Chapter Eleven
Ryder
The whole way down—one floor—I feel like my heart is going to leap out of my chest. I don’t want this—whatever is happening between us right now—to end.
I can’t deny that I feel something for Kane. Something that definitely doesn’t feel friendly in nature. Not just because he’s hot—though there is that whole Batman Villain vibe he’s got going on that just oh my God—focus Ryder!
I shove my hands into my pockets because if I don’t, I think I will put this elevator on hold indefinitely just so I can stop this moment from ending.
Preserve it forever. I glance at him beside me. His black jeans and studded boots, his wool coat. His long, dark beard with an almost faint red tint.
The ink peeking out over his fingers.
His touch wasn’t rough like I thought it would be. It was firm, warm. Assuring.
I want more of it. I want to feel that relief I felt when he grabbed my hand, like a damn addict. Can you be addicted to a person you barely know?
I’m not sure. But if it’s possible, I think I might be addicted to this man and I’ve barely even had a taste of him.
The door opens too quickly, but neither of us makes a point to move.
The doors close, and my heart rises into my throat as Kane presses the hold button, and I suck in a breath.
Kane doesn’t speak, just turns towards me, backing me up against the elevator wall, and every ounce of blood in my body rushes straight to my damn dick.
I panic, because what the fuck? I’ve been in a lot of scenarios, but this?
This is definitely not one of them.
I’m acutely aware that there are probably people upstairs, trying to catch this elevator, just like he did, and we’re holding them up, which makes me anxious and concerned, but also…
Strangely turned on, because did this man just stop an elevator for me?
Maybe he’s an axe murder and this is how I go.
I hope my dick goes down before that, though, otherwise this will be extremely awkward.
“Give me your phone,” he says, though his voice doesn’t sound murderous. Far from it.
There’s an edge to his voice; a darkness that feels more in line with his appearance than his usual jovial self I see when he comes in.
I glance up at his dark green eyes, searching them for something I’m not quite sure of. It’s not permission, I don’t think.
It’s something else.
Something I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Ryder.” He says my name low and smooth. Like black velvet.
My muscles turn to Jell-O, and heat overtakes me as I try to remember how to breathe. Because all I want to do at this moment, with Kane above me, looking at me like that, is fall to my fucking knees.
“Huh?” I blink, trying to remember how to speak coherently. But with the way Kane is looking at me, the heat between us, and the knowledge that we are literally stopping time itself right now here in this steel box, it’s harder than it should be.
“Give. Me. Your phone.”
I reach into my pocket with a shaking hand, which jostles my jeans enough to make me grimace.
Fuck I’m hard. I’m so hard it hurts, but I can’t draw attention to that. I don’t need Kane to think I’m some pervert who’s got a kink for elevators.
Panic laces through me as I fight the urge to touch myself, to adjust my cock in front of him.
I swallow hard, trying like hell to focus on handing him my phone and not on the faint bout of precum kissing the inside of my boxers.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I hand him my phone, two words on the tip of my tongue. I’ve said them so many times, to so many different men. But I’ve never wanted to say them so badly as I do now, and yet…
They get lodged in my throat.
Kane grasps my phone, his tattooed fingers grazing mine.
And then he says the words that melt my brain; the words I long to hear.
The words I crave.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, and the moan escapes me because it’s too hard to keep inside. Not when I’m focusing all my attention on not coming in my pants handsfree in this elevator in front of Kane. My friend.
Though I’m fairly certain most friends do not do this, I could be wrong.
I doubt it, though.
I suck in a breath as I watch him tap my phone.
“You’re going to be late,” I say, my voice dark. Low. It sounds strange, even to me.
He hands me my phone back, and a moment later, I hear a chime; the familiar sound of a text message.
Kane doesn’t answer. He just gazes back at me, his dark eyes full of something akin to hunger, but not quite. And then he casually presses himself against me, reaching for the hold button, and I realize I’m well and truly fucked.
Because there is no hiding my current issue.
Or…
Wait, is he…
The familiar twitch of a dick, rubbing against mine is irrefutable.
And so is the size.
I fight the groan that wants to escape me, because my mind immediately starts churning up thoughts of said sizeable dick, and I grit my teeth to try and stop myself.
Embarrassment floods me along with shame. Guilt.
I am so fucked up…
The first friend I get and this is how I react the minute we’re alone?
No wonder I don’t have any friends.
I close my eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment on his face, waiting to hear the drop of the elevator.
“Ryder,” he breathes my name. “Look at me.”
I shake my head.
“Can’t.”
I clutch my phone in my hand tightly, seeking grounding because my body and my brain are not on the same page. At all.
My breathing starts to turn rapid, my heart starts racing, and I think I’m going to crash out completely.
His fingers grasp my chin, and I brace for the onslaught of his disapproval.
For him to tell me to forget about everything.
That I’m a disgusting person and he’s never going to buy coffee from me again.
But that’s not what he does. Instead, he turns my chin towards him; his grip firm, yet strangely gentle.
“Look at me.” The heavy firmness of his voice is like a lullaby I’ve never known.
I don’t have to think.
I open my eyes and when I look up, I find the most beautiful green orbs staring back at me.
“Good boy,” he whispers, his lips inches from mine.
His cock throbs against me, and I want nothing more than to start grinding against it until I get the relief I desperately need. But I won’t.
Not unless he tells me to.
I let out a low sigh of relief because those words are like silk.
They make me feel like everything is perfect.
Like I’m perfect.
“You like when I call you that?” he asks curiously.
The heat from his breath kisses my lips and I nod, words failing me.
“Words, Ryder. I need your words.”
His grip on my chin still remains; a juxtaposition of gentleness and sternness that makes me feel like somehow, everything’s going to be okay.
The words escape me without warning, without hesitation.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
“Then you’re going to do exactly as I tell you, if you want me to say it again.”
I hold his gaze, waiting for his command.
Not because I want to hear it, but because I need to.
I need to do as he asks. I need to hear him say those words, the magical ones that fill me up and sate me in a way no other words can.
“Okay,” I breathe, my voice betraying no hint of how close I am to coming in my fucking pants.
Caught between his hardness, his stare, the heat, knowing he’s going to be late and maybe even cause a call to the fire company, I don’t think I’m going to make it.
“I am going to take this elevator off hold. I am going to go to group, and you…”
He lets out a low growl and my cock throbs, another bout of precum bleeding into the fabric of my boxers.
Fucking hell.
I groan and grimace as I try to stave off the desire, the need to come.
“Are going to go home, eat something, take a shower—a very cold shower—” he breathes, his hot breath making me sweat just a bit.
My legs tighten as I try to hold my orgasm back.
Kane’s cock throbs against mine, and I feel the tears beckoning to my eyes. I squirm against him.
Something shifts in his voice as my body shakes, fighting me tooth and nail to let go.
“I’m hurting you,” he whispers, and the sadness in his voice is like ice.
I shake my head. “No, you’re not, I—”
“You’re in pain,” he mutters. “I can see it etched all over your face.”
I shake my head, needing him to understand. How can I make him understand?
“No, I—”
I brace one hand on his hip, grasping it until my fingernails dig in, holding him against me because I know this is it.
This is where he sees who I am and decides I’m not worth it.
It’s happened too many times before; I know how this plays out.
And stupidly I hold him against me, like somehow I alone can keep him from disappearing, from slipping through my fingers like everyone else.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathes against my lips, and I realize the softness I feel against them is his.
The coarse hair of his beard tickles my nose, and I stare up into his deep green eyes, my fingernails digging into his shirt. I wait for him to tell me to stop, to let him go.
But he doesn’t.
And I realize perhaps I’m not the only one who needs assurance.
“Tell me,” I whisper. “Tell me what I need to do to be a good boy for you.”
I don’t miss the growl or the way he thrusts his cock against me, which makes me gasp. I want to come so fucking bad but I can’t.
God, this is maddening… more so than I’ve ever felt.
But I like this. I like being in this limbo, this place between pleasure and pain.
With him…
“How close are you?” he asks, his voice dark and smooth like silk, but there’s an edge of authority to it that I can’t ignore.
“Tell me to come and I will.” I don’t miss the desperation in my voice. I hate it.
But I love it, too.
Kane’s thumb rubs my bottom lip, the tip of his finger breaching my lips and I part them without hesitation.
“Is that so?” he asks.
I nod, letting my tongue graze the edge of his fingertip. Daring to taste even the tiniest bit of him I can.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Hmmm,” he murmurs. He leans in closer, and I think he’s going to kiss me.
That he’s going to tell me it’s okay.
I can come for him, and then he’ll tell me those two precious words that will make everything right.
“Not here,” he says solidly. “Not now.”
The whine that escapes me is more than desperate.
It’s agony.
Though Kane’s grip remains firm and gentle as he holds me still, his gaze piercing.
“Kane…” I whimper. “Please, I—”
“Not here,” he whispers again, his words softer. “You deserve more than this.”
And with that, he shoves my face away, and I recoil, tears flooding me as I finally fall to my knees.
This is it. This is where I fuck up and destroy everything before I can even have it in the first place.
Kane offers me his hand. I stare at it, mortified, ashamed, and confused.
“Give me your hand,” he says sternly.
I slide my hand in his and he closes it, warm and tight around me.
He pulls me up, and I stumble forward, my legs still like Jell-O. I fall against him and he reaches one hand out, long, ink-kissed fingers running over the side of my cheek.
“You want to be my good boy?” he asks, his voice soft. Softer than it should be. Kane speaks like I’m fragile, and maybe I am.
But glass is so much prettier when it’s broken; when the shards bear rainbows and prisms you couldn’t see before.
I nod slowly. “Yes.”
“Then wait, Ryder.” He says my name so smoothly, so warmly, I can’t help but think no one’s ever said my name so beautifully before.
He leans his forehead against mine, and I see the angst, the turmoil etched in his forehead as his eyebrows furrow.
I know he’s telling the truth, that he has some sort of meeting he’s missing right now, this is not how I pictured things going when I asked him to be friends, and if I could do the friendly thing and accompany him to his meeting.
Once again, I’ve let my selfish desires, my desperation, my cravings get the better of me. This…
This is why I need a master. Someone to tame me, keep me in line.
Keep me good. Because left to my own devices, this is who I am, this is what I do.
I know what the right thing to do, to say, is.
But for the first time in my life, I don’t want to do the right thing.
The words fall out without warning, a whisper of truth.
“I’m tired of waiting,” I say.
Kane closes his eyes, and I feel his breathing hitch. His cock remains solid against mine, but he doesn’t move, and neither do I.
“I know,” he whispers. “So am I.”
And just as I open my mouth to respond, the words are forgotten, because the moment he crushes his lips against mine, the world disappears.