18. Dylan
Dylan
"Was this our first fight?" I asked, as I led the way back to our cabin. The sand was still warm on my bare feet, even though the last sliver of sun had already dipped below the treeline. The sky was already ablaze with hues of orange and purple.
"I wouldn't technically call it a fight," Ford said.
"I mean, I yelled at you," I pointed out, a slight flush warming my face as I recalled my words. I’d never really done that with any boyfriend before now.
He’s different.
"You were expressing yourself." He sounded unbothered, as if my earlier outburst was just a minor inconvenience, like a passing summer shower. He was either really forgiving, or maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought.
"Well, if all our fights go like this, I'll be pretty happy," I admitted, unable to help the genuine smile.
But it was true.
Even through the tears and reliving a few pains of my adolescence, there had been a weird kind of relief in finally laying it all out with him.
And then that whole spanking part. A shiver of warmth crept through me despite the cooling air.
I paused for a second to catch my balance and his hand was on my arm immediately, steadying me.
He chuckled, squeezing my bicep playfully. "Careful where you step there. Wouldn't want you to roll that ankle again." I rolled my eyes, bumping his shoulder. "Are you expecting us to have a lot of fights?" he teased, his eyebrows raised.
“I'm expecting us to be together for a long time,” I said, my voice softer than I intended as I continued forward. “Fights are a natural part of any relationship.” The thought of a lifetime with him, of more summers and conversations, felt so right. More than right. It felt like love.
“We’ll figure it out. If we don’t make any promises we can’t keep, and we’re honest with each other, it should all work out. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.” I nodded, as the cabin came into view ahead. “I just hope the squirrels didn’t somehow find a way back in. They might want revenge.”
“You’re the one that yanked the thing out of the house.”
I stopped, turned around, and poked him in the chest with my finger. “And saved your nuts.”
“My nuts will be forever grateful.”
“Speaking of nuts, care to sit on my face tonight?”
“I can do that,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the cabin.
After we showered together, Ford’s phone chimed with a text. He glanced at it, then at me, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Your mattress and the new bed frame are arriving tomorrow.”
I hadn’t even thought about that in weeks. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I remembered Ford even ordering it. Plus, his bed was our bed now.
“Should we tell them to cancel it?” I asked, arching a brow. The idea of another bed felt unnecessary.
“We still need a bed in the guest room, even if we’re not going to use it,” Ford replied, practical as ever.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I conceded. Logically, it made sense.
“Don’t worry”—he pulled me closer to him—“you’re not going anywhere.”
I slid my hand up his leg, massaging his thigh. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
The next morning, the new bed arrived. Two burly men—significantly less forward than River and the brothers—maneuvered the tightly wrapped mattress and a couple of flat boxes to my old room.
As soon as they were gone, Ford stripped his shirt off, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and headed down the hall.
“You’re going to put it together now?”
“Yup.”
“Want some help?” I asked.
“I won’t say no to that,” he called over his shoulder.
Grunting and straining, and sometimes swearing at whomever wrote the convoluted instruction booklet, Ford and I wrestled the jumble of pieces into what looked like a bed frame.
By comparison, unsealing the mattress was cake.
But after it was assembled, despite being a little sweaty, I felt strangely accomplished.
It was nice to work side by side. Together.
As Ford surveyed our handiwork, I had a naughty idea. “Now that that’s done, should we christen it?”
“You just can’t get enough of me, can you?” Ford asked, before turning to me, his eyes locking with mine. “Only if you’re going to put a sheet or a towel on it, you barbarian.”
“Fine. Let’s just go up to our bed then.”
“I mean if it’s such a hassle, I can fuck you right here on the floor.”
The playful threat of Ford taking me right there gave me butterflies, but as much as the idea was tempting, the new mattress felt…impersonal.
And it smelled funny.
"Let's just go up to our bed," I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the hall. The thought of our bed, the one we shared, was infinitely more appealing. About halfway up the stairs, Ford gave my ass a playful smack from behind, making me stumble slightly and laugh.
"Hey, watch the merchandise!" I quipped, twisting my head back to give him a mock-offended look, though a grin was already spreading across my face.
He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest—it was a sound I lived for. Knowing he was content spending time with me was a comfort deeper than any other.
As soon as we stepped into the bedroom, the air shifted, thick with expectation.
I turned to face Ford and he reached for the hem of my t-shirt.
His eyes never left mine, and with one slow, deliberate motion, he pulled it up and over my head.
Then, with a practiced ease that made my stomach flip, he pulled my shorts off, letting them slide down to the floor.
“I had a feeling you were going commando.”
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“Not at all.”
As he trailed his fingers down my stomach, my heart began to race, my breathing quickened.
The ghost of his touch still lingered as he unfastened the button of his shorts with a slow, teasing movement.
My breath hitched, watching him hook his thumbs into the waistband, drawing them down inch by tantalizing inch.
His briefs went with them, revealing the mouth-watering prize at the end of his glorious treasure trail, until his cock was freed and jerked up.
He never broke eye contact with me, his silent seduction pulling me deeper into the moment. A low growl rumbled in his chest, almost imperceptible, as his hand grabbed my hip and pulled me towards him. His other found its familiar resting place, cupping my cage, squeezing gently.
I hadn't thought much about it lately—it had become almost incidental—until this moment. Until his skillful fingers made its presence almost deafening.
And while Morgan’s suggestion was a literal physical barrier, wearing the cage had morphed into a philosophical refrain, like a way to reclaim my sexual independence.
But now, standing here with Ford, his eyes full of a desire that mirrored my own, it felt…unnecessary. The goal had always been about finding control within myself, not about permanent restraint, and I had found that control, that stability.
With Ford.
“I’ve thought about it," I said, my voice dropping, my eyes holding his. My gaze pleaded with him, asking him to understand the weight of what I was about to say. "And I’m ready for you to take it off."
His eyes dilated for just a second, before he asked, "Are you sure?" in a measured cadence.
"Yes," I answered, almost breathless.
Ford reached for the key, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled the necklace off, taking care not to tangle it in his hair. The shiny metal object looked almost heavy in his palm. His eyes, still locked with mine, held a silent question. I simply nodded, a gentle encouragement.
As Ford knelt in front of me, my cock hardened, anticipating his touch and the imminent freedom. He brought the key to the tiny lock on the cage. With a steady hand, he inserted the key. I watched it slide in perfectly, and then turn.
Without a sound, he pulled the key free, setting the internal lock, the key, and the necklace on the nightstand.
I stood perfectly still, watching, waiting, as he reached for the cage I had worn for months.
My breathing stopped as he slowly, carefully, pulled at the honeycombed sheath.
The cool nylon tugged at my skin before freeing itself, revealing the hard, exposed flesh beneath.
And then, it was off, discarded on the floor.
The liberation was palpable, a shared exhale.
My cock wasted no time, springing to life, instantly hard as Ford pulled the cage off, which meant the base piece wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, it had essentially become a cock ring. There was no way it was coming off any time soon.
“Someone’s happy to see me,” Ford said, teasing my now-exposed shaft. His touch was almost overwhelming.
“Yes” was all I could say, throwing my head back from the stimulus his fingertips provided. My cock throbbed, a sweet, demanding ache that had been building for months.
"Just like I remember."
"Y-you thought about my dick before?"
"I've seen it before. That was not a memory I could ever erase from my mind."
A sweat broke on my brow, not just from the shame of that afternoon, but because of what Ford's hand was doing to my cock.
He continued, "And now you have all the access to my underwear you could ever want."
"It's not the underwear I want," I said. "It's what's inside of it."
He knelt down, his warm breath ghosting over my cock, then his tongue, wet and hot, swirled around the head.
A gasp tore from my throat. It was too much, too fast. The sensation, unhindered by the cage, was overwhelming.
My body tensed, a delicious, agonizing pressure building in my core.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my hips moved instinctively, matching the rhythm of his mouth.