Chapter 26 #3
Finally, he couldn’t stand the quiet. His voice, when it came, was small. “Who was that?”
Gael was silent for a long moment. Samuel saw that same flash of annoyance cross his face before it was schooled back into impassivity. He glanced over, his eyes reflecting the dashboard lights.
“A friend,” he said, the word clipped. “And one of the owners of the Club. Just like myself.”
Samuel blinked. The words took a second to process. Owners of the Club. His mind rewound, replaying the serene authority with which Gael had moved through the space, the respectful nods from Charles and Anya, the way he’d explained the rules not as a member, but as someone who helped write them.
“Wait,” Samuel breathed, his eyes widening as he stared at Gael’s profile. “Owner? You own the club?”
Gael glanced at him again, a brief, assessing look. He gave a single, slow nod. “Yes. Me and a few of my friends.”
The revelation settled over Samuel, layer upon layer. Gael wasn’t just a patron of this world. He was a pillar of it. An architect.
Samuel nodded slowly, wanting to ask more, but quick glance at Gael's face told him that he wasn't in the mood for talking. That annoyed look was back. He turned his head to the other side, eyes gazing through the window. He said nothing else for the rest of the ride.
∞∞∞
The apartment door clicked shut behind them softly. Samuel took one unsteady step toward the living room, his mind a shimmering, overwhelmed kaleidoscope; fragments of crimson light, the sound of a flogger hitting skin, the heat of his own yearning. He needed a moment to process. A breath.
He never got the chance.
Movement, fast and blurred. A hand fisted in the front of his shirt. Samuel’s world spun. His back slammed into the solid, unyielding wood of the front door, the impact punching a sharp, breathy gasp from his lungs. Before the sound could fully escape, Gael was on him.
Samuel’s lips parted on a shocked, ragged inhale, and Gael’s tongue surged into his mouth; a hot, wet, claiming invasion that sought to conquer every hidden space.
It was thick and demanding, stroking deep against Samuel’s own tongue with a greedy, possessive rhythm.
The sound was obscenely intimate in the silent apartment: the wet, slick slide of their tongues meeting, the ragged pull of their breath mingling, the faint, sucking noise as Gael sealed his lips more firmly over Samuel’s, as if he could drink the very essence of him.
A deep, guttural groan vibrated from Gael’s chest into Samuel’s mouth, a sound of pure, starving need.
Gael’s hands were everywhere, mapping him with a frantic, possessive urgency. One fist tangled brutally in the hair at Samuel’s nape, yanking his head back to expose the vulnerable line of his throat, even as his mouth continued its relentless plunder.
The other hand gripped Samuel’s jaw, fingers digging into the hinges with a pressure that was just shy of pain, holding him open, forcing him to accept the deep, driving thrust of his tongue.
That hand then skated down, pawing at Samuel’s sides through his shirt with a roughness that burned, before sliding around to the small of his back, fingers splaying wide.
He ground their hips together in a hard, filthy rhythm, the thick ridge of his erection a relentless pressure against Samuel’s own growing cock.
Samuel’s mind dissolved into white static.
He melted, turning to liquid heat in Gael’s hands.
A high, helpless whine escaped his throat, a sound that was instantly swallowed by Gael’s ravaging mouth.
His own hands, which had fluttered uselessly at his sides, finally found purpose.
They flew up, fingers digging into the hard, sculpted planes of Gael’s shoulders through the fine wool of his jacket, feeling the powerful muscles bunch and coil with each movement.
Gael broke the kiss, only to attack the exposed column of Samuel’s neck. His teeth scraped over the frantic, rabbit-quick pulse there before his mouth sealed over the spot. He sucked, hard, the sensation a bright bolt of pleasure-pain that arced straight to Samuel’s cock.
Samuel cried out, a broken, wordless sound, his back arching off the door, pushing his throat more firmly into that devouring mouth.
At the same moment, Gael’s roaming hand found the front of Samuel’s shirt.
He seemed to have no patience for buttons, no tolerance for barriers.
He gripped the collar in one fist and pulled.
A sharp, violent rrrrip sounded in the quiet foyer.
Buttons pinged against the hardwood floor like scattered hail.
Cool air washed over Samuel’s bare chest, followed immediately by the searing, electric heat of Gael’s palm.
It slid over his sternum, a rough, possessive stroke, then down the flat, trembling plane of his abdomen.
Calloused skin dragged over a pebbled nipple, making Samuel gasp and jerk, before the hand moved to his back, pulling him even tighter, chest to chest, skin to skin where the torn fabric gaped open.
Gael’s mouth returned to his, the kiss deeper, infused with the taste of salt and skin.
His hand traveled lower, over the swell of Samuel’s ass, squeezing once, hard enough to make Samuel cry out against his lips, before sliding further down.
Those strong, sure hands gripped the backs of Samuel’s thighs, fingers digging into the tender muscle.
And then Samuel was in the air.
He gasped, his stomach lurching. Instinctively, his legs wrapped around Gael’s waist, locking at the ankles. His arms tightened around his neck, holding on for dear life as the world tilted.
Gael didn’t pause. He didn’t even seem to strain under the weight; he adjusted his grip, one arm a solid band under Samuel’s thighs, the other around his back, and took Samuel’s mouth again in another deep, consuming kiss.
This time, suspended, Samuel could feel everything.
The hard, insistent ridge of Gael’s erection pressed demandingly against his own trapped cock, the friction maddening even through their clothes.
Gael’s tongue was relentless, fucking into Samuel’s mouth with a steady, driving cadence that was a blatant promise of what was to come.
He moaned, sucking on the invading tongue, and was rewarded with a low, feral growl that vibrated through Gael’s chest and into his own.
Gael turned and walked, carrying him through the shadowed living room, past the armchair, down the hall.
Samuel was dizzy, lost in the perfect storm of sensation.
They passed the closed door of the guest room, and Samuel’s hazy mind registered their destination a heartbeat before Gael shouldered open the next door, the one that had been forbidden.
His bedroom.
The air inside was cool and dark, smelling of Gael. Moonlight filtered through sheer curtains, painting the minimalist furniture in shades of silver and grey. Gael carried him to the edge of the large bed and then lowered him back to his feet.
Samuel’s legs wobbled, boneless. He clung to Gael’s shoulders, his torn shirt hanging open, his breath coming in ragged, open-mouthed pants that fogged the small space between them. His lips were swollen, wet, and throbbing.
Gael’s hands came up, framing his face, his thumbs stroking over his fevered cheekbones.
Gael’s eyes were black pits in the dim light, his expression stark, raw, utterly stripped of the civilized masks he wore for the world.
Samuel saw the desire there, yes; a hunger so deep it was fearsome.
But he also saw the faint, thrilling tremor in the hands that held his face, the rapid pulse at Gael’s temple.
It was a crack in the armor, a vulnerability revealed only here, in the dark, with him.
It was in that crack, in that shared, breathless space, that Samuel found a spark of his own courage.
The images from The Knot flooded back. The profound trust. The surrender as a deliberate, beautiful gift.
The sacred exchange. And alongside them, Jasmine’s gentle, recent voice: “In a safe place, with a safe person… you can try to reclaim the narrative. Turn what was ugly into something beautiful.”
His heart hammered against his ribs. He swallowed, his throat dry.
“Gael,” he whispered, the name a breathless plea on his ruined lips.
Gael’s thumbs stilled on his cheeks.
Samuel took a shaky, shuddering breath. “Would you…” The words trembled, almost failing. He licked his swollen lips. “Would you… bind me?”
Gael’s expression didn’t change, but something profound shifted in the depths of his eyes. A flare of stunned surprise, then a slow, dawning heat that was even more intense than the hunger that had driven him against the door.
A muscle in Gael’s jaw twitched. The hands on Samuel’s face tightened for a second. Then, his lips curved.
“Yes,” he said, tone low, husky. “I will.”
The world had narrowed to the four posts of Gael’s bed, to the scent of clean linen and the darker scent of his skin.
Samuel lay on his back, the soft duvet a cloud beneath him, the air cool on his naked body.
He was exposed, more than he’d ever been; every nerve ending ringing like a struck bell.
The fear that usually coiled in his gut at such vulnerability was a distant whisper, drowned out by the roaring, single-minded torrent in his blood.
Gael stood at the foot of the bed, a silhouette against the low light.
In his hands, he held a pair of cuffs. They were not the harsh restraints of Samuel’s nightmares.
These were wide bands of supple, black leather, their surfaces worn to a soft sheen.
The interior was lined with something impossibly soft.
The buckles were heavy, polished brass, gleaming dully.
“Your hands,” Gael said, his voice a low command that vibrated in the marrow of Samuel’s bones.