Chapter 7 #2
Roy came and bent over DJ, his knee on the bed between DJ’s spread legs, his thigh pressing against his testicles.
DJ drew in a harsh breath. “You’ll honor that promise, DJ.
The first time I see you fail is when this is over.
Because nothing, not how much you turn me on, how hard my dick gets just looking at you doing the stupidest, simplest things, the fact I think about you when I go to bed, imagine you there with me—”
“Oh hell…Roy…”
“Be quiet. I’m not done.”
DJ bit back the flood of words, tensing, but Roy’s reproof wasn’t angry or annoyed. Just patient. Relentless.
“None of that, as much of my imagination as you’ve claimed, holds even a spark against my desire to keep you safe.
There’s a reason I do what I do, Dory. It’s the core of who I am, and I don’t compromise it, because I know it’s the right path.
I don’t want you to answer me. I want you to think about it, and understand it.
Then tell me when it’s gotten through. For us to go forward, you have to understand that it’s my call to end this, and be willing to accept that decision. ”
The weight of his words, the pressure of Roy’s hand on him, added to the gravity of the request. It’s the core of who I am. He was trusting DJ not to disrespect that. Fuck with it. That was an important request.
At length, he nodded. “If I don’t fail, do I get a reward for the effort?”
A moment ago, he would have tossed that out there as a cocky comeback. The way it came out was different. Almost…needy.
“I know you like the adulation of the crowd,” Roy said, “but you’re not addicted to it. One on one, it makes you uncomfortable, a little embarrassed. You hide it well, but it’s in the eyes. The twitch here.”
Roy tapped his left hand. “The way you cut your eyes off and away when a fan tells you how much she adores you. But you like the performance part. Why is standing in front of a sea of people comfortable, desired, and in front of just one so difficult?”
“Because we’re all in it together, when I’m performing. Their energy is part of the performance. It’s not me alone doing the giving.”
“Hmm.” Roy put his hand on DJ’s buttocks. Stroking them with his knuckles, he probed the seam between. “Spread your legs out wider, DJ.”
When Roy cupped his balls, teased his perineum, DJ pressed his forehead against a lower pillow in the stack to stay still.
“No, you don’t care about adulation. But the sub in you wants praise. Needs it. So when you ask me for a reward, that’s what you’re seeking. Did you realize that?”
He hadn’t considered it that way, but Roy didn’t need his answer. It was a relief, to have Roy in his head like that. Roy caressed his back, and gripped DJ’s shoulders one at a time, testing muscle and tension.
He shifted all the way on the bed, both knees on the inside of DJ’s as he leaned forward. Just as he had before, at the club, Roy slid his hands down DJ’s sides and back up several times. He cupped DJ’s narrow, tight butt and lifted it. Then his heated, wet mouth was on the sensitive rim.
DJ cried out, not expecting the explosion of sensation.
He tried not to move, but didn’t know how to stop himself.
Roy kept at it as DJ whimpered and writhed, his movements contained by Roy’s powerful hold.
When Roy finally laid him back down on the pillows, he was panting.
He heard the clink of the belt, the slide as it came free of the loops.
“I expect you to control yourself, DJ, no matter what. Until I tell you that you don’t have to control yourself. This is a reminder of that.”
Roy tapped him with the tongue of the belt, a few light slaps on his ass and thighs that revved up the muscles, the nerve endings.
It made DJ very aware of how wide his legs were spread, and what that made accessible to the belt’s sting.
But he resisted the urge to clamp them closed like a virgin on her wedding night and trembled, waiting for whatever his Master wanted.
Roy doubled it over and gave his ass a harder smack. The hotel had good soundproofing, but DJ had a feeling Roy was going to test it. At least DJ had a pillow to muffle his cries.
Another smack came. Then another. On five, DJ’s ass was on fire. On ten, he was thinking about using his safeword. But then he thought of how his jeans would feel against the marks. Maybe he wouldn’t wear underwear, even though there was no show.
And then, stupidly, he passed a point where he never wanted Roy to stop, no matter how much it hurt.
Fortunately, Roy was smarter than he was, and stopped around nineteen.
He put his mouth on the heated, throbbing skin, and then put his tongue between DJ’s cheeks again.
As he did, he reached between DJ’s legs to fondle and squeeze his balls, before gripping his cock in a hand that said this is mine.
“Yes…” DJ groaned. “Yes, it is.”
Roy hadn’t asked, but he’d given him the answer.
“I’m going to have your ass now, so that you know I’ve been there. You said it’s been a while, so I’m taking it slow. I’m not interested in causing you that kind of pain. I’m in charge. Agreed?”
“Yes, Sir. But it’s okay if it hurts a little at first. I like earning it.”
“Who’s in charge of the decisions, Dory?”
“You are. Just…giving helpful feedback.”
Roy grunted. DJ heard a zipper, a condom being unwrapped. The cool trickle in his rectum told him lube was going in. Roy’s fingers followed it to smooth it around, make sure he didn’t cause DJ the wrong kind of pain. A considerate lover.
DJ caught his lip in his teeth at the push past the tight rim. Sensation swirled across his buttocks, throbbed deep within that channel and made his balls contract. Heat washed over his skin.
Roy was in charge of his wellbeing, which included this. DJ’s chest and throat got even tighter at the thought, and weird tears stung his eyes. What the hell?
His earlier thought about father figures returned, and a surge of pushback came, a sudden churning in his gut. He didn’t understand the reason, any more than the tears, but it propelled the declaration out of his thick throat.
“At the club, you remember that one sub who was crying ‘Daddy, please, Daddy’ to his Dom? Over and over again. I won't call any man that.”
He sure as hell didn’t see Roy as his daddy.
Roy laid a hand on DJ’s nape. Soothed. "Maybe it isn't about calling someone Daddy. It's knowing what a father should be. What a Dom should be. Trusting that you can not only ask for that, but fucking expect it.”
DJ choked on a yearning noise as Roy produced that studded strap, reached beneath him and put a stranglehold on DJ’s dick with it. Then he guided himself to DJ’s opening, let him feel the head of his cock there.
Oh fuck. Oh God. Yes.
Roy tugged his hair, putting a hand back on his nape. “Relax. Deep breath. You can take me.”
Now that the desire for Roy’s big cock was facing the reality, DJ felt some trepidation. But Roy was patient. Excruciatingly so, pausing when DJ’s breath whistled out or he gasped softly at the invasion. Each time Roy asked if he should stop, DJ’s answer was an immediate no.
No, Sir.
When DJ walked out of this room—or tried to walk—he wanted to know Roy Bloodwell had been fully inside his body. Feeling how much Roy wanted that, too, made the no even more emphatic.
He was all the way in. When he bent and put his mouth between DJ’s shoulder blades, he began to move his hips.
A stroke between the cheeks, through the rim, that blissful push-through friction, then back out.
Slow movements, every one of them, Roy taking his time, maximizing the stimulation, building the pressure in DJ’s cock.
A cock Roy had leashed until he decided it could be free.
DJ was pushing back against him, wanting him to thrust harder, even if it burned. He could handle it. He could handle him. But Roy still took an infuriatingly long time to ramp it up, until DJ was gasping to be fucked within an inch of his life, pleading without shame.
His Master chuckled with sensual appreciation, bit his throat, his shoulder. At long last, he began thrusting with aggressive intent. Reaching under DJ, he worked his stymied cock, torturing it, playing around the head, stroking the shaft.
DJ cried out, tangled pain and need pumping through him like Roy’s cock. When Roy at last released with a growl and long groan that shivered through DJ’s nerves, all that power hard up against his body, he drove DJ into the pillows. Hell, Roy could put him through the mattress if he wanted to.
“Please…”
Roy unsnapped the cock ring. “Come for me, Dory,” he ordered hoarsely.
Dory bucked, caught between the pillows and the weight of Roy’s body.
The rough scream tearing from his throat might give his singing extra gravel, but that was okay.
He wanted to collect and hold onto every scrap of evidence that Roy had taken him over, taken his body.
And possibly things a lot deeper than that.
He lost his mind to everything but sensation, groaning, crying out. When it finally finished and he was nearly limp, Roy was still holding him. Murmuring to him.
DJ might not ever call another man Daddy, but it didn’t mean something in him didn’t curl up tight in Roy’s embrace when he heard the man murmur the words in his ear.
“Good boy. You’re such a wonderful, good boy.”
Praise, meant in all the right ways. Everything was right.
It had been as good as the fantasy. Maybe better. Because Roy didn’t withdraw or disappear as DJ returned to earth. Without DJ asking, Roy shifted them to a sleeping position on the bed and curled up around him. They lay like that together, DJ drifting toward sleep.
Roy’s breath was even against DJ’s neck. DJ held onto the strong arm around his waist, and Roy’s hand was on his chest, as if Roy was tracking his heartbeat while keeping him safe and close.
DJ didn’t want to be anywhere else.
In the early hours of the morning, DJ cracked open his eyes to see Roy in front of the mirror, tying his tie. DJ remembered he had the morning shift. He could smell coffee and assumed Roy had brewed some.
He didn’t want things to get weird between them, so instead of letting his head get mired down in post-first-sex stupidity, he said the first thing that came to mind.
“Can you bring me a cup of tea, Daddy?”
Roy raised a brow, his eyes sparking. A pillow that had fallen on the floor was launched at him with a cannon’s velocity. When he curled up in a defensive ball, laughing, Roy disappeared into the main room.
When he returned, he didn’t have DJ’s tea. He had his cup of coffee, as well as a plastic spoon and packets of cream and sugar.
“Lay on your back and spread your legs. Arms up and holding the pillow around your head. Keep your busy hands out of my way.”
Whoa. Roy wasn’t smiling, and his eyes showed full-on lust, his gaze zeroed in on DJ’s morning erection. DJ gulped, his gaze on the steam rising above the coffee.
“I guess this is a trust exercise.”
“It’s an exercise in learning to shut your mouth and obey your Master.”
“Isn’t it time for your shift to start? I don’t want to break the rule about acting like bodyguard and client.”
“I have twelve minutes.” Roy didn’t glance at his watch. “Do it, Dory. Close your eyes. Or safeword.”
DJ obeyed. His stomach somersaulted as he heard the paper rip and felt the sprinkling of what had to be the sugar packet’s contents along his shaft, followed by the creamer, a cool, thick stream over his painfully stretched skin.
“Hold very still.”
He couldn’t help the involuntary jerk as a few very hot drops of coffee hit his dick. It only hurt for a brief second, and then the stimulation made him want Roy to do more of it. Like when he was striking him with the belt.
He especially wanted more of what Roy gave him next. His mouth, going down on him, sucking coffee, sugar and cream from his flesh.
“So you don’t like coffee?” Roy asked, after his tongue had slid all around the ridge of DJ’s head and teased his slit.
“Rethinking that,” DJ managed.
Roy spread out his coverage, tiny kisses of hot coffee moving to DJ’s abdomen, then his nipples, chest and hollow of his throat. DJ gripped the pillow with both hands when what he wanted was to grab Roy’s shirt, pull him on top of him, hold onto him and stay in bed all damn day.
Roy rose from the bed. “Open your eyes, Dory.”
When DJ did, Roy was standing at the foot of the bed, his heated eyes on DJ’s.
Not because he wanted to look away, but because he just couldn’t stand not confirming it, DJ noted on the desk clock that eleven minutes had passed.
Roy gave him a lingering look. “You’ve done well. In fifty-two seconds, you’ll transform back into my smart-mouthed, pain-in-the-ass client. Can you do that?”
DJ’s lips twitched. “Am I breathing?”
Roy smiled and put the rest of the coffee on the credenza so he could shrug into his coat.
“I’ll be right outside your room, Mr. James.
You’re doing a press thing with Moss at nine a.m. in a hotel conference room, then, per your usual, you’re going to the rehearsal space he rented for you until the tour bus leaves. Correct?”
“Unless we change our minds and decide to busk in the subway. If G knows how to juggle, that’ll increase our tips.”
Roy adjusted his cuffs and pinned DJ with his usual cool and unperturbed look. “It occurs to me this job comes with a perk I’ve never had before. When my client yanks my chain, I can beat his ass raw as soon as I’m off shift.”
“As long as he doesn’t safeword.”
Roy shrugged. “Hearing loss is common for old guys like me. Plus I’ve been exposed to a lot of really loud music.”
He squeezed DJ’s bare foot, a tender affection. Since it didn’t dilute the threat at all, it left DJ aroused and moved. And contemplating a brand-new hobby.
Yanking Roy’s chain like a starving pit bull.