CASPIAN
Antonio tastes delicious. Worshipping him with my tongue is pure fucking joy.
“We’re doing another new thing today,” I tell him when he’s all prepped and ready for me.
“We are?”
“Yes. You can only come when I give you permission.”
“But why?” he whispers.
“You don’t need to worry about the reason, sweetie. Tonight, the only thing you have to do is feel.”
“But—”
“Antonio.”
My voice is soft but firm.
“Who’s in charge of your pleasure?”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“You are.”
“Yes. Who’s my good boy?”
He turns his head to look at me, giving me a shy smile.
“I am.”
“That’s right. You are my good boy. Tonight it means that you don’t come without permission.”
He stays silent.
“Do you accept this rule?” I ask softly, flipping him so that he’s on his side.
He shivers. A fine tremor runs from his shoulders to his toes. He already looks like a lot of the pressure has been taken off.
After a few seconds, he nods.
“Use your words, sweetie.”
“I can’t come until you tell me to.”
“That’s right.”
“What if I accidentally come sooner?”
He looks genuinely worried. He’s reacting exactly like I hoped he would.
“You won’t. You will wait for my permission.”
“Okay.”
When I push inside him, I have to pause for a moment and calm down.
I’m going to be so thorough with him that by the time I give him permission, he’ll erupt.
I just need to not erupt before him.
It doesn’t take him long to reach the point where he’s begging.
“Please,” he whimpers. “I need to come.”
“Not yet.”
I slam into him harder.
“But I’m so close,” he protests.
“I know you are. That’s how I want you to stay.”
I don’t give him any mercy. No chance to overthink.
I wait until I can feel his absolute surrender. The moment he stops fighting for the release and starts existing in the heat.
“Antonio.”
His eyes are dazed. Lips parted, curls tousled, cheeks flushed—he’s a goddamn phenomenon.
He lets out a soft moan.
“You have my permission.”
His body arches and he comes with a high-pitched cry.
I hold him through every burst of pleasure, every shudder and every sob, telling him what a good boy he is.
Then my own orgasm crashes through me. My balls draw tight as I come deep inside him, my legs shaking from the intensity.
Afterward, we stare at each other for a moment—and then, without really knowing why, we both start laughing, breathless and happy and ridiculous.
When the laughter fades, I kiss him.
“I’ll get your bath ready, sweetheart.”
Fifteen minutes later, he’s relaxing in the tub, eyes closed. His face is the picture of peaceful contemplation.
Suddenly he stands up as if divine revelation just hit him in the head.
“To be like the rock that the waves keep crashing over!”
He looks at me, eyes shining.
“He wrote that!”
I have to grab his arm to stop him from toppling over.
“Who wrote what?”
“You’re the rock,” he says, eyes wide. “I’m your wave.”
He gestures wildly.
I look at the water on the bathroom floor.
“Are you sure you aren’t a puddle?”
“You’re my Marcus Aurelius!”
“Sweetheart, I don’t follow.”
“Where’s my towel?”
He climbs out of the tub and grabs the one I hand him.
He starts drying himself with relish.
“Aurelius calmly ruled an empire during wars and a plague. You do the same in Baywood!”
“We don’t have wars or a plague.”
“We have Earl and Steve.”
“Fair.”
“Marcus believed in responsibility and restraint. You didn’t sleep with me when I was a Labubu!”
I rub my face.
“That phrase will haunt me.”
“He wrote about patience. About kindness. About self-control. Caspian—he wrote about you!”
“Antonio—”
“He protected Rome. You protect me!”
That lands softer. I’m starting to warm up to this theme.
Antonio leans closer, kissing my chest.
“You both endured a lot and suffered with dignity. You’re basically twins.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “As Emperor of Baywood, I decree that you stop talking and we go eat. What do you want?”
“My soul is nourished.”
“Great. Let’s try nourishing your stomach next.”
“Can we go to the trattoria? I want to re-introduce you to my family as Caspian-Marcus Stone-Aurelius.”
He tilts his head.
“The first of his name.”
I give him an amused look.
“Are you still going by Antonio or shall I call you by something even more majestic?”
“Antonio the Unsmall,” he says after a pause.
The name brings an unexpected lump to my throat. What a perfect name for my brilliant, larger-than-life boyfriend.
I kiss his damp curls.
“Antonio the Unsmall,” I say, nodding. “Ruler of my sanity. Conqueror of
my heart.”
“Destroyer of your dishes,” he adds, hanging up the towel.
“My good boy.” I kiss him.
He blushes, wrapping his arms around me.
“Your good boy.”
THE END