Chapter 27
“Noah, can you lock the door, please?” Saint calls out from his office.
It’s been a couple of days since we started my training.
I’m getting better at blowing him but still struggle to take him completely.
I look at the clock on the wall above all the tattoo designs; it’s only two o’clock.
I know we both have appointments this afternoon, and I’m working late tonight.
I follow his command though and lock the door.
As I turn back into the room, Saint is standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs wide.
He looks powerful and strong as he exudes his Dom status.
“In my office now, boy.” God, his voice has my dick twitching in my jeans, and as much as I want to stare at him, drink in all his gorgeous tattoos that cover muscles defined by years of training, I almost sprint into his room.
Should I strip? It’s obvious that this is not a quick staff meeting—this is training. The sound of my heart pounding fills my ears as my pulse rises. I drop to my knees and keep my head down and wait.
“Good boy. Take your shirt off,” Saint says as he strokes my hair back and grabs it, pulling my head up to look at him. His jeans are open, and his cock is hard, standing proud from his body. The tip slick with precum is making my mouth water. “Open your mouth, boy.”
I pull my T-shirt over my head, then straighten up but stay on my knees.
His cock is in line with my mouth, and like the other times, I kiss the head, then open my mouth.
My throat is still a little sore, but the idea of him fucking my face, teaching me to control my gag reflex is too sexy to care about any pain.
“We don’t have much time, so don’t take too long. ”
There’s not much more I can do except nod and moan around the length that is already hitting the back of my mouth.
I try to relax as he plunges in and out, going deeper with each thrust. I cough, spluttering the saliva that has filled my mouth.
Saint pulls out and lifts my chin up with his forefinger. “Breathe, you can take me.”
I nod and open my mouth again, ignoring all the spit coating my chin.
I realise now why I had to take my top off.
In between his hard thrusts, he lets me suck and lick his shaft.
Drawing his precum from the slit makes me moan, I want more.
I want his cum. I put my hands behind my back and open as wide as I can.
“Fuck, boy. I’m going to come. Do you deserve my load?
Have you been good enough to swallow all I give you, or should you spend the rest of the day and your appointment with my cum over your face? ”
Christ, the idea of that has me groaning, but we agreed to not let this interfere with my work.
It only takes a couple more minutes for him to shudder out his orgasm, groaning loudly as he pours into my mouth.
I swallow, gulping the warm, salty fluid down as quickly as I can, sucking the head until Saint pulls free.
I sink back down, sitting on my heels as I try to even out my breathing.
Saint tucks his dick back in his jeans and does them back up.
“Clean yourself up, boy,” is all he says before walking away.
Deflated, I stand up, shaking my legs out after being on my knees for so long.
Is that all he’s going to say? I suppose it’s all part of learning, part of being humiliated, it still stings, though.
I grab my T-shirt and go into the bathroom, where I fill the sink with warm water and wash my face and neck.
When I look in the mirror, I look wrecked: my mouth swollen, my eyes puffy from the tears pouring down my cheeks.
I look like I’ve just had my face fucked, and I get the feeling this is exactly what Saint wanted. For all to see.
Saint ignores me for the rest of the day, not even saying goodbye when he leaves after his last client.
We agreed to not let this mix with work.
I can’t help but think I’ve done something wrong, that he’s having second thoughts about this whole relationship.
He’s changed his mind. The fucker hasn’t even had the decency to talk to me about it. Well, fuck him.
I switch off all thoughts of Saint so I can do my work properly, turning up the music, letting Linkin Park fill the room.
My client is a good guy, easy to talk to and knows exactly what he wants.
The large swirling Celtic design over the whole of his upper arm is going to be outstanding when it’s finished, and I can probably do that with one more visit.
When I’m finished, and he’s all wrapped up, the next appointment is in the diary, I lock the door behind him.
Usually, I like this part of the night, cleaning up my station, emptying all the bins, then washing the floor.
It’s peaceful. Only tonight, my head is full of how I can work here now that I’ve been rejected.
This is all I’ve ever wanted to do, and I knew my place was here.
Now though, it’s not the same. Finally, everything is done, I can lock up and leave.
The walk home doesn’t appeal tonight. Instead, I stop at the bus stop just up the road.
I’m not sure when the next one is due, but they’re regular enough that I know I won’t have to wait long.
And I’m right. I see it approach and step to the kerb ready for it to stop.
Just before I step on, I look back down towards the studio.
Saint is standing at the front, his hands in his pockets.
I don’t know what he’s doing, probably checking I’ve locked up properly.
The ride isn’t long, and I’m soon at my stop.
The little Tesco store is on the corner and the need for some alcohol makes itself apparent.
I’ll grab some beers and a pizza, that will do for dinner tonight.
As soon as I’m indoors and locked up, I turn the oven on, letting it warm up while I have a shower.
As the hot water streams over my head, I think about what happened and how it went to shit so quickly, what did I do wrong?
I think he only decided to give me a try after I showed myself up so spectacularly at the club.
Plus, he’d been pressured by Robin to take me seriously.
None of it has been because he wants me.
He’s blown hot and cold the whole time I’ve known him.
At least I know now. We tried, it didn’t work.
He doesn’t love me. Not like I love him.
Before I can get the shampoo on my head, there’s banging on my door—it sounds like someone’s trying to take it off its hinges.
I dump the shampoo that’s in my hand down onto the bath floor and rinse it off.
The hammering hasn’t stopped, and I’m going to get complaints from the neighbours if I don’t get the door open.
I pull a towel off the rail and wrap it around my waist. Water is dripping everywhere as I make my way to the door.
“Hold on, for god’s sake. I’m coming.” I yank the door open, and Saint is standing in front of me.
A very red-faced, angry looking Saint. “What are you doing here?” I ask, but he barges past me to stand in the living room.
His hands are on his hips as he breathes heavily—as if he’s trying to calm himself.
I close the door quietly, not wanting to add any fuel to his fire.
Instead of going to him, I turn back into the bathroom and switch off the shower and dry off.
Still ignoring him, I go and get some clothes on, not the soft sweats I planned to crash in tonight.
I pull some clean jeans on and a long-sleeved Tee and go back out to face him.
He looks less likely to combust now, the colour on his cheeks has returned to normal, and he’s breathing less heavily. I ask him again. “What are you doing here, Saint?”
“I want to ask you the same thing. You’re supposed to come upstairs when you finish. We talked about this yesterday.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and his eyes close as he sighs.
“I think you made your feelings for me obvious when you walked away without a word. It seemed like you’d decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and was ending this…
whatever it is you want to call it.” I’m not backing down, he made this situation and chose to ignore me.
I’m not being gaslighted, he’s not going to turn this on me.