2. Anders #3
After we split up, it took me years of therapy to understand that Gabe and I may have been sexually compatible, but that our needs in a relationship were very different.
I need someone who wants to submit to me in every way, someone who needs the control I crave, and he was simply an independent person who enjoyed only sexual submission.
Despite my therapist assuring me that my behavior, though controlling, wasn’t abusive, it still took me years to even consider trying to be in a relationship again.
I was terrified that what felt like non-negotiables to me would seem like an abuse of power to others.
When I met Erin, she was more than happy to hand over all of her choices to me.
She needed someone to keep her focused and in line, and I was happy to do that for her.
For a while our relationship seemed like a dream come true.
She wanted to be cared for, doted on, and I needed someone who would follow my lead and my rules.
Everything was perfect until she asked me if we could have a domestic discipline arrangement, where I’d use corporal punishment to correct her behavior if she did something wrong.
We talked about what she needed. We talked about rules and consequences and how we would manage the change in our relationship.
I’ve spanked a few asses in my time, and the idea of disciplining my partner turned me on, so I agreed to try, but after a few months we realized that neither of us was getting what we needed from the other.
After a few painful but honest conversations, we agreed to amicably end our relationship, and she’s now happily married to the owner of the BDSM club we were both members of. They have a master/slave marriage that fulfills both of their needs, and they’re blissfully happy.
After that, I had a few short flings with subs, and although it was fun, it wasn’t right.
When I met Corrine, I thought I’d found the one.
She was deeply sexually submissive and willing to follow the rules I needed outside of the bedroom.
Until the blowup with her family, I’d thought I’d spend the rest of my life with her.
Once I realized she only really wanted the picture of me she’d created in her head, our relationship deteriorated, and after we split, I decided that contenting myself with one-night stands and scene partners at clubs made more sense than searching for something in a relationship that I didn’t seem to be able to find.
Unfortunately, I stupidly decided to have a one-nighter with a fellow firefighter at my last placement before I came to Montana.
Tom was happy enough to swallow my dick whole and ride my cock like a cowboy while we were hidden in his bedroom.
But the next morning, he threatened to say I’d sexually harassed him if I ever told anyone what had happened between us.
I never told a soul, but he still made the few months I spent working alongside him really fucking shitty. When I took the job in Montana, I made the decision to keep my extracurriculars on the down-low, because my sex life is no one’s business but mine.
Now that I’ve been in Montana for over a year and have made Rockhead Point my home and my teammates my friends and family, it’s probably long past the time when I should have told them who I really am.
But I guess my truth is now well and truly out of the bag, because in the minutes since I spotted Henry through the window, I’ve outed myself to my teammate and showed this beautiful boy how much of a dominant asshole I am.
Still holding Henry’s chin in my fingers, I try to understand what his eyes are silently pleading for. His gaze feels conflicted, like he doesn’t know if he should scream, cry, or run away. It’s clear he doesn’t understand his reaction to me, but my fucked-up dick likes it anyway.
I’m rock-hard, my balls aching from the hint of fear and desperation that’s etched across his face.
Since I sat down beside him and demanded his attention, my boy has shown me his submission, even though I doubt he realizes it.
My fingers may be on him, but I’m not holding him in place.
I’m barely touching him, yet he’s looking at me like I scare him and hold the answers to all of his questions all at once.
“Eat your food,” I tell him, rubbing the pad of my thumb over his bottom lip before I lower my hand completely.
Blinking, his cheeks bloom into a sexily embarrassed shade of red, and I smile, not bothering to try to hide my amusement at his reaction to me and my demands.
Slowly he turns to his bowl of fucking tater tots that are topped with cheese and bacon.
It takes him a moment to pick up his fork, but once he does, he starts to eat like he’s starving to death.
He’s not a pig; he doesn’t get food on his face or shovel more tots into his mouth before he chews and swallows.
But he eats with a single-minded intent that tells me that at some point—maybe even now—he’s been hungry enough that he eats his food like it could be stolen from him at any moment.
The thought that this boy, my boy , might not have enough to eat makes me want to throw him over my shoulder and take him home with me. I’m a bossy, dominant asshole, but if he was beneath my control, I’d make sure he was well fed, well cared for…well fucked.
There wouldn’t be a single thing that he’d want or need that I didn’t provide. I’d give him the fucking world in exchange for one thing—him.
But I don’t know who he is. I don’t know what his life looks like, or even if he’s as submissive as he appears to be. He could have a boyfriend or a husband. My eyes drop to his left hand, and I huff out a relieved breath at his empty ring finger.
By the time the waitress returns with my food, Henry’s tots are all gone, and instead of taking part in the conversation, he’s sipping at his glass of water silently.
When my plate loaded with nachos and chili, drizzled with cheese, sour cream, and guacamole, is placed in front of me, I catch Henry’s flash of want before he stoically turns his attention back to Danny and Parker, who are now playfully bickering.
Picking up a nacho, I make sure it has a little of all the toppings on it, then lift it to Henry’s lips.
“Eat,” I growl.
Henry jerks, his gaze dropping to the nacho in my fingers before slowly lifting to my face again. “Oh, I’m fine,” he says, but it’s a lie.
“Eat,” I say a little more forcefully.
Swallowing thickly, his gaze dips to the nacho, then back to me again before he slowly takes it from my fingers and bites into it. His hum of enjoyment goes straight to my dick, and a fresh surge of precum leaks from the tip. I’m going to be a fucking mess by the time I get home, but I don’t care.
Leaning a little closer to him, I watch as he licks cheese from his lips. “Good?” I ask, my attention focused on him as I wait for his response.
“So good,” he says breathily, a fresh surge of heat pooling in his cheeks.
Picking up a nacho for myself, I don’t take as much care as I did when I was making one for him and instead push it into my mouth, licking the sour cream from my fingers.
“So good,” I tell him, deliberately mimicking him, as I coat my words with praise to see how he reacts.
Like a flower starting to bloom, Henry visibly preens. His shoulders unfurl, and his lips tip into a half smile.
“Share with me,” I order.
“I already ate,” he whispers.
“Tater tots are not a meal.”
“And nachos are?” he asks, visibly still embarrassed but pushing back a little.
He’s starting to relax, so I don’t reprimand him for his brattiness. Instead, I chuckle softly. “Stow your claws, Kitten, and eat.”
I have no idea where the pet name comes from, but it fits him perfectly. Cute, pretty, sweet and small. Kitten. It’s adorable, and so is the huffy indignation that flashes across his face.
Smiling to myself, I make him a nacho, then hold it out to him, arching a brow and daring him to argue. After a long moment, he takes it and eats it, humming happily, like a sexy purring kitten.
After taking several more nachos from me, Henry refuses any more, and I finish the rest of the plate, content to know that even if I won’t be taking him home with me tonight, at least his stomach is full.
Excusing myself to the bathroom, I pay for both tabs, then reluctantly let Henry shuffle out of the booth without forcing him to take my hand. When he stands to his full height, he’s taller than I thought, but still tiny in comparison to my six feet, five inches.
“My bus leaves in thirty minutes. I need to pay for my food, then go. I don’t want to miss it,” Henry says, talking more to Parker than me.
“Here,” Danny says, eyeing me pointedly before throwing his car keys at me.
“Thanks,” I say, relieved. “I’ll drive you home.”
“No,” Henry gasps, physically taking a step back. “I’ll take the bus.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“I live in Bozeman,” he protests.
“Okay.” I shrug, happy to have at least another forty minutes with him.
“No, it’s not okay. I’d rather take the bus,” he protests, his breath coming in sharp pants as he eyes all of us, like we’re going to attack.
“I could drive you instead,” Parker offers.
“No, honestly, I’m fine. I’m used to the bus, and I have a book to read. Plus, I prepaid for my ticket, so it’ll be a waste if I don’t use it.” Henry’s words come out in a jumble as his panic starts to heighten.
The absolute last thing I want to do is watch my boy get on a bus and leave, but I’m not sure I have a fucking choice. I could force him to let me drive him, but he isn’t mine to force, at least not yet.
No . I remind myself sharply. He’s not mine, and I’m not going to make him mine, no matter how much I want to .
Before I can think of another argument, Henry rushes to the counter, pulling a battered-looking wallet from his battered-looking backpack. I don’t bother to tell him I already paid, instead I trail after him, my arms crossed tightly across my chest to stop myself from touching him.
“What do you mean, it’s already been paid? I need to pay for my food,” Henry rasps, his voice taking on a panicked edge.
“I paid for our dinner,” I say.
Jerking, he spins around to look at me. “Let me give you the money for mine.”
“No.”
“No?” His brows draw in, giving him an adorably ruffled expression.
“My treat,” I say, swallowing down the truth. That he’s mine, and that if I had my way, he’d never pay for another thing ever again. That I’ll be the one to take care of him from now on.
Henry’s lips part, but I shake my head, warning him not to bother arguing.
“Bill’s paid,” I tell Danny when he and Parker step up behind us.
“Thanks, Bro, I’ll get it next time,” Danny says, slinging his arm around Parker’s shoulder and pulling her in tight to his side. “I’ll get a ride back with Parks, you cool driving my car home?”
“Sure,” I agree, tipping my head toward the exit and gesturing for Henry to lead the way without saying a word.
His teeth gnaw at his bottom lip as he wraps his arms around his backpack, pinning it to his chest as he shuffles out of the diner and onto the sidewalk.
The moment we’re all outside, Parker slips free of Danny’s hold and pulls Henry in for a hug.
I’ve never seen someone react so viscerally to a hug before, but my boy’s eyes go wide, and it takes longer than it should for him to hug her back, keeping hold of his backpack with one hand while he tentatively slips his other arm around her.
“This has been fun, I’ll see you in the morning,” Parker says.
“Yeah, it has,” Henry agrees. “See you tomorrow.”
“I’ll walk you to the bus stop,” I growl, making sure he knows it’s not up for debate.
“See you later, Bro,” Danny says, flashing me a wide smile, before he turns to my boy. “Nice to meet you, Henry.” Chuckling to himself, he pulls Parker back to his side and turns to head in the direction of the garage where her car is parked.
“You don’t need to walk with me, I’m not a child,” Henry says, slipping his arms through the straps on his backpack and curling his hands around them, his knuckles white.
The urge to take his hand in one of mine is so fucking strong that I have to suck in a sharp breath just to keep control of myself. I must sound frustrated or angry, because Henry cowers, wrapping his arms around himself as he rushes forward, toward where the small-town bus stop is located.
“Why do you live in Bozeman if you work in Rockhead Point?” I growl, like a fucking caveman.
“I’m just a temp.”
“I’ll talk to Bay and Penn about it,” I say, angrily.
“What?” Henry’s feet skid to a stop, and he spins to look at me with wild, terrified eyes.
“I said I’ll talk to them about your job. If they’ve kept you on for months, they must be happy with your work?—”
“What are you talking about?” Henry pants. “We literally just met. How does my job have anything to do with you?”
Well, fuck, he has a point. This is the moment when I either have to tell him he’s mine or keep my mouth shut and mind my own business. My gut is telling me exactly which choice to make, but my brain is reluctant, knowing that I’m dooming either myself or him, depending on what decision I make.
“I have to go,” Henry blurts, turning and literally running away from me, toward the brightly lit sign and the bus that’s just pulling into the curb.
The words, “You’re mine,” melt on my tongue as my boy darts across the street and rushes to climb the steps onto the bus.