Page 54 of Love by Design (Club Rapture: Risk Aware #1)

SILAS

I stepped out of the shower, cleaned and prepped, just like Marshall liked for me to be. It had only been two weeks since we moved in together, but I hoped the newness of sharing a space with him would never wear off.

“Silas,” Marshall called out for me from what sounded like his office, and my heart leapt into my throat.

Normally, if he got home and I was in the shower, he would join me.

Sometimes all the way under the spray and sometimes only in the bathroom itself while I took care of business.

I didn’t mind either; I just liked being around him.

“Yes, Sir?” I called back to him, half out of the bathroom and half in. I used the towel to get as much water out of my hair as I could manage before wrapping it around my waist and heading toward the sound of his voice. “Where are you?”

“My office.”

I padded barefoot and naked through the house and down the hallway, finally finding Marshall behind his desk.

He had the blinds pulled, the only light in the small room coming from the glare of his computer screen.

Normally he had the windows open, the lights on…

I’d never seen the space so dark sa ve for the end of the night when we were getting ready for bed.

Marshall’s office was a comfortable space, a large oak desk, a drafting table, a white leather couch and a small side table that matched the desk.

In lieu of bookshelves, he had books and magazines stacked haphazardly around the room.

It was a mess he’d promised to go through as his home office had become a catchall space for the things of mine that didn’t have a place yet.

“There you are,” he said as I entered, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. He gestured toward the couch, and I sidestepped toward it as he came out from behind his desk.

“When did you get home?” I asked, accepting the kiss he dragged across my lips before sinking down onto the couch and pulling me onto his lap. The leather creaked beneath our combined weights, the smooth material cool against my still warm skin.

“Just a few minutes ago.”

Marshall fingered loose the knot on my towel and tossed it onto the floor, and in the same motion smoothed his hand up my back to gently press between my shoulder blades.

I went down onto his lap like he wanted, letting him manhandle me around until my cock was notched safely between his thighs.

He was still dressed for work, expensive slacks that rubbed against my shaft with more texture than his hand but less than his leather gloves.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against a space on the couch beside his thigh.

“In this moment or…?”

“All of them,” I answered.

Marshall hummed, pleased. “I’m glad you’re here, Silas. I’m so very glad I get to come home from work to this.”

He drew slow and lazy circles across my ass and the backs of my thighs, fingers teasing my crack and my balls but never going through with the kind of touches I wanted the most from him. Groaning, my hips searched for some sort of friction, and above me, Marshall let out a low laugh.

“That’s perfect, sweetheart. That’s exactly what I want from you tonight.”

“What do you want, Sir?”

“I want you to use my body to get yourself off while I spank you.” He kneaded the sensitive spot where my ass met my thigh. “And I’m going to turn this ass purple while you do it.”

“Yes, please.” The consent left my mouth like a prayer. “Yes, please, Sir.”

Marshall crossed his legs at the ankles, tightening the grip his legs had around my cock, and he cursed under his breath.

“You’re already so fucking thick and hard, Silas. Are you going to make a mess of me?”

Before I could answer, he delivered the first strike against the back of my thigh.

It was reflex to push against the couch and try to get away, but his muscles held fast around my erection, and he made quick work of pinning both of my wrists together at the small of my back.

Digging his elbow into my spine, Marshall spanked me a second time, a third, a fourth, and then the pain began to bloom into that perfect kind of pleasure that came from aching so acutely for another person.

I counted each impact in my head and at twenty, I groaned and gave in, thrusting my cock between his thighs.

Marshall growled as I began to move, fingers gripping tighter around my wrist and muscles flexing to constrict my cock.

He spanked me again, again, again, and my lashes fluttered.

I moaned. I sighed. And all the while I thrust against his lap, the tip of my cock kissing the now hot leather beneath his legs.

Getting off like this was harder than I’d expected. It was one thing to chase after something that felt good, another to see it through when the only thing I wanted to do was close my eyes and give myself over to Marshall’s whims entirely.

“Don’t stop now,” he warned, landing a particularly hard strike against both my ass cheeks. The impact of his hand rattled down to my balls and I cried out, fucking into the crease of his thighs again.

The pain had turned into pleasure and my awareness of the instructions he’d given me had that pleasuring careening quickly back toward pain.

Each time his hand connected with my ass, my body yearned to be free of his torture.

The arousal coursing through my cock reminded me there was only one way out, so instead of focusing on the tingling agony every time he hit me, I redirected my attention to my cock.

It was hard to move, with Marshall holding me down so efficiently, but I managed to set a pace that catapulted me right toward the edge of an orgasm.

Marshall hadn’t let up, and I cursed the day his stamina ever began to falter.

I loved the way he played with me, the way he fucked me like it was the first and last and only time we’d ever get to be together.

Marshall did nothing in half-measures, and as a result, neither did I.

The orgasm was close, but I wanted it to be bigger, I wanted the bruises on my ass to last longer.

I wanted more and everything. As if he could somehow sense my delay—and I was certain he could—Marshall spanked me exceedingly hard on my thighs and down even lower toward my knees.

“I didn’t tell you to play games,” he bit out, and my whole body trembled. “I told you to come.”

“Yes, Sir,” I confirmed, thrusting three more times into the tight grip of his thighs before shooting jets of cum against the cushions of his couch and the soft weave of his slacks.

I came with a gasping cry, my body jerking every which way his bondage would allow.

Marshall landed one more slap against my ass, then went still while I rode out the waves of my orgasm on his lap.

Maybe I blacked out, but I came to in the fetal position, tucked against Marshall’s chest with his arms wrapped around my shoulders. His fingers drew gentle lines down the outside of my arms, and I moaned happily against him.

“You made a mess of my pants,” he murmured against the top of my head.

I smiled into his skin. “You’re welcome, Sir.”

Marshall kissed my hair. “Do you need another shower? What are you and Lincoln up to tonight?”

Sitting upright in his lap, I rubbed my eyes. “It is Friday, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Marshall helped me to my feet and then he walked us both into the bedroom. I followed him into the closet and turned my back toward his full-length mirror, eyes going wide at the sight of my backside.

“I hope whatever our plans are don’t involve sitting.”

Marshall had made a galaxy out of my ass and legs, a splattering of purple and blue and pink decorating me solidly from the middle of my thighs to the top of my ass cheeks.

It was only going to get darker as the days went on, and I hated to think how uncomfortable it would be to go to work on Monday and sit down for eight straight hours.

“I hope they do,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it into the hamper.

He changed into jeans and a black V-neck tee, lingering while I managed to ease my way into a pair of jeans and one of his old college t-shirts.

Marshall always told me he liked the way I looked in them, and if my ass was going to be miserable, at least my top half was going to be comfortable.

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he took a quick swat against my backside. “I told you months ago I don’t abide brats, Silas. ”

I yelped and jumped, landing right in his arms. He wrapped himself around me and slanted our mouths together, licking past my lips with a low, rumbling groan.

“Did you cry in my office?” he asked.

I reached up and pressed my fingertips against the tender skin just below my eyes. “Did I?”

“Tastes like it.”

He licked my cheeks, rutting against me and pressing his own ignored hard-on against my hip.

“I think you did.”

Tipping my head back, I gave him my mouth again, groaning as he returned to kiss me. He walked me backward out of the closet, stopping only inches away from the bed. He gave me a small shove to put space between us, eyes twinkling when I blinked him into focus.

“I’m going to be late if I don’t get out of here,” he said, checking his watch.

“Can’t have that,” I teased.

Marshall shot me a warning look, and I raised my hands in surrender.

“So, what’s your plan?”

“I’m heading over to Lincoln’s new apartment and nothing after that.”

“Does he want to go to Rapture?”

“He always wants to go to Rapture,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“If you head over there and want company later, text me and I’ll come by after dinner. If you don’t want company, that’s also fine.”

I smiled, heading after Marshall into the living room. I turned off the lights as we stepped into the hallway, and I stayed a few paces back to admire the broad swell of his shoulders as he walked ahead of me.

“I always enjoy your company,” I told him .

“Same, but time with your best friend is important,” he said, not for the first time.

“I promise I’ll let you know.”

We sat down together on the couch and put on shoes and socks, then gathered up our keys from the side table beside the front door. Marshall kissed me again, hard and thorough, before saying goodbye and heading to Cunningham’s to meet his brothers for their weekly dinner.

I plugged Lincoln’s new address into my GPS and drove to his side of town.

He’d given me a spare key the day after we moved him in, so I buzzed in the lobby as a courtesy, then made my way up the stairs to his second-floor studio.

The door was unlocked—very like him—when I arrived.

He was half dressed, leather pants and unlaced leather boots, but as I opened the door, his back was to me.

He had his cell phone in hand, arm limp at his side, and as I stepped into his apartment, Lincoln turned to face me with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“Hey, Silas,” he greeted me like everything was normal, like his tears were a figment of my imagination.

I opened my arms, and he walked right into them, pressing his snotty face against my shoulder and sniffling loudly into Marshall’s shirt.

“Lincoln?” I asked, tentatively stroking my fingers through his freshly styled hair. “What on earth is going on?”

Silas and Marshall's story may end here, but this is far from the last you'll see of them.

Lincoln's up next, ready for his HEA in an opposites attract romance called Burden of Proof.

It features two versatile main characters who can't decide whether they're dominant, submissive, or a little bit of both.