Chapter 26
August
August felt like a butterfly pinned to a board, displayed in a frame that hung on Quinn Harlow’s wall for him to admire whenever the mood struck him.
He had ropes digging into his arms and chest, the muscles of his legs were starting to burn from being kept on his knees for so long, and if he thought about it, he could fucking come untouched just like this.
August never expected to have this kind of reaction after being tied up by goddamn ropes, but he knew it was more than that. It wasn’t the restraints; it was the way Quinn was looking at him—the way his expression was showing how much he wanted him.
He needed Quinn to be his boyfriend. He didn’t care what he had to do to rebuild trust between them. He didn’t care what he had to say to make Quinn believe him about his memory loss and understand that he never would have hurt him if he weren’t such a failure.
The path he needed to take to find happiness in his life led to Quinn, and it had always been Quinn. Not because he eased his suffering and helped him cope with his demons, but because even without his memories to guide him, August yearned for him.
His mind might not remember, but his body had no problem demonstrating the truth. The migraines, the nosebleeds, the nightmares, all of it stopped when Quinn was near, like it couldn’t function without the man by his side.
Fuck. He was so fucking stupid; he couldn’t think of anything Quinn would want to help change his perspective.
He would throw away his wealth, his career—he would stop playing hockey and commit himself to modelling for Quinn’s projects.
He would let the man hogtie and dangle him from the ceiling like a puppet if that’s what he wanted.
He wasn’t sure why this realization was hitting him now, of all times, while he was restrained and at the mercy of the very person he was crushing hard on, but he blamed his mental breakdown.
August had been worried that the shibari would trigger an episode because it would remind him of his father, but so far, it was having the opposite effect. When his father took away his control, it had been against his will and always ended in fear and pain, but it was nothing like that with Quinn.
Quinn checked on him constantly, tugging the ropes to ensure they weren’t cutting off circulation, and even gave him water to drink, accompanied by gentle kisses.
August may have been the one tied up, but he knew two words could put a stop to everything, and that type of power had a different feel to it.
But August didn’t want to stop. He melted whenever Quinn touched or encouraged him—melted.
He had never felt so…cherished before.
“Don’t fall in love with me.”
Yeah, sure. Too late for that.
“This series was made for you,” said Quinn, his green eyes glancing at him from around the canvas. “I was originally planning to use different models, but I don’t think anyone can pull it off as well as you can.”
The praise went right to August’s cock. He bit down on his lip until he whimpered from the pain, and that earned him another glance and a raised brow.
“You can come if you want, August. It might add something extra to the final product.”
Quinn was so evil, but August fucking loved it.
“Man, you’re so stubborn.” Quinn stepped out from behind the easel and sauntered toward him, grinning devilishly. “At least you’re submissive where it matters.”
August was barely paying attention to the teasing.
His eyes were glued to the bulge in Quinn’s black jeans and the strip of stomach visible beneath the black lace of his shirt.
Quinn dressed differently when he was at school; August didn’t know what the style was called, but it looked mouthwatering on the pretty man.
A long-sleeved black shirt made of soft lace, a corset-looking thing the same colour that emphasized his slim waist, and black jeans that were the only surviving thing from his emo days.
Quinn wore a lot of rings, and he had several piercings, and August had admired his tattoos every time he took his clothes off.
This style felt like an adult version of what Quinn used to wear; more refined and with less eyeliner.
Beautiful. He was fucking beautiful.
“You’re the only person I would ever do this for,” said August, and he meant it.
Quinn’s smile grew wider, hand gripping August’s chin to keep their gazes locked. “I’m almost finished with my sketch, but I still have to draw your face. I want to add another element, but it’s up to you if we use it.”
August said nothing as Quinn let go of him and walked over to the briefcase. He removed a long strip of red silk from inside, wrapping it around his slim fingers and presenting it to August like a gift.
“How are you feeling?”
August’s skin was tingling, and his aches were nothing more than a distant memory.
“Green light.”
He had officially lost his mind. That was the single thought that kept repeating in August’s head as the silk blindfold was tightened around his eyes, and his world was plunged into darkness.
It was just a piece of fabric, but having one of his senses cut off when he was in such a vulnerable state amplified every sound in the room.
He could hear the rustle of Quinn’s clothes and the hitch in his breath as he stepped away to look at him.
The creak of the floorboards, the click of a pen as it was lifted from the easel.
“Green light,” August said without having to be asked.
“Good boy.”
August’s arms twitched, but it was a split-second reaction that stopped just as abruptly as it began. He was left feeling tingly and dazed, with muscles so relaxed that they might as well have been made of putty.
The scratch of pencil on paper had a hypnotizing effect, and August began to lose time, caught in a strange, euphoric bliss that he couldn’t describe or understand.
A warm trickle of something wet on his chin made him jump again, but he knew where it was coming from and chose to ignore it.
“August?”
“It will stop bleeding in a minute. Green light.”
It took a second for the scratching to start up again, lulling August into a state of calm. He felt guilty for getting Quinn’s fancy ropes dirty, but he wasn’t ready to end whatever was happening over a stupid nosebleed.
“I have what I need. Do you want me to play with you like this, or have you had enough of the ropes?”
Quinn could stab him in the fucking throat right now, and he would thank him for it.
“Green light.”
Anticipation built, and August began shivering in his restraints. He was hyper-aware of Quinn fiddling with his art case and the sound of his footsteps approaching.
Something touched his face, and August jerked, but it was only a piece of tissue to clean up the blood that was dribbling from his nose.
“Tilt your head back.”
It was difficult in this position, but August did as he was told. Quinn wiped away the blood one more time, and then the tissue was gone.
Another moment of anticipation built when Quinn went motionless again, sending August’s racing pulse into overdrive, leaving him dizzy.
And then—the faintest touch, so soft that he didn’t know if it actually happened, or if he was imagining things.
Until it happened again.
And again.
Feather-light brushes that stroked over the tingling skin of his arms, under his jaw, behind his ear, over his inner thigh, circling a nipple.
A paintbrush. Quinn was touching him with a fucking paintbrush.
He heard a chuckle, and then more touches followed. Quinn kept alternating between using the bristles of his brush and his mouth, creating an easy pattern for August to predict as the torture carried on.
“I think I’ll use paint on you like this some day,” said Quinn, dragging the brush along the line of his Adonis belt, coming dangerously close to his cock. “Red just like the ropes, because the colour looks so pretty on you.”
“Fuck, Quinn—”
The brush touched the base of his cock and moved upward, creating a wet glide through all the precum.
August knew what would follow because Quinn had been teaching him the pattern, but he still couldn’t quite believe it when something hot and flat traced the same path as the brush, lapping up the slick trail of precum in one slow stroke.
It slid from base to tip, circling the sensitive ridge of his head with a teasing swirl that made his hips twitch involuntarily against the unyielding ropes binding his arms.
He couldn’t see Quinn, but he felt his presence; the faint rustle of movement, the humid puff of breath ghosting over his skin before his lips parted and he descended. Quinn’s mouth closed around the head of August’s cock, sucking gently at first, then drawing him deeper with a languid pull.
A low groan escaped August’s throat, his muscles straining against the restraints as pleasure bloomed, slow and deep in his stomach. Quinn took his time working him down his throat, like he was aware of how close August was to coming, and he was trying to avoid a premature end just to spite him.
The wet heat of Quinn’s mouth brought him to the brink of madness as it stretched around August’s girth, building suction gradually.
“Oh fuck. Green light—green light! Please go faster.”
Chuckling vibrations around his cock had August fighting the bonds and tossing his head, trying to cope with the rhythmic hollowing of cheeks that tugged at every nerve, while Quinn traced the pulsing veins with his tongue.
August’s balls drew tight, the slow drag pulling him toward release faster than he could brace for, even though it was all he fucking wanted.
Quinn hummed around him, bobbing shallowly, saliva mixing with precum to coat August’s cock in sticky wetness that made the glide frictionless.
August’s fingers flexed uselessly, seeking purchase as his hips bucked, the restraints keeping him pinned while Quinn swallowed him to the base, throat relaxing to take him fully.
August didn’t have enough oxygen left in his lungs to scream. The pressure coiled unbearably, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his control finally snapped, and then he was coming in hot spurts down Quinn’s throat.
Quinn didn't move; he swallowed it all with steady pulls of his mouth, milking August dry as waves rippled through him, leaving him shuddering and spent.
Quinn finally released him with a soft pop and a laugh, lips brushing a final kiss to the softening tip before August felt hands at the back of his head.
“Not gonna lie, you almost drowned me.”
August joined in on the laughter as the blindfold slipped free, and cool air hit his eyes as his vision returned in a blur of bright light and Quinn's flushed face.
He blinked when he realized that Quinn was kneeling between his spread thighs, naked.
His hand was already wrapped around his cock, stroking with firm, deliberate twists.
Quinn’s dreamy gaze locked onto August’s as he pumped himself faster, thumb circling the head to spread the leaking precum. His free hand trailed over August’s chest, fingers digging into the red rope marks, then lower to splay across his abs.
August watched, chest heaving, as Quinn’s strokes quickened until his breath stuttered, his pulsing cock painting August’s abs in sticky lines that pooled in the dips of his muscles.
Quinn groaned low, riding the aftershocks with a few final pumps, and then he sighed and pressed a kiss to August’s lips, fingers tracing lazy patterns through the mess on his skin.
“Ready to get out of those restraints?”
August had no answer for him. He wasn’t sure he would ever find the mental capacity to speak words again.
Quinn laughed and began untying him. The moment August’s arms were no longer bound to his thighs, Quinn made him lie down while he removed the rest. It took less time to get them off than it did to put them on.
August tried to sit up so he could get a drink once they were gone, but Quinn was there before he could move, pushing him back onto the bed.
“Stay right there. Let me take care of you.”
That wasn’t how things were supposed to be between them, but one narrow-eyed look from Quinn had him relaxing back into the bed.
August lay motionless as Quinn pushed the ropes away to give them more room, and then he disappeared to the bathroom to get a wet cloth. It was…mildly awkward to be wiped down—not because it made him feel weak, but because he had never experienced it before.
“Damn, you might bruise a bit around the wrists, but maybe your teammates won’t notice?”
August had seen weirder shit than bruised wrists in the locker room, so he wasn’t worried about it.
Quinn helped him take a drink, and once all the blood was cleaned up, and August was left feeling boneless, Quinn stood at the edge of the bed and gazed down at him.
“What?” August asked, but he already knew what was coming. Quinn was making sure he was okay, and then he was going to leave, and August would be too damn shaky to chase him.
“Nothing,” Quinn muttered. “I just can’t believe you came out of subspace with no sign of a drop, especially considering that was your first time.”
August knew nothing about BDSM and kinks, so he hoped whatever Quinn was talking about was a good thing.
“I know cuddling totally goes against the friends-with-benefits boundaries, but I need to stay until I’m sure you’re good with what happened.”
August kept his fucking mouth shut as Quinn got back into the bed and took the empty place beside him, leaning on an elbow and smiling.
“I can’t wait to go home and work on the sketch. I’ll iron out a few details, then choose what paint I want to use. I know we’re going to the All-Star Game, but we should do this again when we get back, as long as you enjoyed it?”
“Very okay,” said August. “I didn’t think I was going to like it as much as I did.”
And before Quinn could spend anymore time fretting, August hooked his arms around his waist and rolled them, pinning Quinn to the bed with his body.
The boom of a frantic heartbeat vibrated against his eardrum as he waited for Quinn to protest, but when none came, he groaned and shifted to get comfortable.
“You’re a strong bastard, you know that?”
Nails scratched his scalp as they brushed through his hair, fingers curling into the locks to gently pull.
“Did you try to stop me from rolling us?” August asked. “I didn’t feel anything.”
The pull became rougher, and August laughed at the barely-there ache. His knee was throbbing more painfully than anything Quinn was doing to him.
“You’re a heavy bastard, too.”
He was, and maybe August was being delusional, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they fit together perfectly.
If only his brain had the decency to remember how it felt to be in Quinn’s arms before he had thrown it all away.