Page 122 of B is for Beg

Blake laughs. “I’m not a black hole.”

“You’re not?”

“No. Do you know why?”

“Enlighten us, princess,” I say, even though I can guess where he’s going.

He grins at us both. “Because Idosuck.”

25

Gabe

I’m not sure why we head to mine. We don’t talk about it; it just ends up happening. In fact, we don’t talk about much of anything as we travel by foot, train, and tube. We don’t need to talk. Being close to one another feels like enough. It’s clear our boy is still tender and raw, and I wish I could wave a magic wand to make his parents see the amazing man he’s become rather than the unhappy, slightly frivolous teenager he was. At least he has his brothers and us to support him.

I let us into my maisonette, and we make our way to the sitting room after taking shoes and coats off.

“Anyone wants a beer?” Cal asks. “You’ve got some in the fridge, haven’t you?”

“Yes. But I think I’m good.”

“Princess?”

Blake shakes his head. “No, thank you, Sir.”

Cal sits on the sofa without going to the kitchen to get himself a drink.

“Cuddles would be good,” I suggest, sitting beside him.

Our thighs and knees knock together. I pat them, inviting Blake to join us by sitting over us. He doesn’t move.

“Would you tie me up, please, Daddy?” He keeps his chin low and his gaze on the floor. “I’m still pretty tense, and I need to let go.”

“I’d love to, baby boy.” I glance at Cal, making sure it’s okay. His smile tells me it is. “I’ve always got rope ready for you,” I say.

I go to the spare room, Blake and Cal following. Blake stands in the centre of the room and starts to undress.

“You don’t need to be naked if you don’t want to be,” I say.

“I want to be,” Blake says.

It’s almost a shame when he slips out of the adorable baby blue paisley knickers he has on. He stands, his eyes still downcast, his whole stance screaming subservience. I prepare rope and a white blindfold.

“Cal, would you pull the bed down?”

Blake’s brow furrows. Cal does as I’ve asked without querying my decision.

“I’m going to blindfold you, baby boy,” I say. “So you can truly let go.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

I put the blindfold around his eyes first, checking it with my fingers to make sure it’s snug but not too tight. A little of the tension slips away from Blake’s face and shoulders, and his plump lips part.

I don’t talk as I begin to bind him with the ropes. We’ve done this several times now. He knows what to expect, and he has his safe words. Cal watches every move I make—every loop of the rope, every knot I tie, every twist I make. I create a harness around Blake’s body, binding his wrists in front of his chest. I take my time, stroking my hands over his silky skin as I pass ropes around or over his chest and arms. I scrutinise every knot carefully and check the strength in his hands more than I need to make sure the blood is flowing around his body unhindered and that I haven’t trapped any nerves. I watch his face as often as I can, my smile widening as more and more tension flows out of him until only bliss remains.

Without speaking, I motion to Cal to help me lay Blake on the bed. We do so gently, our arms cradling him until he’s safely nestled on the mattress on his side. We both step back and simply admire our boy for several long seconds. He doesn’t move, even though his legs are free. He stays where we put him, his breathing slow, his lips parted and ever so slightly curled up at the corners. He looks radiant.

I start to bind his legs. One, then the other so they’re bent at the knees and his hips are raised. Then I bind them together, gently pushing them so that his legs are twisted to the side, one foot resting over the other. It’s not a position I would choose for photography sessions; it’s far too modest for that.