Chapter 2
Seventeen years ago
Boston
Ash Riley
“I’m still torn,” Mr. Mills was saying. “I do want grandchildren one day, but the fact that you’re moving to Boston the same month we move to Virginia is just a cosmic slap in the face.”
I chuckled breathlessly and carried the next two boxes into the apartment.
“Focus on the grandchildren, Dad,” Nathan said. “It’s not forever.”
Definitely not. Philly was home. I mean, Nathan could even pronounce Schuylkill correctly these days.
“Besides, Mr. Mills, we’ll come visit you in Arlington,” I added.
“How many times do I need to tell you to call me Keith, son?”
I smiled. “I’m working on it.”
I was getting there. In my defense, Nate’s folks were still a new feature in our lives.
I’d first met them shortly after he and I had celebrated our one-year anniversary.
Then right before our third, they’d started visiting more frequently because they wanted to travel the coast and see which city they’d like to relocate to.
Nate’s stepmom wanted to be closer to family, and his dad wanted to be closer to Nate.
Eventually, they’d found DC. Or Arlington, rather. And yeah, it was close to Philly, but Boston wasn’t a world away.
I reckoned we’d like it here. I had a decent job lined up, and Nathan had a nice résumé and several interviews scheduled. Our apartment was nice too, with big windows overlooking the river six flights up. A small one-bedroom just for us.
I returned downstairs, where my brother was wrestling our couch out of the moving truck.
“Theo, you gotta lift it in the back. It’s stuck in—”
“I see it, I see it,” he grunted. “Do you think it’ll fit in the elevator?”
I fucking hoped so.
With help from our dads and my brother, we emptied the two moving trucks and got all our shit into our new place in a few hours.
After that, Theo was drained and wanted to catch the game back at his hotel, and our dads were on a bonding quest, so they ditched us to find a sports bar or steakhouse, whichever.
I was fine with that.
More than fine with it.
While I ordered pizza, Nathan found a chair for our stereo, and he put on some music and lit a few candles. We currently had our two nightstand lamps providing most of the light.
The living room and combined kitchen were a maze of moving boxes and furniture.
“Come here, baby. You gotta see this.”
I zigzagged between boxes and climbed over his reading chair before I reached him and what could be the best feature of the condo. Those big, arched windows.
He pointed east and grabbed my hand. “Look at the river.”
It’d gotten dark. The city center glittered along the river edges, and I took a deep breath.
This was it. This was our next step. I’d once thought this was going to be primarily my own fight, but Nathan had gotten involved in local politics more and more this past year.
He’d told me about six months ago that it was time.
Our votes could do more good in Massachusetts now.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmured.
I glanced at him and draped an arm around his shoulder instead, and I pressed my lips to his temple.
“Very.”
He smiled and turned in my arms, sticking his hands down the pockets of my jeans. “Are you ready to fight?”
I drew a deep breath and rested my forehead to his. “I’m ready to tell motherfuckers who claim reproduction is the central purpose of marriage to jump off a cliff.”
“That makes two of us,” he said quietly. “But we might wanna fine-tune the approach.”
I chuckled through my nose and closed my eyes.
We had both been fortunate to grow up in environments where acceptance had been genuine and immediate, but even to us, fighting for basic rights could wear us down.
We weren’t asking for special treatment.
We just wanted to be recognized as equals who could raise children as well as a straight couple.
And everything was tangled up in policy about marriage, whether it was adoption laws or health care through work that was supposed to extend to partners.
We could take the risk and adopt as single parents. Some had done it. Some had tried, and then they’d gotten caught in the midst of home visits and interviews. But we didn’t want to hide who we were. We didn’t even want to get married just because we had to in order to build our family.
They were talking semantics in this state. Marriage, civil marriage, civil union. Fucking bullshit.
Whatever. We were going to fight. It was easier in Massachusetts at the moment, so this was where we were going to be.
We’d attend protests. We’d ask elected officials how many gay couples had abandoned their kids compared to how many straight couples.
We’d ask local residents who they’d rather leave their kids alone with, a gay couple or a Catholic priest. I didn’t give a flying fuck who I offended in the process.
Nathan did care; he’d boarded the “you’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar” train.
“I love you, Ash. So fucking much. We’re gonna make it.”
I drew another deep breath and nodded once. “I love you too. We’ll get there.”
“One hour. You promised one hour.”
I chuckled and kissed his hand. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but you yawned.”
“Because I’ve worked all day,” I laughed.
I pulled him close and kissed his temple next. Sure, I’d rather be home, cuddling it up on our couch with takeout, than standing in line to enter a kink club. But…we’d promised each other to make more of an effort to explore BDSM. It’d sort of become an afterthought since we’d moved to Boston.
Back in Philly, we’d found a decent community. Nathan had taken classes in kinbaku. He’d even taken college courses to learn more about nerves and whatnot. We had books on triage care and anatomy in our bookcase.
I’d been his test subject plenty of times.
Meanwhile, I wasn’t sure where I landed. I already had the best sex of my life with Nate. Man, did we go at it sometimes, with both of us coming out the other side with bruises and scrapes.
Even though Daddykink reeled me in—in theory—the thought of exploring playtime with others tied a noose around my neck.
But eventually, we’d have to give it a go.
Nathan was coming to realize that he wanted to explore dominance too, which wasn’t surprising.
He didn’t have a submissive bone in him, and he could be a control freak.
After what felt like two fucking days, we entered the club and headed straight for the bar.
We were here to observe, nothing else.
The progressive metal wasn’t too loud, thankfully. We didn’t even have to yell for the bartender to hear us.
Different stations were set up around the club, hosting dynamics that engaged in breath play, predicament bondage, beatings, group sex, and whatever the fuck they were doing in stall four.
Sometimes, I worried that this was more of a lifestyle goal for Nate. For me, vanilla would always come first. I was drawn to kink, but I didn’t require it in order to be happy.
“Let’s go sit over there.” He spoke over the music and pointed to an empty table close to the wall.
I followed him with my beer, side-eyeing the kinksters who stared at me.
Did I have something on my face?
That guy was staring, so was that woman, and that little dude was gawking.
I scowled to myself and sat down next to Nate.
I leaned closer to him. “Why are people staring?” I wasn’t wearing anything weird.
Jeans and a black button-down. Standard going-out clothes.
Or so we had compromised. I liked my vintage tees, but I could admit it wasn’t wrong to try harder sometimes.
Besides, the black shirts blended in better in a sea of leather.
Nate smirked and pressed a kiss to my jaw. “It’s a big moment to them. They just saw the sexiest man alive.”
Okay. He was batshit. I shook my head in amusement and took a swig of my beer. There was nothing wrong with my confidence; I knew I looked good. I also knew he was exaggerating.
“No need to butter me up, baby,” I drawled. “You already know you’ll get laid tonight.”
He was happy tonight. He’d been looking forward to this.
I touched his cheek and kissed him quickly.
“Are you ready to play a game?” he asked.
I felt my forehead wrinkle. “What kind of game?”
He straightened in his seat and nodded at the crowd of people. Most were focused on the scening stalls, but some were dancing too.
“I want you to pick out a cute guy,” he said. “Nothing more, nothing less. Pick someone who strikes you as a sub or a Little.”
What the fuck for?
I frowned and rested my forearms on the table, and I let my gaze travel the club from side to side.
Most were here with partners. Both gays and straights.
I spotted one guy, who I assumed was straight, ’cause he was clinging to his Domme, but I couldn’t deny he was attractive.
Dark, messy hair, on the chubby side, infectious grin.
“All right.” I jerked my chin toward the bar. “The short stack in blue underwear, tugging on his Domme’s dress.”
Nate located him too. “Good choice. Could you give him a beating with a flogger and keep things nonsexual?”
I furrowed my brow. What was he getting at?
“Yeah, probably. Yeah.” I mean, of course. “Nonsexual intimacy isn’t an issue.”
“So beatings are safe,” he deduced. “Flogging, whipping—spanking?”
I shrugged. “I need more than my hand on a stranger’s ass to feel something.”
He cracked a smirk and inclined his head. “Fair enough. What about aftercare? After you’ve beaten him, he’s crying and wants to sit on your lap. You’ll need to hold him and console him until he feels better.”
I looked back at the boy and turned pensive. Aftercare was another matter. Another brand of intimacy and closeness. But I couldn’t foresee it causing any problems.
“Walk me through your thought process, please?” he requested.