Page 12

T he perfume from the lingerie shop clung to his shirt—cloying, too sweet, like melted flowers and sugar gone sour.

The shopping bags dragged at his arms. Heavy as fuck.

It took a long-ass time getting back from Mayfair.

Thirty-five soul-sucking minutes later, the second bedroom felt too quiet.

Not peaceful—just fucking empty . Like someone had vacuumed out all the heat and static and left Lex floating in the leftovers.

His fingers twitched. Thoughts stuttered. He couldn’t stop hearing Morgan’s voice, stuck on repeat like a broken CD player.

Simon says, louder.

Louder.

Louder.

Lex dug his nails into his palms .

Jesus, he wanted more. He wanted that again—the shaking, the panic, the shine in Ollie’s eyes when he realized they meant it.

Lex was losing his patience, and Morgan was handling Ollie like some goddamn daycare worker.

Morgan untied the sheets, almost as quickly as he tied them. He didn’t talk. Didn’t ask Ollie to do anything yet. Loosened the knot, yanked out the end and fed it backwards through the loop.

But the way Morgan did it—

It was like he didn’t want to touch Ollie at all.

A little strange for someone who went to bed with bruises on their knuckles.

This was taking forever.

Multiple forevers.

I’d like my violent Morgan back, please.

When the last strip slipped free, Morgan stood and wiped his hands against his slacks like Ollie was something he’d spilled. Then he tossed the black-and-white striped bag toward the floor. The impact made Ollie flinch.

“Simon says, put it on,” Morgan said, arms folded over his chest.

Ollie eyed the bag like it had teeth. He pulled it closer, peeked inside—and there it was. The look Lex had been waiting for. Wide-eyed, flushed horror.

And then came the denial.

“I… I can’t. It—it doesn’t even look big enough to fit me!”

“The size should be fine,” Morgan said dryly. “Do it.”

“I…” Ollie pulled his hands from the bag and folded them tight across his chest, like that could hide him .

Morgan left the room.

Lex perked up. “ Excuse you , where the fu—”

But Morgan was already back—with the knife.

“New game,” Morgan said, calm as ever. He pointed the blade at Ollie. “Simon says, tell me why. Would you like to know the rules, or shall we dive right in?”

Lex couldn’t get out his phone fast enough, couldn’t navigate to his camera fast enough. He didn’t even notice Ollie was looking at him —not Morgan—until he was framing the shot.

“Ask for rules, Ollie,” Lex said, peering around the phone to meet his eyes. “Always.”

Ollie nodded—once.

“Verbally.” Morgan’s voice slipped into that dead-calm tone that always made Lex’s stomach flip.

“Rules, please…”

“Excellent. You’re going to take off your clothes. I tell you the pace, you listen. Then you’ll put on whatever is in the bag. I ask questions, you answer. Very little thinking is involved. This shouldn't be too difficult.”

Ollie’s throat clicked when he swallowed. “And if I don’t..?”

“Then I cut off your clothes, and I may forget what’s fabric and what’s skin.”

Lex grinned. Watching the wheels turn in Ollie’s head was more fun than he’d expected. The way he kept darting glances—Morgan, bag, Lex, back to the bag—as if he couldn’t decide whether getting stabbed was really worse than dressing up.

What the hell was there to think about? Morgan was practically being nice.

The shit Lex had circling in his mind was way, way darker .

But Ollie moved. Hesitant fingers undid the first button, then the next.

Morgan nodded. Lowered the knife.

“Simon says slower. I didn’t say you could rush.”

Ollie flushed but obeyed. The shirt came off at a crawl—seven minutes according to Lex’s screen. Seven minutes of dead air and trembling hands.

“Simon says, tell me why you’re bruised.”

A tear slid down Ollie’s cheek. “I—I don’t know. I didn’t—”

“Not an answer. Again.”

“Because—” Another look at Lex, this one more pleading than searching. Lex didn’t blink. Didn’t offer shit. Let Ollie figure it out.

“Because I didn’t beg loud enough? Is that it?”

Morgan sat on the very edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know. Is it?”

“Yes..? I’m—I’m sorry, I’m really not sure.”

“It’s not. Keep going.”

Ten minutes later, the shorts were off. Then the boxers. Ollie looked like a toddler trying not to be seen—one hand over his pathetic, flaccid dick, knees practically clamped to his throat.

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?” Morgan asked, tapping the knife against his hand.

Inch by inch, Ollie pulled on the panties. He had to wriggle. They did fit, somehow. The lace pinched his hips and made the bruises look deeper. Red and purple blooming through the sheer pink.

How the fuck did Morgan know his size? Dead-on, too. Was that just skill? Or practice ?

Skill was one thing. Fine.

But practice?

That pissed him off.

Honestly, this wasn’t even that good.

Not the dramatic kind of surrender that got under Lex’s skin—just pathetic, nose-running obedience. The high from last night fizzled around the edges.

He was bored.

Already.

That was the worst part.

Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe Ollie’s crying face was the wrong kind of ugly. Or maybe Morgan wasn’t in the right mood.

Lex bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying not to yell at Ollie to move faster.

Where was the screaming? The begging?

Why the hell did this feel like a chore ?

“He’s already wearing them,” Lex muttered, adjusting the frame. “Now what.”

Morgan didn’t look. Didn’t blink. Just held up a hand. “Stop.”

Just that. And Lex felt it like a slap .

“Are you—are you fucking kidding me?”

Morgan’s eyes flicked toward him, dull as stone. “Don’t start.”

That tone dug under Lex’s skin and curled there—cold, annoying, thrilling. Impossible to argue with.

Morgan cracked his neck. He glanced up at the ceiling for a second before looking back down to Ollie. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Uncomfortable. I’d like—”

“Simon didn’t say. Take them off, and put them back on.”

Ollie’s shoulders shook, the tears falling faster down his face, dripping off his chin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words crashing together. “I forgot. I—”

“Do it.”

Now shit was starting to get good.

Ollie was way faster the second time around.

Less than thirty seconds to take off the panties and put them right back on.

Lex was surprised the fabric didn’t rip.

“Simon says,” Morgan started. “Tell me who bought that for you.”

Ollie pulled the bra from the bag, voice so soft it barely stuck. “You?”

Morgan tilted his head. “Why is everything a question.”

Switching hands, the knife moved like a metronome. Ollie fumbled.

“Y—you. You. Definitely you.”

“Wrong.”

Lex grinned. “Simon says, tell me you like it.”

The look Morgan shot him—all narrowed eyes and pursed lips—was enough to know he’d said the wrong thing, at the wrong time.

“I—I like it. I like it, I—”

“Simon says, shut up ,” Morgan snapped. Still staring at Lex.

Lex looked back to the screen.

Whatever. Let Morgan be pissed. Keeping Ollie was his idea, and he should be allowed to have fun too .

“Simon says, tell me why you deserve this,” Morgan murmured, waving the knife toward the bra. “And no more stuttering. It’s irritating.”

Ollie choked on a sob, tried to swallow it. “Maybe because I was at the wrong place, at the wrong time,” he said. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t .”

Morgan hummed. “Fair assessment. I’ll let it slide.”

Where the hell did my Morgan go?

Lex clicked stop on the recording, pocketing his phone.

“Put him away,” Morgan said. He slid the knife into the case. Rubbed the back of his neck. “I have work to do.”

Lex flopped onto the bed hard enough to bounce. The mattress groaned beneath him like it might snap—but he didn’t give a shit.

God, if the frame broke, it would’ve at least been something interesting .

“What was that , Morgan?” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It put me to fucking sleep.”

Morgan didn’t even look up. Just tapped the trackpad on his laptop, the glow of the screen sharp against the dark. “There are things you need to learn. Tonight was not for us, and I should have made that clear from the beginning.”

“Felt like a punishment.”

“It wasn’t. ”

Morgan’s fingers moved again. Tap, pause, tap. No doubt trying to draft another work email.

It was almost 10:00P.M.

Take a break already.

Lex sat up straighter. “No, but—you saw him, right? That was nothing . He looked like a wet sock with trauma.”

“ Lex .”

“I’m serious. I could’ve made it better. If you just— if you back the hell off, I know I could—”

Morgan tapped the enter key. Hard. “Keeping something is more complicated than killing someone. There’s additional steps involved.

He needs to know there are rules, and that rules have consequences.

If you don’t establish a line of dominance from the start, things are more likely to get out of hand later down the road. ”

Rolling his eyes, Lex sagged into the pillows. “But didn’t you say, and I quote, rules bore me to tears ?”

Morgan finally glanced over.

“Why do you think the only person I own is you, Lex?”

That was enough to piss him off.

Lex scoffed, propping himself up on an elbow. “ I’m doing the next game. Not you.”

Morgan didn’t reply. Just reached out and closed the laptop.

Lex watched Morgan—Morgan watching him— chest still half-buzzing with leftover adrenaline and caffeine and frustration. He wasn’t done. Not really. He wanted to keep going—wanted to poke and prod and push until Morgan cracked the way he was supposed to .

“You’re not even gonna say anything?” Lex snapped, sitting up again. “Gonna pretend that wasn’t a complete waste of time? Like you didn’t see how fast he gave in? Who fucking folds after thirty minutes and a bra ?”

Morgan moved the laptop to the side and leaned back against the headboard. He opened one arm and waited.

“I’m not a goddamn kid,” Lex mumbled after a moment.

But he couldn’t resist. Never could.

Lex shimmied down the pillows, twisting until his cheek was pressed to Morgan’s shoulder, the warmth of it sinking into him like a drug.

He kept talking.

“He’s not even the right kind of scared. He rolls over and plays dead. Like some fucking opossum. That’s what I picked out.”

Morgan’s hand landed on the back of his head. No pressure. Just contact.

Lex exhaled, jaw tight. “That was… it was boring , Morgan. I hated it.”

Morgan’s thumb moved. Barely. Just enough to stroke along the edge of Lex’s temple, smoothing back a piece of damp hair.

“I mean it,” Lex continued, even though sleep was clawing at his eyes. “I want to do the next one. All of it . The entire Simon Says. You can’t interrupt.”

Morgan didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

Because his hand never left. Because Lex was already curling tighter into him, swallowing a yawn he didn’t want to admit was there .

Breaking Ollie was fun. A thrill. A fix.

But this— right here, right now —was something else entirely.

This was happiness .

And Lex would take it any way he could get it.