34. Calm Emotions #2
He reaches toward my face and brushes his thumb along my jaw.
I suppress the shudder that wants to go through me.
He stops.
“May I kiss you?”
Every joke disappears.
“Yes.”
His fingers settle.
Thumb near my cheek.
Predictable.
Gentle.
“I have wanted to do this for longer than is useful to discuss right now.”
My eyes widen, and my stomach drops.
Then he kisses me.
Tenderly.
That's the surprise.
I expected Ronan to kiss like an order.
Instead, his mouth moves over mine slowly.
Carefully.
Like he's learning something.
Like I'm something worth learning.
My heart is pounding.
My dick is twitching.
I melt into it before I mean to.
Pull against the cuffs.
Can't reach him.
The kiss changes.
His hand slides into my hair.
My lips part.
And whatever patience Ronan started with burns off.
Fuck.
Now he’s hungry.
Controlled, but barely.
His mouth gets harder.
Deeper.
He bites my lower lip just enough that my whole body arches.
I make a noise against him.
He swallows it.
Then pulls away.
I chase.
Can't.
“Fuck.”
Ronan's breathing isn't perfectly even either.
Good.
“You wanted quiet.”
“That was before I knew you kissed like that.”
His thumb brushes my mouth. “Would you like me to stop?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then stop complaining.”
I laugh.
Can't help it.
He actually smiles and kisses me once more.
Then picks up the blindfold.
Oh.
My pulse jumps even more.
“Still green?”
“Yes.”
Then immediate darkness.
Total darkness.
My brain suddenly starts misfiring.
Where is he?
What is—
A hand lands on my sternum.
Ronan.
“I’m right here.”
The words catch me.
I exhale.
“Good.”
His hand moves.
Shoulder.
Chest.
Stomach.
Slow enough that my body starts following touch instead of trying to map the room.
“Nothing is happening that you need to predict,” he says.
I swallow. “Okay.”
“Don't ask what comes next.”
“I wasn't—”
“You were thinking it.”
Fuck him.
Probably.
His fingers trail lower.
My breath catches.
“You're thinking again.”
“I am always thinking.”
“I know.”
His hand wraps around my dick.
My entire train of thought momentarily disappears.
Oh.
Okay.
That works.
He doesn't rush.
Doesn't give me enough to chase.
Just enough pressure to make my hips want to move.
Cuffs stop most of it.
“Stay still.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
His hand moves again.
Slow.
Then stops.
I groan.
“What did I say?”
“Stay still.”
“Good.”
Again.
My world contracts.
His hand.
His voice.
Dark.
Pressure at my wrists when I forget.
Nothing else.
Every time sensation builds enough that my brain starts lunging forward—
Is he going to—
He stops.
At first it's infuriating.
Then something changes.
Because eventually I realize there is no point guessing.
Ronan will do what he does when he does it.
I can't make it come faster.
Can't chase.
Can't help.
Can't plan.
My body starts loosening.
“Better,” he murmurs.
I nod.
He keeps stroking me slowly, but the fingers on his other hand drift between my legs.
I tense as they glide down behind my balls and almost rim me.
“Color?”
“Green.”
“Do you want me to touch you here?”
A different kind of heat rolls through me. “Yes.”
His hands leave me for just a few breaths, and then I feel the cold of the lube and gasp.
His fingers start working me open.
Nothing surprising.
Nothing I haven't done before.
Slow pressure.
Enough that I can talk.
Enough that Ronan can ask what I feel.
“Comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Too much?”
“No.”
“Still green?”
“Yes.”
My mouth keeps moving anyway.
Not because anything is wrong.
Because apparently silence is physically impossible.
“I thought maybe you'd use a plug or something. You own, like, seventeen, which seems excessive, although I guess inventory matters when you have multiple asses in the house and holy shit that sentence—”
“Dex.”
“Sorry.”
“You aren’t trying very hard.”
“To shut up?”
“Yes.”
“I told you. I can't.”
Silence.
Then Ronan very quietly says, “Let me help you with that.”
My entire body goes hot.
His hands leave me.
Oh.
Fuck.
I hear noises.
Then his fingers touch my cheek.
“I'm going to remove the blindfold briefly.”
The light is dim enough not to be jarring.
Ronan is right above me.
In one hand is a black ball gag.
In the other… a tiny clicker.
I stare. “Is that a fucking dog-training clicker?”
“No.”
“It absolutely is.”
“It is an adaptive communication clicker.”
“That is the most Ronan sentence—”
“Dex.”
I grin.
“Sorry.”
He holds it up.
“If you want the gag, you need another way to communicate.”
He places the clicker into my right hand, positioned so I can press it despite the cuff.
“One click means green or yes.”
Click.
“Two means yellow. Slow down or check me.”
Click-click.
“Three rapid clicks means red. Everything stops.”
Click-click-click.
“If you drop it and don't immediately pick it back up, I stop.”
My throat goes tight for reasons that have nothing to do with sex.
He has me demonstrate that I know how to use the fucking clicker.
And then he does it again.
Of course.
Finally he asks,
“Do you want the gag?”
I stare at him.
The stupid part of my brain supplies twelve jokes.
I let all of them die.
Click.
One.
Green.
Yes.
Ronan's expression softens. “Good boy.”
Fuck.
He fits the gag carefully.
The rubber is cool against my tongue.
The ball fills my mouth faster than I expect.
Jaw forced open.
Strap settling behind my head.
Not painful.
Just… there.
Impossible to ignore.
I test it.
Try to speak.
“Mmph.”
Ronan's eyebrow lifts.
I glare.
He smiles.
Asshole.
Then the blindfold comes back down.
Dark again.
My own breathing sounds louder.
Saliva gathers almost immediately because swallowing around the rubber is possible but awkward.
I feel stupidly aware of my mouth.
Of the stretch at my jaw.
Of wetness at the corner of my lips.
Ronan wipes it away with his thumb.
“Green?”
Click.
His hand settles on my chest again. “Good.”
I hear a few more noises.
And then he starts taking me apart.
Slowly.
First he goes back to where he was.
Stroking me enough to keep me hard without taking me anywhere near a climax.
His fingers gently working me open, but not giving me enough stimulation to climax that way either.
Then he brings toys into the mix.
“This pleasure sleeve is safe with your piercings. I researched it,” he says.
It takes my brain way too long and the feeling of it sliding over my dick for me to realize a pleasure sleeve is Ronan’s fancy way of saying pocket pussy.
And then, of course, he checked for safety.
Ronan probably researched my dick jewelry like a graduate thesis.
Normally that thought would produce at least five jokes.
They barely form.
He still moves slowly.
Sensation rises.
Stops.
Returns.
Slower.
My hips try to follow.
Can't.
At first I make frustrated sounds around the gag.
Ronan ignores them except to ask me for color.
One click.
Green.
Always green.
His voice fills the dark. “Don't chase.”
Then there is some kind of toy he introduces inside me.
He moves slowly, but there is one point of pressure and then another and another. Then his fingers are inside me with the toy.
I breathe as the pleasure builds.
Pressure.
Heat.
Then he stops.
Nothing.
My brain reaches.
Finds nothing to grab.
“Stay still.”
I somehow make my body stop.
“Good brat.”
Warmth spreads through me.
He keeps slowly moving the sleeve up and down my dick, but his other hand moves.
His fingers drag lightly over my thigh.
Chest.
He spends time on my nipples.
Then his fingers go back down.
No pattern I can learn.
No sequence.
No next thing.
Just now.
Now.
Now.
The gag stops feeling strange.
Drool doesn't matter.
My wrists stop testing the cuffs.
My ankle doesn't twitch.
I stop trying to figure out where Ronan is before he touches me because he always gives me enough warning to know.
Hand.
Voice.
Breath.
“Good boy.”
My thoughts slow.
Not gone.
Different.
Usually my brain is a tavern at closing time.
Everyone shouting.
Chairs scraping.
Someone lost a shoe.
Now it’s just one room.
One voice.
Ronan.
His fingers enter me again.
My body opens to it faster.
No joke.
No commentary.
Just sensation.
Warm.
Pressure.
Stretch.
His voice.
“That's it.”
Something else joins his fingers.
Small.
Controlled.
My body tightens.
Ronan stops.
“Green?”
Click.
One.
He waits anyway.
Then continues.
Eventually whatever he's using settles enough that I stop thinking about what it is.
That's the weird part.
I don't need to know.
Normally I need to know everything.
Who's doing what.
What happens after.
What this means.
Why.
When.
Now I just… feel.
Ronan removes it.
His fingers explore again.
Time passes.
Maybe.
I don't know.
His hand settles on my hip.
“Dex.”
My name sounds different from him now.
Low.
Close.
I turn my face toward his voice.
His fingers brush my cheek. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
My entire body reacts before my brain catches up.
Hard pull against the cuffs.
Cock jumping.
Breath punching out around the gag.
Oh.
Fuck.
Ronan hasn't fucked Micah.
I know that.
They've done things.
A lot of things.
But not this.
Not yet.
That doesn't make me more important.
Doesn't make me first in any way that matters.
It's just… unexpected.
Ronan's thumb strokes my cheek. “No assumptions.”
My fingers tighten around the clicker.
Click.
One.
His breath changes.
“Again.”
Click.
Green.
I want to say “Yes, please, fuck me.”
Ronan kisses my forehead.
“Good boy.”
I melt.
Actually fucking melt.
Then his mouth is beside my ear.
“Do you want to be good for me?”
Click.
My chest rises.
Falls.
“Do you want to be my good toy and let me use you?”
The words should feel wrong.
Maybe from someone else they would.
I don't like being degraded.
This isn't that.
Toy doesn't mean worthless.
It means simple.
My entire purpose has been reduced to something I can actually hold in my head.
Be here.
Let him touch me.
Let him take what I've given.
Nothing else.
No career.
No Chicago.
No bar.
No next week.
No fucking cumin.
Click.
One.
Ronan exhales against my neck.
“Good toy.”
My body shudders.
The preparation becomes more deliberate after that.
Still slow.
Still enough checking that I never have to wonder whether he cares more about what he wants than what my body is telling him.