Chapter Eight
Nate
I wake with a pounding headache and an overbearing need to piss.
Fuck me.
I groan as I roll over in bed, noting the faint smell of smoke and mahogany teakwood, and breathe deep. It smells good. It smells like…
“AJ!” I snap as I sit up, realizing I am not at the apartment in Lacey’s guest bedroom.
I’m in a large King-sized bed with charcoal sheets and pillows and panic hits me along with a rush of incoherent fractions of memory.
The guy at the bar. The sugar drinks. The guy dragging me away.
AJ…
I look up, noting the moment he steps in the doorway, dressed in nothing more than a pair of grey sweatpants with Firehouse 99 on them.
I blink, not once, but twice because I realize that’s all he’s wearing.
His tan chest is covered with a thick layer of hair that tapers into a slim trail that circles his navel and dips below his low-hanging sweatpants. Which does nothing to hide the definitive v that is like a damn neon sign pointing to his dick.
Of course, Mr. Hot Stuff would show up shirtless in the sluttiest getup a man can own.
“You okay? You’re not sick again, are you?” The look on his face is one of concern, which should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Actually, it only makes me feel worse.
“Define okay…” I murmur as I turn and bury my face in his pillow, which doesn’t help matters because it smells like him, too.
The whole fucking bed smells like him, because it’s his bed.
I slept in AJ’s bed!
My head snaps up and my worried gaze finds his.
“Did… Did I… Did… we?”
I can’t even get the words out, and everything is a bit choppy. I remember him being above me, remember that I wanted to come, but…
“No,” he says firmly, crossing his arms. “I prefer my subs to be coherent when they consent.” I furrow my eyebrows as his rise, and he curses. “Fuck, I meant—”
There’s an awkward tension as I look at him, noting the unease on his face, and I realize what he means.
Shadows dark and commanding, his voice firm and demanding telling me not to touch myself in his bed.
But I’m not in his bed anymore, I’m in his bathroom, technically, so it doesn’t count, right?
Right, of course not. There’s no way he’ll know. It’s not like he’s on the other side of the door listening to me pee or something.
It’s just a quick tug to keep things in order. That’s it. It’s not a kink or anything. At least, I don’t think it is…
I carefully spread my legs and settle my feet on the tile as I take my cock in my hand, and the moment I start to slowly stroke, the relief is palpable.
My mind wanders to that freshly unearthed moment—my hand wrapped around my dick, his hand wrapped around mine.
I let out a strained sigh as my thoughts ignite like fire, blazing a path through a forest of memory and fantasy.
I imagine those sharp, brown eyes, that commanding voice telling me not to touch myself. That growl getting deeper because of my disobedience. In my mind, he begs me to stop, like he did last night, but I don’t listen. Not until he grabs my hand and replaces it with his mouth instead.
I come fast and hard.
So hard, I nearly slip on the damn tile and go down.
“Fuck!” I yelp, as I reach out to brace one hand on the edge of his sink and steady myself, fighting to keep my dick aimed at the toilet so as not to leave any evidence behind.
The door flies open, and all that can be heard is a deep, low growl, and that’s when I fall like an idiot onto the floor, my dick still coming.
Please, God, kill me.
Just kill me. I’ll never recover from this.
I whine in defeat as cum shoots onto my chest, and I close my eyes, not wanting to look at AJ.
I hear his footsteps on the tile, feel the heat from his body emanating like a flame. He lets out a long sigh.
“Nate, look at me.”
I shake my head, keeping my eyes closed.
“I can’t,” I manage to squeak out.
I expect him to yell or get bossy like he did last night, but he doesn’t do that.
Instead, he laughs.
Oh, great. He’s laughing at my stupidity now.
Could this morning get any worse?
“Then I guess I’ll just have to clean you up myself.”
My eyes open wide, and I see him kneeling in front of me, towel in hand with a smirk on his face and suddenly I can’t help but laugh, too.
“I slipped,” I squeak.
“You okay?” he asks, handing me the towel, and I can tell he wants to laugh, but is trying not to. I groan in remorse.
“Physically, great. Mentally…”
I do my best to wipe the cum off of me and tuck my cock back into my briefs, feeling like this is going to be one of those moments I replay in my mind for the next twenty years when I can’t sleep.
AJ leans down to look at me, trying to capture my gaze, but I fight to look at him. I want to, but this is fucking embarassing.
The guy saved my ass—twice, now—and this is how I repay him?
I’m an idiot.
Mister Unlucky.
“I hope you like pancakes,” he says, his voice light. Carefree.
It’s an odd sort of tone, given the fact he just found me jacking off in his bathroom.
While thinking about him.
Not that he knows that, of course, and I’ll take that to my grave. This situation is embarrassing enough as is.
I follow him out to the kitchen, and my mouth starts watering immediately.
There is a giant stack of thick, fluffy pancakes atop a plate, set on the kitchen table. There’s also a platter of bacon, sausage, and a giant bowl of whipped cream and fruit.
“What the hell is this?” I ask in shock.
“Breakfast,” AJ grunts. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
I glare at him.
“I wish. I could use some amnesia right about now.”
AJ chuckles. “Sit down, Nate. Eat some fucking pancakes.”
I have the strangest urge to tell him Yes, Sir. But that would be weird, I think because I vaguely remember moaning those words last night because I was wasted, so it’s probably best I don’t. For both of our sakes.
Instead, I let out an aggravated sigh as AJ pulls out the chair for me and sulk over to it and sit my ass down. I grab the fork and stab my pancakes like I want to murder someone.
Maybe I do.
Starting with the smug, hot firefighter sitting across from me.
“Good boy,” he says, his voice low and deep, his smirk too fucking hot.
My body heats like an inferno, and I stab another pancake with too much fork.
These pancakes are really good, actually. Soft, hot, and sweet as sin.
“So…” He clears his throat as he carefully cuts his pancakes into little slices before taking a bite. It’s weirdly attractive. “First time?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and I nearly choke on my pancake.
God he must think I’m an absolute mess.
AJ gets up quickly, and just as I get the piece of pancake down my throat, he sets a glass of water in front of me.
“I didn’t know what you’d want to drink, so—”
“Water’s fine,” I cough, sucking it down to both distract myself and cool my jets.
The cool temperature is a welcome balm to my perpetual heat of embarrassment.
“I meant the club,” he says awkwardly. “Not… you know…” He averts his gaze.
“I’m sure you’ve got a good handle on that. Unless you have a bathroom kink or something.”
I laugh, and though it starts out sarcastic, it derails into a full on psychotic laugh because I think I am indeed losing my mind.
“Nope. Just humiliation, apparently.” I clear my throat and take another sip of water.
AJ grunts. “Are you being serious or…”
I look up at him and his eyebrows are furrowed and he looks like he really is considering my sarcasm to be the absolute truth.
“No. I mean… is that a thing?”
AJ lets out a low breath. A very long low breath.
I think I count almost ten seconds.
“Yeah, it’s a thing.”
Oh.
Well, now this is even more awkward.
“I was joking. Yes, it was my first time at a… kink club?”
AJ nods. “Most of us just call it the club.”
“Most of… you?”
He clears his throat and glances at the clock on the wall, and I follow his gaze. It’s almost ten thirty. Shit!
“I’m sorry, I’ll get out of your hair,” I say as I finish my pancake and stand, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches me. Curiously.
“What?”
AJ smirks.
“Not going to get far without the proper attire, Bright Eyes.”
“Huh?”
He nods at my feet and legs, and I realize I’m still in my fucking underwear.
Jesus Christ.
“Where are my clothes?” I ask, the panic in my voice evident.
“Sit down, Nate.”
“Where are my clothes, AJ?”
He grins.
“Sit your ass down, and I’ll tell you.”
It takes everything in me to listen to him, because the anxiety is building like a hurricane and reality is hitting me hard about just how stupid I’ve been. How trusting I’ve been.
I wonder if Lacey’s home yet, and if she’s noticed I’m gone…
I sit down, glaring at the stupidly hot firefighter whose smile could melt the polar ice caps.
“Good boy,” he says as he crosses his ankle over his knee. The motion draws attention to the definition of his ankles and his feet, which are pretty sizable. And hot. Just like the rest of him.
I really do have the worst luck in the world.
“They are in the dryer,” he says, reaching for his own glass of water.
“You washed my clothes?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“Didn’t think you’d want to walk around with vomit all over your sweater.”
I pout in defeat. “Change my name to Eminem, I’ll be fine.” I let out a sigh.
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
There’s a silence blooming between us that feels less awkward, but not quite comfortable yet.
“I rather like Nate,” he says carefully. “It’s a good name.”
I sit back in the chair and cross my arms, feeling equal parts guilty, anxious, and like no matter what I do, I can’t seem to get this train that is my life on the right track.
No matter what I do.
A moment later, I hear the screech of a chair, and the scent of smokey cedar engulfs me. I turn to see AJ beside me, sitting in the chair.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, his voice soft. Warm.
“No,” I answer honestly. I don’t know why, but I feel like I can be honest with him, and he won’t judge me. And he won’t try to be positive, either, like Lacey. “But I’ll manage,” I say, fighting to hold his gaze.
His hand comes behind the chair, and I almost wish he’d just settle it on my arm.
But that’s highly inappropriate given the circumstances. AJ seems like a decent guy. He saves people. Has a better moral compass than I do, clearly.
He’s the kind of guy that you want but you can never have because they’re too good for you and you know better.
“What are your plans today?” he asks carefully.
“Repent for my sins?” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh this time.
“Get stuck in a tree?” I try again.
Still, no laugh.
“I have to find a job,” I admit. “And sign some papers for the house.”
He nods.
“I’ll take you.”
“What? No, you will not—”
“I said,” his voice darkens, taking on a sharper edge, and I feel every nerve in my body freeze like ice. I can’t move, even if I wanted to.
What the fuck?
“I’ll take you,” he says pointedly. He lets out a low breath, and I think I actually do count ten seconds this time.
“When I tell you something, you listen. When I ask you something, you tell me the truth. Do you understand?”
I nod, biting my lip because suddenly I can’t remember how to form the words yes, sir.
But I want to say them. I just… can’t remember how to speak coherent English, even though I’m not drunk or concussed or… anything.
I’m stone cold sober, awake, in my underwear in AJ’s kitchen, and I can already feel my cock getting hard again.
I swallow hard, breaking his gaze because I know if I hold it any longer, I might disappear.
“Words, Nate. I need you to tell me that you understand so I know that you do.”
I clear my throat and my voice shakes, but I manage to stutter out the words.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. The words feel easy; easier than any other, but there’s also a bit of uncertainty, too, because it reminds me of the way Michael said I should let him decide what goes in my pretty little mouth.
AJ nods, his voice softer now.
“Good. Now go get a shower and I’ll bring in your clothes, okay?”
I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head.
“That wasn’t a question.” His tone is firm, and I know he means business.
Arguing is probably not a good idea, and though part of me feels like this is a bad idea, there’s another part of me that wants to do exactly as he says, because I want to hear him say those two words again. The ones that make my dick jump.
“Yes, Sir.” I whisper, as I stand up, slowly, leaving him in the chair. And as I slowly walk to the bathroom, my heart in my throat, I swear I hear him whisper, Good Boy.