Was it possible he’d been operating from the wrong side of the D/s equation all this time? All his adult life he’d found relief in domination—in forcing another man to his will, in—yes, he would admit it to himself—standing on that guy’s neck to feel a little taller. But, if he were totally honest with himself, that relief had never been fully satisfying.
Yet, in the brief time he’d known Avery, the guy had somehow and with seeming effortlessness, pulled away dozens of Hank’s protective layers at once, leaving him more vulnerable and exposed than he’d ever felt in his life, yet also more known—more understood.
He was beginning to sense there might be a different way to approach the world and his place in it. For the first time since Reese had abandoned him, an unfamiliar emotion was stirring inside him—hope.
Avery pulled Hank from his ruminations as he pushed back from the table and said, “While we’re waiting for the pizza, come on downstairs and I’ll give you a quick tour of the brewery.”
Normally, with any other guy, Hank would have growled sexily that he had something else in mind, but he sensed that wouldn’t be a good idea in this case. Avery wasn’t the kind of guy he could manipulate. The realization was both frustrating and somehow freeing. With Avery, Hank didn’t feel the need to constantly exert his authority and control. Or no—it went deeper than that. Avery wouldn’t allow him to do that. What a relief!
Though he didn’t entirely understand it, the thought of giving himself over to another person, even in such a small decision as what they did before dinner, was so freeing. The tight fist of control that was always knotted around his heart eased its grip, if just a little. He didn’t have to run the show. He could follow Avery’s lead and see what happened.
They walked together down the stairs to the main floor of the warehouse. As Avery unlocked the door to the microbrewery, Hank envisioned some kind of hillbilly distillery that reeked of stale beer. Instead, to his surprise, the large space was spic and span. A rather pleasant yeasty, fruity smell permeated the air. The equipment was clean and modern, all the surfaces gleaming.
“This is where it all happens,” Avery said, waving his arm, a proud expression on his face. “Nolan’s been working on the sales side, and he’s been negotiating some supply contracts with a few of the key vendors in the area. This place is just about to take off.”
Avery led him over to one of the large stainless-steel tanks. “This is a new recipe we’ve been working on.” He picked up a small plastic cup from a stack of them nearby and held it beneath the spigot. “We’re calling it Colorado Mule.” He held out the cup to Hank.
Hank, never much of a beer drinker, prepared himself to taste something bitter and warm, but he promised himself he’d say it was delicious, no matter what. His cautious sip resulted in an explosion of rich flavors on his tongue—molasses, ginger, a hint of orange—as complex as any fine wine.
Avery was watching him, his expression eager, almost boyish. “So, what do you think?”
“This is fucking great,” Hank said, completely blown away. He took another healthy swig of the delicious brew to emphasize his point. “I had no idea beer could taste so good.”
Avery beamed. “Right? We’re working on a raspberry beer that’s coming along nicely, too. We’re still figuring out the craft beer market. Every day is a new adventure.” He moved toward a large refrigerator and pulled it open, selecting four plain brown glass bottles from a shelf of several dozen. “We should have the labels any day now. It goes great with pizza, by the way.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Hank said sincerely. If anyone had told him he’d be slumming it in some crumbly old warehouse, drinking beer and eating pizza with a ”sex worker” he’d have laughed in their face only a week ago. But right now, he had to admit, there was no place he’d rather be, except maybe in Avery’s bed.
As promised, the pizza was excellent, as good as any Hank had had in New York City, and the beer was the perfect complement. After the meal, Avery washed the dishes, tossing a towel to Hank to dry. Again, just a few days ago, Hank would never have lowered himself to clean dishes, especially not someone else’s dishes, but he took the towel with a smile and dutifully dried and stacked their dishes and glasses in the rack beside the sink.
They settled side-by-side on an old, lumpy, but surprisingly comfortable couch, each with a fresh bottle of beer. As Hank looked around the room, he realized with a small shock there was no TV. Maybe Avery just couldn’t afford one. Poor guy.
Avery took Hank’s bottle from his hand and set both bottles on the wooden coffee table in front of the couch. Reaching for Hank, he took him into his arms. As they kissed, Avery held Hank’s face between his huge hands, the possessive gesture at once exciting and comforting.
Hank melted into the kiss, his cock stiffening in his jeans. Now we’re talking, he thought to himself. Good things come to those who wait. A novel concept, but one he was willing to learn with Avery.
When Avery finally let him go, he said in that deep, rumble of a voice, “I’m going to take you to my bed now, boy. I’m going to bind your wrists and ankles to the bedframe so you can’t move.”
He wasn’t asking, he was informing. Freed of the burden of deciding, Hank responded with a soft moan, a shiver running through his body. This was just a game. Of course it was. But it was an exciting game, and he was ready to play.
He followed Avery across the large space. A bedroom had been set up behind a tall wood and rice paper screen, dominated by a king-size bed set in an ancient-looking iron bedstead with four posts rising from the corners.
“Strip,” Avery instructed.
It was on the tip of Hank’s tongue to say, “You, first,” but something in Avery’s compelling tone stilled his tongue. He kicked off his loafers while unbuttoning his shirt, which he let fall to the floor. As he unzipped his jeans and threw them down, Avery said, “You’re a slob, Hank.”
“That’s what maids and houseboys are for,” Hank replied with a laugh as he kicked his jeans away.
“No maid here,” Avery said brusquely. “Pick up your clothes and fold them neatly. You can put them on the chair.” He pointed toward a scarred, old wooden desk chair near the bed. It was pushed in beneath a large, battered wooden desk that held a laptop computer and one of those old gooseneck lamps.
Amused but too horny to protest, Hank did as he was told, even folding his boxer briefs before laying them on top of the pile. While he did this, Avery opened the bottom drawer of the bureau set against the other side of the bed and pulled out a folded sheet. He draped it over the quilt, tucking the edges neatly beneath the mattress.
His green eyes glittering, Avery pointed to the covered bed. “Lie down and spread your arms and legs toward the corners of the mattress.”
Hank did as instructed, his heart kicking into gear. He’d tied down plenty of guys over the years but he’d never allowed anyone else to do it to him. He watched with wide eyes as Avery took out several coils of rope from the top drawer and busied himself tying them to the bedposts.
Avery looped the rope in a slipknot over Hank’s wrists and adjusted the tension until Hank’s arms were pulled tight against the bed. Hank tested the rope by tugging at it. It was snug but not uncomfortable. There was no way he could get free without assistance, and the realization sent a cold thrill down his spine. He bit his lower lip, a nervous habit he hadn’t indulged in since high school. He was starting to get an inkling of understanding about this whole concept of submissive courage.
Avery moved down to the end of the bed and slipped a loop of rope around Hank’s right ankle. “Spread your legs wider,” he directed, pulling the rope taut. When he’d tied down the second ankle, he took a pillow and slid it between Hank’s widespread legs. “Lift your ass so I can get the pillow under it.”
“What’re you going to do?” Hank asked nervously.
“You’ll find out,” Avery replied with a smile. “Now, do as you’re told.”
What the he
ll—in for a penny, in for a pound. He was bound and at Avery’s mercy. It was a little late to get cold feet. Obediently, Hank lifted his hips, allowing Avery to slide the pillow beneath him.
Another shudder ran through his body as he tested his bonds again. He was stretched spread eagle, his arms and legs pulled taut, cock and balls vulnerable and on display.
“You comfortable?” Avery asked, leaning down to stroke the hair from Hank’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Hank said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “I have to say, I’m not used to this.”
“I know, Hank.” Avery sat down beside him and cupped his cheek, the gesture so tender it nearly took Hank’s breath away. “You’re doing really well. I’m proud of you.”
Hank was confused. He would have slapped a sub’s cheek at this point to send him deeper into subservient mode and let him know just who was in charge. Yet, Avery’s words suffused him with a warm, sweet glow. He desperately wanted to please this man. It was a new feeling, and a scary one.
Avery moved back toward the bureau and opened the top drawer again, from which he withdrew a fat candle, easily four inches in diameter. He also pulled out a bottle of baby oil. A jolt of panic shot through Hank’s gut.
“Hey,” he said anxiously, putting some steel into his tone as he jerked nervously at his bonds. “I’m not into that kind of anal penetration, so you can just forget it.”
Avery looked confused. Then he laughed—a big, hearty sound. “Relax, Hank. I’m not going to fuck you with this candle.” He picked up a small matchbox from the bureau, pulled out a match and struck it against the side. As he lit the candle, he said, “I was thinking of something a little more sensual. Have you ever experienced hot wax play?”
Hank stared with mingled fascination and horror as Avery set the lit candle in a saucer on top of the bureau. “Sure, but not on the receiving end. What’s with the oil?”
“It’s to protect your skin. I’ll be dripping the melted wax on some, uh, sensitive areas.” He stared pointedly at Hank’s raging erection, which hadn’t flagged, despite his anxiety.
The old Hank—the Hank of just a few days ago—would have laughed in Avery’s face at such a suggestion. He would have offered a scathing reply to tip the scales of power back toward himself.
But, to Hank’s astonishment, he actually longed to feel the singe of melted wax, not only because he craved the erotic pain, but because Avery wanted it for him. But did he have the courage?
“I don’t know, Avery,” Hank said nervously.
Avery sat down beside him on the bed, making the mattress sag with his considerable weight. “It’s okay, kiddo,” he said gently. “You don’t have to know. You just have to obey.”
The fist in Hank’s chest unfurled a little. He sighed in surrender as he closed his eyes.
Avery stroked Hank with his big hand, pressing his palm gently over Hank’s rapidly beating heart. “Relax,” he said, smiling. “I think you’re going to love this, Hank. And if you don’t, I’ll stop. It’s that simple. I would never do anything to harm you.”
He squirted some of the baby oil into his hand and rubbed it over Hank’s skin—his chest, his stomach, his thighs and lastly, his cock and balls. His touch felt good, and Hank relaxed, closing his eyes.
“Perfect,” Avery said, rising finally from the bed. “I’m going to use a blindfold so you can focus on the sensations, rather than on the anticipation. I want you to surrender yourself to the feelings. Just accept what I offer, and see where it takes you.”
“Okay,” Hank said nervously, opening his eyes to watch as Avery retrieved a long black satin sash from his drawer of goodies.
Avery tied the sash gently over Hank’s eyes, securing it behind his head. Bound and blindfolded as he was, Hank felt incredibly vulnerable and also incredibly turned on.
The bed sagged as Avery sat down beside him once more. “Slow your breathing,” Avery instructed as he placed his hand on Hank’s chest. Hank made a conscious effort to obey, enjoying the sensations of rope, satin and Avery’s big, warm hand.
Avery rose again from the bed. “Ready?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hank said, the honorific falling naturally from his lips.
“Good boy.”
The first drop landed on his chest, making Hank gasp. As he processed the sensation, he recognized it was hot but not unbearable. The next drop splashed over his stomach. He jerked reflexively against the ropes.
“You’re doing good,” Avery rumbled above him. “But stop resisting. Stop anticipating.”
“I can’t help it,” Hank said breathlessly, hearing the whine in his voice but unable to control himself. “I’m not used to being the one tied down. I can’t see and—”
Hank’s words were muffled by Avery’s large fingers, which pressed against his lips. “Shh. Don’t talk. Experience the heat. Flow with the pain.” Several drops of liquid fire landed on his thighs.
Hank tensed, gripping the rope above his wrists in a tight clench in spite of Avery’s admonitions to relax. Again the sag of the mattress, and then Avery’s hand wrapped seductively around Hank’s aching shaft.
“Yeah,” Hank breathed. That was more like it.
Avery’s warm breath tickled Hank’s ear as he said softly, “I can feel the tension you’re holding in your body. Let it go. Remember, I won’t give you more than you can take. And I’ll be there every step of the way, guiding you through.” Avery stroked Hank’s cock with one hand, the other moving sensually over his thighs. “I want to take you to a new place. To get there, you have to empty your mind and surrender your will to mine. Trust me, if you can. Trust yourself.”
Hank took a deep breath, filling his lungs and letting the air out slowly. The panicked feeling of a moment before receded.
Avery rose again. A moment later, a cascade of molten wax spilled over Hank’s cock and balls, painting the delicate skin with fire. “Ah,” he cried, his heart crashing against his ribs as he struggled to absorb the pain. “That fucking hurts!”
“It’s supposed to,” Avery said with a chuckle. Another series of burning droplets spilled over his groin.
“Fuck,” Hank cried, jerking in his bonds. Yet, his cock, in spite of the pain—because of the pain?—remained hard and fully erect.
“Breathe,” Avery reminded him.
As Hank struggled to take in air, more wax splashed against his chest and belly, landing like tiny flames on his skin. Just when he was about to yell for Avery to stop, Avery’s hand curled around his oiled shaft, pulling away the dried wax as he stroked away the burn.
The feeling was indescribable, the pleasure blinding, especially juxtaposed against the erotic pain of a moment before. It wasn’t long before Hank was panting and moaning, a powerful climax coming to a boil inside him.
“Come for me,” Avery commanded, cupping Hank’s balls with his free hand.
Hank let go, his climax shooting through his body like an exploding bottle rocket as he strained against his bonds. “Avery, oh god, oh fuck, oh please, yes, yes, I, you, us, please, oh my fucking god…” Hank was babbling but was powerless to stop himself. Avery continued to stroke his cock as the orgasm went on and on, only releasing him when Hank fell back, limp and exhausted, against the bed.
He drifted a second or a minute or an hour, until the blindfold was removed. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Avery untied the rope from his wrists and ankles and sat again beside him. Gently, he pushed the damp, matted hair from Hank’s forehead. He smiled tenderly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Hank replied. “Way the fuck better than okay. I have to admit, I was nervous about it. I’ve never been into erotic pain—at least not on the receiving end. But that was awesome.”
Avery nodded. “I’m proud of you. You were able to let go enough to trust me, and that’s big.”
Hank basked in the big man’s praise, while also pondering this whole idea of trust. He had required Reese’s trust during their BDSM scenes, but had he really earned it? Had he created a safe place fo
r Reese to truly submit? Or had he just taken what he’d wanted, forever keeping their D/s relationship a game, and nothing more?
Whatever was happening between Avery and him felt different. It went deeper, somehow. It felt safer. If felt…empowering. Which didn’t make sense, since he’d always considered submission as the antithesis of power. And yet, he couldn’t deny the strength and the quiet pride he experienced at having submitted to the hot wax play. Whatever was going on between them, his heart understood, even if he couldn’t quite get his head around it.
“This isn’t just about what you can take, you know,” Avery continued. “Or about getting off in a new kind of way. It’s about us. It’s about you and me, and what we share when you submit to me. It’s a gift, Hank. A gift I give you and you give me back a hundred-fold when you really open up and trust me.” He smiled, laugh lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. “And this is just the beginning, both of the night and of what we can learn together on this D/s journey.” He leaned down and kissed Hank on the lips.
Hank brought his arms around Avery’s neck, pulling him closer as they kissed. His heart constricted in a way that was both painful and oddly welcome. If he died right at that moment, it would be enough.
Chapter 7
Avery’s phone buzzed while he was working on the new label design for their beer, Colorado Mule. Nolan hadn’t been happy with what the logo company had come up with and Avery had volunteered his skills, having written and designed labels for Victory Vineyards with some success. He set down his pencil and picked up the smartphone.
It was a text from Jacob at Gentlemen’s Elite. “Hey, Avery. Interested in a day job? I’ve got an older gentleman who needs some delicate handling. I thought of you straight away. He’s not our typical client.”
Avery clicked the call button and Jacob picked up right away.
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