Chapter 8
We’re having a well-deserved lazy day. Rafe has been in the studio for seven days in a row, spending up to ten hours some days. He’s exhausted, his throat hurts, and all he wants to do is lounge in bed.
I’m happy to oblige and keep him company.
The last year has been the most fulfilling and satisfying year of my life.
Rafe discovering his Dom, and the subsequent lessons have given him a focus and a means of expressing himself without having to behave like a brat.
For me, it’s been, well, it’s been my pleasure—literally.
We’re working with Louis, a Dom I’ve been with before and trust explicitly, not just with the lessons and his ability, but with his discretion.
Not once has he mentioned how famous Rafe is.
The gossip magazines are making a huge fuss over the turnaround in their favourite bad boy, wasting pages speculating what has become of him.
With talk of overdoses and rehab, mental breakdown from the pressure.
You name it, they’ve printed it. The wannabes and the ones that clung to him, both in the clubs or here, in his home, have had their five minutes of fame discussing the wild parties and even more wild antics.
I snuggle up next to him in our huge bed, letting his arm slide around me to pull me even closer.
“Do you still want to go to the club tonight?" It’s a big deal; it’s his first full session without Louis—it’s not our first time since we have spent plenty of time practicing at home. “It’s no big deal if we postpone it.”
“No, I want to. It’s important to us; it’s the proof of what I feel for you, for how well we know each other. I’ve been planning it for weeks.” He yawns a huge jaw cracking yawn and pulls me down the bed and pulls the thick feather quilt over us. “Just a sleep first.”
“Come!”
I do as I’m told. The relief that floods through me has me gasping for breath.
My dick throbs as I’m finally allowed to come, the ache in my balls finally over.
I pant as I’m released from the rack behind me and fall into the arms of my Dom.
As he pushes my sweat soaked hair from my face, I stare into the emerald green eyes I love. Hell, I love everything about this man.
“Beautiful, you are so beautiful. I love you,” he croons, his melodic voice praising me as he presses his mouth to mine.
I open for him, letting him take all he wants from me as he licks deeply inside.
His tongue sweeps lazily over mine at the same time his hands roam down my body and around to clasp my bum cheeks, spreading them apart.
His finger taps the plug, making me groan into his mouth.
With a tug, he pulls it free, and it thuds to the floor.
He ends the kiss and tips his head back to look at me. “You okay? Can you take me?”
“Fuck, yeah.” My voice croaky, parched after begging him for so long. In just a few steps, we’re at the bed. I clamber up, staying on my hands and knees.
“No, on your back. I want to see everything you feel.” He flips me over and pushes my knees up to my chest. “Fuck, Drake, I love you.” He lines his cock up to my hole and presses in.
Gently at first, allowing the lube already in my channel to coat his length.
The slow push hits my tender prostate, sensitive from the plug pressing on it all day.
“More,” I plead, wrapping my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his perfectly sculpted arse cheeks. I pull his head down to mine, biting on his bottom lip, tugging on it for just a moment.
“My pleasure.” His hips piston hard and fast until my balls draw up inside my body, and I come for the second time.
Then, with a yell, Rafe comes, emptying inside me.
Pulse after pulse of his hot release filling me.
We stare at each other, speaking wordlessly as our chests stop heaving, and I feel his softened dick slip from my body.
I don’t move, more than happy to stay pressed against him.
The scene was perfect. I’ll be feeling it for more than a couple of days; the crop over my arse and thighs is going to make sitting down awkward.
Something I know Rafe will take great pleasure in seeing and gloating over.
I was even okay with it being in an observation room, which isn’t something we’ve done before, but Louis suggested it as an added bonus.
I forgot about it as soon as the cuffs went on my wrists, and Rafe whispered in my ear.
It’s been two days since our scene, and I think we’re both still on a high.
It’s late when I wake up, but surprisingly I’m alone, Rafe is the king of staying in bed for as long as possible.
I push back the quilt and sit up, swinging my legs over the side, immediately feeling the bruises from the crop.
I smile and make a mental note to get Rafe to check them and put some more arnica cream on.
I could do it myself, but where’s the fun in that.
I wander down the stairs, listening out for any noise.
I doubt he’s in his recording studio, so I head for the kitchen.
Even if he’s not in there, I need coffee.
But as I pass the office we now share, I hear his voice, and it’s not a happy one.
I don’t think it’s an argument, but he’s frustrated at whatever is going on.
“Who was that?” I ask, as I walk into the room.
Rafe looks up from his phone, a frown etched deep on his usually smooth forehead. “Hmm?” He drops it on the desk.
I repeat my question, and he continues to frown at me. “It was Grant. He wants to see me in his office.”
That’s not unusual, especially after all the studio time he’s had. “That’s okay. We can get some breakfast or lunch,” I say as I look at my watch. “Then go in.”
“No, he said now. As in right now and no titting about. Those are his words not mine. I don’t like this, Drake. He’s pissed off, and I don’t like not knowing what about.” He picks up his phone again, twisting it around in his palm, the frown still evident on his forehead.
He’s changed since he’s become a Dom, not in a bad way, but he’s more authoritative, a much stronger and confident man.
I love that development; he’s matured immeasurably over just one year.
“Okay, we can get showered and dressed, then we can be out of here in fifteen minutes if we use different showers.” I know if we get in one together, we won’t be going anywhere in a hurry.
All he does is nod; I’m not even sure he knows what he’s agreeing with.
I follow him up the stairs and grab my shampoo and soap and go to the main bathroom two doors down from our bedroom, leaving the en-suite off our bedroom for Rafe.
I take a hurried shower, not paying any attention to the sting on my bruised skin.
It’s minutes later that I’m back in our room.
Rafe has been as quick and is pulling on a pair of black designer jeans and a black cashmere V-neck sweater.
I’m on duty, so it’s my black suit and crisp fitted white shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone.
I don’t think I need to be in a tie since it’s only Grant.
“Ready?” I ask him as he puts down the styling wax he uses on his hair.
“Yeah, come on. Let’s go see what’s put a stick up his arse today.” Rafe smiles, but his eyes are still troubled.
We are led straight into his office and see him pacing the floor, his hair in total disarray, something that never happens to this smart, suave man. I am surprised to see his lawyer with him; this is not good.
Ten minutes later, Rafe looks like he’s been struck with a wrecking ball.
His face is pale, and I don’t think he’s realised that his hands are trembling.
I can see he’s trying to think of the best response that isn’t ‘fuck off, this has nothing to do with anyone else.’ Because someone, I have no idea who—but I will be finding out—took a photograph of me and Rafe at Bent two nights ago.
Heads are going to fucking roll. I know one of the owners, Warwick Barclay; I’ve done protection work for him and his partner, Felix. He won’t be happy about the security breach. I also have friends in the service I can speak to; it can disappear very quickly, as can the culprit.
“May I look at the photographs,” I ask curtly, holding out my hand, thankful it isn’t trembling.
I’m going to spin this around. Grant, now sitting at his desk, passes a copy to me.
I study the picture; it’s definitely us.
But how? I look at the blown-up image, locating where in the room it could have come from.
The conclusion is obvious: it’s from the security camara.
At least I know where to start my investigation.
“This is a load of crap. Pure AI tampering. Not even a very good job. This is a set-up, someone with a grudge against Rafe. Let’s face it, plenty of people are pissed off with his continued success.
Add that he totally turned his life around and won’t talk about his private life, and it’s easy to put this down to some disgruntled reporter.
I’m his bodyguard; it’s my duty to protect him.
If you don’t find out who is behind this, I will. ”
Rafe looks up at me. For a moment his eyes brighten but go dark again when Grant stands up and starts to pace again.
“You’ve got to admit, Grant, they’ve tried every other way to hurt him.
I think that fact that this is a room set up for sex, supposedly in a BDSM club, is taking things to extremes.
But I suppose they’ve already tried drug and alcohol addiction, as well as a mental breakdown, so the ante had to be upped to something scandalous.
Slap an injunction on whoever sent this and start a case for defamation of character.
You should be standing with Rafe, not spluttering like some eighty-year-old spinster who’s never seen a dick in her long, boring life. ”
I look at Rafe and see a little colour has returned to his cheeks, but I can tell he’s still shell-shocked. I give him a small nod, which is so not what I want to be doing. I want to pull him into my arms and tell him I’ll make it all right.
Grant finally finds his voice again. I’m thankful to hear the strains of doubt in his words this time. “Well, yes, Drake. Thank you for being so rational. I suppose I was just taken aback by the whole thing. I hadn’t given those possibilities any thought.”
Finally, Rafe speaks up, and I find I’m holding my breath.