by Kelly Fox
The sheet of perfectly coiffed locs sways left and right with his silent head shake. “Not all the way, no.”
“But enough to know for sure that you’re… bi?”
Another shake of his head. “Gay.”
“When did you… when did you?” I ask, doing my best Ross Gellar impersonation.
“Figure it out? I’ve always known.”
His expression is calm and accepting as he sets aside the shirt and pulls me to him. Wrapping his long arms around me, he kisses my forehead, then my lips, long and deep. He leans back and smiles down at me with the wattage of a supernova, and his excitement fires me up… until I feel the bite of my body weight pushing into my bound arms as the chair is tipped backward over the tub. No, not again.
Fuck, I’m Lot’s wife. Frozen solid.
“Jake?”
God. Fucking. Shit. Fuck. I hate this.
I am not in Paris, I remind myself, angry and frustrated. I am standing in my closet with a trusted friend who is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man, and it’s as if I’ve gazed into the eyes of Medusa herself. I’m wearing a towel, and the feeling of vulnerability is overwhelming me. It doesn’t matter that I know he’s safe—I know he’s safe. It’s my fucking stupid head that won’t let me accept it.
I blink back to the present and see his worried eyes. They dart back to the closet, appearing to land on the harness. He looks between me and the harness, and something like understanding lights up his eyes.
God, no.
My throat unsticks, painfully. I sound breathy and panicked as I beg, “Please don’t tie me up.”
He moves back, his expression mildly horrified as he holds up his hands. “I would never do that with you in this state, and I don’t think that’s what you need.”
He’s given me space, but his hands drift close, wanting to comfort, wanting to help as his eyes hold concern and kindness.
My heart feels like waves of the ocean, crashing against my chest. “What do I need?” Please tell me. Please. I tip my head forward, waiting.
Jean-Pierre squares his shoulders and faces me, and I see a certainty that loosens my bones and calms the frantic darting of my eyes, always looking for danger in the periphery. My gaze finally settles on his, and his words are measured, deep and soothing. “You need to step aside from the controls and let your mind rest. Let it stop, if only for a few moments.”
My hitching breaths smooth out. Within seconds the roaring in my ears quiets, and my heart slows down. More, please.
“Jake? Do you trust me?”
I murmur a soft, raspy “Yes.”
“I want you to know that you are in charge and that you can say no at any time. Do you trust me?”
I swallow a few times. “Okay…?”
“I need you to say yes, Jake.”
The answer is immediate. “Yes.” Please.
With that, he nods to himself, then stands tall and peers down on me with a look of… possession. Authority. Before I can process it, the words are out of his mouth, slow and weighty.
“Jake… kneel.”
My only thought, my only coherent thought is He knows, oh, thank god he knows. So immediate is the relief that I nearly collapse onto the floor. The command sends joy soaring through my body, and tears hit the ground as my knees do.
Jean-Pierre
Oh, my beautiful dark cloud.
It’s like he knows the secret parts of me that want so much to see the light.
I give the command to kneel and relief washes over his face, and the atmosphere sharpens between us. Rather than dropping artlessly to the ground, he softly controls his descent, silently coming to rest on his knees, demonstrating respect and… surrender. The impact of the gesture races and burns through my body like lightning; confusion, so long held in my heart, falls away. To see him on his knees, clarity.
Showing me his place tells me mine.
I hang my jacket and hand him my dress shirt and tie. He takes them and automatically folds these items with crisp lines and sets them aside. He sits back on his heels and looks up at me. Expectant. Adoring. My dick twitches at his searching look, and my head spins.
“Stand.”
He rises like ether and stands before me, his hands clasped behind him, his head bowed. He is… stunning.
“Do you like this, me telling you what you to do?”
Anxiety bleeds from him as though I’ve opened an artery. His voice soft, he purrs, “Oui.”
My hands shake with desire. Oh, this sweet, sweet man has no idea how precious he is to me already. Such faith, such willingness from mon petit homme. I stay in English, wanting no misunderstanding. “I do, too. Tonight, we keep it simple, and you are at choice always. Say yes if you understand.”
His eyes fill, and he nods.
“I’m going to need your words.”
“Y-yes, I understand. Simple, my choice.”
“Good. Why does that make you emotional?”
“I didn’t… I didn’t know that this is what I needed.”
“I didn’t, either,” I admit.
I pull him into my arms, warmed by the feeling of his skin on my skin. I place kisses on his bowed head, down his neck, across his shoulders. “If you don’t mind, I think that we are going to miss the dinner.”
He nods his head and gently places his forehead on my chest. We stand there in silence, and his tears fall between us, soft drops on the carpet. When he is settled, I find a box of tissues and hand him a few. He wipes his eyes and blows noisily into the tissue, looking sheepish.
“Better?” I ask, stroking his cheek.
He looks up with a watery smile. “Better.”
Still standing in the closet, I finger the gray handkerchief. “I’m guessing that you no longer enjoy bondage.”
He focuses on the floor and shakes his head. “Just… can’t do any of it now.”
“But you seem willing to let me bind you with my words… is that correct?”
His inhale is sharp, and he wobbles a bit on his feet. “Not all of your words.”
I wrap my arms loosely around his waist. “No, of course not. You only ever need to give me what you can, what is healthy for you to give.”
His chin comes up again, and his eyes search mine. “Even if it’s not very much?”
“Especially if it’s not very much. It makes what you do give me even more precious.”
He wraps his arms around my waist, squeezing himself to me as if making sure that I am real. I let my arms continue to circle him gently, keeping him close and letting him breathe.
“Do you want to kiss?” I ask, happy if all we can do is stand here and hug.
He nods, and I wait for the word. “Yes.”
I lend command to my posture and whisper into his hair, “Jake, give me your mouth.”
He puts his arms around my neck, pulling me into a sweet kiss. The feel of this man’s lips on mine nearly causes my knees to buckle, and suddenly I want more, so much more. I drag my lips to his neck and suck on the soft skin, reveling in the taste and smell of him.
“Mon ange” falls from his lips on a gasp, and my eyes well with emotion. He’s calling me his angel, and my guardian heart loves the sound of that. I stroke his concerned face, smoothing the little wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Le corbeau et l’ange. The raven and the angel. I love it. And I love what we are doing, mon corbeau. Thank you for what you’ve given me.”
He bows his head, red creeping up into his cheeks.
“Continue.”
Immediately, his arms snake around me as I pull him into a delicious hug. We kiss more passionately than I thought possible, more passionately than I’ve ever kissed a woman, and I need more. So much more. But I am willing to wait.
My thoughts are interrupted by Jake’s quiet request. “May I…? I wish to kneel again.”
He needs a moment, and that takes precedence. “Of course, we can go as slow as you—”
The words die on my tongue as he goes down again, and
his fingers reach my belt, working it open, unzipping me too quickly for my brain to catch up. Reaching into my boxer briefs, he strokes my length, and my moan sounds pornographic.
“Jake!”
He pulls back, his eyes large. “Is that not good for you? Do you not want me on my knees?” His face is flushed and expectant; frankly, he looks pleased with himself. I’m well-read on the concept of power exchange, but I’m not entirely sure of the protocol here, and I don’t want to take adva— I lose my train of thought as his tongue edges my foreskin, then dips teasingly into the slit.
Brat.
He seems to be telling me exactly what he needs, and I find that I very much want to give it to him. So I answer his question. “It is very good. You may continue.”
He smiles and slowly sucks my entire length into his mouth, making soft, whimpering noises. Happy sounds from my dark cloud. He pulls back, playing with the crown, rubbing it against his shiny, red lips. He latches on again, pulling pleasure and joy and possession from me.
I am lost in thought and pleasure as he swallows me down to the root. I grab the bifold doors and let him pull as much as he wants, giving in to the sucking pleasure of the back of his throat, letting him take air as he needs it, then again letting him fuck me with that beautiful mouth of his. The reddish lips are stretched to their limit, his eyes searching mine for approval, that desire to please unfurling something heavy and dark and wonderful inside of my chest.
My balls tighten painfully, and before I can give warning, my release is stratospheric, and I am rutting into his mouth with no control. Only the gurgling sounds of his throat being filled with my cum brings me back to the present. I pull out quickly, caressing his face.
He’s wrecked and beautiful with my spend dripping down his chin, his eyelashes wet from choking, his lips puffy and abused. This utter debasement, the wetness across his thighs, his towel bunched haphazardly under his hips… it is a gift that I can never repay. He’s come from giving me pleasure, and that makes me horny and hard all over again.
Running my hands through his beautiful brown-black hair, I grasp tightly and pull his head back. His eyes spark with mischief as he opens his lips in a slow, lazy tease. The second there is enough clearance, I plunge my hard length back into his mouth. Three, four punishing thrusts later, another impossible orgasm rips through me. He reacts quickly and greedily gobbles up the second helping, with only a little escaping his talented lips. The hollow-core closet doors retain the indents of my grip.
Tears drip from his eyes as they meet mine, a beseeching look spearing my heart.
“Oh no, did I hurt you?” I ask, dropping to my knees, cupping his face in my overlarge hands.
He blinks a few times and shakes his head, droplets of cum still smeared on his chin. “No. You… twice. I needed you so badly.”
I palm his jaw and turn his gaze upward. “Once we know what we are doing, there will come a day when you will lose track of the number of times I come with you, and you with me.”
His smile is shy as he nods, tiny drops of ejaculate catching the light with the movement. I pull him to me, both of us still kneeling on the floor, and I cradle his beautiful face, lightly licking myself off his chin, marveling at the taste of me on his skin. He inhales as my tongue nears his lips, and I take his mouth in a crushing kiss. I grab handfuls of his tight, taut ass, and he leans in, matching my intensity.
I lean back from the mauling we’re giving one another and look behind us at his bed, and his sweet lips quirk up into a smile. We stand and I walk him to the edge of the mattress, then push him onto the bed and dive back in, kissing and being kissed as though our lives depend on it. His body beneath my body is a revelation, his uncut cock dripping and beautifully hard, the head starting to push past its confines, begging for attention. He spreads his legs so that I fall between his thighs, my hard-on pressing into the bed, so different is our height. He wraps his legs around me, and I plunder his pink mouth with my tongue, lapping up everything that is the essence of Jake.
I need to figure out what to do with this steel rod of an erection, but his needy, plaintive, respectful s’il vous plaît, mon ange every time we stop to gulp for breath is like his own calloused hands palming my cock. I stand and finally shed my trousers and underwear, then reorganize our bodies, straddling his smaller frame so that we can thrust our hard, messy cocks against one another, my first ever frottage. It is fucking heaven. I flatten on top of him, wanting every bit of his skin on mine, pressing my chest into his face as I grind against him while caressing the top of his head.
An orgasm like an atom bomb spins up, making my freshly emptied balls ache with need. I grip his headboard, seeking purchase where I can to rut this beautiful man into his mattress, but a small fluttering below me takes me out of my greedy race to a messy end. I pull back and see that his eyes are blown wide and that he’s… oh, god, he’s hyperventilating.
Horrified, I roll off him and pull him upright on the edge of the mattress, feet on the floor. I bring his limp hands up to his face. “Jake, cup your hands over your nose and mouth and slow your breathing by half, and then half again.”
He responds to the command in my voice, and eventually, I feel his control return to his arms as he pulls his hands together over his face. I lightly press him to me, breathing in and out at a steady pace, giving him a cadence to mimic, feeling for all the world that I’d re-traumatized him with my selfish needs. After several seconds of ragged breathing, his shoulders lose their tension, and his inhalations become less panicked. Within minutes he has melted in my arms, nearly catatonic.
I’ve read about this. I think this is subspace, so I hold him and rock him to sleep, promising to learn what my raven needs.
Chapter Eighteen
Jake
I blink my eyes awake and hit the home button on my phone. I’d slept for two hours. Confused, I realize that I’m being cradled, which doesn’t make any sense, and it takes several more seconds to identify that I’ve woken up in Jean-Pierre’s arms. I wasn’t expecting to wake up to a large cuddler, with a boner the approximate size and shape of Florida nestled between my cheeks.
He shifts in his sleep, and his moans are… fuck yeah. His hand is resting below my belly button and right above my junk, which is… oh, hello, totally on board with the Florida situation in my rear admiral.
He shifts again, hugging me close and smoothing his hand up and down my belly.
“Merde” comes from somewhere about a mile above my head. His words say oh shit, but his hands say fuck yes as they concern themselves with my body, alighting on each surface with a surprisingly delicate touch.
“How are you doing? After the… panic attack you crashed pretty hard. How are you feeling now?”
I check in with myself and note that I feel good, calm. Secure. “I am good right now. You?”
“Worried that I’d hurt you tonight, to be honest.” He sits up and takes me with him, snuggled into his side, then reaches over me and picks up a glass of water from the nightstand. He’s sleepy and a little sloppy when he places it in my hands and nudges me to drink it, so I take a few sips, then put it back.
I turn around and straddle him, entranced by his beautiful lips and the slow-blinking state of a not-quite-awake Jean-Pierre. I press my body into his, letting him feel how hard he’s made me. “You did not hurt me, not even a little.” His shoulders slump in relief. Feeling needy, I ask, “Can I kiss you?”
He responds by groggily pulling me down and enveloping my lower lip in the full softness of his mouth, and we begin kissing like it’s the last day on earth. He surrounds me in warmth, and I kiss him for all I’m worth, hoping it’s enough.
Unfortunately, the moment that I fully understand that Jean-Pierre-Fucking-Sehene is in my bed, naked and holding me, the front door bangs open.
“Jake! Jake? Are you here?” Evie’s voice is edged with panic.
“Jake? I’m coming back there.” Scout’s deeper voice is concerned, protective. “No,
Evelyn. Stay here… No… Fine, but I’m going in first.”
Jean-Pierre opens his eyes a little wider, confused by all of the sudden noise in the condo. I pat his face. “Hey, heads-up. Scout’s coming.” He snorts and pulls my head to his shoulder, laying assuring strokes down my back, still heavily groggy from the midevening nap. I pull the blankets up over our naughty bits and whisper, “Mon ange, Evie et Scout sont ici.”
He sits bolt upright, his eyes going wide. Automatically his arms go around me, and he mumbles, “Je te protégerai.” I’ll protect you. He’s seriously trying to kill me on our first date.
“Jake!” Scout says, throwing open the door to my room. “What the fuu…?” drops from her lips, her expression stunned as she pulls up short. I’ve never laughed at Scout, and it would be rude to start now, so I bite my lip. Surrounded as I am by my lover, I can tell that he is having the same reaction.
“Oh no, what? What is it, Scout?” pleads Evie as she dips under Scout’s towering frame. Taking in the scene, her expression shifts and a giggle slips from her lips as she catches my eyes. Thrusting her fists in the air, she exclaims, “Brother! How awesome are we! High five on hitting number one on your laminated list!”
Literally, she’s walking toward me with her hand out. I lift my arm out from beneath the covers and sheepishly let her land the high five.
Look. She’s done a lot for me. The least I can do is give her this ridiculous (and fuck it, well-deserved) high five.
She pivots from me to Jean-Pierre, still holding her hand out. Carefully, so as not to expose me, he raises his massive paw and lets Evie slap him one, too. Speaking out of the corner of his mouth, he whispers, “C’est pour le moins un peu étrange, non?”
“Oui,” I answer. Yeah, this is, at the very least, a little strange.
Chuckling, he asks, “Evie, mon ami, why do you high-five me? I had no such list.”
My sister turns her full attention to the man wrapped around me, arching that one eyebrow. “Oh, my friend, I think we all know that you’ve had him on a list since the day of the peaches.” Turning to Scout, she raises a flirty shoulder. “The Koenigs have gotten a lot of miles out of those peaches.”