Landon #2
But I move through TSA anyway, clutching my carry-on and imagining a small cottage hidden in the woods, and a big, domineering man on his knees as I punish him the way he once punished me. Well, the same but different.
I have a plan. And if Nate hates it, well, he shouldn’t have ditched me this weekend.
I try calling the number he texts me from, but it keeps going to voicemail, which only pisses me off more. And if that wasn’t irritating enough, as I reach the screening machines, ready to run to my gate, my bag gets pulled for inspection. Of fucking course.
“Sir,” the middle-aged woman checking my bag calls out, “you can’t bring this in a carry-on. Our limit is 3.4 fluid ounces.”
She’s presenting the bottle of lube I packed to the whole fucking airport, leaving Nate’s gift right on top of my clothes. I guess it’s a good thing I’m not easily embarrassed.
And listen, I haven’t used coercion since Nate told me to lay low. I’m not sure what his deal was, but he seemed very adamant, and I haven’t really needed it.
But right now? As I’m trying to rush to my gate, and I kind of need that lube to equip Nate’s gift? Well, no time like the present. He’ll never know, anyway.
So I force my own will into my words, pressing the simmer in my chest up my throat as I say, “You’ll allow it this once.”
The security lady blinks, her eyes falling back to the bottle before she nods quickly, shoving all of my belongings right back into my bag and handing it over.
“Have a good day,” I tell her, not bothering to linger for her response.
I have twenty minutes until we board, and my gate isn’t particularly close. But I make it, settling into my seat with a sigh. The flight is short, sure, but it’s already late in the day, and I will only get so much time before I have to go.
My flight home tomorrow is a night flight, as it was the only one available, but as I arrive at an empty cottage, I’m still pissed. Where is he? Doesn’t he know we only get the weekend because of his pesky job?
Will this change once I have mine?
Oh, wait. His job! Nate must be at Chastain Castle, doing some kind of overtime. Maybe it’ll piss him off if I show up. Maybe it’ll be worth running into Julian just to see Nate squirm.
Well, if I can convince him not to tell Susie about my visit. If he refuses, I’m kind of fucked. But the idea of seeing Nate, of this darkness receding and being able to fully be me, is enough to persuade me.
I’ve never been the one to make the smartest decisions.
And luckily for me, as I arrive, the gates to the estate are wide open. The closer I get in my rental car, the more I see other cars lining the circular drive. They must be throwing some sort of party, not that I was invited. Assholes.
Over the front doors is a big sign that reads Happy Birthday, Atlas! and I stare at it for a moment, wondering where in this massive house Julian must be. Probably with Atlas himself, wishing his boyfriend a happy birthday.
They are dating now, right? They must be. Nate made it sound like they were soulmates.
The way I thought Julian and I were soulmates.
I’m expecting this experience to hurt, but as I climb out of my car and stare up at the banner, I feel nothing.
Well, other than the burning desire to find Nate and make him cry the way I cried as he fucked me while my dick was trapped in that little cage he loves so much.
He’s only put it on me one other time, when I was especially bratty, but I can see his attraction to it. He likes owning me in that way, even if it is only temporary.
I walk into the castle, standing in front of the large oak staircase as music drifts down from above. Where would Nate be on an occasion like this? He’s much older than Julian and I, so he most likely isn’t partying with the young kids. So, the kitchen? He is the cook after all.
And me? I know exactly where that is.
I hang a left and head down the hall, hearing slight movement from beyond the door I once walked into months ago, right before Nate caught me using my gift. Before he showed me his, the one I’m finding myself craving daily.
Those little stars—they make me feel warm. They make me feel safe.
I push open the door, immediately spotting him as he rifles through the fridge. I can make out his profile, the way his dark hair falls messily, and his back muscles ripple in his black button-up.
Nate is beautiful. Tall, strong, and handsome. He is exactly what you imagine when you picture an alpha male and has the annoying personality to match.
But those hands… they can be gentle too. They’re trained in dealing pain and pleasure in equal measures, a perfect conundrum.
“Not young enough to party with the cool kids, old man?” I ask, leaning against the closed door.
And yeah, I keep bringing up his age. But only because it makes me horny. I like knowing that he’s wiser and more experienced than I am.
He was right. I love that he knows how to touch me.
Nate’s head snaps up, his honey-brown eyes meeting mine with shock coating his features.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Landon?” he snaps, straightening up as he faces me.
“You ignored me,” I reply easily, my eyes narrowing on his. “I tried calling, and you ignored me.”
“I’m working,” he counters, and his tone is bland. He talks as if I’m an impudent child whining at his heels. And maybe I am.
“You always come twice a month. You didn’t even tell me you’d miss this weekend.” I sound far too desperate, too hurt for my liking.
“Julian told me at the last minute that he was throwing this party. I had no time to warn you.”
“You couldn’t send a fucking text? It takes two seconds.” I cross my arms, slumping against the door as he begins to stalk toward me.
“Why are you acting like this?” he questions. “Do I owe you an explanation?”
Technically, no. He doesn’t owe me anything. All we do is hate fuck, with a tad bit of confusing coddling after the comedown. But as his hand lifts, his fingers brushing my cheek in a way that doesn’t scream hate, I can’t help but think otherwise.
“It would have been the nice thing to do,” I murmur, leaning into his touch like a desperate whore.
“Since when are you an expert on the nice thing to do?” It’s a rude thing to say, but the way he mutters it? Nate sounds soft and sweet. Relived.
“Since someone started teaching me,” I reply, and something similar to violent heat explodes in Nate’s eyes, his fingers gripping my skin roughly, almost on instinct.
“Aw,” he purrs, bending slightly to get eye-level with me. “Is someone finally learning their lesson?”
Now I feel that violent heat, as well as the urge to fight. I’m not here to appease him, I remind myself. I’m here to punish him.
“Sure. And now it’s your turn.”
Somewhere in the distance, a door slams. Nate startles, as if he’s just now remembering where we’re standing, and he grabs my hand.
“Come,” he commands, and I damn near do, right here in my jeans.
But that’s not what he meant. As he drags me out of the kitchen and into the backyard, I soak in the feeling of his warm skin against mine. In how, right now, I can actively feel the darkness receding.
The waves are loud, crashing against rocks so many feet away and many more below as Nate shoves me against a shed not far from the back door.
“You won’t be teaching me anything,” Nate sneers, and though he’s holding me like he hates me and speaking to me like I’m worth nothing, his eyes are so heated, so adoring that I can barely breathe.
“You sure about that?” I push out, relishing the feel of his hands as they trace my hips, his thigh shoved between mine. “Because I think you’re due for some punishment of your own.”