mouth.
“Come for me, boy,” Galan growled low and commanding.
With only his touch, not a single stroke, Casey’s cock pulsed in his palm as his cry cracked the silence open.
His back arched off the bed as his release surged hot between them, spreading across Galan’s abdomen.
Galan held him tight through every spasm, whispering how beautiful and perfect he was.
When Casey’s shaking slowed, he allowed himself to let go. Each orgasm Casey gave him was more powerful than the last.
Galan’s stomach fucking cramped from Casey clinging so tight.
“You’re mine, boy…always mine.”
Afterward, they lay tangled in sheets, Casey’s damp hair sticking to his temple, his head rising and falling where it lay on his chest.
He stared at the ceiling, his hand curved around Casey’s back, as he drew lazy circles over his damp skin.
“I love you,” Casey whispered before he kissed him gently near his armpit.
He knew he couldn’t let another night end without saying it.
“Move in with me.”
Casey lifted his head, blinking through sleepiness, his lips parted in obvious shock.
Galan brushed his thumb across his boy’s swollen mouth, voice hoarse but firm.
“I want you in my home, in my bed. Every night. No more separate lives. Be mine completely .”
For a breathless moment, Casey just stared at him before the tears welled, and he smiled so wide it broke Galan’s heart.
He nodded, trembling, and whispered, “Yes, Sir. I would like that very much.”
Galan kissed him, his boy, his partner, his future…his gentleman.