Chapter 29
Young- gi
I’ve never done this before.
Sure, I’ve fucked. But I’ve never done anything like this. And I don’t mean that Tommy is a man, although that is also new. What I mean is, I’ve never…felt anything like this before.
I don’t have a name for this feeling. Like I’m seeing for the first time, like I’m breathing for the first time. Whatever emotion makes a person feel as though they’re being reborn, that’s what I’m feeling. I’m locked-in, locked-on. I’m never leaving him.
Tommy lets me herd him back the way we came, still hiccupping the last of his emotional tears.
That was a heavy, intense scene, so I have no doubt that he’s feeling off-kilter.
Not just the chase and capture, which would rock anyone’s emotional core, but his confession first, too.
He’s given me so much of himself in such a short time. I’m humbled. It feels holy.
In the elevator, I take a moment and send a message, giving the all-clear to the building security to let people back in the door, since I’ve got my Tommy–all tearful and turned-on–out of sight. No one should see him like this except for me.
I only use my phone for a second, but Tommy clearly doesn’t approve. As soon as my eyes are off him, as soon as my hand isn’t in his, he presses himself against the opposite wall of the elevator, glaring at me.
Stuffing my phone back in my pocket–where it will stay even if my entire empire comes crashing down around me–I stalk over to him, press into him, hold him there with my body weight.
“I’ve got you,” I remind him, a promise and a threat. “I caught you.”
He shivers, and his eyes flutter to half-mast. But the turn of his sensual mouth isn’t happy, or sad. It’s one of those trickier emotions, with nuance. Anxious, perhaps. Needy, most definitely.
The door to my penthouse is busted, but it still closes. I shut it behind us, and he jumps.
“We’ve got no knob,” he reminds me.
“Guess you’re stuck here,” I reply. I push and prod at him, moving him toward my room. He makes some bratty little sounds, but does as he’s bid, until he sees my bed.
“Wait. I–” He clears his throat. “I need to…” He gestures at himself vaguely, down at his crotch. “Clean.”
“Clean?” I press for more details.
“We’re going to… I mean, it’s like…it’s not like with women, Young-gi. It’s a whole other process, alright? I don’t have to, but I prefer to. It makes me feel…better.”
Ah, I see. I wasn’t expecting anal. Although I’d said I was going to fuck him during the chase, I was still planning on taking my cues from him, and I wouldn’t expect him to want that just because of a little dirty talk mid-scene. But if he wants it, he’ll get it. I’ll give him whatever he wants.
“I’ll help.” I don’t phrase it as a question. With impatient movements, I pull him into the bathroom with me, and start stripping him of his clothes.
He’s always so moody, so contrary and full of fight, but right now, he stands here, still and docile, letting me do as I want. I get him naked while the shower warms up, and all at once my impatience evaporates into thin air.
Suddenly, while he’s standing there so shy and bare, I feel like I have all the time in the world, and I want to use every single second. I don’t want to rush a single thing. Everything in existence slows down or fades away. I’m in my own universe with him.
“You can touch me,” he finally offers, fidgeting under my stare.
“What a generous boy,” I murmur, just to see him bite his lip and waver between scowling at me or smiling.
“Fuck off,” he huffs.
I let it slide, too eager to explore his skin to offer a retort. He can have the last word, I’ve got more important things on my mind. I want to put my hands all fucking over him.
This is different, too. I’ve touched him before–I’ve even touched his dick, when I got him off in my war room last night. But he was never fully naked, and this time, I feel like he’s letting me peel away his layers, his defenses.
I start at his wrists, enjoying how my fingers encircle them, marveling at how strong they are.
My fingers trace their way up his forearms, his muscular biceps, his rounded shoulders.
He’s so lean and masculine, muscled and hard.
But it’s not the way he looks or the way he feels that really gets to me.
It’s just that it’s Tommy. I’m touching Tommy. And he’s letting me. It feels momentous. I would bet my entire fortune that no matter how many people he’s used for cash, no one has seen him quite like this, except for me.
He sways into me with a sigh when I step closer, sliding my hands down his back. I follow the dips and swells of his spine, to the curve of his ass. When he sucks in a sharp breath, I retrace my path back up to his shoulders, and around to his front.
His dick is half-hard, but I’m not paying attention to that yet.
Instead, I learn the shape of his throat, his pectorals, his abdomen.
I memorize the way his stomach jumps and twitches under my feather-light touch, the way he tips his head back in submission when I wrap a hand around his neck.
I study the way he slowly forces himself to relax over and over every time he tenses up.
Like he’s constantly having to remind himself to stay in the moment, that he’s safe here.
He’s fighting a battle with himself.
For me.
Such a good boy. I strip fast, not wasting time. He eyes me appreciatively though, until we’re standing face to face, fully naked together for the first time. His hot stare thoroughly paints me from head to toe, lingering on my chest, my thighs, my dick.
I link his fingers with mine and pull him into the shower.
“How do I do it?” I ask, pushing him under the warm spray.
“Do what?” he asks, turning away from me to look at all the products on the built-in shelf.
“Clean you.”
“What? No, I do that part. I-I don’t need you to–” He cuts off his panicky argument with a groan of appreciation when I press my thumbs into his shoulders. He melts as I work at his knots, and ends up leaning against the shower wall.
“Sweet boy,” I murmur into his ear from behind. “We both know I’m going to be the one that does this for you.”
He wants to feel clean before we begin? Fine, then I’ll clean him.
I’m not letting one single second of this interaction feel impersonal, feel mundane or forgettable.
I will be so integral to his pleasure that after I’m done with him, he won’t even be able to think about cumming without thinking about me.
Pavlovian. Simple association. Just like me and Daddy play were already linked in his mind. Just like he’s linked himself irrevocably with art, in mine.
He’s tense, debating whether or not he’ll give me this moment, this piece of him. Whether or not he’ll make himself that vulnerable.
But eventually, under my patient stare, he gives in. “J-just soap. It’s exactly like how you think. Just, you know, clean me.”
I lather my hands immediately, and he tenses right back up again, nervous.
He opens his mouth like he’s considering arguing, or changing his mind and backtracking.
Not wanting that, I subvert his expectations and start washing his body first. I kneel and work from his ankles up to his strong thighs, between them, tease at his balls.
He cusses, spreads for me, but I move on.
“Bastard,” he huffs.
“Yes,” I agree. “But I’m a bastard that gets what he wants.”
I put some shampoo in my hands and work on his scalp for a while. He loves that, his knees going weak, swaying on his feet, goosebumps breaking out on his skin even under the warm water.
“Feels good?”
“Yeah,” he sighs.
“Good,” I croon. I rinse my hands, then apply more soap. I crowd behind him, sink one hand into his hair to hold him still against the shower wall, and the other I lower to his cheeks. He gasps, jerks in my hold.
“You know the word,” I remind him. “Unless you say it, I’m going to clean you just like this. Holding you against the wall, legs spread for me, just taking it.”
Tommy chokes back a moan and hits the tiles with his fist, angry and needy at the same time, as always. “Get on with it then.”
I chuckle, teasing his crack with my touch. I lean back a little, wanting to see what I’m doing. I press gently against that small, dark furled hole. He flinches, then relaxes, choking on a whine.
“I can take it,” he growls. “Hurry up.”
Carefully, slowly, I sink just my fingertip inside his body.
He scrunches his face up and fists his hands.
He doesn’t seem to love it, but doesn’t seem to hate it either.
I take my time, gentle and thorough. It’s achingly intimate; he’s so vulnerable, and he’s embarrassed.
He seems clean enough already, but I don’t resent him for having comforting rituals.
He has so much baggage around sex that it’s already difficult for him, so if he wants to feel spotless beforehand so that it’s easier, then I’ll make it happen.
I don’t make him wait too long, and soon I’m rinsing his hair and body under the spray.
“All clean,” I murmur. “Good boy.”
“You don’t have to praise me every time I do something you like.” He turns to face me, lets me wash his front with my soapy hands. He lets me cup his dick, too, even though I’m not playing with it yet, just owning it.
“I can praise you as much as I want, Tommy. And I’m going to.
You know why?” He blinks his wet lashes up at me, waiting for my answer while I fondle him.
“Because you deserve it, and because you like it. Because I’m your Daddy and I can praise you as much as I fucking want.
If I want you to lay down and listen to me call you my good, slutty sweet boy while I fuck you into the mattress, you’re just going to have to accept it. Or safe word. Your choice.”
He pants but says nothing as I finish washing him off, then give myself an efficient scrub down. If he wants clean, I’ll be clean. The kind of filth I want with Tommy has nothing to do with dirt.