by Anna Zabo
The cane didn’t move away. Eli added a little pressure. Justin closed his eyes and moaned.
“Which one, Justin?”
“Any. All.” The knob moved farther back. No way it could enter him from that angle, but the thought had him rocking his hips forward.
Eli tutted, but kept the cane in motion. “Words, Justin.”
He couldn’t form sounds let alone piece them into syllables, not with the end of Eli’s cane sliding so close to his hole. But if he didn’t say something, he knew a number would be the next thing from Eli. “Love the ocean. Sounds of waves. Gulls. Sun.” The smell of sunscreen. The shirtless skin. “Doesn’t matter where.”
Finally Eli pulled the cane away. The absence was as painful as the presence had been. Every inch of skin tingled and the welts on his back throbbed. Probably because he kept dancing against the leather of the cross, fighting his bonds. His vision swam and sharpened. “That was intense.”
Not a chuckle or a laugh, but an inhale of breath. “Did you think we were done?”
Oh fuck. Justin’s blood boiled into a fury of daggers and pins. A whipping would be relief—a known pain, a familiar agony. This had him on every edge, and the high he chased was so unlike subspace. Still, he surrendered to it, crying out when cool metal touched his side.
“Now”—Eli rolled the cane upward—“favorite ice cream flavor?”
So, so unfair, this game. He fought to get his brain to work. “Mint chocolate chip.”
“Nicely done.” Eli stepped in a bit. “Very nicely done.” As the cane hit his ticklish spot on one side, Eli caressed the opposite side.
Sparks danced in Justin’s vision, a wordless cry falling from his lips. He tried to find some friction for his cock, but there was nothing. Eli was everywhere except where Justin most wanted.
On and on the questions came. He answered as best he could, in between begging Eli to stop, to continue, to fuck him. At long last—or maybe just minutes later—Eli stepped back. Justin sagged against the cross, heart hammering in his chest, lungs burning for air, and let the cuffs hold him up. A thin thread of pride wound through Justin’s ache for release—Eli was breathing as rapidly and a flush had drifted up his neck from underneath his nice white shirt.
Eli closed in, but this time the brass knob touched Justin’s cheek. “Very well done.” Eli’s words were soft as velvet and as rich. Combined with the cool touch of the cane, Justin couldn’t help the tremble of delight.
Pain and pleasure. Both giving and taking. This—this he loved. Flustering Eli and giving him what he needed. Justin met those gray eyes and smiled.
The cane’s knob touched Justin’s lips and he opened, kissing it as if it were tip of Eli’s cock.
Same effect, too. Eli’s breath hitched and the moan that sounded between them wasn’t Justin’s.
Only one response to that—he went down on the head of the cane. Hard, metallic, warmed with his own heat, wet with saliva, sucking on the cane was oddly exciting. But it was Eli’s wide eyes and hungry look that sent pinpricks of heat and ice through Justin.
Got you.
* * *
Watching Justin fellate the head of his cane while bound to his a cross was something out of a dream. A very filthy dream. It flipped Eli’s head inside out—itching his skull and stealing his breath. He nearly dropped the damned thing.
Instead, he worked it in and out of Justin’s mouth, same way he would a dildo or plug. Justin’s lips around brass were hotter than hell. Might as well have been Eli’s cock, the way it made his balls draw up and his heart hammer. The knob was no larger than any of the toys. He had several that were thicker—but this was his cane. All of his canes were personal. Needed. A part of who he was every day. He’d never used one for play before, but it had seemed so perfect a tool. He’d kept his other partners at arm’s length, away from the man he was outside of the leather and the whips. Using his walking canes for play was out of the question. It crossed a line.
Not with Justin, though. Heart racing, head pounding. Everything was personal. And here they were. Eli drew the cane away from Justin’s mouth.
Swollen lips, flushed skin. Justin ran a tongue over his upper lip. “Gonna fuck me with it, too?”
Slide the head of his cane inside Justin? Holy fuck. He felt the heady trip of losing control, same as he had at the party—was it only last night?
He stepped back and turned away from Justin, more to compose himself than anything else. “Perhaps, perhaps not. I haven’t decided.” He studied the wall of toys with unfocused eyes. A condom and lube—yes. It could be done safely. Didn’t mean he should. “So many lovely options.”
The creak of skin shifting on leather floated through the room. Justin squirming against the cross. At this point, it wouldn’t take much to get Justin off given his arousal—hell, a few strokes and Eli would come. He studied his cane. When would he find such a perfectly deviant partner again?
Partner. There was the tumbling in his head, the sense of utter rightness. Yes, he’d fallen. Hard. He set the cane aside and turned back to Justin. “You’re just going to have to wait and see what I’ve chosen.”
Beautiful, flushed body, trembling in need. Want. Pain. Eli’s pulse thudded in his ears. He’d brought Justin to this. Now it was time to take him higher—all the way. Wring as much pleasure from Justin as he could.
He had to kneel to release Justin’s ankle, but as aroused as he was, the pain of his leg paled to the ache in his balls, cock, and head. He rose and freed Justin’s arms, half holding, half guiding him to the sawhorse and bending him over its leather-padded length leaving enough room that he could take Justin’s cock in hand, should he desire.
Which he did, but not yet. Justin in a torment of need drove Eli to his own high. How long could he keep Justin on edge, keep him in agony?
Well, he’d find that out, wouldn’t he? He fetched the cane, a condom, and lube.
Ripping the foil open caused Justin to slide against the leather, probably seeking relief for his aching cock. Eli snapped the back of his hand against both ass cheeks. “Behave if you want to be fucked. I’d be more than happy to add stripes instead.”
Justin settled. “Anything . . . just . . .” The words dissolved into an exhale that was mostly moan.
Warmth tingled up Eli, straight to the back of his head. Yes. This control. He cupped his palm over Justin’s ass and skimmed a finger over his hole.
Tense, trembling legs. Hitched breathing, but Justin didn’t rock, didn’t move against the horse. Good.
“Look at you, so hungry, so eager. A finger? My cock? A toy?” He leaned closer and touched the brass head against Justin’s side. “My cane?”
A flinch, but Justin stilled himself. “Cane, please, Eli.”
Dirty, filthy Justin. So perfect. Eli finished opening the foil and rolled the condom over the head of the cane. Lube next.
Justin hissed when the liquid hit his ass and gasped when Eli worked it into his hole. Eli wasn’t sure who was breathing harder, him or Justin. The leather of his gloved fingers stood out in sharp contrast to the pale and ruddy striped flesh and the heat—even through the gloves—was incredible. Slow strokes, enough to loosen, excite, and frustrate.
Beneath him, Justin moved ever so slightly, trying to impale himself deeper, hissing when Eli pulled out.
He clicked his tongue, and that was enough. He could have taken the count to seven, but he felt Justin’s desire and agony as surely as if it was his own.
Probably because it was.
More lube, both in Justin and over the cane. Eli drew the head down Justin’s crack.
Justin’s intake of breath was sharp. “Oh . . . fuck.” His whole body shook.
“Something wrong?” Eli smoothed his free hand over Justin’s ass before placing it on the small of Justin’s back—both for comfort and control.
“No. Just—cold.” Justin held still.
Good. Eli would be the one to set the rhythm, the motion. Justin wanted to b
e fucked and—Eli pushed the brass knob against Justin’s entrance—he would be. Soundly, too. The head slipped in—slowly and easily as Justin bowed his head and pressed back. Brass vanished into flesh, stretching Justin wide.
“Fuck.” Eli’s voice was a whisper—but yes. He’d been the one to speak.
Tension left Justin and he crumpled against the sawhorse. “Oh God—that feels . . .”
Whatever Justin had to say devolved into a moan as Eli slid the cane farther in and pulled it out before plunging it back in, more quickly this time.
Justin shook beneath Eli’s hand. Part tremble, part moan, all lust.
“You should see yourself. So desperate.”
No reply, though Justin rocked back, taking the head deeper.
Well, then. A few more slow strokes—smooth and deep enough to elicit a grunt from Justin—and then he increased the tempo and shifted the angle.
Justin arched, gaping—and thrust back. “Oh God! Don’t stop. Don’t . . .”
Eli’s cock might spill just from the sight. Taut muscles, flushed skin still bruised and red from whipping, midnight-black hair. Eli grabbed a handful and yanked back. “This what you wanted?”
Justin’s mouth opened in wordless pleasure, his fingers indenting the leather padding of the sawhorse. So beautiful. This moment was theirs. He’d not do this to another.
Justin whimpered. Plunging the cane forward became much more difficult.
Close. Very close. “Not yet.”
“Please,” Justin whispered.
“No.” He loved seeing Justin like this, struggling to obey and entirely in Eli’s control. He fucked Justin with short, sharp thrusts, until Justin gasped with each one, until moisture formed at the corners of Justin’s eyes.
There—the knife’s edge. Pleasure and pain. “Come.”
Justin’s cry sent a shock of lightning through Eli and he moaned, too. Trembled as Justin shuddered on the horse and spilled onto the floor. Every bit of Eli burned and the only way to quench the fire would be in Justin. But—
Eli loosened his grip on Justin’s hair and slowly drew the cane out, careful not to lose the condom.
Utterly spent, Justin sagged against the horse. “Holy fuck, Eli.”
He ran his hand over Justin’s shaking body. “I’ll be right back.” He dropped the cane back onto the table and hurried back, pulled Justin up and into his arms.
Clear blue eyes. Huge pupils. “That was—that . . .” Justin slurred his words. “Need to do that again.”
“Mmm-hmm. Let’s get you into bed.”
Justin didn’t object. Eli helped him down the hall and poured him into bed and kissed him. Justin responded, curling fingers around Eli’s shirt. It took several tries to break the kiss—not that Eli wanted to. “I need”—he claimed another taste of Justin—“to clean things up.”
A soft moan before Justin let go.
So hard to leave Justin curled in the bed. Eli limped back to the playroom and tided up all the things that couldn’t wait—the floor and the used condom—and left everything else. The gloves came off in the hall, his shirt by the bedroom door, and everything else by the foot of the bed. Then he was on the sheets and tangled into Justin’s arms.
“You haven’t—” Justin pressed his hip against Eli’s hard shaft, a slur in his words.
“I can wait. Rest.” Sex with Justin now would be all take. Not his thing.
Justin nestled in close, tucking under Eli’s chin. “You immune to blue balls?”
“No.” He smoothed his hand over Justin’s hair. “I just have a lot of patience and control.”
Justin’s short laugh shook them both. “Lucky me.”
“Lucky me, too.” He pressed a kiss to Justin’s forehead. “You can thank Michael.”
Justin opened a bit of space. “You were actually his sub?”
“No, not really.” He traced the edge of Justin’s face, those sharp cheekbones. “That was the problem. The more he exerted control, the more I found ways to circumvent it.” Eli shrugged. “Michael loves orgasm denial.”
Justin let out a breath. “Wow.”
“I loved frustrating Michael—pretty much how I figured out I was a Dom.”
“So you learned patience and control to out-Dom a Dom?”
His turn to laugh. “Exactly.” He paused. “And I always won.”
Silence. Then Justin spoke. “Monday’s gonna be weird.”
No doubt about that. Eli slid his hand against Justin’s neck and pulled him close. “We’ll manage.” They still had some time to kill before they had to worry about that. And while Eli had patience, he also knew exactly what he wanted.
Every bit of Justin’s pleasure, again and again. His moans and screams and pleas. Every inch of Justin alive with need. That was well worth the wait.
Chapter Eleven
As walks of shame went, this one was a bit different. It wasn’t shame that filled Justin but a rolling ball of exhilaration mixed with a hefty dose of fear and apprehension. He peered up into the gray October sky—the same color as Eli’s eyes—and blew out a foggy breath as he walked beside Eli. The air had chilled since Saturday and cold seeped into Justin’s already aching bones. On Friday he and Eli had cemented a friendship. By this morning they had fucked so many times it was a wonder they both could move.
It had been like this with Francis, too—a weekend of carnal pleasure—only Francis didn’t work and had been furious when Justin had left on Monday. I can give you everything you need. Quit that shit job. He was wearing one of Eli’s t-shirts because he hadn’t intended two nights away. Eli had offered a sweater, but they all smelled too much of Eli—felt like him.
Right now, Justin needed to be himself. He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around his neck.
The movement must have caught Eli’s attention. “Are you okay?”
Long wool coat. Tailored suit. Silk tie. Rolex watch, and that cane. The same one that had been inside Justin. A little electric shock zipped up to his brain. Money. Power. Dominance. Just like Francis.
“I don’t know. I’m . . .” He shrugged. The leather collar was tucked away in his backpack. True to his word, Eli hadn’t stopped Justin from removing it, as if Justin casting off submission was a normal, everyday thing. He didn’t trust that. ”. . . thinking, I guess.”
Hard to read Eli’s expression. “I understand that.”
No idea what churned in Eli’s head. Maybe that was part of the attraction—the unknown and surprising. Like the tender way Eli had made love in the morning, raining kisses on Justin’s body and moving slowly inside Justin until all he knew was Eli’s touch and taste and a pleasure he hadn’t thought could come from such gentleness. Too used to fast and furious fucking, to the pain of whip and cane.
He shivered again. Which was Eli’s true face? Justin didn’t know.
Again, Eli glanced over but didn’t speak.
They came to the dual doors that lead to Grounds N’at and S. R. Anderson Consulting. All that was left was to climb those stairs together. Except . . . they never arrived at the same time. Sam would know. The party was one thing. Spending the rest of the weekend at Eli’s had been something else.
“I’m gonna grab a coffee.”
Eli paused by the door. “Okay. I’ll see you upstairs.” His smile was faint, tinged with tension that could have been worry or anger. No way to know.
Justin pulled open the door to Grounds N’at and breathed in a lungful of brewing coffee. Brian stood behind the counter. “Dude! How’s it going?”
He answered Brian’s smile with one of his own. “It’s Monday and it’s cold. Figured I’d grab a cup before . . .” He nodded upward.
“Pittsburgh for you. One minute warm, the next freezing.” Brian gestured at the machines. “Mind making your own? I gotta catch up on dishes.”
All the invitation Justin needed. He set his backpack down and got to work. The perfect antidote to Eli—or so he thought until he ground his favorite blend. The sound
and smell took him back to Eli’s kitchen. Fuck. Wasn’t anything his anymore?
He’d offered to make Eli coffee. Demanded it, actually. Why was he angry?
Justin shook his head and set about finishing his cappuccino. Gave it an extra shot just to clear his head of Eli. Or maybe of Francis—who shouldn’t even be there. He was about to ring himself up when Brian came out of the back.
“Hey, get away from that. It’s on the house.”
He wasn’t about to argue, so he saluted Brian with the cup. “I owe you, man.”
Brian waved the comment away. “Nah, you don’t.”
He would have argued, but the bell on the door sounded. More customers. Justin grabbed his backpack, gave Brian another wave, and headed upstairs. He took a sip on his way, savoring the taste. Not the same as Eli’s, but still deep and rich, even with the milk.
Francis hadn’t liked coffee.
Maybe—just maybe—he needed to let that past go. Trust that Eli wasn’t a rich dude looking for a toy, that there were true emotions behind the sex, a friendship to underlay the lust. That it wasn’t some dumb hope of Justin’s that there was more than endorphins and orgasms and doing exactly as told for the pleasure of another.
He entered the office and glanced into Eli’s office—and met Eli’s smile and the warm crinkle around his eyes. Justin’s heart skipped.
Yeah, maybe this time it would work. He returned the smile and sat at his desk. Maybe. Hopefully.
Please.
* * *
It would have been easier to work if Eli could have focused on something other than the way Justin’s hair had felt against his skin or how Justin’s breath had caught every time Eli had ground into him. Or the way his heart dipped whenever those blue eyes met his.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Of course that was the moment Sam chose to close Eli’s door.
Except when Eli turned and looked, it wasn’t Sam lounging against the wood—it was Michael. The reproach Eli had formed died in his throat.
Michael smiled with the same twist of lips he always had when he’d beaten Eli at his own game. That had never stopped—the tiny power games they played. Most of the time, Eli welcomed them. “Oh, fuck you.” He turned back to his computer.