Chapter 34
In the middle of class, Sam got a text. He slapped a hand over his vibrating front pocket before things got out of hand, then snuck the phone out. He didn’t know it was from Ian, and he shouldn’t check it in class, but . . .
It was Ian.
Sam swallowed. Some of his blood got excited and started rushing around in his ears. Fuck, that was hot, being texted in the middle of class with instructions from his . . . friend. His fingers shook a little as he typed under the desk. Okay.
I’d like that. Ian texted back immediately.
Me too.
I have a present for you. You might need your safeword, kiddo.
He couldn’t stifle a small whimper. Eva—sitting next to him yet again—looked over sharply, and Sam snapped his mouth shut.
K.
He was forced to leave class early due to pressing concerns. Like, he was concerned his zipper would press permanent tracks in his dick, even through his boxers.
Sam got to Ian’s apartment just after six, horny as he could remember being in recent . . . well, ever. He’d been crazy since Ian had texted him.
Suddenly, though, his body wasn’t quite as eager as it had been on the way over. When he fumbled with the key in the lock of Ian’s front door, he mostly felt the nerves he’d been fighting. His chest and stomach buzzed with tension, sending a slight tremor from his fingers through his whole body.
Planned sex. This was about him trusting Ian to want him.
The door swung open. Ian stood on the other side, bare chested and bare legged, wearing—
Holy shit. A kilt.
Insta hard-on; just add tartan.
Oh, God, those thighs Ian had. So meaty and hairy.
What if he’d gone commando under the kilt?
Sam could just see his dick bobbing, his hairy balls swaying gently under the scratchy wool as he walked.
Sam stood in a daze on the wrong side of the door, head swimming, breathing in short, tight gasps.
He swallowed, trying to get a handle on things.
Ian gripped Sam’s wrist tightly, pulled him into the apartment, and shut the door. He backed Sam up to it, face hard and set, staring into Sam’s eyes. He almost looked mad. Or like a pissed-off Highland laird, angry over the young (yet nubile) member of the enemy clan trespassing on his land.
Someone definitely needed to be punished for this.
Sam shivered, breath coming faster. “You’re wearing a kilt,” he whispered.
Ian’s face lost the pissed-off laird look. “Lots of firefighters have them, kiddo.”
Sam swallowed. “Oh,” he whispered. “Are we going to play angry laird and trespassing enemy?”
Ian smiled—it had to be said—wolfishly, reaching to grip Sam’s ass cheek hard in one hand, cupping his groin with the other, squeezing him roughly for a second. “We’re playing victorious laird and his war prize.” He loosened his hands and leaned in closer to whisper, “You’re my booty.”
Sam squeaked and dropped his keys on the floor, reaching to grip Ian’s biceps. “Oh.” His head fell back against the door. “You’ve read some of those books,” he said faintly.
“Quiet, boy!” Ian barked. “I might have done some research,” he added in his normal voice. “Don’t break character again.”
“’Kay.” Sam nodded enthusiastically.
“Now,” Ian said in his mean laird voice, yanking Sam away from the wall. “I’m going to inspect and then mark my property.” He slapped Sam on the butt, hard, making him gasp. “Get your ass in the bedroom and get naked.”
Ian followed him in, dogging Sam’s steps and making it impossible for Sam to think about anything other than what “mark my property” might mean, or what exactly being “war booty” might entail. He found both of those ideas extremely, ahem, stimulating.
The full implication of “inspection” didn’t sink in until they reached the bedroom, and Sam saw that Ian had made preparations—it was easy to see he had, because every light in the room had been left on.
He’d taken all the blankets off the bed.
A bottle of lube was sitting on the bedside table, along with some other stuff.
Clearly, the laird had plans for his booty, and those plans were well illuminated.
Ian had said he liked to look at Sam naked. He’d said he wanted Sam’s trust—and he had it, mostly. Just, when it was like this . . . disrobing in the light of, um, light fixtures turned up all the way . . .
Sam would be getting naked for inspection. Not in the heat of the moment or in a sort of surprising “Oh, we were just kissing and fooling around and would you look at that? I’m naked” kind of way.
Gulp.
Sam would be pale and gangly and bony and Ian would be disgusted, right?
Shut. Up.
Something quailed inside of Sam. He almost turned and told Ian he couldn’t do it this way. Maybe Ian could rip his clothing off in semi-darkness instead? Not make Sam choose to bare himself in front of him, not like this, with all his flaws on display.
Would Ian be disappointed? Sam stared at the bed.
Dammit.
“Sam?” Ian asked quietly from behind him. “We don’t have to—”
Sam turned around to face Ian. Slowly, he unsnapped the fly on his jeans. He couldn’t hold Ian’s gaze, but when he glanced away he saw himself in the mirror. He looked down quickly to avoid that sight and concentrated on getting his clothes off with minimum panic.
He could feel Ian watching him the whole time—he caught a flash of pale skin in the mirror just before his shirt engulfed his head, and felt a split second of complete insecurity when he was tangled in the cloth but his chest was exposed to the cool air and Ian’s gaze, nipples tightening up.
When he bent to take his leg out of his jeans, he caught another glimpse of himself and ducked his head again, but the afterimage wouldn’t go away. Bare back rounded, spine poking out, boxers tight across his flexing butt, just a sliver of skin at the top of his thigh.
He looked vulnerable. Shiver.
Sam glanced up at Ian for a split second. His lips were parted, eyes wide and focused intently on Sam.
That made the blood pound harder in his ears, and his dick began to perk up a little. Not getting hard again, exactly. More like it had stopped searching for a place to hide.
Vulnerability was just a little bit sexy, even when you were the vulnerable one. Maybe especially then, if you trusted your partner.
Trust was sexy, too. Trusting Ian to still want him, letting Ian do what he wanted to Sam’s body. That was gut-tighteningly exciting. Sam stood up, naked, hands staying at his sides by force of will, and let Ian look at him.
“Look at yourself in the mirror,” Ian said quietly, eyes tracing down and up Sam’s body.
Sam licked his lips as Ian stepped around behind him, turning them slightly so they both faced the mirror.
He was too skinny. Gangly. Pasty. He quickly jerked his eyes up to his face.
His bottom lip was reddened and swollen.
Had he been chewing on it? He licked it to soothe it, and for a split second, when the pointed tip of his tongue swiped at his lip, he had something of a different perspective on things.
If he were a guy who liked to get his cock sucked (and who wasn’t?), he’d want to stick it in his mouth. His mouth was—holy shit—sinful. Just like any main character’s mouth in a romance novel should be.
Sam couldn’t stop staring at his lips. He didn’t look at his body again, but he felt a strange wave of something sweeping through him from his mouth down, tightening his nipples and encouraging him to get harder.
That warm tingly sensation . . . was that confidence?
Whatever it was, it was slowly heating and relaxing his muscles.
He sucked in a breath and reveled in the strange melty-ness filling his body.
Standing just behind him, Ian reached for Sam’s hand and pulled it back to his groin, pressing Sam’s palm against the scratchy wool covering Ian’s erection. “That’s because of you,” he said in Sam’s ear.
Then Ian dropped his hand and stepped back. “Don’t move,” he ordered, voice hard and low, switching back to a laird on inspection. Yummy. Sam watched his face in the mirror, looking for disgust or anything remotely like it, but it wasn’t there. Ian’s palm swept down his back to his butt, squeezing.
“I took you from another clan I’m feuding with, and now I’m going to mark my property. Then I get to break your ass in.”
“Oh,” Sam gasped. “That works.” He nodded agreeably.
Ian’s face got harder, intimidating. “Your virgin ass, kid, and I don’t care what you want. You’re my sex slave now.”
“Yes. Yes I am,” Sam said faintly. Ian winked at him, but otherwise didn’t break character. He stared at Sam, then walked over to the nightstand, picking up the lube and something else, walking back until he stood in front of Sam.
“Get in the shower,” Ian ordered him. “There’s a razor in there. Shave your balls.” He handed Sam what he was carrying. “Get yourself off and come out with that in your ass.”
“Oh fuck,” Sam whimpered, staring at the lube and plug in his hands.
“Quiet, boy! Now get moving.” In his normal voice, Ian added, “And don’t fall asleep in the shower.”
With Ian waiting out here in nothing but a kilt and body hair? Not a chance.
Sam was a dripping, sodden lump of eager sex toy, leaning weakly against a wall next to the bathroom door, legs spread for his post-shaving inspection.
He didn’t think he could get excited again this fast, as hard as he’d come in the shower, but when Ian traced a fingertip across his smooth, naked balls, Sam shuddered.
“Good boy,” Ian whispered. He lifted his eyes to look into Sam’s, smiling as he teased him with that finger.
“Oh God,” Sam breathed. Ian chuckled. If Sam didn’t love it so much when Ian teased him, he’d hate that sound.
Ian knelt on the floor, somehow still completely in control of the scene.
Maybe because of the way he stared at Sam, green eyes trapping his.
Or possibly it was the way he gripped Sam’s sac firmly in his hand.