5. Henry #3
Exhaling, I let my body relax even further into the couch, trying to concentrate on what’s happening on the screen and not on what Anders is doing behind me. I wish I was confident enough to ask what exactly it is I’m doing here and what he meant when he told me I was his, but I’m just not.
I don’t feel equipped to deal with a guy like Anders.
So instead of asking all the questions that are cycling through my mind, I press my lips together and stay quiet, hoping that in the morning he’ll have gotten over whatever it was that drove him to bring me here instead of taking me back to my place.
Oddly, despite the fact that I’ve barely said two words since we got here, Anders isn’t giving off any frustrated energy.
Instead, his presence is weirdly calming, just like his home has felt since I stepped through the door.
If he wasn’t terrifyingly attractive and intimidatingly bossy, he’d probably be someone that I’d enjoy spending time with.
In another world he could have been someone that could help me navigate my life as a gay man with zero experience with gay men, but obviously this whole “you’re mine” thing has ruined that.
Once he realizes he’s made a mistake, things will be awkward, and there won’t even be a possibility of us being friendly acquaintances.
I startle when the cushion beside me sinks and Anders sits down. His couch is more than big enough for him to have sat down in the other corner and given us both plenty of space, but instead he’s right beside me, his thigh pressed tightly against mine.
“What are you watching, Kitten?” he purrs.
“Oh, it’s an old show about cops,” I say vaguely, because I can’t remember what the show is called.
“Do you like it?” he asks, and his question feels like he’s asking about more than just the TV show.
“It was just the first thing I found,” I admit breathily, swallowing down the scent of his woodsy cologne.
“Tell me about you,” he says, twisting in his seat to face me.
Pointedly avoiding looking at him, I keep my eyes fixed on the TV until a rough finger curls beneath my chin, turning me to look at him.
“Did you forget?” he asks. “I told you to look at me when we’re talking.”
Goose bumps rush across my skin, and my breath freezes in my lungs as I try not to look at him but find myself incapable of stopping as my gaze lifts to his face.
“Tell me about you,” he repeats, filling his words with an undeniable order that I’m unable to resist.
“I’m twenty-two,” I whisper.
“So young,” he purrs, running the pad of his thumb over my jaw. “Keep going.”
“I graduated from Montana State last year.”
“What’s your degree in?”
“Business administration.”
“That’s amazing,” he praises, like he’s genuinely proud of me, even though we’re strangers. “Why do you live alone? Where is your family?” he pushes.
“I got a full scholarship, but it didn’t include housing. So, I found somewhere I could afford,” I confess, telling him just enough to answer his question but nothing more.
“And your family?”
Swallowing thickly, I shrug, “I grew up in foster care.”
“Are your foster parents from Montana?”
“No,” I admit, giving him nothing more, unwilling to spill my tale of woe to him.
“How long do you have left on the lease on your apartment?”
“I’m not sure why you need to know that,” I say confidently, or as confidently as I can muster with his fingers still caressing my jaw.
“Because I want to know how much of a mess I’ll have to handle when I move you in.” His words, voice, and tone are so even, so calm, that it takes me a moment to process what he’s said.
“What?” I blurt. “No. I. No…what?”
“You’re mine, Kitten. I know this might seem fast, but I can’t let you live somewhere that’s not safe.”
“Yours?” I question like an idiot.
“Yes, Kitten. All mine. Mine to protect, to adore, to own…” His voice trails off until his next words are barely audible. “To control.”
Shaking my head, I search for the right words. “Anders, this is…no.”
“It’s a lot…I’m a lot. But we can figure this out, Kitten. This is right, and I know you feel it too.”
“Feel what?” I question, exasperated and bewildered.
“What’s happening between us,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Before I can try to muster a reply, his lips are on mine, softly taking a kiss from me.
Frozen, my mind blanks, and I falter. This is my first kiss, but Anders isn’t the type of man you should learn to kiss with.
Despite my blatantly obvious lack of experience, he doesn’t pull back.
Instead, his lips slowly, gently coax me to mimic his movements.
After a few awkward moments, some kind of instinctual knowledge clicks into place inside of me, and I start to tentatively kiss him back.
His fingers are still on my jaw, but when his other hand curls around my throat, I gasp, parting my lips just wide enough for him to push his tongue into my mouth.
A soft, shocked sound burbles from my throat, and I melt into his touch, reacting to his hand on my throat like he just shot me with muscle relaxant. Why does his palm gripping my Adam’s apple feel so freaking good?
Heat is pouring from him into me, and without my permission, I lean forward into his touch, unsure what I’m asking for, but needing more. When his fingers grip me more firmly, my hips twitch, grinding my dick into the air.
“Good boy,” Anders growls, dragging his lips from mine and pressing them to my chin, my jaw, then lower, moving down toward where he’s collaring me with his huge, roughly calloused palm. “My Kitten likes that, don’t you?” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly, the sound vibrating against my skin.
“I…” I pant, unsure how to speak.
“My Boy…my Kitten, you like being held in place. You like feeling my control over you like this, don’t you?” Still talking, his lips travel back to mine, and this time when he kisses me, I instantly part for him, desperate to taste his tongue, while my entire being submits willingly into his hold.
“Such a good boy,” he praises again, slowing the kiss until his lips are only pressing barely there nips against my mouth, like he’s trying to stop but can’t quite make himself do it.
By the time he pulls his lips away from mine, putting a small amount of space between us, my dick is an iron rod in my pants, and I know that if he kisses me again, I’ll come.
It doesn’t matter that his hands haven’t moved lower than my neck.
It doesn’t matter that we’re both still fully clothed. I’m desperate; he’s made me desperate.
Blinking my eyes open, I stare up at him. His mouth is barely three inches away, and I part my lips, ready to ask…to beg for more, but before I can speak, he tightens his palm around my throat, and I explode.
A guttural groan bursts from my throat as my butt lifts from the couch without my permission. Humping the air, I grind my hips against nothing as cum explodes from my cock, soaking my boxers.
Anders’s eyes go wide, and his gaze drops to my lap. Mortification consumes me, and I know without looking that I’m as red as a tomato, heat billowing from me as embarrassment coats my arousal, turning it into instant shame.
“Oh, Kitten,” Anders whispers. “I didn’t know you were so needy.”
His tone is…odd. I’m not sure how I was expecting him to react. With ridicule maybe, or disgust, but instead he sounds…apologetic, but…excited. Proud even.
“I’m…oh. I’m sorry,” I whisper, my words barely loud enough to be heard.
“Why are you sorry?” Anders questions, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “My needy, needy boy was so excited that you came without being touched. You’re fucking perfect.”
His praise shocks me. How could this be perfect? Most men don’t want a hair trigger. Having my dick under control enough to not spontaneously come just from a kiss should be something I have a handle on, even if this is the first time it’s happened.
“I don’t understand,” I admit.
“If you’d made yourself come, I’d be upset. But you didn’t. Your dick was so desperate for me, so hard, that you came just from me kissing you. I fucking love it,” he says, his expression earnest, his eyes hooded, like me coming in my pants is…a turn-on for him?
“I should clean up,” I cringe.
Without saying a word, Anders slowly unfurls his fingers from around my neck, and I instantly miss the feel of his hands on me.
The cum dripping down my dick and soaking through the fabric of my pants is starting to cool, and suddenly everything feels like too much.
Because his palm collaring my throat had somehow silenced all the what the fuck thoughts I should be feeling, and without it my mind is spiraling.
“Come on, Kitten,” Anders says, standing and taking my hand.
His huge palm swallows my smaller one as he pulls me up from the couch. A strange, distant thought warns me that I should be fighting this spell he’s put on me, but before I can even consider arguing, he tugs my hand and leads me up the stairs and into a bedroom.
“Let’s get you all clean,” he coaxes, unbuttoning my shirt and stripping it off my shoulders.
Instead of telling him to stop or that I can undress myself, I become pliant, allowing him to do as he pleases. I don’t understand why it’s happening, but it’s not until he unbuttons my pants and yanks both them and my boxers to the floor that I reconnect with my body and blink back to the present.
I’m naked. My clothes are gone, and I’m naked with a huge Viking giant on his knees at my feet, while my rock-hard again dick is bobbing in front of his face.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
Dropping my hands, I attempt to cover my cock, like putting my hands over it will prevent him from having already seen how hard my cum-wet dick is again. This is mortifying.
“Move your hands, Boy,” Anders growls, tugging my pants and boxers free of my feet, leaving me naked except for my socks.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I squeak.
“I’ll help once you move your hands.”
“I don’t need help. I just need some privacy.”
“Yeah,” he drawls. “I’m not a fan of that. I won’t let you hide from me, so you may as well start getting used to that and drop your hands.”