Touch: The Complete Series

by Cara Dee

  I bite back a groan, feeling Master's fingers caressing my hipbones. My eyes shift to Mr. Moore's dick, so close to Rory's ass, sliding between spread cheeks, all lubed up and wet.

  "You know I want to do that to you, too," he whispers in my ear.

  "Fuck," I whimper, instinctively bucking my hips. My cock slides deeper into Lina's mouth, and that sweet little cocksucker is so experienced by now that she just keeps sucking me down. "Master…" I'm dizzy with lust, burrowing myself deeper into his arms. I squirm against his own erection, and I don’t think I've ever wanted it so much.

  "That’s right, baby." Master keeps whispering, his fingers seductively stroking my skin closer to my crotch. "I'm your Master, aren’t I? And there's nothing I want more than to keep you, to own you, to use your body, to make you come…"

  The next thing I hear is Rory's cry as Mr. Moore rams his cock up his ass. Tenderness gets replaced by raw, animalistic desire. It's hard fucking. Both loving it. Both in their zones. One receiving, one delivering.

  Lina starts sucking me harder, faster.

  I hold my breath, all of it becoming overwhelming.

  "You want to come, little puppy?" Master scrapes his teeth along my shoulder, and I nod frantically. Please, please, please. "Then beg me. Beg Master to let you come."

  "Please!" I beg shamelessly, feeling the beginning of an orgasm tingling down my spine. "Please, please, Master. I want to come—I need to come." Completely out of control, I start to fuck Lina's mouth roughly, chasing a climax I haven't been granted yet. "M-Master—" I tilt my head, gasping, and press my nose in the crook of his neck. He smells delicious—soap, his aftershave, invisible beads of perspiration that make his skin slightly damp. "God." I groan.

  Shame washes over me because he turns me into a begging slave, but it's the kind of shame that, for unknown reasons, turns me on. I'm embarrassed, too, and I feel two feet high. I can only hope Master accepts it. Accepts me.

  "Come, baby." It's the same whisper: intimate, soft, raspy, and it's my undoing. "Fill Evangeline's mouth."

  The heat of the orgasm burns through me, the rolling waves of ecstasy causing me to go rigid in Master's arms. As my cock pulses out streams of come into my girlfriend's mouth, I flush all over and feel a sheen of sweat being pressed out through my skin. With my surrender to the climax, I also grow clingy. I don’t even notice holding on to Master until he's slowly loosening my grip on him. He's whispering stuff to me, but I can't hear it, still not down from my high.

  "…that’s a good boy," I eventually hear him uttering as my muscles unclench. I melt into his body and try to get my rapid breathing under control. "Just relax, pup. I've got you." I shudder violently, a vulnerable mess, but manage to take comfort from his words. A big part of me urges myself to back the fuck off and run away, though this time I won't escape so quickly.

  As the last little shiver from the release makes its way through me, an unsettling sense of displeasure sets up camp in my gut like a fucking boulder. A rock is too small. This is bigger. More hurtful. But for once—for-fucking-once—it's not because I'm greedily taking the pleasure Master, a man, is giving me.

  It's because I'm not sure I've really earned it.

  "How about I take care of Evangeline now, huh?" He places a final lingering kiss on my shoulder, then quietly tells me to sit down next to him. Shifting off his lap, I accidentally brush against his thick erection, which reminds me of the fact that he feels he can't come to me for help with it. I've made sure he feels that way. "As much as I love having you watch me—" Master grabs my jaw and looks me deep in the eye "—you're going to watch Donovan and Rory while I fuck Evangeline's tight ass." I gulp. "Watch them closely. Am I making myself clear, sub?"

  I nod slowly, trapped in his piercing gaze. "Y-yes, Master."

  He nods back, just once, then ushers Lina off the floor and a few feet away from the seating area. Allowing myself just one more look at them, I see that there's a camera set up on a tripod in the corner, and Master walks over to it to switch it on. For Lina. At least I think so. Because she loves to watch like the little voyeur she is, and she's requested videos.

  As I was instructed earlier, I drag my eyes back to the couple on the couch across from me.

  Truth be told, I'm not really feeling it anymore. Yeah, it's hot as hell to watch the two men fucking—or rather, one man fucking the other—and I already know why Master wants me to watch: to understand that there's nothing wrong. Which I already know.

  It hasn't been about understanding for a long time. Understanding, if anything, was the first thing that came to me. Then came acceptance. I know there's nothing wrong with bisexuality and homosexuality. It's actually not about others at all. It's entirely a personal issue. In my twenty-six years, my father's ways and lessons have been so ingrained in me that it's close to impossible to let them go.

  I want to, though. I feel like I'm close to exploding with how badly I want to go my own way.

  Even an idiot would see I'm not happy. After all, I'm sitting on a couch, sexually satisfied for the moment, with two hot couples screwing like animals. I should be like a pig in shit, right? I should soak it all up, enjoy the sex show, and think I'm pretty fucking blessed. Instead I'm wallowing in self-pity, ashamed I can't be the submissive Master deserves, and it's all because of my goddamn daddy issues.

  I shake my head, disgusted with my own internal whining, and refocus on Mr. Moore fucking Rory from behind.

  Chapter 3

  When we come home—er, I mean, when we get to Mark's apartment—it's the middle of the night, and we're all tired and hungry.

  One of my favorite things about Mark's place—though it applies generally to our relationship—is that we fairly easy go from Master and subs to…well, I'd call us more than friends. For lack of a fitting term, I'll go with that. Maybe it's not a minute switch, but it does happen smoothly through Mark's aftercare. For which we can probably thank Lina. She's so easygoing that any spell we're under fades away when she cracks a joke or something.

  Right now, it's not Evangeline or "kitten," our Master's sub, who's flitting about in the kitchen while Mark and I sit at the kitchen table; it's just…Lina. Following Mark's gaze and seeing him watching her fondly, I don’t think the word "friend" fits in his own estimation, either.

  Instead of feeling threatened, I'm hopeful. Hopeful that we'll all turn into something more one day. If only I can get over my fucking problems. And Christ, no pun intended there.

  Soon, there's a variety of food on the table, and Lina sits down with a satisfied smile and tells us to dig in. There's reheated pizza, some leftover Chinese food, a plate of cold cuts and cheese, a small container of minestrone soup, and rolls that Lina said were stale before. After a round in a frying pan with some butter and garlic, they're fucking delicious.

  Lina and I aren’t made of money, and while I'm creative enough to make our salaries last in certain ways, my girlfriend's creativity lies in the kitchen. She can make a feast from very little.

  "Damn, these are good, sweetheart," Mark mumbles around a soup-soaked roll. "I thought I didn’t have shit in my fridge. Gonna go grocery shopping tomorrow." He takes a sip from his OJ and smiles. "But you didn’t have any problems, did you?"

  Lina grins impishly and soaks up the praise. "It's a gift. Now, eat." She scrunches her nose. "You're lookin' a little skinny."

  Mark coughs a laugh and turns his disbelieving eyes to me. "What the fuck? When did she get bossy?"

  I snort and chuckle, reaching for a slice of pizza. "That’s just when it comes to food. No matter how much you eat, she'll call everyone skinny. Her mom and grandmother are worse." Lina's dad may be French, but her mother's side is from Georgia. Her entire family is beyond welcoming, and the Lacroix house always smells of delicious food, regardless if it's from a French recipe or some good ol' Southern cooking.

  "Mmhmm, and they want to meet you." Lina nudges Mark. "My mom is crazy curious."

  That’s no lie. While I've been stuc
k with an uptight family with too many rules and restrictions, Lina's family doesn’t appear to have any. So long as everyone's happy and fed.

  "Is that a fact?" Mark looks both intrigued and surprised. "How much do you really tell your family, Evangeline?"

  "Everything," Lina answers matter-of-factly. "Well, my dad's ears are a bit more delicate—" she bats her lashes and smiles too sweetly "—but my mom and my nana know everything." She waves that off as if it's nothing. "Besides, Nana's a perv. Oh, and she's protective of Brayden, but if you just calm her ass down, you'll be in her good graces, too." She finishes with a firm nod.

  Mark's mouth curves into a kind grin. "Sounds like a nice family."

  Yeah, and I suppose he can relate. I've learned about Mark's parents' lifestyle as well as his brothers' rebelling their way out of said lifestyle. It's kind of funny, although not in a ha-ha way, that whereas Mark's parents would probably go well with Lina's family, his brothers would go along with mine.

  With Christmas around the corner, I'm content to know I won't be spending the holidays out in my parents' fancy estate. Instead I'll be force-fed at Lina's house, and it's a pleasant feeling. In fact, it's where I've spent Christmas and many other holidays since I met my girl. The only contact I have with my folks is through the phone calls my mother makes sporadically, or the times my father's assistant contacts me to tell me on his behalf I should get a grip and return to my family and become a real man.

  After some comfortable silence, the only sounds coming from our appreciative humming at the food, Mark announces it's best we catch some sleep. A lot of playing, an hour-long round of aftercare and discussion about the scene, and then freshening up in Mr. Ford's private bathroom before coming here, means it's not even the middle of the night anymore, but close to morning instead.

  We have the entire weekend at Mark's place now, a time Lina and I look forward to every week, and we're eager to go to bed because we know our Master's got plans for us tomorrow up on his rooftop terrace. Thank God he's got heaters up there. Before that, I think he will scene with me alone, 'cause Lina has a job interview down at the wharf that she couldn’t reschedule. A couple wants a tutor for their twin boys once a week, and they own a restaurant down by the bay.

  As usual, we fall asleep in Mark's massive bed, Lina wedged between us and limbs tangled together under the sheets. We sleep naked, our bodies still temporarily sated from tonight's activities.

  *

  The next morning, Evangeline wakes us up too early just to kiss us goodbye. She whispers something in Mark's ear, which makes him rumble a sleepy chuckle. Then she walks over to my side of the bed, dressed and ready to go, and murmurs that she loves me and supports me, no matter what.

  With a glint in her eye, she whispers, "Make our day, mon ange. I know you're ready for the leap."

  Rubbing my eyes, I frown and yawn, wondering what she's talking about. But instead of clarifying, she grins and blows me a kiss.

  "I'll see you for lunch," is the last thing I hear her say before I promptly fall back to sleep.

  *

  When I wake up again, my head is on a solid chest and a muscular arm is wrapped around my shoulders. My leg, I notice, is draped over Mark's thigh. Oh, Jesus Christ. This is what I'm supposed to rebel against. I'm not supposed to like this—want it, crave it, fucking yearn…

  Feeling a twinge of panic, I carefully move away from his warmth. As I always do. Mark shifts and turns, his breathing even and calm, and we end up on our sides. Close, but not touching. Face-to-face, chest-to-chest, and…other parts. Fuck.

  Willing my semi-hard dick to calm the fuck down isn't going to happen. So, I scoot down slightly, hoping to keep my morning wood away from his. Having seen Mark in action and woken up near him before, I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one who's hard. 'Cause it feels like he's always in the mood.

  With my face to his collarbone instead, I hope it eliminates the risk of us, um, touching. And shit, I'm really overthinking this. But I can't help it. Around him, I tend to overanalyze everything.

  There's the familiar voice in my head—my father's—and it tells me that a small scoot is too little. I should get out of bed and start my day. Or simply get away from Mark.

  Yet…I stay. Close enough to feel his breaths on the top of my head. Close enough to feel his body warmth. Close enough to—oh, shit. Holding my breath, I lie stock-still as Mark's arm comes down over my middle. He shifts once more, and then we're definitely touching. More than his arm around me. With my head tucked under his chin and his impressive body pressed against mine, I should panic further. I should run for the fucking hills.

  There are plenty of them here in San Fran.

  I don’t run. I'm tired of running.

  I almost jump out of my skin when I hear his gruff, sleepy voice. "Why does it feel like I'm in bed with a robot?"

  Maybe because I'm as rigid as one?

  "Sorry," I mumble, swallowing hard. Fuck, I'm nervous. My heart is pounding too fast, and I'm painfully aware that my cock is brushing against his. Hopefully, he won't notice—oh, who am I kidding? Mark always notices. He notices everything. He knows too well I'm struggling with my attraction for him, so why I even bother to hide it—since I fail, anyway—is beyond me.

  "When are you going to relax around me, Brayden?" he whispers. His hand gently rubs my back; it's a touch of comfort, because that’s what he does. He's always there to comfort and support. "I can touch you during a scene, but…" But that’s different. He doesn’t often touch me intimately, even though his hands on me always feel scorching and sensual. "I know you want it." His soft, sleep-laced voice sends tremors down my spine.

  I give a quick shake of my head in denial, except my words have run out, and despite my weak attempt at rejecting what I want, my body betrays me. All the time. The dreams I have, the fantasies running through my head…

  It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong.

  Dad's voice.

  I hate him.

  "Look at me, Brayden."

  Forget it. No way. I can't—I…I obey.

  Warily, I lift my head and peer up at him. As always, there's no judgment in his eyes. There's patience, plenty of it.

  Does he know how fucking attractive he is? Does he know that, aside from Lina, he's the one I can't stop thinking about?

  I bet he does.

  "Such a stubborn little sub," he murmurs and cups my cheek.

  It heats up in response and I try to duck my head again. He doesn’t allow it. While staring at me intently, practically searing his way into my fucking soul with those deep blue eyes, he shifts a few inches closer to me. A challenge appears in his gaze, quiet determination, and…something else.

  I suck in a quick breath, feeling his cock pressing against my own.

  Immediately, shame floods me. I've been told too many times that this is wrong and perverse.

  "You know, I could just fucking kill your father."

  I stutter a breath, wondering if I have any secrets left. While I haven't told Mark about my family, it seems he already knows just by observing my behavior and being aware of my father's name.

  "Wh-what?" I croak.

  "It's fairly obvious that he's told you a bunch of horseshit," he replies bluntly.

  If I wasn’t so wound-up and ready to break, perhaps I'd laugh at his words. Instead I offer a vague shrug, not wanting to confirm anything, and I'm granted the permission to lower my head. Staring at his broad chest again, I focus on getting control of my breathing. Nothing seems to work. My mind tells me to get the hell away, yet the rest of me…

  Indecision is a heartless bitch. Confliction is a goddamn cunt. Vulnerability is a fucking hag.

  Lina would make this easy for me. She's been the barrier between Mark and me, and she has the patience of a saint—kinda like Mark, I guess. I'm lucky to have her. God knows I couldn’t love her more. Or maybe I could. After all, I find myself falling for that woman more every day. But right now, she's not where she's supposed to be.
She's not here. Which leaves nothing between my body and Mark's. Not even underwear or the sheets. We're both using the same covers. Both touching.

  Her not being here reminds me of something else, too. Whenever we spend the weekend at Mark's place, he has us servicing him in the mornings. It's extremely erotic to see Mark using Lina, and it's strangely satisfying, too. I can't even begin to explain it, but like I said, she's not here now. So, who is going to service Mark?

  You're reaching.

  I know, but it would be easier if I didn’t have the choice. If Mark commanded me to—to…to do something, I would. I think. Yeah, because it wouldn’t be my decision. It would be his. Just like last night in Mr. Ford's office.

  Mark won't do that, though. I can tell. This is one thing he wants from me—of my own choosing. I have to take that first step; he won't do it. Problem is, I won't either.

  You sure about that?

  I bite down on my lip, a crease appearing on my forehead, and I stare at the hard planes of his naked chest. Lina's had her mouth all over it. Her hands, her thighs, her sweet pussy.

  The only thing I envy is that I don’t have the same closeness with him—that intimacy.

  Hesitantly, before I can chicken out, I place my hand on his bicep. Other than a small twitch of his muscles, there's no reaction. Not until a minute or so later when he softly brushes his hand along my spine. Again, it's to comfort me, reassure me, and it works to an extent.

  He lulls me into a relaxed state—at least to the point where my chest is no longer heaving with each shallow breath. Another few minutes later, he pauses and rests his hand on my lower back. It's casual, if not for two fingers being so close to the crack of my ass.

  It's arousing and new and thrilling and scary as hell.

  In the end, I succumb. My muscles unclench, and I even burrow close enough to drop my forehead to his collarbone. Dad's voice screams furiously, but Mark's protectiveness helps to keep it out. I guess he makes me feel—I don’t know, accepted? Regardless, it's impossible to stay away any longer.

  When he hums and breathes me in, his nose in my sleep-tangled hair, I sigh in contentment and melt. Maybe I can stay like this for only a little while—and be satisfied with that.