Center of Attention

by R. J. Moray

  Contents

  Also by Robin Moray

  About

  Day Zero: Sunday

  Day One: Monday

  Day Two: Tuesday

  Day Three: Wednesday

  Day Four: Thursday

  Day Five: Friday

  Day Six: Saturday

  About the Author

  CENTER OF ATTENTION

  His Boy Next Door 35

  By R.J. Moray

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright ©2019 Robin Moray

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First Electronic Edition

  Also by Robin Moray

  (Up-to-date listing at robinmoray.com)

  Bonded to the Alpha series

  Bonded to the Alpha

  Loyal

  Claimed

  Mated

  Mallory Witches series

  Something Wicked

  The Omega Colony series

  Changed: Mated to the Alien Alpha

  As R.J. Moray

  Novellas

  Finding Elliott

  Serials

  His Boy Next Door

  (Channon Beaumont series)

  Season One

  Season Two

  Season Three

  A Collar For His Brat

  (Ewan McKinney series)

  About His Boy Next Door 35 : Center of Attention

  What better way to celebrate Jack's recovery than for Channon to spend a week in submissive servitude? Jack aches to show his boy his place, and Channon wants nothing more than to be put into it. But as the days wear on, they find that their fantasies come with unexpected consequences. Some things remain certain, however—Jack loves his boy and knows exactly how to overwhelm him in the right way. He just might need the help of a few trusted friends to do it.

  This book is episode 35 in an ongoing serial, and contains acts of an adult and sexual nature. Read at your own risk.

  Please note that this episode features sex with multiple partners. If that's not your cup of tea, turn back now.

  Day Zero: Sunday

  “Before we do this,” Jack said, clasping Channon’s hand between his palms, “we have to go over the ground rules.”

  Channon nodded, flexing his fingers against Jack’s wrist. “Okay.” He did his best to sound confident instead of nervous. They were really doing this. It felt unreal.

  They’d been talking about it for weeks, coming back to it again and again as Jack recovered from the lingering effects of the accident. They’d had to take it easy for so long, both in the bedroom and out of it, and fantasizing over this particular play scenario had made up the bulk of their kink time. Now it was nearly Christmas. Jack was almost completely headache-free, with the doctor’s permission to resume normal activities. (In Channon’s opinion? Best Christmas present ever.)

  Jack still hadn’t gone back to work full-time, and Channon had taken the week off because the CEO had told him to. And now? “Five days,” Jack said, running his thumbs along the edge of Channon’s palm and down to stroke his wrist. “Starting tomorrow. I get to do whatever I want with you.”

  Channon grinned. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Tomorrow morning, I’m going to put your collar on you. What happens next?”

  Channon licked his lip, excitement kicking his heart rate up a notch. “I belong to you.”

  “You already belong to me,” Jack reminded him, pinching Channon’s wrist.

  “When you put the collar on me tomorrow,” Channon corrected himself, “I’m your property. I’m your slave.”

  “That’s right. And what does that mean?”

  “Everything I do is to please you. And when I’m not pleasing you, I’m nothing. Just furniture.”

  Jack smiled, something small and private between them. “That’s right. How do you feel about that?”

  It was a complicated thing to consider. It made Channon light-headed, almost like he might faint. Jack was going to ignore him, a lot. He was going to give Channon orders and not make eye contact, and Channon was going to just bear it because he knew Jack wasn’t really ignoring him. In reality, Jack would be thinking of him the whole time. It was just for fun, and Channon could handle fun.

  Jack was also going to use Channon like his personal fucktoy, and that was real. For the next week, Channon was going to be furniture and a fucktoy and a slave, and the combination roiled in him like a gutful of eels, wonderful, terrifying, and something he desperately wanted to try.

  “I’m nervous,” he admitted. “But I want to.”

  “Good.” Jack squeezed Channon’s hand, his fingers warm and strong. “Now. We’ve talked about the rules. Tell me what they are so I know you understand.”

  Channon sat up a little straighter. “I get up at six. I do the morning tasks on the list on the fridge. If you give me an order, I stop whatever I’m doing to do it. When I don’t have a task, I wait for you to give me something new. If you leave the room, I follow you.”

  “Except to the bathroom,” Jack added, smirking.

  Channon wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. Then I wait outside.”

  “That’s good.” Jack lifted Channon’s other hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the fingertips in a dry kiss. “What happens if you get something wrong?”

  Channon’s guts did something slithery. “I’ll be disciplined, but you won’t be mad at me.”

  “I won’t,” Jack confirmed. “I will be delighted to have the chance to discipline you. How?”

  “Either you’ll swat me for it when it happens,” Channon said, a little breathless, “or you’ll save it up for, um, evening discipline.”

  “You’re going to get six with the cane, no matter how perfect you are. Because?”

  “Because I’m yours, and you can do whatever you want with me,” Channon said, his chest tightening at the thought. Anything Jack wanted. Anything on the list.

  “After you’ve had your evening discipline,” Jack said calmly, “I’m going to do just that. Whatever I want. Even if what I want is to torture you, just to hear the sounds you make.”

  Channon nodded, too excited to trust his voice.

  Jack smiled. “What about your orgasms?”

  “I’m allowed to come,” Channon managed, swallowing his excitement. “I can’t make myself without permission, but I don’t need permission to come.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because you don’t care if I do or not,” Channon said, that lightheadedness coming over him again, a high, bright, eager feeling. “Because I’m just a, a hole for you to fuck.”

  His face burned to say it, and Jack leaned in to kiss his cheek, so tender it made his heart ache. “Yeah. That’s right. How does that feel?”

  “I want it,” Channon admitted, ashamed of wanting it but hungry for this in a way he couldn’t possibly explain. “Sir, I want that.”

  “Fuckholes don’t get to say no, Channon,�
� Jack told him—soft, as if he were whispering love in Channon’s ear. Which Channon supposed he was, in a way. “Fuckholes do what they’re told, the moment they’re told, and don’t complain. So I want you to be very good all day. But after evening discipline you’re allowed to protest all you want. I might ignore it. I might make you beg me to stop. But I’m not going to stop, am I?”

  “No, Sir,” Channon said, his neck hot now, his chest flushed and warm. “Not unless I give you a color.”

  “Yellow to take a break, red to stop for the night. Or to stop completely. We’ll talk about it if it happens. Okay?”

  Channon nodded. There was no way he’d do it. He’d waited too long for this. He wasn’t about to ruin it now.

  “Look at me, sweetheart.” Channon looked up. Jack pinched his chin, holding him still as he met Channon’s eye with a firm and unwavering look. “If you need to, you will give me a color.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Channon promised. “I will.”

  “It’s not a competition,” Jack insisted. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I won’t be disappointed in you.”

  No, but Channon knew Jack would be disappointed in himself, and Channon didn’t want that. If he could bear it, he’d hold out, whatever it was, as long as he could.

  Still. “If I need to stop, I’ll give you a color. Sir, I promise.”

  “Good boy.” Jack kissed him then, an almost-chaste brush of his mouth. “I’ve got something special planned for Friday.” Jack ruffled his hair, smiling at him with all the fondness in the world. “So. You in?”

  “Yes,” Channon said, absolutely sure.

  “Did you want to do anything tonight, to take advantage of your freedom while you still have it?” When Channon hesitated, Jack tugged his hair. “Anything at all.”

  “Ewan and Tig are going to see Assassin’s Creed,” Channon said slowly.

  Jack’s eyebrows went up. “You wanna go?”

  “Can we?” Channon asked. “I thought it could be fun, now you can go out and stuff.”

  “You thought I’d enjoy a movie of a video game I never played, “Jack said with clear amusement.

  “I thought you’d like Michael Fassbender in leather,” Channon clarified.

  It made Jack grin. “You’re not wrong about that. Okay, let the boys know. We can grab burgers after.”

  This was a treat, and Channon knew it. He’d earn every fry this week, one way or another. It wouldn’t be painless, or easy.

  He couldn’t wait.

  Day One: Monday

  An unfamiliar alarm dragged Channon out of sleep. He lay face down for a moment, blinking himself slowly into consciousness. Equally slowly, he remembered what today was.

  Monday. The first day of his slavery.

  The thought of it was intoxicating. They’d talked about it so much and so often he had been practically able to taste it in the back of his mouth. It had been exciting when it was just a fantasy, and now that it was happening, his body tingled at the thought of what Jack was going to do to him.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” Jack’s voice was rough with sleep, and it zinged down Channon’s nerves like a kiss. “How are you doing?”

  Channon took a deep breath and let it go slowly. “I’m good, Sir. I’m ready.”

  “Mmm. Kiss me first.”

  Channon pushed himself up on his elbows. Jack was soft in the mornings, his hair mussed on the pillow. He’d shaved his beard last week, but now his chin was thick with two days’ worth of stubble, dark and sharp. He watched Channon with lazy half-lidded eyes, his mouth curved in a hint of a smile.

  Channon kissed him. He was warm and soft, his mouth a haven. His Sir, the most important man in the world.

  When he pulled away, Jack’s smile had spread with satisfaction. “That’s better. Still good?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Channon said, certainty settling into his bones.

  “Off you go, then.”

  Jack had told him last night, “First thing? Clean up. Thoroughly. Come back to me naked and ready for use, and bring me your phone and your collar.”

  Channon knew what Jack wanted, and what Jack meant by ‘ready for use’.

  He ended up bent over the sink, fingers stuffed in his ass. He had to look his reflection in the eye, confronted by the reality of this. Here he was, nineteen years old, bent over a rich guy’s sink, fingering himself slick with lube so his sugar daddy could fuck him at the drop of a hat.

  Daddy. It made him clench up around his fingers, something fluttering low in his belly. The Channon in the mirror bit his lip, his face flushed with blood to match the heat burning in his cheeks. Sometimes…

  But not this time, he thought as he slicked himself up. That whole side of Jack was not what they were doing this week. This week, Jack was going to be cold, merciless, demanding. Definitely not Daddy. Not Sir, even. Master.

  And that made Channon nothing, or just about. He washed his hands and made himself meet his reflection’s eyes. A slave. That’s what he was, now. That’s what Jack was going to make him. That, he told himself, was what he wanted.

  Why was that both so attractive and so nerve-racking?

  He found Jack sitting up with his legs slung over the side of the bed, delightfully rumpled and lazy and naked.

  Jack smiled, just a little. “On your knees.”

  The floor was covered with a thick rug, for which Channon was grateful. He knelt on it and offered up his phone and collar. Jack took the phone and put it in the bedside drawer. Then he took the collar in one hand and tipped Channon’s chin up with the other.

  “Hey, sweetheart. You ready?” Channon nodded. Jack leaned down to grant him a slow, lingering kiss. “Don’t forget that I love you,” he murmured. “This is supposed to be fun, so if you stop having fun, you have to let me know.”

  “I know, Sir,” Channon said, and he bowed his head.

  The collar went on, the weight of it comforting now. Channon kept his head down. Jack’s hand slid over his skull, fingers carding through his hair. Then those fingers came under to catch Channon’s chin and force his head up.

  “This is your slave collar,” Jack said in a quiet, dangerous tone. “You’ll wear it all day, every day, until Friday. It’s the only thing you’re allowed to wear inside the house. Unless I put you in panties,” he added with a smirk.

  Channon opened his mouth to say, “Yes, Sir,” but Jack pressed his fingertips to Channon’s lips, a firm warning.

  “You don’t have permission to speak. What do you do if you want to speak to me?”

  For a moment, Channon’s mind went blank, but then he remembered—he ducked his head to press a kiss to the top of Jack’s foot.

  “That’s right.” Jack caught him by the hair and hauled him up to his knees. “You don’t have permission to speak, or eat, or use the furniture, or kneel except when I tell you to. You have no privileges. You have to earn them.” His expression was deathly serious, eyes hard, mouth cruel. He tugged Channon’s head into his lap, pushing him down. Channon was too surprised to do anything at first, Jack’s already firm cock pressing against his cheek. He opened his mouth, licking along Jack’s length. Usually Jack would say something like, “Worship me,” but now, without direction, Channon had to guess what Jack wanted.

  Worship was familiar. He worshipped with his mouth, savoring the taste of Jack’s skin, the warm early-morning scent of him. Jack didn’t tell him to stop so he continued licking and kissing, mouthing at the head of Jack’s cock but not daring to take him in or suck him without permission.

  It didn’t take long. Jack pulled him back, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, and said, “Open up.” Channon parted his lips. Jack angled himself into Channon’s mouth and pushed Channon down on him. “Suck.”

  Channon sucked, taking Jack into the back of his throat. God, how good it felt to have him there, the taut glory of Jack’s skin over flesh grown rigid in his mouth. Every time Jack let him do this, Channon felt it was a gift, a privilege. To be allowe
d to give Jack pleasure, to feel him thicken, to taste his arousal and inhale the deeply masculine morning scent of him. Would Jack come in him now? Would Channon be allowed to swallow?

  But Jack pushed him away, not rough but firm. “That’s enough.”

  He was coldly dispassionate, as if unaffected by Channon’s attentions. Channon didn’t dare to look up at him and kept his eyes on the glistening length of Jack’s cock, thick and dark and no longer for him to touch.

  “You have chores. Get on with them.”

  Channon pressed his lips together, holding in the “Yes, Sir,” on his tongue. Jack flicked his fingers dismissively, and Channon backed up onto his feet, conscious of the weight of his collar and the pulse throbbing under his skin.

  Jack’s coldness was something Channon both dreaded and desired. It made his skin quiver, his balls tighten, and his cock throb. He throbbed a little now, padding naked down the stairs. He could still feel Jack in his throat. His mouth tasted of toothpaste, but his nose was filled with the scent of Jack’s skin, Jack’s sweat, the richness of his crotch. Channon shuddered, imagining what Jack might do with him later, and turned to the list on the fridge.

  It was brief. One, prepare breakfast. Two, lay out Master’s clothes. Three, clean the kitchen. Four, await Master’s pleasure.

  Breakfast, Channon had been told, should be an egg white omelet with spinach and mushrooms, whole-wheat toast on the side, a serving of non-dairy spread in a small dish, a black coffee with milk in a jug—all of it laid out with flatware and a napkin.

  Channon took a deep breath. He knew what he was doing. He could make the perfect breakfast. He’d done all of this before, he just had to do it all at once.

  He put it together as best he could. With his phone upstairs in Jack’s drawer, he had to check the time on the microwave, which he’d never done before, and then had to check again because he was nervous. How long had he been out of the bedroom? Was Jack up yet? Would he be annoyed if his breakfast wasn’t ready when he came down?