by T. J. Hamel
It’s not what he and Maison agreed to.
It’s not what the elusive boss ordered.
But… what they don’t know won’t kill them, right?
“I’m sorry, sir,” Carter says in a voice that trembles. The boy steps away from him, putting his body beneath the spray of the water. His gaze is locked on his feet. He looks like he’s wavering on the decision to kneel and beg for forgiveness. Nathan took too long to respond. He got lost in his head. Now the boy is afraid. “I didn’t mean-”
“Shhh.” Nathan wraps an arm around him, pressing a big hand to the small of the boy’s naked back and gently pulling him closer. He’s even more endearing now, water dripping seductively down his body, begging Nathan to lick it up. “You’re not in trouble. I’ve decided I’m going to consider it.”
Carter’s chin snaps up, eyes wide. “Really?”
“Yes. I’ve learned I’m a very jealous and possessive man. You’re mine, after all. If I don’t want to share you, I don’t have to.” Nathan drops his hand just enough for his fingertips to brush the curve of the boy’s ass cheek. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Carter firmly nods. “Yes, sir. I’ll be so good for you, sir. I’ll make the decision worth it, I swear.”
“I know.” Nathan forces himself to step back, knowing he’s going to do something stupid if he doesn’t get at least a little bit of distance from the naked, dripping boy. “And it’s Nathan, remember, sweetheart? Just Nathan.”
Carter, being the death of Nathan that he apparently is, just follows Nathan to close the space. Nathan’s breath hitches. His hard cock rubs against the boy’s stomach. In his defense, he tried to give him space.
Those big blue eyes train on his face, damp eyelashes batting. Nathan wants to fucking devour him. “Nathan?”
“Yes?”
“May I wash you?”
Jesus Christ, this boy really is going to be the fucking death of him.
“Absolutely.” Nathan reaches for the washcloth he had grabbed before getting into the shower earlier, handing it to Carter. He starts to reach for his soap next, but Carter beats him to it. The boy blushes when Nathan arches an eyebrow at him. “How’d you know that’s mine?”
“It, um… I used it last night. It smells like you.”
A wave of possessiveness overwhelms Nathan. This boy, even as upset as he was, had washed himself with Nathan’s go-to soap, spending the night smelling of him. “Do you like how I smell, sweetheart?”
Carter focuses very intently on his cloth and bottle of soap. “Yes, s - Nathan.”
“I like the thought of you smelling like me. I like that quite a lot, actually.”
“Um,” is all the boy manages to say. His cheeks go darker red. Then he shifts focus. “Why do you have multiple soaps anyway?”
The question fills Nathan with a mixture of guilt and shame, but he answers anyway. “The white bottle is pretty harsh and doesn’t smell that great, but it’s much better at cleaning certain… things.”
“Things.” Carter nods to himself, squirting Nathan’s usual soap onto the cloth and rubbing it into the fabric. “Like… blood and stuff?”
“Yes,” Nathan admits. “Blood and stuff.”
“Do I even want to know what the third bottle is for?”
Nathan grins. “Something far less dramatic. I get flare ups of dry skin in winter, and that one is great for fixing it.”
Carter looks up at him then, his expression almost startled. Nathan tilts his head and asks, “What?”
“That’s just so normal. Dry skin.” The boy giggles. “Big bad mobster with dry skin.”
Nathan laughs with him, trying not to get mesmerized by how insanely perfect the boy is. “I bet even the big bad wolf had a few weaknesses.”
“Is that what you are?” Carter teases. “A big bad wolf?”
“Maybe I’m your big bad wolf.” Nathan growls, snapping his teeth at the boy to make him yelp and giggle. He wants to fucking bottle that laugh. To hold it close and keep it safe until Carter has escaped this place forever.
Peering up at Nathan through his lashes, Carter starts to swipe his soapy cloth over Nathan’s broad chest. “Are you going to eat me all up, Nathan?”
“Mmm.” Nathan inhales deeply through his nose, trying to remind himself that fucking this boy is rape. “It’s tempting, little red.”
“Maybe I’ll eat you,” Carter flirts, his cloth getting closer and closer to Nathan’s hard cock. He adds a cheeky, “Sir,” as his fabric covered hand wraps around Nathan’s cock.
Nathan grits his teeth, blinking a few times. It’s rape. It’s rape. It’s rape.
But Christ… Carter is not looking up at him like it’d be rape right now.
This boy is Nathan’s greatest fucking weakness.
“Is this okay?” Carter asks, his grip on Nathan’s cock tightening.
Nathan’s voice comes out rough. “Very.”
“I like this,” Carter adds, his bare hand tracing Nathan’s birdcage tattoo while the other hand continues working Nathan’s cock. “It’s beautiful.”
Thanks, Nathan wants to say. I got it for you, and I didn’t even know it.
Cloth covered fingertips brush against his balls. Nathan groans, his hips snapping forward. Carter grins up at him like the cat who just caught the canary.
The tattoo is forgotten.
“Careful little red,” Nathan growls. “I may have given you your consent today, but a man like me has limits.”
Biting down on his bottom lip, Carter seems to debate what he wants to do. Nathan can’t decide if he’s relieved or disappointed when the boy moves the cloth elsewhere, now working on soaping Nathan’s shoulder and arm.
They fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence then, Carter washing him from behind his ears all the way to his toes. Once Nathan is rinsed, he crowds Carter against the shower wall and soaps up the cloth a second time, deciding to give the boy a taste of his own medicine.
He starts innocently enough, dragging the fabric down the elegant curve of the boy’s throat and across his collarbone, but then he lingers on his nipples, loving the soft, ragged sounds Carter makes when he rubs the material against them. They’ve seemed to have healed since yesterday, but Nathan still asks, “These feeling better today?”
Carter whimpers and nods.
“Good. I don’t like you hurting.” Nathan drags the cloth down his torso with a mischievous grin before wrapping it around the boy’s half-hard cock. Nathan leans in, dropping his voice low. “I much prefer you feeling good.”
Carter whimpers again, his hips moving to meet Nathan’s touch.
“This is good, right, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” Carter gasps. “Yes, sir. Nathan. Yes.”
“Good.” Nathan cups the boy’s balls, rolling each one, then slides the cloth between his legs to rub against his hole. “How does this feel?”
The boy rests his head back against the shower wall, eyes fluttering closed. “Good.”
Nathan smirks. “Good.”
Before he loses his self-control for the second time in less than 24 hours, Nathan moves on to wash the rest of the boy. He thinks Carter looks a little sad about it, but he doesn’t say anything, and Nathan respects the promise he gave of consent. He’ll happily use Carter, but only if the boy very clearly asks.
He might have to sneak away and jack off once or twice today…
Carter is too short to wash Nathan’s hair, so Nathan does it himself while Carter just watches him with a hooded gaze. He moans when Nathan’s fingers make their way into his hair next, massaging his scalp. His eyes fall closed. “That feels so good.”
“Good.” Nathan gives in to his temptation just a little, leaning forward to press a kiss to the boy’s soap-streaked forehead. He continues to work the soap into his hair before gently guiding him towards the shower spray. “Tilt your chin and close your eyes, sweetheart.”
As usual, Carter does as told. The water works in tandem with Nath
an’s fingers until his pretty hair is all washed out.
Nathan’s never wanted to stay in the shower so badly before. He’d live in there with Carter if he could. There’s a chance Carter feels the same, his lips curving into a subtle pout when the water is turned off.
“Stay,” Nathan orders, though he makes sure his tone stays soft since it’s the boy’s day off. Once he steps out and quickly dries himself off, wrapping a towel around his waist, Nathan grabs a fresh towel and gestures for Carter to step out. He carefully dries him off, lingering in the same areas as he had when he washed him. The boy shudders and sinks back against him when Nathan turns him around to dry his hair with the end of the towel.
“I really like days off,” Carter sighs. “Not sure I want to do anything to earn another one, but this is nice.”
Nathan’s chest aches. He wishes he could give Carter days like this all the time, without the boy needing to earn them. Since that’s not possible, he just tosses the towel off to the side and orders, “Brush your teeth and meet me in the bedroom.”
Then he leaves the boy behind before he can do anything reckless, his heart fucking racing as a sudden realization sinks into his bones.
Maison said to pretend to fall in love with Carter.
What if Nathan is accidentally doing it for real?
◆◆◆
There’s a pair of black Armani boxer briefs that he recognizes immediately as Nathan’s, along with a faded t-shirt that he assumes is the man’s as well, set out on the end of the bed. Nathan – Carter isn’t sure how he feels about using that name, his heart racing at the thought of allowing this man to live in his mind as something other than sir, but he’s trying - is standing by the dresser wearing nothing but sweatpants. It’s a similar pair to the ones he wore last night. Carter thinks they might be his favorite things on Earth. He could spend hours just appreciating the way the waistband slings low on the man’s hips, his happy trail curling its way down to the cock Carter has become well-acquainted with. His mouth goes a little dry as he stares at the man, taking advantage of Nathan being distracted by his phone.
Except Nathan smirks and asks, “Enjoying the view, sweetheart?” without even looking up from his screen.
Damn him.
Carter feels his face flush. “I – uh – the clothes on the bed. Are they… for me?”
Still smirking, Nathan puts the phone on top of the dresser and turns to face him fully. His own gaze travels appreciatively down Carter’s naked body. It’s hungry and possessive. Carter shivers as he remembers the man growling at him, calling him little red. Carter had liked that.
Carter had liked that far too much.
“Those are for you, yes. I just sent a message for breakfast to be delivered.”
“Awesome.” Carter grins, but then he freezes. “I mean – I get to eat, right? You mentioned I get to eat all my meals today.”
Something dark passes through Nathan’s expression, but Nathan responds before Carter has a chance to apologize. “Yes. You can eat all you want. I’ll even get you snacks.”
Carter has to fight the urge to do something ridiculous like jump on the bed and cheer. He’s pretty sure he’s happy enough today to do so, if only Nathan hadn’t gotten weird at the end of their time in the bathroom just now. He shouldn’t have said that stuff about liking his day off so much. This might be the worst part of the freedom he has today. There are plenty of opportunities for Carter to fuck up when he can’t rely on strict rules and orders.
“Are you going to get dressed, or are you letting me enjoy my view all day?”
Startled out of his anxious thoughts, Carter hurries to grab the briefs off the bed and tug them up his legs. He does the shirt next. It’s just as big as the one from last night, going down to his thighs, sliding off his shoulder. Something flashes in Nathan’s eyes when Carter turns to present himself with a ta-da gesture. It’s either lust or anger. Before Carter gets the chance to inspect it further, there’s a knock on the door, and Nathan is jerking his gaze away like just looking at Carter is enough to burn him.
“Kneel on the floor,” Nathan orders, already walking to the door. “Opposite side of the bed. Now.”
Flinching at the sudden shift of tone in their day, Carter steps around the end of the bed and sinks to his knees. Something hot and sharp twists in his gut. Nathan – sir? - had said he wouldn’t have to kneel today. He said no following orders without hesitation either. If Carter was braver, he would have stood his ground and questioned the man, but Carter isn’t brave. Or maybe bravery has nothing to do with it. Maybe it’s about being smart.
Not angering his big bad, terrifying mobster wolf that fucking owns him and can do absolutely anything he wants to him is the definition of smart.
The man speaks with someone at the door, his words too soft for Carter to hear. Carter peeks over the edge of the bed just as he steps aside to allow a house slave to push a large metal cart on wheels into the room. The smell of food is suddenly overwhelming in the small room, making Carter’s stomach growl. Carter curls in on himself and ducks his head back down as he hears him dismiss the slave.
But the door never closes, and when the man speaks again, he sounds… angry.
Carter peeks over again, heart in his throat. It’s his best friend, Benny. He looks as pissed as sir – Nathan? - sounds, his own voice angry too, rising in volume as he seemingly chews Nathan – sir? - out. Words make their way to Carter, jagged and confusing, some from Benny, some from the man Carter can’t decide the name of.
“-fucking idiot, Nate. Why-
“-not like that-”
“You can’t just-”
“-tell me what-”
“-decide to fuck around?”
“He fucking earned-”
“-through your mind that he’s a sex slave, Nathan!”
And then, very quietly, almost to the point Carter isn’t sure he hears it correctly, Nathan/sir says, “He’s a goddamn human being, and you can go fuck off.”
Then the door slams.
A tense silence drapes itself over the room, wrapping around Carter’s throat like a noose. Every second that ticks by is torture. His muscles nearly jerk with panic, his mind racing as he tries to understand what all of that meant.
It isn’t until a hand touches Carter’s shoulder that Carter realizes sir has come around the bed to stand before him. He looks up at the man, heart pounding. He looks enraged. Carter prepares himself to be yelled at or hit. He prepares for the man to tell him the day is over and ruined.
Instead, he surprises Carter by saying, “I didn’t mean to lie to you.”
Carter just blinks at the man. He’s clearly misunderstanding.
When the man doesn’t say anything else, Carter manages to ask a shaky, “Sir?” He uses sir instead of Nathan, figuring it’s safest that way. Carter thinks it’s probably best to play it safe right now.
“I promised you things about today, and I already broke them.” Sir offers Carter his hand, helping him stand. “You need to be able to trust my word. That’s important for us. I’m sorry.”
Carter blinks some more. “You’re… sorry?”
“Yes.” Sir cups his cheek, his thumb stroking Carter’s skin ever so gently. Carter fights the desire to nuzzle into the man’s palm. Things are far too confusing right now. He needs to be on guard. “Shall we eat?”
Carter shifts, still not exactly sure how he should act. “If you want, sir.”
“If I want,” sir repeats softly to himself, his eyebrows pulling in. He drops his hand and sighs before waving towards the bed. “Get comfortable. I’ll bring you your tray.”
Carter obeys. A sick part of him is relieved to be given orders. It’s better than being confused and scared.
When sir places the wooden breakfast tray over Carter’s lap, he gives Carter a brilliant smile. It causes Carter’s breath to catch. He looks away quickly, trying to keep his head straight.
Everything about sir and his behavior is forgotten whe
n sir takes the cover off Carter’s tray to reveal the fucking beautiful buffet of food before him. Carter feels like his eyes might bulge out of his head as he takes it all in. A bowl of berries, a bowl of mixed fruit, a bowl of oatmeal, packets of brown sugar, a small plate of sausage and bacon, a plate of mini-pancakes with a little cup of syrup and a little cup of whipped cream to dip them in, and a plate of bite-sized omelet circles. There’s hot tea, a water bottle dripping with condensation from how cold it is, and a little orange juice box. There are napkins, but no silverware, which Carter supposes makes sense even though he’s not going to hurt sir with a damn fork if he hasn’t hurt him with the guns and knives he puts on the dresser every night.
When Carter looks over to where sir is lounging in the bed beside him, a tray of his own on his lap, he sees that he has a similar array of food, the only differences being that his pancakes and omelet are normal size. He seems to have coffee instead of tea as well, which Carter is slightly jealous of, not that he’d ever complain. And, of course, sir has silverware.
“Go ahead,” sir says quietly, his focus on Carter instead of his own tray. “Eat whatever you’d like. You’ll get plenty more today, so don’t worry about stuffing yourself either.”
With a nod, Carter tentatively grabs a strawberry. It’s not until he’s chewed and swallowed it that he feels sir’s gaze leave him. They eat in silence for a few minutes, Carter trying not to act like a complete pig. He gets tears in his eyes when he tastes the pancake dipped in syrup and whipped cream.
Carter pauses to take a sip of his orange juice, his guard dropped because of how fucking happy he is in the moment. That’s how sir catches him off guard when he says, “I’m confusing you with how hot and cold I am.”