Chapter One Fever #2
He’d counted them. Those chess moves. Subtle touches. Every place Kenny touched him during this gradual, exquisite torture. As if it was science. A bloody forensic exercise.
Fifteen. At least.
His inner wrist, where he now had a new tattoo.
A Scorpio glyph inked in fine black lines curling into a barbed tail with the feint outline of a moth inked above the curve.
It was a quiet nod to the part of him that still chased the light even when it burned.
Kenny liked to press his thumb there and say, “Steady.”
The notch at his collarbone, where praise turned to punishment.
The back of his knees. Who even knew?
His ankles. Psychosomatic now; a single stroke and Aaron twitched as if shocked.
The soft indent at the base of his spine.
His ears, where Kenny whispered filth in that calm, clipped tone of his, and Aaron would melt.
The arch of his foot. Fucking hell.
The underside of his cock. Naturally.
His hipbones. Bitten, not kissed.
His throat. His mouth. His scalp. The curve of his jaw. The insides of his arms. And right beneath his navel where Kenny sometimes rested a hand and waited.
It wasn’t anatomy. It was psychology.
Kenny knew which touches soothed, which ones sparked arousal, and which ones made Aaron fold in on himself with a shudder and go pliant in his hands. Because he’d learned them. Over time. Piece by piece. Each one studied, tested, refined.
Bollocks. He adjusted his jeans.
Then watched Kenny end the call, set his phone down on the counter and pick up his coffee, gaze settling on him.
Aaron felt it in his bones. This was going to be one of those weeks.
He could see it in his fucking eyes. The glint, the restrained smirk, the languid lift of that stupid coffee mug to his lips without once breaking eye contact.
They were two opponents in the ring. Psychological warfare through praise and delayed gratification. Waiting to see who cracked first.
Well, fuck that bollocks.
Aaron shoved the chair back with a sharp scrape, and Chaos scrambled to his feet a second later.
Conditioned too now, poor thing. He recognised the signs of a full-blown Aaron episode.
One glance and he clearly clocked that Aaron was making a beeline for the main daddy in the house, so he kept his distance.
Smart boy.
Aaron stormed into the kitchen, heat coiling in his gut, fists balled in the sleeves of his hoodie, armed with half a plan and no fucking clue what to do with it. Rage and want tangling behind his ribs like barbed wire.
He stepped in close, invading Kenny’s space, toes lined up in challenge. “You’re doing it on purpose.”
Kenny arched a brow. “Drinking coffee?”
“That’s not coffee. That’s psychological manipulation in a mug.”
Kenny smirked. “You say that like it’s not delicious.”
“It’s not. It’s vile.”
“Not from me.” Kenny then clamped his hand around the back of Aaron’s head, firm and possessive, tilting him until their mouths hovered a breath apart. He didn’t kiss him. Aaron knew he wouldn’t. No. He let the distance ache, voice dropping to a low command, “Open.”
Aaron obeyed before he could think better of it, instinct and want tearing through him, and Kenny swept his tongue across his, bitter coffee seared into the taste.
Their lips never touched. Aaron leaned in anyway, chasing it, desperate.
But Kenny released him, leaving nothing but the sting of absence.
Kenny’s eyes glinted with triumph and the sound tearing out of Aaron was pathetic.
Half-growl, half-groan. He surged closer, dragging his mouth across Kenny’s throat, licking through the coarse beard, desperate to leave something—anything—of himself behind.
His tongue, his teeth, his trembling body. A mark. A claim. A plea.
Two can play this game.
He could force Kenny to react, to feel.
Except Kenny didn’t falter. He raised his cup, sipping his revolting coffee as if Aaron weren’t spiralling against him.
As if the frantic licks and ragged breaths were nothing but static noise.
The humiliation scorched through Aaron’s chest, hot and unbearable.
He was trembling, undone, while Kenny stood steady, untouchable.
Aaron bit his earlobe harder, punishment and prayer tangled in the act, and his voice cracked against Kenny’s skin, stripped bare of pride. “Fuck me.”
It wasn’t defiance anymore. It was surrender, raw and humiliating, the need spilling out of him no matter how hard he tried to hold it back. And Kenny, smirking, coffee in hand, hadn’t even needed to kiss him to bring him there.
“You’ve got forms to finish.”
“And you’ve got me on the verge of causing a national incident. You can’t expect me to sit and fill out boring arse forms when I’m this fucking hard.”
Kenny tilted his head. “But I need you soft, baby.”
Aaron bristled. “I am soft. Look at me. I’m a walking, throbbing marshmallow, pathetic enough to melt at your feet if that’s what gets you off.”
“You’re very pretty when you beg, I’ll give you that.” Kenny took a sip of his coffee, the reflective slurp somehow infuriating and refined all at once. Obnoxious, but maddeningly him.
“Fuck you.”
Kenny arched a brow. “See? That’s not soft, baby.” Then—fuck him—he cupped Aaron’s erection over his jeans. “That’s hard. Rock hard.”
Then he walked away.
Aaron stayed rooted, vibrating with frustration, cock aching, pride stinging raw.
He could feel the victory hanging in the air, smug and absolute, and it made his skin crawl.
No way was he letting it end there. Not without pushback.
Not without something. If he rolled over too easily, Kenny won.
And, fine, okay, maybe Kenny already had.
But Aaron wasn’t about to let that be the last word.
Not when the heat in his body was screaming for an outlet, and his chest tightened with humiliation and overwhelming need.
So he did what any self-respecting brat with a praise kink and no patience would do.
He popped the button on his jeans.
Shoved them down just enough.
Fisted himself.
“Wanna watch me come without you?”
Kenny stilled. Nothing more than a slight tilt of his head as if this were simply a psychological event to observe.
Aaron half expected him to keep walking.
Vanish down the hall, step by deliberate fucking step, and shut himself into that sanctified room of his and catalogue the moment in neat, clinical notes, leaving Aaron to fall apart alone.
But he didn’t.
He turned. Slowly. With grace. And a control that made Aaron want to scream.
Then Kenny spoke, cool and precise. “If you make yourself come, that’ll add days onto this. Plural.”
Aaron froze his fist on his cock, breath catching. Pavlov’s fucking dog—that’s what he was, conditioned down to muscle and bone. One command and his body betrayed him. He swallowed, heat crawling up his throat, and snapped back anyway. Because Kenny loved him more when he did that.
“Maybe I want more days. Maybe I wanna see how long you can keep this up before you bend me over the table and fuck me so hard you break your own spine.”
Kenny lifted his coffee cup, lips curving around the rim. “You underestimate my agility.”
Aaron held his gaze. Kenny sipped his coffee.
And it was Aaron who broke first, breathing out a laugh, shaking his head, looking away even as he felt the quiet rumble of Kenny’s amusement under his skin.
Fuck, he loved this man. Especially like this.
When he put Aaron in his place, held it all with irrefutable ease, and found the whole thing amusing.
But the game wasn’t over. Not yet. Aaron slid his foreskin back, circling his thumb through the slick at the tip, then raised it to his mouth. He sucked the taste off with a low hum, eyes locking back on Kenny.
Yes. That landed.
Kenny crossed the room with quiet certainty, eyes never leaving Aaron’s.
Aaron’s heart thumped with the naive, hopeless spark that maybe Kenny might drop to his knees and take over.
But he didn’t.
Of course he didn’t.
And worse? Aaron didn’t even want him to.
Kenny curled one hand around Aaron’s wrist, steady and sure, then wrapped the other around Aaron’s cock and stopped him. Held him still with unbearable tenderness.
“Behave, baby.” Kenny pressed his thumb where his pulse thudded. “You’re nearly there.”
Aaron’s knees almost gave out.
But Kenny took his cock from his hand, and Aaron let him tuck him back inside his jeans, all slow and sweet and infuriating.
He didn’t fight it. Why would he? This turned him on more than anything he had ever known in his entire fucking life.
So he stood there and let him, heat in his cheeks and something fierce and aching blooming in his chest.
Because it wasn’t about the orgasm.
It was about Kenny choosing when Aaron got to fall apart.
And telling him he was good for waiting.
Good for wanting.
Good.
Kenny lingered a moment longer, drifting his gaze over Aaron’s face, then he leaned in, close enough for his lips to brush the shell of Aaron’s ear, and breathed it out, smooth as silk. “Good boy.”
Aaron nearly fucking came.
Two words, spoken with that quiet authority Kenny used when he wanted Aaron wrecked without ever laying a finger on him. A reward. A benediction. A promise wrapped in satin and precision.
He trembled. His cock throbbed in his jeans. And a whimper scraped the back of his throat.
And Kenny—fucker—knew.
Of course, he knew.
Smug and satisfied, he stepped back. Turned. Walked away as if nothing had happened and left Aaron standing there, wrecked and buzzing and trembling in the ruins of his restraint.
Aaron blinked after him, stunned and soaked in heat.
Then, breathless, hoarse, because of course he was Aaron, and because Kenny loved him for never going down without a fight, Aaron shouted, “Masochist!”
Kenny chuckled. “Think you mean sadist.” Then he raised his coffee in a lazy salute and climbed the stairs, leaving Aaron in the wreckage.
Chaos padded in a moment later, tongue lolling, tail wagging, and barked at Aaron’s feet. Aaron crouched, ruffled the fur between his ears.
“You wanna go for a walk, huh?” He grabbed the lead from the hook on the wall. “All right then. C’mon, boy.” He clipped the lead, scratched gently behind the dog’s ear, and said, “Good boy.”
Then froze.
Rolled his eyes.
Groaned.
“Fuck praise. Fuck edging. Fuck fucking psychology.” Then, as he walked to the door, he yelled up the stairs and raised his middle finger. “And fuck you!”
“Could you grab some stamps while you’re out?” Kenny called down. “Need to send these Christmas cards.”
Aaron cursed under his breath, then yanked the door open.
Kenny’s voice trailed down the stairs. “That’s a good boy.”