Chapter 39 Santos
THIRTY-NINE
santos
“Fuck, just like that, Ever.”
I would’ve never thought it, but it turned out that therapy homework could be fun. It could be something I didn’t dread doing like I did every time I had to journal, or read a chapter of a book on trauma or masculinity, or anything else. At least I’d noped out of daily affirmations.
This, though? I had no problem following doctor’s orders.
After asking about the frequency we fucked, and our wants and needs there, and pretending that our answers weren’t a bit out there, Victoria had suggested that, since my trauma was attached to being used to give pleasure, we dedicate an established daily time to me receiving that pleasure.
I hadn’t been sure how Ever would take it.
We hadn’t quite addressed it, but he’d never shown an interest in topping, and fucking had always been about how many times I could make him come or how quickly I could make him cry and beg.
Ever had nodded along while Victoria had explained the logic and stuff about rewiring my brain and more words I hadn’t paid attention to, but I’d been fully prepared for an awkward conversation where he cried about not being comfortable with the idea or limits or boundaries or any other big-sounding word.
Instead, here we were, three days later, with me blindfolded and Ever sucking on my cock like it was his fucking favorite lollipop.
I fought the cuffs restraining me to the bed to no avail.
Victoria hadn’t said anything about spicing it up or adding bondage to the equation, but Ever had suggested it.
His logic had been that, if I was holding his head or setting the rhythm, my brain could still interpret it as me giving to him instead of just receiving.
I didn’t know if it actually made a difference. I did know I wasn’t going to complain about it.
Fucking hell, maybe we could revisit going to his club if he learned to do that with his tongue there.
I could reckon it was the hormones and the sex in the air talking, but it was fucking criminal that he didn’t put his throat to good use on a 24/7 basis.
Holy fuck.
“Fucking hell, I’m…” My throat dried as I fought to keep my hips still. Technically, talking dirty to him could still be considered me dominating him or some shit, but there was only so much I could hold on to. “So fucking close, babes, I’m going to…”
Of course the warning only made him redouble his efforts, hollow out his cheeks in preparation to swallow my load like the perfect fucking girl he was.
The chains connecting the leather cuffs to the bedposts rattled as bursts of cum hit the back of his throat, and I couldn’t touch him. Hold him close. Make sure he didn’t move even half an inch away from me, even though I knew he wouldn’t even dream of it.
“Fuck.”
My legs quaked with the effort. It felt stupid to become undone by what should be a simple blowjob, but that message didn’t register with my ragged breath or the speed my chest heaved up and down.
It didn’t stop until I felt Ever’s weight back on top of me, his fingers on the back of my head to get rid of the blindfold.
He kissed my chest while I blinked the dark spots away. While I adjusted to the harsher lighting in the room, and the aftershocks of my orgasm.
“I love this.”
“You do, huh?”
I knew he did, I could see it in his enthusiasm and the glint in his eyes and the way he curled up next to me right after like the most contented cat. Hearing it felt imperative at times, though.
“Yeah.” Ever rubbed his cheek against my chest like the cat I kept thinking he was. “We’re good, and I like doing things to you.”
“Like a perv.”
He snorted in response. He hadn’t taken off my cuffs yet, so I couldn’t pinch his ribs in retaliation like I would usually do, but I could picture the squeal he’d let out.
“Wear that dress today.”
“Huh?”
It was another thing that had come from therapy.
We hadn’t talked about kink with Victoria, and she hadn’t told me to treat Ever like my personal mannequin or sex doll, but I’d been thinking about it.
Giving him commands made me feel good. It broke through the fog that ate at me at times, through the doubts that I was here just for his own pleasure, and mine didn’t matter.
If the command was along the lines of debasing himself sexually, the fog sometimes remained, but when it wasn’t?
I breathed easier. He did, too. Not for the same reasons, but he thrived on his submission, whatever shape it took.
It was one of those two birds, one stone situations. I gave him what he wanted and needed, which sated my need to serve, and because the command wasn’t about coming or fucking himself or anything along those lines, it soothed the bruises that spread across my chest when I wasn’t paying attention.
“The green one with the laces at the back? The front looks like a pirate shirt.”
“Oh.” Ever sat up. “Yeah, okay.”
“And…take off the cuffs?”
That got more of that playful glint in his eyes. “But I thought big guys with all your training could get out of a pair of silly cuffs.”
I scoffed. “Babes, you don’t want what’s gonna happen if I’m the one who gets out of these.”
I wasn’t sure I could get out of them, not without breaking something, but I was beginning to understand what it meant when Ever said it was all about the fantasies and the role-play.
Most importantly, it spurred him into action, grabbing the key from the bedside table and getting them off me with more dexterity than I would’ve expected from his usual jittery self.
“That’s a good girl.”
When he did things like I asked, it only made sense that I praised him, right? And that I got to enjoy the blush spreading down his neck.
“Shower, then you can dress me up?”
“That works.”
It also worked if I took advantage of showering together to press his front against the tile and rim him until I made sure he could wear one of those plugs he had with the jewels glued to the base.
I was pretty sure he had one that would match the pirate dress that was, apparently, not a pirate dress.
Ever looked hot in it, though, which was my reason to not care that much about all the different words about fabric and cuts and whatever else he tried to explain while I toyed with him some.
I only stopped when he was a flushed, whimpering mess, rutting against the sheets of the bed like there was no deeper thought going on through his head.
“Any special request for breakfast?”
“Not picky,” he mumbled.
“Not what I asked,” I retorted.
There was some grumbling in response. I didn’t catch it, and it didn’t matter. He needed a few minutes sometimes, and it was fine. I’d worried at first, but he had explained it. It wasn’t like we didn’t communicate about anything at all.
Seeing Victoria, the two of us, had helped, though. It had lifted a weight off my chest, not just the session itself, but the knowledge that I had done the right thing. I’d known what to do to take care of him.
In this headspace, everything else didn’t feel so dreadful. Visiting the club wasn’t something I was super excited about, but curiosity lurked there. The same feeling applied to the idea of a Dom. I wasn’t jumping at the seams to bring it up, but maybe in a few months.
Victoria said I was moving at a great pace.
She added lots of words about setbacks and healing not being a race or a competition, but I refused to be one of the people who spent years going to her office to vomit all my problems. It was problematic of me.
I didn’t think less of people who needed that.
I just didn’t want to be one of them. I wanted to do all the homework she gave me, to go through all the shit, and have that be the end of it.
The air fryer had just pinged with the croissants I’d set there to reheat when Ever stumbled into the kitchen, half dressed in that way that made it look like I’d caught him in the middle of a walk of shame.
“Help?”
“Turn around.”
I had no idea why he’d bought so many clothes that he needed a second set of hands for, but I guessed that the look on his face when he was all dolled up was worthy.
“You look so hot,” I said before showing him to the tray of butter, jams, and sliced fruit because I could never guess which he was going to go for, and heading to cut the croissants in half. “Any plans for today?”
“Nope.” Ever shrugged. “Sergio texted to see if I wanted to go see his cat, but I’d rather stay here.”
“You sure?”
He nodded while uncapping one of the jars. Tart orange it was today. “Yeah. I think we should set up days when it’s just the two of us here. No obligations or social anything.”
“Uh-huh.” I handed him his plate, thinking through the words I wanted to say. The words I should say? I wasn’t certain. “You realize that’s most days for us.”
“No, because I’m always going to Plumas, or meeting up with the inner circle for one thing or another, or setting up times to talk with my parents. And you go out for runs and therapy and that friend of Carlos’s, so…”
“I’m not sure that all translates into needing a day just for the two of us.”
Breakfast forgotten, Ever bypassed the kitchen island separating us.
He looked as coy as he could when he placed a hand on my chest, splaying his fingers while curling his other hand around the hem of my pants.
I had to hold my breath for a second, to hit pause and remember there was no malice here.
He was just being playful. He felt safe being playful.
“But don’t you want me all to yourself?” He pouted. “Twenty-four hours of doing and wearing everything you tell me to.”
“Like a free use scenario?”
“If you wanna call it that, sure.”
I raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t be so blasé about that, could he? I wasn’t the expert, but free use seemed like the kind of thing that looked good on paper, but it would take a lot of trust and negotiation and all the things that made me freeze up because I wasn’t quite there yet.
I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t hurt him, that I wouldn’t either do too much or too little, and it would be nothing like he was fantasizing about.
“I’ll…consider it.” I wasn’t so self-sacrificing that I’d refuse the very idea, yet…
Things had always moved fast between us, but this was probably too fast. We should still be finding our ways back to each other, not adding more elements to what we had.
“Now add more fruit to your plate, for fuck’s sake. You need the fiber.”
“Daddies don’t do it for me.”
“Uh-huh.”
They might not do it for him, but he dunked at least two bananas’ worth of sliced pieces onto his plate.
That, too, healed something in me. Or maybe that part wasn’t broken, and it was simply back to working the way it should. Taking care of Ever. Making sure that he had everything.