Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
SLONE
Once the laughter died from my lips, I said, “Don’t let it go to your head, kid.”
He smirked, then began eating in earnest. I followed suit, and while the food disappeared from the platters between us, the rules appeared on the page next to him. The boy ate with his non-dominant hand so he could capture what we discussed.
Hindering the wildness in the kid did not appeal to me in the least. That wildness drew me like a moth to a flame, but there was a time and place.
That’s what he needed to learn. He also needed to learn that he wasn’t alone in the world.
That he had someone standing behind him, beside him, or in front of him whenever needed.
Once we had drafted the rules for our non-sexual interactions, I said, “Read them out loud.”
He took a deep breath. “Slone will text Trey good morning since he wakes up at the crack of dawn. Trey will reply when he finally crawls out of bed in the morning.”
I rolled my eyes at how he wrote the simple rule I had suggested. That wasn’t at all how I worded it. “Go on.”
“Check-in texts and photos throughout the day are welcomed and encouraged. Slone worries.”
“Brat.”
He chuckled. “And Trey wouldn’t mind getting photos of the sexy beast he’s exclusively fucking.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“Slone or the team’s social media gurus must approve all social media posts before going live.”
That one he suggested. I assumed it had something to do with what made him spiral in Nashville, but he hadn’t shared the reasoning behind it. Yet. I was hopeful.
“Drinking is limited to two beers or one mixed drink in a two-hour period unless Slone is present and Trey doesn’t have access to his phone. NO POACHING RANDOM DRINKS. EVER!”
That one was mine. I had nightmares for the last two months thinking about him getting drugged in a club.
“Slone is Trey’s first call no matter what: good news or bad, happy or panicked.
But especially when Trey spirals. If,” he paused, crossed out if and wrote when in its place, then continued, “when Trey spirals, Trey will find a quiet place and call Slone. If Slone doesn’t answer immediately, Trey will text Slone 911. ”
“And Trey isn’t to talk negatively about himself. EVER.”
Looking across the table, I see that the last word is in all caps, underlined, and written over and over so it looked bold and scratchy.
“And punishments?” I asked.
“Varying based on the infraction and intent behind the infraction, but possibilities include no sexual contact, orgasm denial, edging with orgasm denial, sitting in silence with Slone, and spanking.” I nearly laughed when he wiggled in his seat at the mention of being spanked.
“Safe words?”
“I still don’t think these are necessary—”
“Trey, they are always necessary in a kink dynamic.”
“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Slone and Trey will use standard stoplight safe words. This rule goes both ways. Either partner can use them if they feel the need. No judgment.”
The longer we spent together, the more the brat in him escaped, and the happier I became.
“Good boy.”
“That should not be so fucking hot.”
I smirked as he adjusted himself under the table. Standing to clear the table, I said, “C’mon, brat. Help me clean up.”
He groaned, his forehead smacking the table as he said, “I’m going to die if we have to wash all those dishes by hand.”
“Nope. Dishwasher this time. I’m done waiting to get you under me.”
“Thank fuck,” he said, jumping to his feet.
Within a few moments, we put away all the leftovers; the dishes were in the now-running dishwasher or hand-washed, and the counters had been cleaned. I threw the cleaning rag in the sink to add to the laundry later and snagged Trey by the waist.
“You’re sure about this?” I asked, my mouth hovering over his while I searched his eyes for anything less than complete certainty.
“Yes, sir.”
That sir sent shivers through my body. We’d agreed Daddy would come when and if he was ready.
I didn’t give a fuck what he called me as long as he was mine.
That didn’t mean I didn’t want him to call me Daddy, because I did.
And when, not if, when that honorific tumbled from his beautiful mouth, I wanted to be balls deep with the boy begging for mercy.
If there were a higher power, that’s how I would hear it—seriously—for the first time.
“Should I…”
“You shouldn’t do anything. I have you right where I want you.”
“In the kitchen?” he asked.
My hand shot up, gripping his chin—fingers on one side, thumb on the other. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t be a brat. My control is hanging by a thread.”
“What if I can’t help myself and it breaks?”
“The first time I fuck you will be bent over this island with your pants around your ankles and my dick fucking the life from you.”
“Yes, please. Fuck me. Just like that. I want it.”
That was it. The last straw. I took his mouth brutally, all teeth and tongue, biting, sucking, and licking. My mouth moved to his neck. “I’m going to let you suffer for making me wait so long to have you. Do you want to suffer for me, brat?”
The response came in a shivery, sucking breath that entered his lungs loudly. The shiver in his breath translated into a tremor in his body.
Worried that the filth coming from my mouth had gone too far, I asked, “Color?”
“Green,” he whimpered as my hand ghosted over his protruding dick.
Fuck me, he was a gorgeous man. Insanely gorgeous. And that expressive face and body came with a responsiveness I fucking craved so much it felt bone deep, as if it was part of my DNA.
“Good boy.”
Another shiver ran through him.
“If I ask and you don’t answer?”
“That’s a yellow to check in.”
“Perfect answer, baby boy. If we stop or pause, it is not because you did anything wrong. Understand?”
“Yes,” he gasped.
“Yes, who?” I pressed.
He gulped; his heavy-lidded eyes stared into mine without a twitch of doubt or hesitation. All I found in those soulful, blue eyes was lust.
“You, sir.”
“Hmmm. You were made for this, boy. Do you realize that?” I asked, pressing my denim-clad dick into his cotton-covered hardness while I tasted his lips with tiny sips.
He whined, “You’re being filthy.” The sound tore me up. “And mean.”
My face morphed. The look Ewen always called predatory stretched and twisted my face. My hand came up, and I warned, “We haven’t even scratched the surface yet.”
“Do your worst,” he dared.
I chuckled. Even to my own ears it sounded diabolical. “Do you think my cock’s going to fit in your sweet little hole?”
“Fuck,” he moaned.
My hand traveled around his waist to his ass. His cock jumped in his underwear. Then he said, “Please.” His voice trembled so much that the word came out shaky as hell.
“Get rid of that shirt,” I said.
He pulled it off so fast that he got tangled in it for a moment.
I left him to struggle while I continued tracing the crack of his ass through his briefs, pressing the fabric between the cheeks of that glorious, hockey, bubble butt.
The moment his head popped free, I yanked my folding pocket knife from my pants and flipped it open.
His eyes grew round, his mouth falling open.
“Trust me. I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m sure all serial killers say the same thing.”
I laughed as I slid the knife’s blade along his briefs, fraying the fabric. Flipping the knife closed, I tossed it onto the counter, then grabbed his underwear, pulling it until…
RIIIIPPP!
The sound of fabric tearing echoed around us.
“Now I can play,” I said, slipping my fingers between his cheeks.
My fingertips danced around his rim. Tapping.
Rubbing. Swirling. But always, always, pressing against the dry, puckered flesh.
He was too dry to enter. I wouldn’t risk hurting him.
In the future, when I knew how much he could take and what he enjoyed, when I knew his body as well as I knew my own, then and only then would I risk it.
While I played, I grabbed his face, squeezing his lower jaw between my thumb and fingers as I held him in place.
He gasped and moaned and groaned. His litany blended together like music.
Really great music with that beautiful dance of give and take that fed your soul.
That changed you to the core. Trey’s responses did that for me.
They wove their way inside me. They took up residence in the nooks and crannies, and I found myself becoming addicted.
Each new sound joined with its repeated brethren, and together they fed my need until I craved the next one, physically pleading with whatever spiritual being out there listening would make sure I never went without again.
“Fuck, I bet this hole is a work of art. It’s twitching and pulsing already. Do you realize that, Trey? Do you realize your asshole is begging for me? He wants filled. He wants my cock.”
A long, slow, drawn-out moan accompanied by tremors that ran along his body left him trembling in my arms. I had him right where I wanted him. Kissing him, my tongue plunged deep, fighting with his. Advancing when he became frustrated. Retreating when he got greedy.
When I pulled away from his mouth, I said, “Look at me.”