Page 25

The boathouse felt muggy, the cool breeze from the lake’s surface noticeably missing now that we were hidden inside the large wooden shack. The stilts it rested atop creaked, the steady lap of lake water like a metronome to mark the passing seconds. George’s skin was pink, glistening, and slick with sweat. He tasted like salt and summer, as I pushed him against the back wall, my tongue in his mouth.

He grunted when the wood pressed against his shoulder blades, but returned the kiss just as eagerly.

I loved how obedient he got when we had sex. All his contrary nature thrown out the window. He was a different person entirely—needy, soft, desperate for affection. Touch-starved and eager, George was a waking wet-dream.

“That’s it,” I murmured into his mouth, my hands sliding greedily beneath the hem of his t-shirt. I’d kissed his shoulders, grateful that we’d taken a detour to the showers to clean off the sunscreen and sand before heading back out. His backpack, hiding the lube and his freshly sanitized dildo sat at our feet, momentarily forgotten.

“Mmnff,” George gasped, melting into me. Already his back was tacky, the kinda spongy feeling that only came from heat and perspiration—remnants caused by our trek to the boathouse on the hot summer day. I couldn’t wait to taste it. Couldn’t wait to lick across the salt and see him naked. Couldn’t wait to see his hole. To touch it. To see how much it could stretch.

I’d shot a text to June—because she’d offered to help—unbeknownst to George. She was our lookout, far enough away that she couldn’t hear, but close enough to make sure that no one stumbled upon us.

She’d been almost creepily pleased to be given such an important task, as she sipped the Bloody Mary Roderick had just delivered to her along with her book. He had been on his way out onto the water, probably on one of the wave runners again—or a canoe this time—the same canoes that were usually stored in the empty boathouse we currently occupied.

With everything prepped and ready, and our safety secured, there was nothing left to do but enjoy the fruits of my labor.

“Relax, Georgie.” My hands dragged higher, bringing the hem of his damp t-shirt with them as I tugged it up and over his head. “Let me take care of you.”

Bare now, his chest heaved with a shuddered breath.

He was gorgeous like this, a sunburn line glowing along his shoulder where his collar had slipped. More freckles and moles dotted his chest and abs. And the trail of hair that led from his belly button to his covered cock looked like spun gold. Thicker than you’d expect from a guy who had practically no body hair anywhere else.

George didn’t balk at the nickname. In fact, already, his eyes had taken on that sexy fog they’d had yesterday. Like he was sinking into his head, trusting me to take the reins and keep him safe. So much faster than last time.

Like I had house money now—since I’d taken such good care of him the day before .

It was heady.

“What do you…what do you want from me?” George asked, his voice shakier than normal. He was quaking with anticipation. Or maybe the fear of getting caught? He liked that. Liked that a lot. If his reactions the night before hadn’t made that clear, the way his dick was threatening to poke through his slut-shorts would have.

“I just want you to stand there and look pretty,” I said. George cracked a smile, making it obvious he knew I’d said that on purpose to set him at ease. It was our thing now. Not intentionally—but…hell.

Who could blame me?

He was the definition of pretty.

Long, leggy, golden in every way. Like a twinky Adonis, all compact, corded muscle. There was a softness to him too, around his center, belly a flat scoop rather than hard-trained abs. He was fucking gorgeous. A work of art. Something to be proudly displayed and coveted.

If I wanted him to never lift a finger again for the rest of this trip, that was my prerogative.

“You always say that,” George laughed, interrupting my ogling. He shivered, and my gaze snapped to his nipples, perking up despite the lack of chill. No…that was all arousal. Fuck. Yes .

“I always mean it,” I countered. “Okay…” My hands found his hips, sinking into the skin hard enough to bite. No bruises from last time, unfortunately. But I could leave some if he wanted. Gentle waves continued to lap away at the wooden stilts in the water. The wood at George’s back was a honeyed color, perfectly complimenting his natural color palette

“Before we go any further I need to make sure you understand how important it is that you are honest with me when we’re in the middle of a scene. I’ll be honest too, I promise. But communication is really important, as uncomfortable as it might be to…voice some of the things you might want. Especially because I am…new to this.” I hated admitting that. Hated show ing weakness when I was asking him to rely on me.

But if I couldn’t be honest with George, how could I expect him to be honest with me?

George tensed, and to combat it, one of my hands slid up the center of his chest, cupping his throat in my hand. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped. I squeezed, just enough to get his focus on me and not the thoughts in his head.

If I start it’ll be easier for him to open up.

“I want to restrain you,” I told him. “With rope.”

“O-okay.”

“I want to fuck you when you’re bound.”

“R-right.” Christ, his stuttering was adorable.

“I want to call your hole a pussy. Want to talk about impregnating you. Want to cum in your ass.” Jesus, just laying it out like that should not have been as sexy as it was. It should’ve made it feel clinical, but it didn’t.

Maybe communication was half the fun?

George groaned, the sound vibrating beneath my palm—like simply hearing the list of kinks I wanted to try was getting him off.

“I’m going to try a few things. And I want this to be organic, natural, just you and me. We may progress places I don’t plan sometimes, and that’s okay. But I need to know that if that happens you’re going to tell me if you’re uncomfortable, need to slow down, or want to stop.”

“I can do that.” George’s voice was throaty. Maybe not as hoarse as mine, but certainly affected by what we were doing. I gave his neck another gentle squeeze. His heart was beating like crazy. Skittering all over the goddamn place.

“I never want you to lie to me George,” I said firmly. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Even if you think I want something, I don’t want that to alter your judgment. You choose based on your own desires, not mine.” There was no room for argument in that statement, and I hoped he understood that, though I doubted I’d manage to get away with such a decisive command without some push back.

“But…” George protested.

I grinned, proud that I’d seen right through him. “ George ,” I made a point to use his name again, not his nickname, “No buts. I’m serious. If you lie to me about your boundaries we will not be having sex again. Do you understand? That is my hard limit. You will break me if you lie. Don’t.”

“Okay.”

Apparently phrasing it like that did the trick. Suddenly George was eager to be honest. Which I definitely preferred over having sex with a yes-man. He was a pleaser. It was obvious that George would bend over backward to make his lover happy—to his own detriment.

Which…was adorable.

And sad.

And not what I wanted from him.

I wanted to make him feel good the way he preferred.

I wanted his focus to be completely, entirely on me like it’d been last night. Only better. Because this time I was prepared.

I wanted to eclipse every other relationship he’d ever had.

I wanted to become the only thing that existed in his world and his mind.

I wanted to be the standard he set for himself.

I wanted to matter to him. To matter more than anyone or anything he’d experienced. There would be no skeletons in our closets. There would be no exes to taint what burned molten bright between us. There would be no “not enoughs” or “too muches.”

Just George and me, and the trust and camaraderie we’d built, brick by brick.

“What about you?” I asked, voice soft enough I hardly recognized it. “What are your hard limits? ”

It took George a second to respond. He was distracted, which was fair— hell , the heat that was simmering between us was difficult for me to ignore too. If I’d been more of a brute—or we’d been further along in our “practice relationship” I would’ve already been balls-deep inside him, grunting away. But I wasn’t, and we weren’t. And I was genuinely excited to learn more about him, as odd as that sounded.

“I…I need…”

“Yes?” I waited patiently.

“I need to know you won’t hurt me—at least…not too badly.” George trembled, like getting the words out was physically painful. “Bruises are welcome. Um…rope burns? That’s fine too. Spanking is…is definitely… yes . But nothing too hard or lasting. And if I say red, you s-stop.”

Anger, blinding and bright licked at my fingertips. I had no doubt this particular limit was because of Brendon.

“I can do that. Anything else?” I made sure to keep my voice kind, even though a solid ninety percent of me wanted to hunt Brendon down and show him what real hurt meant.

“After we’re done…can you hold me?” The request was barely a whisper at all, vulnerable and quaking. “I don’t need a lot,” George was quick to tack on, probably out of fear that he was coming across as high-maintenance. “But a little would be nice.”

Again, I wanted to beat Brendon into the ground.

“Of course.” My heart squeezed—and just like that, my fury fled, replaced instead with affection for this sweet, needy man, and how brave he was to plead for comfort. “I’ll take such good care of you after, sweet pea, I swear. Like last night. You liked last night?”

George nodded. “ Yes .”

“What are your safe words?” I asked, pulse thrumming as fast as George’s was. This was it. The final question before my first real scene as George’s temporary Dom. God, even just thinking that felt surreal. Like I’d stepped into the pages of one of the books I’d read. I had never, ever anticipated that I would be into something like this.

But I definitely fucking was.

So fucking into it.

And hard enough to pound nails.

Harder than I’d ever been before.

It felt as though a part of me that had been dormant had woken up.

The idea that George would trust me with his body, his mind, his pleasure , was exhilarating.

The world was prettier this way, yet narrowed, because nothing mattered but Georgie. Not the beams of wood above us, or below. Not the lap of water at the scaffolding. Only the way his breath made his chest rise and fall. Only the way his Adam’s apple bobbed beneath my palm when he swallowed. Only the skip of his heart beat, dancing away, as eager as he was.

There were a lot of things in my life I had never had control over.

My family’s rise to wealth.

My mother’s eccentricity.

The way I was perceived.

How previous potential lovers reacted to my actual personality.

The accusations of nepotism at my job, no matter how good I was or how hard I worked.

My dad—his car accident—and the deep, very real fear that seeing him so battered had instilled inside me.

Life could be unexpected, terrifying, and impossible to predict.

Having control over George didn’t change all of that. But it grounded me. Like I had a purpose—and that purpose was pleasing George.

That purpose gave me peace.

The parts of me that were usually drifting loose had fallen into place exactly where they were meant to be.

None of my pieces were abstract anymore .

My watch caught the light, a reminder of mortality. A reminder of what I could lose if I didn’t hold tight enough to the things I cared about. Nothing was forever.

And yet…this felt like it surpassed that. Like these moments with George would survive the passage of time in ways even my watch had not. The memories would remain long after we’d gone back to our separate lives.

Our tiny bubble was in sharp focus.

A slice of heaven hidden in the woods, the lap of water kissing the beams beneath our feet.

“Safe words, baby?” I urged, forcing my thoughts back to the present.

“Red, yellow, green,” George replied. He’d taken a second to gather himself like I had. I figured if he was feeling even half of the high I currently was, he needed it.

“And your color right now?” I whispered, sliding in closer. My leg bumped between his, my ankle skimming his and skirting up his inner calf.

“Green.”

“That’s my sweet boy, so obedient.” I dropped my leg before it could make contact with his needy-as-fuck cock, and George twitched . Christ, teasing him was fun. “No.” I crowded against him, my breath ghosting his lips. His dark blue eyes were already glazed with lust, peering at me through pale lashes like I was God himself—like he needed me more than air. Like his heart was beating for me and me alone. It was the kind of attention I’d always craved.

“No complaining,” I chided, our lips brushing.

George sucked in a breath.

“You will take what I give you, nothing less, nothing more.” George’s pulse skipped faster, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings. I applied a bit of pressure to his throat, at the fingers, so as not to cut off his breath—only the blood flow—and only enough to make his knees weak. “You don’t need to fear that,” I said, our lips still barely brushing.

George didn’t press up to connect them .

I didn’t think he would, even if I wasn’t restraining him.

He was simply obedient like that.

“I’m very generous, Duchess. I’ll take very good care of you,” my voice dropped gravelly soft.

That was a vow I refused to break. And I think George knew that. Because the swirling storm in his eyes calmed, and he slipped under, under, under . The fog came forth, threatening to overpower his sense of self, and he…he let it.

Simple as that.

Like he really did trust me.

Which was as humbling as it was thrilling.

I’d never had another person entirely at my mercy before him.

And this was twice. Twice , that he’d offered me such a gift.

Fifteen minutes later, I had his wrists trussed up with the rope June had given me. It was red, which was gorgeous when paired with the milky, sun-marred alabaster of George’s skin. It wasn’t shoddy work. I’d been a Boy Scout after all. I’d made sure I hadn’t tied it tight enough that I wouldn’t be able to get him out. I’d also been conscious of his burned fingers, and the bandages I’d reapplied that morning.

The burns were a lot better today but that didn’t mean I wanted to cause him pain. A little bruising? Yes. Just like he’d approved. But not anything serious. I refused to get even close to the line he’d drawn, clear as day.

My back pulled, the sting of the scratches he’d left behind tugging with every movement. A reminder that this was mutual. That he could inflict as much pain on me as I could on him.

“You hold the power here, George,” I murmured as I finished checking the knots. “I need you to know that.” He met my gaze, half gone already, and nodded. “Done.”

I stepped back, releasing him to admire my work.

He dropped his hands, embarrassed.

George was a vision with his wrists tied together, hands covering his cock. Covering the wet spot on his yellow shorts—I’d spotted it when he’d had his arms out for me to tie. The fabric had never gone fully see-through, even though I wished it would. It had, however, darkened. Sticky and slick enough it almost looked like George had already cum.

If I gave him shit for being wet later, he wouldn’t even be able to deny it.

It wasn’t a lie.

He was fucking soaking for me.

“Christ, you’re beautiful, sweetheart,” I promised, taking another step back to get an even better view. The veins on George’s hands caught the light when my gaze dragged down his quaking chest to where they cupped his cock for a second time. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

George didn’t move his hands, and I didn’t make him. There was something submissive and downright breedable about how shy he was currently acting. Like even though he knew this was going to end up with his pants around his ankles and my cock in his ass, he couldn’t help but cower.

It made me feel powerful to know that I could hurt him—but never would.

Aside from a few bruises and maybe some well-timed slaps to his ass—to make it as red as his sunburn, of course. But never anything lasting, marks on his soul, invisible but scarred all the same. I suspected he’d had that before, based on his request for kindness. He was the kind of person who was weak when it came to the people he loved. Would carve away pieces of himself to make them happy.

He wouldn’t have to worry about that with me.

That was the point of this, wasn’t it?

For us both to experience the kind of love we’d always craved without fear of heartache.

“Turn around,” I commanded, swirling my finger in a circle to demonstrate what I wanted. “Nice and slow. Wanna see your slutty ass in those goddamn shorts.” George did what he was told immediately—and god, what a power trip that was. He moved away from the wall enough he could spin. “Very nice,” I groaned when his perky butt was right in front of me. Sweat glistened at his back, a beam of sunlight creeping in through the windows above. “Bend over a little.”

George bent, and his tight ass flexed beneath the fabric of his shorts. Highlighter yellow, totally an eyesore, and yet somehow the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen, especially when paired with the sneakers and knee high socks he’d put on after we’d bathed off the sand. He was a jock’s wet dream—nerdy, trembling, and eager.

George wasn’t particularly voluptuous. His body was lean, rather than curvy. But that didn’t mean his ass wasn’t fucking delicious. If anything, it was his masculine angles that made him so goddamn desirable.

“Color?” I echoed, part of me still nervous that I was doing this wrong.

“Green,” George repeated, his voice this quaking, needy thing.

I reached down to squeeze my cock to ease the ache. “Alright, straighten back up.” I stepped into his space again, this time from behind, my dick brushing the top of his ass as I did so. “That’s my sweet boy.”

I caught George’s throat with a hand, pulling his head back with my grip on it, while simultaneously kicking his feet wider so I could settle between them.

“Do you feel that?” I asked, flexing my hips deliberately against him so he could feel how hard he’d made my cock. It twitched the second we made contact and I had to bite back a groan of my own. George nodded, a sharp jerky motion that was barely any movement at all.

“I’m so hard, baby,” I murmured. “Because of you ,” I said against his ear, enjoying the full-body shiver that wracked his frame in response. “But you knew that, didn’t you? That you’re the reason I’m all hot and bothered. That I’ve been walking around for the last hour with my cock pointing right at you.” George nodded again, and I clucked my tongue. “Words, Georgie.”

“Y-yes. I knew.”

“So obedient. Thank you, Duchess.” George swallowed beneath my palm. I rutted forward again, slow and easy, basking in the way my own shorts caught on the head of my cock, and my length attempted to bury itself between his cheeks despite the layers of clothing separating us.

“How do you feel about roleplay?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“R-roleplay?” George echoed, distracted by my cock.

“Like we’re at summer camp.” Christ. He really did fit that particular fantasy, with the way he was dressed. “We’ve snuck off while everyone is at lunch?—”

“Guess it’s not much of a fantasy, considering that’s exactly what we did,” George laughed. The sound was breathy and horny. “We could get caught. We’re not supposed to be here.”

“Fuck yes.” Now that my mouth was moving things felt easier. This wasn’t that difficult. I could let my mouth run and run, the way that I always wished I could, and George was forced to listen.

He liked it, if the way his ass kept twitching like he was doing his best not to hump the air—and failing—was any indication. At the end of the day, I could call his ass a pussy all I wanted, and threaten to get him pregnant, but he was still a man. Which meant his cock wanted to fuck.

It was a shame that I didn’t have a fleshlight to stick his dick inside. The idea of having George stuffed and doing the stuffing at the same time was fucking awesome. Making him cream himself in it then lick out his own pleasure while he was still sitting on my dick.

Maybe later—if I could get him in a bed some day.

No, no.

Best not to think about a future we didn’t have.

Present.

I needed to stay present.

To keep the fantasy going. To follow the thread I’d sewn. For a second, I let the scene I’d painted build in the back of my mind. “You’ve been naughty, George,” I told him, my cock pulsing.

“I…I have? ”