Chapter 38
Conor
The sight before me is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Jaxon kneels in front of me with every wall lowered.
Not gone. I don’t think those walls will ever truly disappear.
But for the first time since I met him, he isn’t hiding behind them.
He puts his trust in me to lead us. It’s raw and vulnerable, and he’s giving it to me freely.
I catch one of his tears with my thumb. The slide of my cock between his lips is almost too much. I pride myself on my control, but Jaxon makes me want to lose myself. I lick his tears from my thumb as he looks up at me through his lashes.
“Fuck, A Chroí, even your tears taste sweet,” I say as I increase the pressure to the back of his head, guiding my cock back down his throat. He gags, and that sound has my balls pulling tight. I’m not ready for this to be over.
He chases after my length as I step back from him. A whine escapes his lips. I grip his chin and gently force him to look at me. Even though he said that he wants to be dominated, I want to be gentle with him. Not soft, just gentle.
“Be my good boy and get into bed, lie on your back.” His wet eyes widen at my words. His pupils are so blown that almost none of the whiskey color is visible.
Jaxon hurries to do what I tell him. The sight of his large, muscled body moving so fluidly has me squeezing the base of my shaft. His well-toned ass on display as he crawls to the center of my bed is an image I will never forget.
What this means for us makes me burn even more for him. Jaxon trusts me. Not because I demanded it. Not because I earned it through force. But because he chose to give it.
Most people misunderstand the power dynamic between a dominant and a submissive.
They see the person leading and assume that’s where the power lives.
They couldn’t be more wrong. Jaxon holds all of it.
He is the one taking the risk. The one making himself vulnerable.
The one choosing to place his trust in another person.
Everything happening between us exists because he allows it to.
Because he wants it to. My role is simply to honor that trust. I want to prove that it wasn’t misplaced.
Jaxon asked me to take the weight for a while.
To give him a chance to stop carrying everything alone.
That is not a burden to me, it’s a gift. One I don’t take lightly.
I may be leading. I may be making decisions for the moment.
But the boundaries are his. The choice is his.
My authority exists only because he grants it.
Because he trusts me not to abuse it. Looking at him now, I understand something with absolute clarity.
I intend to be worthy of the faith he’s placing in me.
I step into my closet and return with three silk ties. Running the material through my fingers, I hold them up for Jaxon to see.
“Color?”
His eyes move between them. His Adam’s apple bobs once. Then again. Before he finally lets out a breathy, “Green.”
I nod once. “Good boy.”
The immediate reaction fascinates me. His pupils widen. His breathing changes. The tension that’s been living in his shoulders all day eases by a fraction.
I lay the ties on the mattress before finishing getting undressed. Jaxon’s gaze follows every movement. His eyes travel over me like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. I find myself wanting more of it. Wanting all of it.
I climb onto the bed and settle over his hips. Making sure to keep most of my weight off him. He’s still healing. The bruises may be fading, but they aren’t gone.
His eyes track every movement I make. Waiting. The anticipation is palpable. Another interesting contradiction. A former Marine. An MMA fighter. A man capable of putting most people through a wall. Waiting patiently for instructions.
“Hands above your head, A Chroí,” I tell him as I run the silk fabric of the ties across his chest. A shiver runs through him. He obeys immediately. There’s no hesitation, no questioning in his movements. He lifts his arms above his head and waits.
The green silk slides through my fingers as I bind his wrists together with one tie before securing them to the headboard with another. I make certain the knot will hold. Then I make certain he can free himself if necessary. Control without an exit is carelessness. I’ve never been careless.
My fingers test the restraint one final time before I sit back and study my work. Jaxon doesn’t pull against the ties. Doesn’t test them. He simply watches me. Waiting.
“I’m going to blindfold you.” Leaning forward, I murmur the words close to his ear. I want him anticipating what comes next. The anticipation is often more powerful than the act itself.
After securing the tie over his eyes, I pause for a moment. Blindfolded, Jaxon can’t see me. Yet his attention remains entirely on me. Trusting that I’ll tell him what comes next. I brush my thumb along his jaw before pressing a kiss to his lips.
“Color?”
The answer comes immediately.
“Green, so green.” His response immediate. I watch his chest rise and fall. The tension I’d been tracking since Neil left finally begins to disappear. Good. That was the objective.
“Good boy.”
The praise earns exactly the response I expected.
Interesting. I may have stumbled onto a praise kink.
More importantly, I’ve found a way to pull him out of his own head.
For the last twenty-four hours, Jaxon has been trapped there.
Now his focus is entirely on me. On my voice.
My instructions. Its simplicity seems to quiet the constant noise running beneath the surface.
“Look at you,” I murmur. “So beautiful stretched out just for me.” I run my fingertips over his chest lightly, and his muscles ripple under them.
I lean forward and take one of his nipples between my teeth.
The tug and lick cause the dusky pink nub to pebble.
I repeat the move on the other side. Then I continue my decent lower on his body.
“Your body is perfect, A Chroí. So big and powerful, yet totally helpless under me.”
The reaction is immediate. But not the one I’m looking for. A sharp inhale. His jaw locks, and his lips press together. The rest of his body tells a different story. His pulse is elevated. His breathing uneven. Every muscle drawn tight beneath my hands. Yet he’s silent.
As though making noise is something he isn’t permitted to do. Or something he learned not to do. I want to hear them. Every breath. Every sigh. Every moan. Every helpless sound he tries so hard to suppress. And right now, he’s still holding something back. Something that belongs to me.
I push myself back up toward his face. My thumb brushes across his lower lip. The muscle beneath it remains tense. Another confirmation that he’s concentrating on staying quiet. On maintaining control. This won’t do.
“I want to hear you. I own all of you, and that includes every moan, every gasp.” I part his lips. “You will not keep what is mine.”
A full-body shudder runs through him. Then, finally, he lets go.
The moan escapes before he can stop it. The sound isn’t what captures my attention.
It’s the relief that follows it. His shoulders drop.
The tension leaves his jaw. The constant effort he’s been expending to maintain control simply… disappears.
“Good boy,” I say before lowering my body to cover his. Our cocks slot together like two pieces of a puzzle. When I move, giving him just the slightest friction, he moans again.
“Conor, please,” he says between pants.
“I think my good boy deserves a reward.” Trailing open-mouthed kisses down his chest, once more, I make my way back down to his cock.
It’s already dripping with precum. I wrap my finger around his thick girth and lick a strip up his length.
My taste buds explode when I finally take him into my mouth.
His body writhes under me with each bob of my head. The sounds he is making are setting something deep inside of me on fire. I want more, I want to give him more. Running my hands down his thighs, I hook his knees and bring them up toward his chest.
“Fuck, A Chroí,” I say, staring at his hole as it clenches and unclenches, “I need to taste you.” Flattening my tongue, I run it over his hole, only stopping to suck one of his balls into my mouth. Then I repeat it.
“Please, oh God, please, Conor.” My name leaves his lips on a plea. Pointing my tongue, I press into him, breaching him for the first time. I pump it in and out, swirling it around.
“Fuuuuck, Conor, please,” he begs.
Reaching over to grab the lube. I glance at his face. His lips are parted as he drags in ragged breaths.
“Color?”
“Green,” he says as he swallows hard. His Adam’s apple bobbing.
I pour a generous amount of the slick lube over my fingers. I circle his hole once, twice before pushing one finger into his tight heat. His back arches off the bed. Adding a second, I crook my fingers and find that bundle of nerves.
“Yes, Conor, right there,” he moans, “that feels so good. More, please, I need more.”
I add a third finger, brushing his prostate with every stroke. When he starts pushing back, fucking himself on my hand, I know he’s ready.
I reach up and remove his blindfold. I want to see his eyes as he comes apart for me. Watch as he comes for me. I grab the condom, but Jaxon starts shaking his head.
“I don’t-” Jaxon starts, but quickly closes his mouth. I have a moment when I think he is going to tell me this isn’t what he wants. And that’s okay with me. He has the control. But then he starts again.
“I don’t want anything between us, if that’s okay. I’ve never not used one.” He turns his head away from me like it’s pained him to make the request.
“I’ve been tested and haven’t been with anyone since.” I turn his face back towards me. “I will never put you at risk, A Chroí. We are going to use this now, and both of us will go together to get retested.”
His face falls, and it tears me up that I can’t give him what he wants, but I will not put him at risk without another round of tests. After rolling on the condom, I press the head against his now loosened hole.
“Color?” I ask again, never wanting to take away his choice.
“Green.” The word comes out quick and breathy.
Bracing myself over him on one arm, I stare directly into his eyes as I slowly push in. I still my movements to give him time to adjust. I have to lock my muscles in place. I’m in heaven. That’s the only word I can think of to describe this feeling.
Jaxon moans, “More”.
Inch by inch, I give him what he’s asking for this time. Wrapping my hand around his cock, I stroke him until I’m fully inside. The feeling of him surrounding me is incredible. Perfect in every way.
“Move, please, Conor,” he begs.
I want nothing more than to lose myself in him. The impulse is immediate. I ignore it. Instead, I reach up and untie his hands. The silk falls away from his wrists. While I enjoyed the control the restraints provided, they’ve served their purpose.
I don’t want his surrender anymore. I want his participation. I want to know that he’s here with me. Present and choosing this.
The moment his hands are free, I don’t move away.
I wait, giving him the opportunity to decide what he wants to do with that freedom.
For someone who asked me to take control, Jaxon still reaches for connection.
His hands run up my arms and around my shoulders.
I begin to move, a slow roll of my hips first, then faster, deeper, harder.
Jaxon is no longer a passive participant.
He wraps his strong legs around me and pulls me in with every thrust I make.
Fuck, the sounds he is making cause my balls to draw up close to my body.
I’m not going to last if he keeps this up.
I pump his cock faster, twisting my wrist around his weeping head on every stroke.
I feel his walls tighten around me, strangling my length. It’s the exact moment that I know I have found his prostate.
“Oh fuck Conor right there,” he pants, “fuck you feel so good.” His nails dig into my back as his cock jerks in my hand.
The first stream of cum lands on his abs, then his chest. His whole body trembles beneath me, and he closes his eyes.
I stroke him through his orgasm while keeping a steady, punishing pounding into his ass.
“Open your eyes, A Chroí,” I slow just a little and wait for him to do as I say. I want him to watch me fall apart for him. “You are mine, say it.”
“I’m yours.”
My movements stutter as he says the words, and for a moment, everything else disappears. The room. The noise. The constant calculations running through my head. All of it fades as I come, filling the condom.
I lean down and take his mouth in a bruising kiss.
Not because I need more from him. Because I don’t have the words for what I’m feeling.
For the possessiveness. For the certainty.
For the realization that somewhere along the way, this stopped being a fixation and became something more. Something permanent.
My hand cups the side of his face as I deepen the kiss.
Memorizing him. Claiming the moment. The future has never interested me.
I’ve always focused on the next target, the next objective.
Yet for the first time in my life, I find myself thinking years ahead.
And every version of that future contains him.
I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against his, just breathing him in. Grounding myself in the reality of him. I will never let him go. The thought isn’t romantic. It’s a fact that’s as certain as gravity. As inevitable as the sunrise.
If the day ever comes when someone tries to take him from me, they will learn exactly how far I am willing to go to keep what is mine.