Chapter 4
Chapter Four
LARSON
I have no idea what I’m doing here. This is stupid.
I should have gone to the gallery with Tomy.
It’s not a lie that I’m less than interested in art, even if the exhibition is on queer art throughout history.
Yes, the exhibition sounds interesting, but when an opportunity to see Dylan again is waved in front of me?
Nope. I’m not interested in art.
It’s not like I had to make an excuse either. When we were planning this trip together, I said I wasn’t interested in art, and Tomy said we didn’t have to spend every single second together. We’re grown-ass men and can do things on our own throughout the trip if we like.
I agreed. I agreed two months ago when we booked the trip. I was never going to the gallery with him.
However, standing in front of the Booty Boudoir Studio for the second time in as many days? Yeah, I’m crossing a line.
What am I even doing here? Can I pull off that I’m just anxious to see our pictures? Is that even believable?
The idea that I wouldn’t see Dylan today at all had me practically running to the ferry to come back to the island of Ceto to do just that.
At his place of work. The island chain isn’t huge, but it’s big enough that the idea of running into him twice is slim.
It’s filled with people, so there’s a huge chance that he could walk by and be mixed in with the crowds. I’d not see him.
Kyanne recognizes me when I step inside. She offers me a smile. “Hello again,” she greets.
“Hi,” I say, feeling awkward. “Uh… do you have any openings?”
“For another shoot?” she asks.
I nod. It’s the only reasonable thing I can say to have just dropped in, right? “Just me this time.”
Her fingers clack against the keyboard, and she looks up. “We have an opening in twenty minutes.”
“Yes, please.” I reach across the counter, offering her my ID bracelet to scan.
There are a lot of reasons why these shouldn’t be widespread in the world, like how it’s such a ridiculous amount of control over your life, and it has access to so fucking much personal information that could easily enough be stolen by some random person walking by with the right technology.
However, the convenience can’t be beat. I have to carry literally nothing at all on my body.
All I need is this simple rubber bracelet.
She scans it with a little black box. The computer beeps, and I pull my hand back. “Alright, Mr. Faulkner. Have a seat and take a look through the books so you have an idea of what you’d like out of today’s appointment.” She stands and looks me over. “You didn’t bring anything with you today.”
“It was an impulse appointment,” I admit.
“Very well. You’ll be limited to the clothes on your body and whatever fabric we have available.”
“I understand.”
Kyanne nods, and I take a seat. There’s an open book on the table, and the image it’s open to is fucking sexy. I can see under-balls. You know, like under-boob, but we’re talking balls. It’s hot. I wipe my palms along my shorts, trying to scrub away the nerves.
I’m still staring at this single image when Lawrence steps into the waiting room from the back with a smile. “Welcome back, Mr. Faulkner.”
Yeah, I feel stupidly obvious. “Hi,” I greet, getting to my feet.
“Right this way. We’re glad that you enjoyed yourself so much that you decided to return.”
Yep, that’s exactly why I’m here. I nod and don’t answer. I feel like any words out of my mouth will just shout to the world that they’re a lie. I’m here for a reason I shouldn’t be.
My breath catches when I see Dylan. Something inside me feels like it’s pulling me toward him. It wraps around me, tugging me further and further into the studio.
His eyes remain locked on me, just as they had been yesterday.
“You remember Larson?” Lawrence asks Dylan.
It’s a beat late when Dylan answers. “Yes. Uhm…” He looks around me, at my hands, shifting a little to glance behind me. “What would you like to do today?”
“There’s a book on the table out there,” I say, feeling my cheeks already heat. “The picture is really hot.”
Dylan looks at Lawrence, who’s already heading for the door. “On it,” Lawrence says.
“I don’t have a plan,” I admit. “My visit today was spontaneous.”
He smiles, and it makes everything inside me heat up. My god, he’s just… stunning.
“Take a look at the wall,” Dylan says as I hear Lawrence’s footsteps behind me. “See if anything catches your eye, and we can go from there.”
My blood feels hot when I turn toward the wall. Not because my eyes are immediately drawn to the rope hanging there, but because I know Lawrence is showing him the under balls picture that caught my eye.
Fuck me. I just realized that means I’m practically volunteering to get naked for this man.
“What do you think?” Dylan asks a minute later.
Considering I haven’t looked beyond the rope, I point at it. “Do you know how to tie? Like… bondage?”
His eyes are once again locked with mine, and I don’t look away. Everything around us fades, blurs, dulls. Dylan licks his lips and nods slowly. “Some,” he says. “Probably not official or anything. I’ve taught myself some for photos.”
“I’d like to try that,” I say.
“You want a super sexy shoot this time,” he notes.
“Apparently, I do.”
“Tying takes a bit of time. I don’t mind staying late,” Dylan says as he looks at Lawrence. “You can prepare for the long weekend and leave at your regular time. Kyanne can lock up when ready as well.”
Lawrence nods. “Thanks, boss. Then I’ll be around for the next forty minutes, so holler if you need something.”
Dylan smiles, and we watch Lawrence leave the studio. Our gazes come together again.
“Okay. How sexy are you asking for?” Dylan asks.
“Do you have a limit?”
“No. If you want full nudity, then that’s fine.”
I don’t miss the way his voice sounds a little higher-pitched when he says fine.
I’m not sure what I’m after here. I don’t know what I’m doing.
But right here in the open, I step out of my shoes while pulling my shirt over my head.
Then I drop my shorts and shove my underwear down as well.
When I step out from the pile of clothing at my feet, I’m in nothing but socks.
Dylan stares at me. His eyes don’t move, though they don’t look focused on any one area. There’s no hiding my dick being excited. Hard. Waving. Or maybe looking for a handshake, which must be called something different when you’re shaking a cock in greeting.
What is wrong with me?
“Uh…” Dylan takes a deep breath and turns for the rope. “I have an idea if you’re open to it.”
“Yes.”
His hands pause as he’s pulling the rope down. “You don’t want to hear my idea?” he asks, looking at me over his shoulder.
“Nope. Surprise me.”
The way his lips curl makes my stomach flip. He pulls the rope down, grabs a camera, and heads for the bedroom, though we don’t stop at the bed. There’s a fainting couch in the corner that he pulls away from the wall with his heeled foot.
I grab it and pull it to where he’s pointing. Is it awkward moving furniture with my dick poking me in the stomach? Slightly.
“Kneel,” Dylan says. “Hands on the back. We’re doing a variation of the balls picture first.”
I do as I’m told and look at him over my shoulder. I don’t miss the way he stares at my ass or the heat flaring in his eyes. I nearly groan.
Dylan takes a deep breath. “Can I touch you? To adjust your position, I mean.”
“Yes.”
He sets the camera on the bed and then comes toward me.
I feel his body heat when he’s close enough.
His hands feel like hot irons as he adjusts my hands where he wants them, then my knees.
He touches the lower part of my back, making me curl slightly so my ass is sticking out.
His fingers on my neck, my head, my shoulders are sensual as fuck as he moves me.
Then he’s placing the rope over me, along my back, and hanging loose over my shoulder, where an end curls around an arm. It slides along my spine and my ass crack before pooling between my legs.
When Dylan steps away, I’m panting. I think my cock is leaking, but I don’t move a muscle as Dylan takes photos.
He moves all around me, completing a full three-sixty.
On his feet. Crouching down. On a ladder, looking down at me.
He even lies on the ground, his feet coming out from under the couch I’m on as he takes a picture from that angle.
“Sit back on your legs,” Dylan says, his voice quiet. Husky. “Don’t move otherwise unless you need to adjust to balance.”
“I have phenomenal core strength,” I say and sit back.
“Indeed,” he says. “I can see that.”
I smirk and close my eyes as he adjusts me how he wants me this time. My hands loose at my side, head back. Then comes the arranging of the rope.
“So… I swear to you, I’m not trying to get fresh, but can I, uh, get close to your… erection? I have a vision in my mind with this rope. I won’t touch you inappropriately, I—”
“Yes,” I answer, cutting him off.
There’s no hiding the way I’m turned on by him. Especially when I feel how close he is to my cock. I feel his breath on my chest, and my nipples tighten, harden. The rope, which isn’t particularly heavy, feels like a weight on my cock as Dylan settles it.
He doesn’t focus solely on my dick, of course. He moves the rope around me—my torso, my neck, my arms. He curls it around my bent legs, having me lean forward slightly so he can secure my thighs to my ankles and then a new length around my upper body.
I feel tethered. It’s tight but not uncomfortable. It’s a master level of concentration that has me not moving as Dylan circles me, taking photos from every angle. I feel him get closer and then move further away.
“You look good tied up,” Dylan says.
“Is that a variation of ‘those clothes look good on you, but they’d look better on my floor’?”
He snorts. “Now that you mention it, totally could be. However, I’d change it because ropes don’t belong on floors. They belong wrapped snugly around a sexy man.”
Chills race along my spine.
“Lean forward, let your head fall. Like that.”
The only sounds in the room are the tap-tap of his shoes, the rapid clickclickclick of the camera, and the equally quick beating of my heart.
“You’re stunning, Larson,” Dylan says quietly. “Made for… the camera.”
“Am I?” I ask.
“If you could see what I see,” he says. Clickclickclickclick. “You’d turn the most bigoted man gay right now.”
I laugh. His camera doesn’t stop capturing pictures, even through my laughter.
He stops in front of me, a grin on his face that would melt my panties off if I were wearing any. “How do you feel about being truly restrained?”
“I thought you knew enough for pictures?”
“Oh, I do. I’d get my bondage learner’s permit taken away if someone came to inspect what I have in mind.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I want you to look wrecked for me,” he says. “As if I tied you up and fucked you.”
Despite my best efforts not to, I groan.