Page 27

F alling apart wasn’t part of Lex’s grand, master plan.

No.

He had shit to do with his life. Especially now.

Sleep was necessary. Long enough to stop shaking. Long enough for Morgan to stop holding him like he was going to break into sixteen thousand pieces.

Ten hours of sleep was fucking overkill.

When he finally managed to wake up, he stayed in bed. Under the covers. Buried there, the way he liked. Scrolling through his phone like it held all the answers.

Looking up shit was such good stress relief.

So was online shopping.

By the time he finally rolled out of bed, the suite didn’t smell like bathwater and sweat anymore. It smelled like brunch. Sausage? Eggs, maybe?

Lex’s stomach lurched.

No food. Alright. Got it. He didn’t need to be told twice .

He pushed last night out of his head—as far as he could.

It happened. It was over. He felt better. That was all that mattered.

The room was too quiet.

Then—

“Good morning,” Morgan said, cup of coffee in hand.

Two feet from the bed.

Like he magically appeared there.

Maybe not—maybe not appeared .

Morgan was probably in the kitchen. Logically, in the kitchen.

“Are you—” Morgan started, and Lex cut him off.

“Did I get a package?”

If Morgan was going to ask if he was alright, Lex would immediately stop being alright. That’s just how shit worked. He needed a distraction.

It was a new day.

And a new day meant new, fun ways to play with Ollie.

Lex took his time redressing Ollie.

Not because he needed to. Because he wanted to.

Because he liked doing it.

The new set was lavender. Soft mesh and satin ribbons, delicate embroidery along the trim, chosen with care from the box he dumped on the bed. Lex could’ve picked the red, the black, the white lace that looked like it had been made to rip .

But no. Lavender.

There was something sweeter about it. Something that just read as Ollie.

Same day delivery? Fucking genius. Whoever had figured it out deserved a Nobel peace prize.

Or at least an award.

Ollie stepped into the panties without protest. Let Lex guide his hips as he tugged them into place.

Lex smoothed the lace across Ollie’s skin with both hands, adjusting the straps on the bralette.

He fixed the garters, fastened each one, and tied the ribbons at Ollie’s back like he was wrapping a present just for himself.

“You’re getting better at this,” Lex murmured, smoothing a wrinkle so it laid flat. “I like when you’re good.”

And Ollie—sweet, compliant little shit—kept his eyes on him. Like he was waiting for approval. For permission to breathe.

That did something to Lex’s chest. Twisted it up in a way he liked. Like a pressure valve slowly opening. He liked that Ollie didn’t ask questions. Liked the way his eyes always went to Lex for answers.

Ollie didn’t look for Morgan.

Lex was the only damn one who mattered in the whole room.

That had to mean something.

He guided Ollie to the center of the suite, hands on the back of his shoulders. “Why don’t we—”

Morgan’s drink hit the wet bar. “No.”

The fuck you mean no?

Morgan wasn’t even part of the conversation. Not where Ollie was concerned. He’d made it clear that just—he didn’t like Ollie. For whatever reason.

But, of course, it was Morgan.

Barge in. Take over like it was owed to him, for god’s sake.

Lex’s fingers twitched. “I don’t think that’s up to you, Morgan .”

Morgan didn’t look at him. “You’re not leading this one. Or any of the next ones.”

He should’ve laughed. Should’ve said, come on, don’t be dramatic. But Lex didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just stood there like something had cracked down the middle of him.

“A—and,” Lex started, wincing when his voice didn’t come out as smooth as he wanted. “And why is that..?”

Morgan glanced over.

“Why do you think, Lex? Go sit down. Record. It keeps you relaxed.”

Lex didn’t protest. But his stomach curled, hot and sour.

Just a few days ago, he was the one giving commands. Now he was the one being handled—redirected like a fucking child.

Like Morgan thought he couldn’t be trusted.

Lex forced a smile. “Alright.”

But it wasn’t fine.

Inside, something screamed.

What the fuck was all of that for? All the time and effort , he’d put into picking out the cage? Into figuring out the best way to get Ollie into it? Into humming that fucking song for days and days so Ollie could get used to it?

All of it. Down the drain. Two seconds flat.

He stood back, quiet, and let Morgan take control. Let him open the case. Let him pull out two objects Lex couldn’t fully see until Morgan kneeled beside Ollie.

One was a knife.

The other was a needle.

“Simon says,” Morgan said, dry as hell, “choose.”

Ollie stiffened. He glanced at Lex again, almost pleading.

Lex couldn’t get himself to play along.

“There’s no right answer. Both suck.”

Ollie’s lips trembled. He looked between the two instruments like he could outthink them.

Like choosing one would make the other disappear.

It wouldn’t.

Lex should have been recording now. He should've been savoring the moment, excited to rewatch it again later.

Was he?

Hell no.

Morgan looked over at him, eyes narrowed. The little mole under his eye crinkled.

Lex knew what that look meant. The, what’s wrong one.

Fuck him. He knew what was wrong.

One goddamn breakdown— one second of weakness— and now it was all back to square one.

Ollie’s voice broke through the thoughts, soft and already full of tears. “Needle. I think.”

The needles were Morgan’s favorite, so he’d earn fucking points somewhere.

God, I do not care.

Lex closed his eyes for a moment. Forced them back open. He watched Morgan push up the edge of the bralette and press two fingers into the soft skin of Ollie’s upper ribs. Marking the spot.

No. This wasn’t going to happen this way.

It wasn’t .

So Lex tried again.

“I mean, come on,” he said lightly, pitching his voice higher, like a tease. “You’re not even gonna let me play? Just one, teeny, tiny game?”

Morgan didn’t respond. He rolled up his sleeves instead, methodical. Unbothered.

Lex’s laugh was too loud. “I picked out the lingerie, you know. Let that count. Give me kudos, or something.”

Still nothing.

Lex leaned a little closer. “Let me pick where the first one goes. Just a little one. Please?”

Morgan wouldn’t even look at him. “Sit down, Lex.”

And that was it.

No amusement. No warmth. No cruel edge to cling to. Just cold dismissal, clean as a blade.

Lex didn’t sit. Not at first. He stayed there, suspended in the hollow space between command and rejection, heart thudding too loud for how still his body was. Then he backed up. Sat down like gravity had finally remembered to do its job.

The needle slid in slowly—just enough to puncture.

Ollie whimpered.

Morgan paused.

“That’s not still,” he said flatly .

Ollie didn’t ask for rules this time, and part of Lex—he knew it was his fault. His mood was affecting how Ollie was acting. He should’ve been more bright, more excited to play a new game! Happy to record like he always was.

But the heat in his cheeks hadn’t faded yet. Neither had the sting in his chest.

Morgan pushed the needle deeper.

The second sound from Ollie sounded less like a whimper or a gasp. Something choked and and high-pitched.

“Slower,” Morgan murmured, and turned the needle just slightly.

Lex didn’t look away. But he didn’t feel that pulse of thrill he usually did, either. He didn’t feel anything. Only the overwhelming urge for this whole mess to be over.

If Morgan was going to treat him like this, and he couldn’t figure out new ways to break Ollie?

London wasn’t worth it. Another city. Another couple days of agony dealing with business meetings.

Really? Now?

Now he wanted to go home.

Somewhere as far away from this shitshow and Noah and Max as possible.

Morgan made ten puncture marks in total. Ten entry points, spaced along Ollie’s ribs like a constellation no one wanted to name. He wiped each one down, brutal and methodical, and stood up.

“Say thank you.”

Ollie hesitated. Then—barely—he whispered, “Thank you.”

Lex’s fingers curled against his leg .

He hated how easily Morgan got obedience. How it looked like nothing.

How it made Lex feel like nothing.

Morgan turned to pack the kit, and Lex finally exhaled. He reached for the phone in his pocket—reflex more than desire—but didn’t even bother turning on the screen.

Then Ollie spat.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it landed right on Morgan’s perfect, polished shoes.

Lex’s spine jolted, tried to crawl out of his body.

The silence that followed felt like lightning right before the crack of thunder.

He expected Morgan to fucking slap Ollie . Or tell Lex to, keep your cat in line. Something.

But Morgan didn’t.

He walked out, came back with the first-aid kit from the second bedroom, and opened it without a word.

Lex knew what was in the kit. Bandages. Tape. Gauze. Longer, thinner needles for stitches. Black thread. Antiseptic.

That was it.

Morgan sorted through the items, moving all of them aside until only the needle and the thread remained.

Lex’s stomach did some weird swish, and he had to keep swallowing or else he’d puke up all of last night’s dinner.

“Morgan…” he said carefully.

But Morgan didn’t even glance his way.

“You don’t want to behave,” Morgan said, more to Ollie than anyone else. “That’s fine. That’s your choice, after all.”

He crouched .

The needle caught the light as Morgan pulled the black thread through the eye—thick enough to tug, soft enough to swell against skin.

Morgan touched Ollie’s mouth like he was brushing crumbs away.

And Lex stopped breathing. His ribs protested, tightening, but he—he couldn’t.

He didn’t move when Morgan pressed the tip of the needle to Ollie’s bottom lip. Didn’t blink when it pierced through the skin, smooth and clean.

Ollie cried out—but it was muffled, barely noise.

Morgan didn’t pause or sigh. Didn’t tell him to stop making noise.