Chapter 5 Ethan
Chapter five
Ethan
In my haze from the thorough face-fucking and mind-numbing orgasm, I don’t even think to say a word as we leave the plane and go through security at the Hollywood Burbank airport.
In short, I’m a fool.
MacKenzie has a driver who I could signal to about my current predicament, but all my celebrity crush has to do is raise a brow above his glasses and I keep my mouth shut. Usually, this isn’t a skill I possess.
Years of being told to be quiet and mind my business, from my father and teachers alike, and the one time I should be shouting for help, I’m silent.
While I haven’t spent much time in Los Angeles, I recognize the signs for Hollywood and Glenwood as we pass them in the dark and make our way uphill to a neighborhood called Verdugo Viejo.
The driver stops in the round driveway of a Spanish-style house with a tiled roof and white, stucco walls, illuminated by tasteful lighting.
MacKenzie’s driver opens the back door and he gets out. In the brief minute I’m thinking of what to say as the driver opens my door, My captor is there to grip me by the shoulder, while he holds his garment bag over the other arm.
“Thank you,” he tells the driver dismissively before marching me up to the door. It opens with a code, and I’m marched straight through open rooms with white walls and dark wood details, lights coming on automatically as we move through the spaces. “What to do with you,” he mutters to himself.
“Mr. MacKenzie, I’m just happy to be alive,” I reply, but I can only see his jaw ticking. So, being unalived is still on the table.
We exit out a set of French doors, which he leaves open as he marches me across a patio, past an infinity edge pool with a view reaching to Downtown LA. I run into his side when he stops abruptly at a casita set into the hill, in the same style as the main house.
Another code is entered into a solid wood door, and I’m marched inside. “I’m staying in your guest house?” I ask, though the kitchenette and small living space answer my question.
MacKenzie doesn’t respond, leading me to the only door and a cozy bedroom. There looks to be an en-suite bathroom, but I don’t get to look as he pushes me back on the bed. My traitorous dick perks up, thinking there will be a round two.
“Hands up,” he instructs, and I do what he says without thinking. Reaching into the side table, MacKenzie pulls out handcuffs, where I spot a few other kinky toys.
Barking out a laugh, I can’t help but ask, “This where you bring all the boys who blow you after witnessing you commit murder?”
MacKenzie’s eyes snap to mine at the same time the first cuff snaps into place. “You would be the first.”
“To blow you?” I blurt in disbelief. Though I’ve never heard a whisper of him not being straight.
“First person to see me commit murder and live to talk about it,” he clarifies with a warning in his tone, clicking the second cuff in place. I’m in shock he actually admitted it out loud without an ounce of hesitation.
He starts to move away, and I can’t stand the thought of being alone. Why do I want to be around the serial killer? Fuck, I’m a mess.
“Wait!” I scramble for an excuse. I find one in the fact that we didn’t clean up after I came in my pants. “I have to go pee. And I need a shower.”
MacKenzie narrows his eyes, assessing me before leaning down to unlock one cuff with a key before pulling me from the bed. “Fine, but make it fast. And know I have cameras covering every inch of this property.”
“Yes, Sir,” I quip, moving to the bathroom and hoping there are no cameras in there.
Much like the main house, the casita has dark wood floors and furniture, while the walls and countertops are stark white.
When he stays standing behind me as I unzip my pants, I look over my shoulder.
“What are you going to hold it for me, too?”
In a flash, MacKenzie has one hand gripping my neck while the other squeezes my junk. “If I want you to walk around like a dog on a leash, you will.”
Yep, I’m fucked in the head. Because that sounds fucking hot.
Licking my lips, I swallow hard. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good, pet,” MacKenzie praises, tightening his grip on the back of my neck as he tugs my crusty underwear down, revealing my half-hard cock. “I see you’re on board with that suggestion.”
Before I can think of a response—who knows if I would be snarky or obedient—MacKenzie has my dick in hand and aims it at the bowl. I whimper, knowing I need to pee but that I can’t help how hard I am at his touch.
“Be a good boy, and pee for me, pet,” MacKenzie coos, as if we’re intimate partners and not virtual strangers. As if he doesn’t have me in cuffs after kidnapping me. “And then I’ll get you nice and clean, as a reward.”
Closing my eyes and thinking of waterfalls, I finally let go, and it feels almost as good as an orgasm. I haven’t peed since I met Owen MacKenzie in the hallway, and I have a hard time comprehending that it has only been a few hours. In those hours I’ve gone from free to captive.
MacKenzie shakes my dick and then undresses me methodically. Thankfully, my dick has gone down at the reminder of my plight. When I’m naked, he cuffs my other hand and drags me into the open shower. Looping the short chain over the showerhead he turns it on without warning.
“Shit!” Yelling at the cold water running over my head and back, I don’t notice MacKenzie stripping down until he steps behind me as the water warms. “What are you doing?” I ask through a shiver, though the water is getting hotter.
I have a feeling it’s more to do with his closeness.
I can’t help thinking about how much easier the cleanup of a murder would be if done while naked in the shower.
Yeah, fear, that’s why I shivered.
Taking the soap bottle from a tiled inset shelf, MacKenzie lathers his hands before working them into my shoulders. I groan from the strength in them working my muscles just right. He’s methodical as he makes his way down my torso, scrubbing under my arms as I will myself not to laugh or groan.
After removing the hand-held shower nozzle and rinsing me from head to toe, he moves on to shampoo. Tugging my head back by the hair, I feel my dick get hard again and bite my lip to stop from moaning as he starts massaging my scalp.
Besides the revolving door of nannies and brief memories of my mom, I can’t remember being washed so thoroughly. And Owen MacKenzie was definitely not my nanny.
Pushing my front against the cold, marble wall, I shiver in earnest. Mackenzie’s touch leaves me and I’m biting back a groan of disappointment this time.
Looking over my shoulder, I find him lathering his own sexy body.
He’s fitter than I expect from a man in his forties who spends his days sitting on TV.
A smattering of salt and pepper hair covers his chest, but I can’t see if he has a happy trail when he moves to press himself against me, and I feel his own hardness.
The water is running over me to rinse him off, and I wonder how long the hot water would last if we moved on to other activities.
Right when I’m about to throw caution to the wind and ask if he wants a round two, MacKenzie reaches around me to turn off the water. He lifts the handcuff chain and pulls me out of the shower to dry me off. Pulling a spare toothbrush from under the sink, he tells me to brush, so I do.
Everything he does is measured, careful, and I realize I’m not getting a repeat of the plane.
After being dried off from head to toe, though my hair is still damp, I’m marched right back to the bed. MacKenzie throws the covers back and grabs the key he left on the nightstand. I’m hopeful he changed his mind until he easily pushes me down and secures the cuff to the wrought iron headboard.
“You’ll sleep here tonight,” MacKenzie states, stepping away to grab his underwear and glasses. I’m sad to see his dick covered, but he does look hot in those glasses. “I’ll bring you food in the morning.”
“What if I have to pee again?”
“Then you’ll be a good boy, and hold it.” Mackenzie leans in close, grabbing my dick again in a grip that’s almost painful. “Or I’ll have to rub your nose in it.”
The fact that my dick twitches in his grip at the filthy threat isn’t unnoticed, but all it earns me is him letting me go. MacKenzie stands to open a dresser drawer, pulling out a T-shirt.
“Good night, pet.”
“Good night, Sir.”