Chapter 30
RIGGS
Smith showed up at the shop after dinner looking like someone had kicked every puppy on the planet. I unlocked the door, and he walked right into my arms and buried his face against my chest.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, kissing his hair and pushing the door closed behind him.
He latched on to me like a barnacle, so I turned us both as one until I could reach the lock to get my keys.
It took a lot of work to get us upstairs considering he showed no signs of letting go of me, but I finally fought our way to the apartment and closed that door tight at his back.
“Stood up to my brother tonight,” he muttered. “I think I’m having an adrenaline crash.”
Well. That was good news, at least I was worried something bad had happened. This, to me, sounded like the opposite of bad.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I sank down to my knees and unlaced Smith’s shoes, pulled his feet out one by one, then walked him into the bedroom.
I sat him down on the edge of the bed, glancing up at the way the twinkle lights reflected off his almost glassy eyes.
Next, I unrolled the sleeves of his shirt, set to work on the buttons, and stripped him down until he wore nothing except a pair of indecently tight black boxer briefs.
“It wasn’t even…he said he wanted to meet you, but he said it like I couldn’t be with you until he approved and I didn’t like that.”
I smoothed my hands up Smith’s thighs. “I don’t like that either.”
“I told him he could meet you when I wanted him to meet you.” Smith huffed out a surprised breath. “I think Finn and Hunter were proud.”
That was something, considering the third-degree Finn had given me when we’d met on accident before.
“Of course they were,” I agreed. “I know you love your brothers a lot and you think very highly of Marshall especially.”
Smith stared down at the tattoo on his forearm, and I brushed my thumb over one of the lines up near his elbow. He hummed and shivered, giving me a small smile.
“I’m allowed to have things for myself,” he said, even though I got the impression he wasn’t necessarily speaking to me. “I can make my own choices.”
“Of course you can.”
His jaw clicked and he searched my face for something, but what, I wasn’t sure. His tongue made a noise inside his mouth, like he was moving it around and trying to get it to form words that weren’t comfortable for him to actually say out loud.
“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I asked, kissing the inside of his wrist. “Or we can lay down or…”
“I can make my own choices,” he repeated again, and I nodded my agreement. “But I…I think I like sometimes when you make them for me.”
I pulled my lips between my teeth to stop myself from whimpering.
For a minute, neither of us said anything.
We only watched the other, eyes tracking over every visible twitch and flinch our faces made.
Smith was as easy to read as a book, the things he wanted, the way he hated wanting them.
It must have been a struggle to fight out of your brother’s control only to find yourself welcome under someone else’s command.
And that…for me, that was a responsibility I didn’t take lightly.
“I like that too,” I finally said. “Is that what you’d like to happen tonight?”
“You tell me,” he murmured. “I remember how to make you stop.”
There was part of me that wanted to take Smith to the couch, tuck him into the crook of my arm, and put a movie on.
That wanted to snuggle him until he fell asleep on my lap, and that was all well and good, but I knew him well enough to know that wasn’t what he wanted in that moment.
Smith wanted to be liberated from himself sexually.
That was the easiest way for him to get out of his own head, and he trusted me to be the one to do that for him.
To not just take him where he needed to go but also make sure he got back in the end.
And it meant a lot to me that he didn’t hold that part of himself back for fear of my own preferences in the bedroom.
He saw me as clearly as I saw him. Smith recognized my ability to call a scene off when things were going in the wrong direction.
He took me at face value, trusting that I would tell him if something wasn’t right.
I expected the same from him, and that was part of the balance that made being with him so fucking easy.
Smith understood I could feel all the pleasure I needed by giving it to him.
Our bodies and brains didn’t need the same things to feel wanted, and he’d never push me too far just as I’d only ever push him far enough.
“Alright.” I stood up, reached behind me and tugged my shirt off. I tossed it on the floor and gestured toward Smith and the bathroom. “Do you know how to prep yourself?”
Smith’s cheeks turned an angry shade of crimson. “Of course I do.”
“Into the bathroom then. I’ll wait.”
He looked at me like he wanted to argue then decided better of it.
The whole time he was in the bathroom, I paced the length of my apartment trying to talk myself out of what I had planned. It was too much, too soon, but the water turned off and then we were back in the bedroom.
Alone.
“Take off the comforter and the top sheet,” I said. “Get on all fours.”
His nostrils flared as he stood, discarding the bedding and crawling back onto the bed like I’d told him to.
There was something beautiful about him like that.
Smith was always gorgeous, but when he let himself slip into a submissive role?
He was perfect, but I found myself debating the boundaries of our relationship, of the things that were important to me with other people and what was important with him.
“Actually.” I sat down on the side of the bed and pulled open the nightstand, drawing out a tube of thick lube and a small brown bottle. “Sit down.”
Smith moved to sit beside me, our thighs touching. I held out the small bottle and he opened his palm to receive it, turning it around and reading the label with a curious and confused kind of frown on his face.
“Did you do these with your friend Lincoln?” I asked.
He shook his head. “What are…”
“Poppers,” I told him, tapping the cap. “It’s—”
“I’ve heard of them,” he cut me off. “I know what they are, I’ve just never…”
Smith trailed off, and I waited for him to finish, but no other words came out of his mouth.
“Do you want to?”
He rubbed his finger and thumb over the small, ribbed cap, not quite getting brave enough to twist it open.
“Yes?” Smith let out a short and self-deprecating laugh.
“Try it here,” I suggested. “Like this. Just sitting here with me. It doesn’t last long and if you don’t like it, we’ll put the bottle away and I’ll never take it out again.”
“Do you use them?” he asked, twisting the cap open, then closed again before taking it off.
“Very, very rarely.”
“Why do you have them then?” Smith glanced at me from beneath the fan of his lashes, and I found I wanted to kiss him on the mouth.
“I thought you might like them.”
“Then I do want to try,” he said.
“Alright.” I smoothed my hand up and down the length of his spine. “Just twist off the cap and bring it up to your nose. Plug one nostril and take a deep breath. It kicks in pretty quick.”
“What does it feel like?” he asked, fingers already working on the cap, this time getting it all the way off.
“A bit like flying, I think. But not too far from the ground.”
“Do I just?” Smith took off the cap and raised it toward his face.
“Just take a breath of it, I’ll count for you. Don’t get it on your skin, just…” Before I could finish, the bottle was there, his eyes were closed, and his chest swelled on an inhale. “Good boy, baby. Yeah, one, two, three. That’s enough.”
“I thought it would burn,” he murmured, breathing out a slow hum of air.
I took the bottle and cap from his hands, watching as the rush hit him. Smith floated out of his body briefly, a deep laugh building in the back of his throat before it died. His chin quivered, and he let out a shaking exhale, lashes fluttering as he came back to himself less than a minute later.
“Hi,” I whispered, turning his face toward mine.
He blinked at me, jaw still slack until his mouth dragged up into an easy smile.
“Hi,” he said back.
“Are you good?”
“Better than, I think.” Smith hummed, another slow blink. “So people do this…during sex?”
“It helps you relax.” He cut me off with an agreeable laugh. “It helps you feel good.”
“I feel great,” he murmured, sliding his hand up my thigh but still stopping short of trying to reach for my cock.
“Can I make you feel better?”
“God, yes.”
I put the cap back on the bottle and slid it back into Smith’s limp hand. I waited until he curled his fingers around the brown glass, then nudged him further onto the bed.
“Hands and knees,” I told him.
“Hmmn. Yes, Sir,” he said it more like a moan, and I waited until he’d gotten into place to correct him.
“Just Riggs, tonight.”
“Riggs,” he rasped my name, stretching his hand out toward me. I dropped into a squat and brought my mouth level with the edge of the bed. I kissed his fingertips, and his knuckles, laughing under my breath when he buried his face into the pillows.
“I’m here, baby.”
“I really love when you call me that.”
I trailed my fingers up the length of his arm and down the arch of his back.
“I love calling you that,” I told him. “I love you.”
“God.”
“Be careful with the poppers,” I warned, coming around to the foot of the bed. “Use them whenever you want, but I’ll tell you when sometimes too. Alright?”
“Yes. Yes, Riggs.”
When I’d thought Smith perfect earlier, I was wrong. He was so much more than that. He was…everything.
“I love you,” I said again, because I had to.
Smith fisted the sheets and groaned into the pillows. “I love you too.”
Fuck, I hadn’t even started on him yet.
“We’re going to be here for a while, alright?” I dragged one of the pillows down and shoved it under his hips. “Get comfortable for now.”