Page 11 of Love by Design (Club Rapture: Risk Aware #1)

SILAS

I had been nervous, to the point that I almost turned the car around at least four times, but as soon as Marshall opened the door and I saw him standing there in his slacks and his button-up, bare feet and exposed forearms, everything—once again—settled into place.

“Silas.”

My name was a low rumble somewhere in the back of his throat that sent gooseflesh racing up my arms.

I stepped into his foyer and toed off my sneakers, sliding them together against the wall so as to not take up too much room without being invited to do so.

“Marshall.”

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

I glanced up at him. “The niceties are awkward.”

“Am I not normally nice?” He inclined his head toward the living room, and I followed after him.

There was a glass of wine on the table, but everything else looked exactly as it had the week before.

The LA Design Digest still took center stage on his coffee table, the cover folded back to an open article.

It was the one after mine; I knew it on sight.

“You’re nice enough,” I said .

He gestured for me to sit, and I sank down into the overstuffed cushions of the chair I’d been in for lunch.

“I appreciate the text you sent me.” He dragged his tongue across the front of his teeth, his stare solely focused on me. “I can tell you put a lot of thought into it.”

I didn’t know what to say to him about it, so I just nodded my agreement. The message itself had been rushed, but not in thought, just composition. I worried if I hadn’t gotten it out on the first go, I never would. Not that I was careless with the whole thing, just…I knew myself well enough.

“Before we get started, I want to be clear about some things,” he said. “I’ve set an alarm on my phone for five minutes before twelve. I won’t have you missing your text to Lincoln.”

I nodded, almost dumbstruck at the forethought. “Thank you.”

“And next, I want to know if penetrative sex is on the table for you tonight?”

It was almost too formal of a question, too abrupt of a segue, but the thought of it still had my eyes aching to roll up and back into their sockets.

“Very much so,” I answered, sounding embarrassingly breathy even to my own ears.

“With protection.”

“Of course.”

Marshall nodded, propping one ankle up onto the opposite knee. He curled his fingers around his calf, and it was impossible to not imagine him curling his hand around my body in much the same way. I was horny and amped up on adrenaline, an addictive combination.

“Are you okay with edging?”

“Yes,” I rasped.

“What about orgasm control?”

“Isn’t that the same thing? ”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a dangerous-looking smile. “Not quite.”

“I don’t know then,” I whispered.

“Do you want to find out?”

“Not against the idea.”

Across from me, Marshall conversated like we were in the middle of a business deal, and I could barely string three coherent words together to answer his prompts. It was going to be a very long night.

“What about oral sex? Hand jobs?”

“All of it.”

“Giving or receiving?” he asked.

“Yes.”

That answer earned me a very proud-looking smile, and I was suddenly concerned about melting into nothing more than a puddle of precum in the middle of Marshall Covington’s living room.

“Beyond that, just bondage and spanking tonight, right?”

“It doesn’t have to be just that,” I said, already feeling greedy for the older man.

“For our first time, Silas, I want the boundaries to be exceedingly clear.”

I swallowed hard. “Alright.”

“Can I mark you?” he asked next. “Your ass and the backs of your thighs.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you have a safe word?” His fingers flexed around his leg, and I was helpless to look away from him.

“Red is fine,” I managed. “Do you?”

Marshall arched a brow, looking pleased, and I tried very hard to ignore the way my chest swelled in response. “Red is fine.”

A short silence drifted between us, and I was reminded of how much I hated that awkward phase between negotiation and action, reminded why I skipped it more often than I should.

But after the previous weekend, it wasn’t something I would do again.

Landon’s words sat like boulders in the back of my mind, and even though talking about the things I wanted to have done to me made me want to crawl out of my skin, it was necessary.

The conversation was Marshall and me both building the space I expected him to hold for me through the rest of the night.

“Okay,” he said next, standing and tapping his palms against the tops of his thighs. “Ready?”

I nodded and stood, following him down a hallway and up a flight of stairs.

There were three doors on the landing, one closed and two open.

He led me to the farthest door, and I’d never seen a space more Marshall in my whole life.

The floors matched the ones downstairs, a sleek and pale, thick-planked wood.

I walked ahead of him, surveying his space.

His bed was exceedingly simple, a narrow platform with no discernible headboard or footboard, and I wondered what exactly he was going to tie me to when I noticed the extremely low-profile bolts on the corners.

His sheets were white.

The comforter smooth.

“Should I call you sir?” I asked, looking back at him over my shoulder. He was less than a foot away, and I could smell the rich cedar of his soap or his cologne, or whatever made him smell like a forest I was more than ready to get lost in.

He closed the gap between us, carefully sliding one hand around my waist and bringing our bodies flush. “Not until I’ve earned it.”

“Marshall then.”

His lips were against my ear, the pleased hum he loosed in reply deep enough to send a shiver down the entire length of my spine.

“Marshall then,” he repeated, letting his lips trail from my ear to the back of my neck. “Take off your clothes, Silas. Show me what’s mine for the night.”

He didn’t move away from me, so I had to fumble out of my pants and my shirt with his chest pressed against my back.

Even when I had to bend down to get out of my socks and my underwear, he didn’t relent.

My ass knocked into his groin, and he made a low sound at the contact.

His cock was hard as steel already against me, and when I stood straight again, he notched our bodies together in perfect alignment.

“I would love to take you over my knee, Silas,” he whispered against my ear, hands roaming over my hips in a slow and curious exploration. “Tuck your cock between my thighs and let you fuck my legs while I spank you until you’re black and blue.”

My eyes lost the battle, rolling back entirely with so much force my head hit the front of his shoulder.

“But that’s not bondage, is it?”

“Kind of,” I murmured.

He chuckled. “Not what we agreed on, though. And not what either of us meant. Now come over here and get on your knees.”

He walked me toward the foot of his bed and knocked his knee into the back of mine. I went down, first onto my right knee, then my left, and Marshall’s steady hand on my shoulders tipped me forward, just enough to make my back arch.

“Good boy,” he said. “Don’t move.”

There was no way I would dare to move from the spot, but that didn’t stop the way my arms and legs vibrated like leaves ready to fall.

My palms were sweaty as fuck, and I was desperate to wipe them onto my thighs before he came back to me, but I was even more needy to follow instructions and have him call me a good boy again.

Instead I swallowed hard, tried to breathe, and watched Marshall’s broad backside disappear into a walk-in closet.

I would have paid good money to see what he had in there besides slacks and button-ups, but maybe that would be another night, another time.

I’d counted thirty of my own breaths by the time he returned with four matching leather cuffs in hand, a black spreader bar, and something shoved into his pocket that definitely hadn’t been there before.

Marshall came around behind me, dropped everything on the floor, and went to his knees.

He was still dressed, the cool glide of his clothes against my bare skin one of the sexiest things I’d ever felt.

He took my right arm into his hand, dragging his fingers from my elbow down to my wrist.

I had to close my eyes.

Marshall lifted my arm and kissed the delicate skin against my wrist bone before wrapping the leather cuff around it like a seal meant to keep the feel of his mouth against my skin.

His fingers slowly danced back up my arm and across my back, down the other side where he repeated the same gentle kiss, the same leather restraint.

The only sounds in the room were the labored pant of my breaths and the slow, steady cadence of his.

How was he not absolutely unraveled?

“You’re a vision,” he murmured, dragging his fingers down the sides of my back and over my hips. His weight shifted behind me, then he touched my ass, the backs of my thighs, behind my knees, and lower still. “Better than anything I could ever design on my own. I wish you could see yourself.”

I was less than a second away from suggesting he turn me toward a mirror so I could, but the words stopped dead in my throat when his lips grazed over my ankle bone.

My head jerked to the side, ready to look over my shoulder to see what I knew had to be true.

The only way he could get his mouth that low was if he’d prostrated himself on the ground behind me.

But his words rang loud in my ears, a present reminder of what he expected of me in those moments.

Don’t. Move .

A kiss and a cuff, the same journey from one leg to another, then another brush of his lips against my opposite ankle bone and the cool wrap of leather sealing it in.

He was back after that, body pressed against mine, hands constantly moving and exploring my skin the way I wished I could explore his.

“Your obedience makes my cock ache, Silas,” he whispered against my ear, bucking his hips against me so I could feel the cock in question.

It was—somehow—harder than before, and even hidden by the layers of fabric between us I could tell he was endowed.

He snaked his hand around to the front of me, the tips of his fingers barely touching the base of my shaft. “Does your cock ache too?”

“Yes,” I whimpered.

“You’re trembling.” He slid his hand down my shaft, rubbing me with his palm. The tip of my dick was embarrassingly wet with precum, and he smeared it around, making a very pleased sound.

“I know.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No.” It was a breath, a puff of desperation out of my mouth.

Marshall dragged his cheek against mine, though with our size difference, he was more against my temple, the fringes of my hair.

He pressed against me, using his body to push against mine until I moaned and melted against him.

Somehow still on my knees but also resting most of my body weight against his chest.

This was what I’d been after. Every time Lincoln wanted to find me a man with strong hands, all I’d really needed was a man like Marshall.

Not only did he have strong hands, he knew how to use them.

He knew how to use me . Marshall had asked for more time, an early arrival and a later departure, but at the rate things were going, I was going to come and call it a night in thirty seconds .

The slow drag of his palm across my shaft had turned into a heavy pressure and my hips surged forward, chasing after more of his touch. He made a very quiet tutting noise in my ear, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

“I said don’t move, Silas,” he warned. “That includes those unruly hips of yours.”

“S-sorry,” I stammered, squeezing my eyes closed and clenching my jaw. Trying to bring my body back under my control when all I wanted to do was surrender to it was a massive feat, but I knew when I’d managed it because Marshall kissed the shell of my ear.

He gave me another good boy, then finally wrapped his fingers around my shaft. His grip was wet and tight, and two slow strokes later, I cried out, “I’m going to come.”

Marshall’s hand was gone before I finished the sentence, my cock spasming wildly in the air.

I sucked in a breath and swayed forward, but Marshall banded his other arm around my chest to stop me from falling face-first onto the floor.

He pulled our bodies back together, sank down onto his heels and took me with him.

The pose wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t quite natural, and then his hand was back around my cock, stroking lazily from root to tip.

I shook violently in his arms, pressing my chest forward to test the strength of his hold, which was more than sufficient. He huffed an exhaled kind of laugh against my ear and stroked me faster until I was right back there ready to shoot my load all over his hand.

“Marshall,” I whined. “I’m so close. I’m right there.”

“I know,” he said, sounding almost apologetic as he took his hand away again. “You’re right on the edge, Silas. Right where I want you.”

I sank down into his lap with a defeated whine, and then he took my cock again into his hand and walked me right back to the cliff but refused to let me jump.