Page 22 of Love by Design (Club Rapture: Risk Aware #1)

SILAS

K issing Marshall felt a lot like coming home.

With a groan that I felt all the way down to my bones, Marshall stood up. I wrapped my legs around his waist to balance myself, relishing in his strength as he carried me out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. He sank down onto the bed with one knee, then ever so gently laid me onto my back.

He never broke the kiss.

I unwound my legs from his waist so I could make more room for him between my thighs, but he tapped me on the knee and grunted into my mouth.

I put my legs back around him and my arms too, for good measure, shivering when he reached between our bodies and shoved down the waistband of my sweatpants.

There was more fussing, and then Marshall’s strong hand circled around both of our cocks.

He tore his mouth away from mine, kissing his way up my jaw and to my ear, down the side of my neck where he grazed his teeth across the thin and sensitive skin behind my ear.

“Come with me,” he whispered, rutting against me while we both fucked through his tight fist. “I’m going to keep you up all night, Silas. Come now so you can last for it. ”

It was a promise and a threat, and Marshall kissed me again, spearing his tongue so deep into my mouth.

I had no option but to yield for him in every possible way.

His hand was rough and tight, and he came first, the entire weight of his body bearing down on mine as hot bursts of cum coated the length of my dick.

He adjusted his grip enough to smear his cum all over my shaft, and when he wrapped his fist back around my cock and sank his teeth into my lower lip, it was over for me.

I came hard, unexpectedly so, shouting and arching off the bed.

The only thing holding me down was his weight on top of me, my limbs still twined around his.

Marshall slowed everything, his body, his hand, his kiss, then he rocked back onto his heels and stared down at the mess we’d both made of ourselves.

“You unman me,” he murmured.

His stare was heavy as he looked me over from the top of my head down to my thighs, nostrils flaring when he grabbed my sweatpants and tugged them down.

I lifted a leg, and he stripped me of my pants and underwear, tossing it all over his shoulder without so much as a second glance.

My shirt was sticky with cum, and he grabbed the hem next, tugging it up and over my head before adding it to the pile of clothes on the floor.

He was still fully dressed, his cock soft and plump against his thigh.

“Forced orgasms?” he asked softly, curling his fingers around my shaft. His hands were so much bigger than mine, fingertips meeting in the middle where mine barely reached around the thickest part of me.

“Right now or another time?”

“Yes.”

The breath left my lungs, and I sank down into the sheets.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Denial?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded .

“Nipples?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any part of you that’s off-limits?” he asked, stroking with almost no pressure in his grip at all.

“No.”

His hand reached the tip of my dick, and he slid his thumb through my slit, pressing the corner of his nail against my piss hole. “Not even here?”

“I…I’ve never.”

“Is it off-limits?” he asked again, lifting his thumb away and returning his attention to my shaft. It was a simple move, but then nothing with Marshall was simple. He didn’t have the consent he was always chasing, so he would refrain until he did.

“No,” I told him. “I would try it.”

“I would start small, Silas.” He applied pressure to the head of my dick, pulling down to spread my slit open, expose me. “I would only stretch you until you forgot how to speak.”

Shivering, I fisted the sheets and groaned when my hips lifted off the bed, clearly entranced at the promise of his threat.

“Blindfolds?” he asked next.

I nodded.

“What else?”

My cheeks burned, and I told him, “I like being told what to do.”

I didn’t have strong feelings one way or another about humiliation, but I did find in most instances it made me hard.

“Praise?” he asked next. “Humiliation?”

“Sometimes yes.”

“I think you like praise all the time.” He tested the correction, tightening his hand around my erection to gauge my arousal. “Humiliation sometimes, maybe. In context.”

In reply, I whimpered .

Marshall hummed, moving through his mental checklist. “Clearly you like bondage and spanking.”

“Very much.” My shaft pulsed against Marshall’s palm.

The conversation was killing me. He touched me with such tenderness, and all I wanted was for him to rough handle me right into another orgasm.

“And you like it rough.”

“Yeah. Yes.” My nodding turned more aggressive. “Dangerously so.”

He pursed his lips, turning his head at a slight angle to continue his appraisal of me. “Elaborate.”

“I like when it hurts. I like if I’m a little scared I’ve gone too far,” I admitted.

“And you’ve pursued this with strangers?” he asked, letting go of my cock and grabbing my thighs. Marshall hauled me a couple of feet down the bed until the backs of my thighs were on top of his, my lower half higher in the air than my upper half.

“Sometimes.”

He walked his fingers over the tops of my legs until they were nestled against the insides of my thighs, and then he pinched me.

Hard.

The sharp stings were blinding, and my body instinctively fought against his, thrashing to chase escape but only twisting myself deeper into the shocking pinch.

“That’s careless,” he said, releasing my skin.

“I know.”

“I encourage your friendship with Lincoln in whatever form the two of you need that to take, but you will treat my body with more care than you have been. Isn’t that right, Silas?” He delivered a sharp slap against the quickly blooming pinprick bruise. “This body is mine now, right?”

“Yes,” I whimpered. “Yes. Yes. I’m sorry. ”

And I was.

“Good.” His fingers turned gentle, soothing the places he’d just hit. “How do you feel about exhibitionism?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Context,” I said.

He made a thoughtful sound. “Duly noted. What about free use?”

“I…” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“It wouldn’t be entirely free. It would be people I selected. Vetted. There would be rules, of course.”

“You take care of your things,” I murmured, and Marshall smiled down at me like I was a prize worth winning. “Also context, I think.”

“Thank you for being honest with me.” He petted his hands down my thighs toward my knees, and the only thing I wanted to do was bare myself entirely for him. With the current line of questioning, we were well on the way. “Breath play?”

I managed another nod.

He narrowed his eyes. “You like to be forced, don’t you? You like to fight.”

My entire body burned with embarrassment. No one had ever put two and two together so quickly—ever—before. Not even Lincoln. It was one thing to like rough sex; it was another to like being on the wrong edge of that kind of thing. One was okay to ask for and the other…not so much.

“Sometimes,” I confirmed, covering my face with both of my hands.

Marshall, of course, wasn’t having it. He grabbed both of my wrists with one hand, using his body weight to lever over me.

Pinning my wrists against the bed and bending my legs so my knees shot up toward my ears, he rutted himself against me.

The prong of his belt dug sharply into the sensitive area right beside my balls, but it only made my cock harder.

“What else do you like?” he asked, nipping at my earlobe. “What do you want?”

“I want to submit,” I answered.

“It’s that simple, is it?”

“It feels the opposite of that for most people.” God, it was hard to fucking think with his mouth moving so slow down the side of my neck.

“I’m not most people.”

“No,” I agreed.

“And neither are you.”

I shook my head, and he sealed his lips around my collarbone, kissing me messily there, but gently. No marks.

“You want to just submit sometimes, don’t you?” he asked, licking the place he’d just kissed.

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine how it would feel if he sucked a bruise into the bone.

“Want to give it all up, pain or not…sex or not.”

Fuck, it was painful to be known. “Yes.”

The Sir was right there on the tip of my tongue.

It felt so perfect in the moment, laced with all the knowledge and understanding, and he’d told me not to use it until he’d earned it, and hadn’t he earned it?

Wasn’t all of this him earning it? The consent, the negotiation, the understanding… the care.

“Sir,” I blurted it out, and he went still, face still buried into the crook of my neck. “Yes, Sir. I want to submit.”

His dick pulsed against my groin, but other than that, he was entirely unmoving and quiet.

Seconds passed, minutes, an hour, a day—I didn’t know—until finally Marshall smiled against my skin, his teeth slick and cool.

He shifted his weight and reached between our bodies, pressing his fingertips against my hole.

Not hard enough to breach the ring of muscle, but just enough to test the resistance .

“You want to submit,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“To me.”

“Yes,” I said again.

“If I ever go too far, you’ll tell me to stop?” he asked.

“I’ll use my safe word.”

Marshall groaned, moving his fingers away from my hole.

He curled his hands around the backs of my thighs and hiked my legs higher…

until my hamstrings burned, then he lifted his body up enough to see my face.

He didn’t look anything like the man I knew.

Marshall was undone, hair a little loose, pupils bigger and darker than I’d ever seen.

“Is stop not a safe word here, Silas?” he asked.

“No.” My mouth moved more than words came out. I shook my head to double up on the answer.

“Okay,” he agreed, matching my head shake with a nod of understanding. “Thank you for telling me. What about no?”

I shook my head quicker.

“Don’t?”

“No,” I rasped.

“The only safe word is red?” he asked.

“Or whatever you tell me to do if I can’t speak,” I whispered.

“So gags are a yes.”

“Yes,” I croaked.

Marshall inhaled deeply, dragging his hands over my legs, up my stomach, and toward my chest. “I can’t decide if you’re a dream come true or an absolute nightmare.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of my throat. “Probably both.”

He smiled, laughing in a much less obnoxious way. “You’re probably right about that.”

He kept his hands moving all over my body, drawing lines and circles up my ribs and down my stomach when he wasn’t busy cradling my cock and balls in his hand.

The attention was simple and too much all at the same time.

It all felt like a precursor to something more, but nothing more ever came.

It was mindless soft touches, careless swirls that felt like they had no real direction.

I closed my eyes and imagined him a cartographer, committing the lines and peaks of my body to memory for future exploration.

After a while, the anticipation died down, my nerves with it.

I was no longer waiting for him to do something more severe, something more sexual.

His exploration and attention had turned me into a pool of Jello on his bed, content and malleable under his touch.

The shapes and lines were foreplay on their own, and though I was sure none of his touches were drawn with the intent to arouse, they still did.

By the time his hands made it back between my legs, my cock was achingly hard, thick and leaking against my stomach. With the flat underside of his middle finger, he drew a line from my balls to my crown, then retracted it back down. Over and over again, until the muscles on my legs quaked.

“You’re trembling, sweetheart,” he said softly, turning his hand so my dick slid across the heel of it. It was the most contact he’d given me since he’d stopped talking, and I was only seconds away from crying about it. The weight of his hand was slight, but the relief was more than welcome.

I hadn’t even realized he’d been walking me toward another orgasm until it was there, hot and heavy in my balls.

I didn’t even have to warn him about it.

My breathing hitched, and Marshall finally made a fist around the base of my cock, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing , until he’d guided me back from the cliff.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I blinked hard, tears fighting to break free against the backs of my eyelids.

The sheets were wet in my fists, and I’d gone from trembling to vibrating.

His touch was no longer gentle, my body was on fire, and everything was torture, and when the realization inside of me shifted, Marshall saw it.

Of course he did.

He stroked my cock from root to tip, bending down over me. I opened my eyes in time to see him spit on his fingers, to feel the heat of his saliva slick my shaft.

“There you are,” he murmured, and there was no way he could have been talking about me because I’d never felt more lost.

“Hmn?” I blinked hard, tears sliding free from the corners of my eyes. If he saw them, at first he paid them no mind, so neither did I.

“Now that you’re properly mine, now that you’re properly ready.” His fingers were thorns around my dick, even with the spit, especially with the spit. “Now, Silas…we can begin.”