Chapter Seven
AJ
“You’re just doing your job,” I tell myself.
Though, last I checked, bringing a drunk man back to my house was not part of my job.
I swore the last time I went to Shadows—last week—would be the last time, when Jackson asked if I’d sign off on his workshop on negotiating hard and soft limits as a sub so he could apply it to his sex therapy certification, I couldn’t say no.
Not every person that teaches at Shadows is certified, but if they aren’t, they are usually in the process or they have some sort of applicable experience that qualifies them.
Like Jackson, who technically is a licensed counselor.
But the last person I expected to find at the club tonight was Nate fucking Barrett.
Especially in the arms of that fucking snake, Beck.
Which means his keeper, Michael probably wasn’t too far away, waiting like a damn shark for his switch to bring him his fucking dinner.
I don’t even want to think what might have happened to Nate if I hadn’t showed up.
Michael Barry is a fucking asshole with a CNC kink—consensual non-consent, like me—except he prefers to watch other people fuck his partners before he does, because he’s also got a voyeurism kink and a bit of a cum fetish.
And it just so happens that he’s one of the best lawyers in the city.
Which means he knows just how to keep his nose clean, even when his hands are fucking filthy.
And don’t even get me started on Beck, whose daddy owns the construction company that built Shadows those long eyelashes fluttering against his skin, his dusty brown-blonde hair all mussed from a night of drinking, falling across his brow.
“You saved me.”
“Of course I did,” I say, slowly moving to take off his shoes as he lets out a low sigh. The words that follow sting more than they should. “That’s my job, Nate.”
He pouts again, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help but think about what it would feel like to bite that bottom lip of his. Take it between my teeth while I press him against the wall and punish him for being careless. Reckless.
I let out a growl and push the thought aside because that’s not why I brought him here.
“Lift your legs,” I order, so I can help him undress. There’s a few vomit stains on his jeans and his shirt, so I’ll have to toss them in the wash as soon as possible. He doesn’t answer me, so I repeat myself, this time more firmly.
“Lift your legs, Nate.”
“So fucking bossy,” he murmurs, and I swear the sound of his voice takes on an almost cocky, sensual tone.
I growl in response without thinking and smack the underside of his calves.
“Now. I’m not going to tell you a third time.”
Nate lets out a sound that is somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and the words that fall out of his mouth render me frozen.
“Yes, Sir,” he says petulantly, but he lifts his leg with the brattiest sigh I’ve ever heard, and I swear, the sound goes right to my fucking cock like a bolt of lightning.
Fuck.
I have to tell myself he didn’t mean it like that. He’s drunk, and he doesn’t know about my kinks. He doesn’t know anything about me other than I am a firefighter and that’s only because of circumstances. But fuck… if those words in that tone coming out of his mouth aren’t hot as hell.
He holds his hips off the bed and unbuttons his jeans, helping me to take them off, and I have to stifle my own moan when I see the bulge in his tight boxer briefs.
Fucking hell.
I suck in a breath and count to four before I let it out on a six count, trying to center myself so that I don’t draw attention to his evident hardness.
But I can’t help myself because I’m weak.
I look, and when I do, I note he’s got his hand settled over his cock, and he’s staring at me.
Those big blue-green eyes stare up at me like I’m a knight in shining armor or something.
He leans up, barely an inch, but it’s enough that I can smell the alcohol and vomit mixed with his cologne.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
I let out a deep sigh, meeting his gaze.
“Nothing to be sorry about, Bright Eyes. Just… get some sleep, okay?”
He leans in a little closer, closing his eyes and then he takes a deep breath.
“You smell like smoke,” he whispers as he runs his nose up my neck, along my stubble and the edge of my hair at the nape of my neck.
Fuck!
The motion juxtaposed with his hot breath and soft moan make me harden instantly, and guilt floods me because I should not feel like this given everything that’s happened, but I’m acutely aware of the space between us, or lack thereof.
Just as I’m also acutely aware that he’s rubbing his brief-clad cock inches away from me, and I’m hard as hell.
I should tell him to stop. Get the hell away from him.
Walk out of this room and close the door, and go sleep on the couch.
But my body is somehow frozen, and I can’t find the wherewithal to move my legs because all I can focus on is how close his mouth is to my skin, and the low, sexy moans coming from said mouth.
I take another breath and count to four, then exhale on the six count.
I gingerly grasp his wrist, his hand moving quickly and I am half tempted to let him finish, but that would be wrong.
Doesn’t mean I don’t want to watch him come, though. But I know better.
He whines.
He fucking whines as I pull his wrist away, and it takes everything I have to breathe when I see the avid wet spot forming against his satin briefs.
Which makes my cock wet with precum, too.
But this is not why I brought him to my bed.
I move to the other side of the bed and pull the covers down, fixing my steady gaze on him.
“Sleep. Now.”
Nate pouts, his hand going for his cock again, and I growl.
“No.”
His cock twitches in his briefs, and I fight the urge to moan because fuck if it isn’t hot as hell.
“But I—”
“No buts. You’re in my bed, in my house, and you will do as I say, do you understand?”
God, I’m so fucking hard right now, and the way he’s looking at me, mouth parted, his cock practically punching through his briefs.
He bites his lip and my own cock throbs with need.
It would be so easy to just… let him do it.
Watch him bring himself to that pinnacle.
I’m not sure if it’s me or whatever was going on before I found him with the serpents, but either way, I can’t deny that the thought of watching him touch himself, in my bed and coming on my sheets…
unable to touch him myself, makes me want to fucking come in my pants.
I am so fucked up.
He pouts. “Yes, Sir.”
Fucking hell, this man is going to test every ounce of my fucking patience.
I point to the open spot in my bed with one hand and hold the sheets up in the other. Nate crawls over slowly and gets underneath them, scowling at me the entire time like a spoiled child. I like it more than I should.
“Good boy,” I tell him, the words and my tone softer now as I regain my composure. I settle the sheets over top of him.
“Bathroom’s across the hall. If you need me, I’ll be just down the hall in the living room, okay?”
Nate nods, his scowl turning to a frown.
“Yes, Sir,” he whispers, and I let out a deep sigh as I step away. Nate rolls on his side, giving me his back, and I wait until I hear his soft snores to leave, knowing I did the right thing.
So why do I feel like absolute shit?