Distraction. That’s what Griffin needed. Distraction from imagining Mick tied to the bed, naked, and ready for anything. Unfortunately his distraction options tonight were limited to reading through his financial statements. Better than nothing. Certainly better than thinking about the things he didn’t want to think about tonight. Bedtime scooted closer every passing minute, and he hadn’t yet figured out how to have the conversation with Mick he didn’t want to have.
Griffin grabbed his big pillow and picked up the spiral-bound notebook. Even the most annoying tasks became slightly less annoying when done in bed. His financial manager had sent him the latest reports on his investments. Russ wanted to move money, diversify risk blah blah blah. It all sounded fine to Griffin, but Russ couldn’t do it without his signature on about ten thousand pieces of paper. If he had to go to all that trouble to put on a suit next week, go to Russ’s office on Wall Street, and sign shit until his hand fell off, he should at least read the damn reports first.
“Mick?” Griffin called out as he flipped through the mutual fund statements.
“Yes, sir?” Mick appeared in the bedroom doorway, sketchbook under his arm. He had that nervous wide-eyed look on his face again. Griffin never liked that look. They’d been together a month now. Time for Mick to get over being nervous. Then again, Griffin was nervous tonight so he didn’t have much room to talk.
“Do you need anything?” Mick asked.
“Nope. Just wanted to see what you were doing. I get suspicious when you’re out of my eye line.”
Griffin winked at him to show he was joking, which he probably shouldn’t have done. Nora had warned Griffin the worst thing he could do with Mick was coddle him. Tease him, torture him, drive him up and down the wall until he’s ready to wring your neck. That’s the only way he’ll lose that “deer in the headlights” look. You treat him like he’s made of glass? He’ll prove you right one of these days by breaking. Torture Mick? Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the proud owner of a baby submissive and masochist who’d only had sex with one person his entire life before Griffin. A baby submissive who had a suicide attempt in his past and the scars on his wrists to prove it. His job was to protect Mick and Nora’s big advice was to torture him? He’d asked her if Søren had tortured her as a teenager. Nora responded by saying that Søren annoyed her so much during their early years that he kept a tally of all the times she told him to his face that she hated him. They hit triple digits before she hit nineteen.
I don’t want Mick to hate me, he’d told Nora.
Trust me. Subs want to be tortured. “I hate you” is just another way for a sub to say keep doing what you’re doing because it’s getting to me.
He wanted to get to Mick like that, but couldn’t get over his overwhelming urge to shield him from everything, including himself.
“So what are you working on?” Griffin asked.
“I’m trying to figure out what to do for this weird art assignment that’s due next week.”
“What’s the assignment?”
“We’re supposed to pick something that belongs to someone else. Then we’re supposed to interview that person about that object or whatever and find out how they feel about it.”
“Like what?”
“Professor Laird said in class the best one from last semester was a guy who drew his mom with her hair in a ponytail. She always wore her hair back, and when he asked her why she told him this wild story about how she’d gotten her hair caught in a sewing machine when she was eight and that it took police and EMTs and the fire department to get her out because she refused to let them cut her hair off. So she always wore her hair up after that. He never knew this crazy family story until he decided to draw it and ask her about it.”
“Interesting assignment.”
“Professor Laird wants us to explore the emotional connection people have to objects so we can put emotion into our art. We can’t just draw objects. We have to draw what they mean.”
“Is it just me or does that sound like something you can do in here?” This avoiding each other jazz was getting old fast.
“Yes, sir. I just didn’t want to interrupt your work.”
“I’m reading glorified bank statements. For God’s sake, Mick, interrupt me.”
Griffin patted the bed next to him. Mick hesitated only a moment before obediently sitting where Griffin had indicated. They’d been nervous around each other all weekend. Maybe sitting in the same room would help relax them both.
“You going to Mass tomorrow?” Griffin asked, trying to sound casual.
“Yes, sir. I thought I’d try St. Patrick’s. I hear it’s nice.”
“You can wear these jeans there if you want.” He pointed to his pants, his favorite Levis with the big holes in the knees. “They’re religious jeans.”
“Your jeans are religious?”
“They’re holey.”
Mick’s entire body went limp as he started to slide off the bed. Griffin grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back up.
“Sorry,” Mick said, righting himself. “That joke was so bad I lost consciousness for a second.”
“Glad you’re feeling better.” Griffin handed Mick his sketchbook.
Mick had his “starving artist” uniform on as Griffin had come to think of it—ratty cargo shorts, white sleeveless t-shirt, and a blue handkerchief holding his hair back, Captain Jack Sparrow style. He had a Rhodia pencil behind his ear and that lost “thinking of art and all things arty” look in his eyes that he wore when drawing. Better that look than the anxious, wary look he’d been wearing since last weekend.
Griffin picked his financials up and started flipping through them again, finding himself much more interested in the gorgeous teenage boy sitting next to him than the columns of six-digit numbers. These numbers weren’t working. He needed a better distraction.
Out of the corner of his eye Griffin saw Mick put his pencil down and start sketching something. He tried to honor Mick’s homework time and not demand attention every second they were together. But still, with Mick at Yorke College an hour away in Connecticut every Monday through Friday, the forty-eight-hour period they spent together from Friday evening to Sunday evening was all the time they had alone together every week.
“What is that?” Griffin asked, unable to sit quietly and read numbers anymore.
“Um...just trying to get my brain to work. Right now all I’m doing is drawing the bedroom.”
“Our bedroom. Say it.”
Mick grinned but didn’t look up from the page as he kept drawing. “Our bedroom.”
“I bought this sexy bitch by the train station just for you. You better say ‘our’ when you talk about it. Got me?” Griffin grabbed a lock of Mick’s hair and tugged it playfully.
“Got it.”
“Good.” Griffin leaned over Mick’s shoulder and watched him draw. In a few short minutes Mick had already put down the outlines of the bedroom—the high loft ceiling with the towering windows that looked out from the thirty-second floor onto the city, the sitting area with the two leather club chairs neither of them ever used because they lived in the bed. And he’d drawn the bed too—the king-size bed with the elaborate wrought-iron headboard and footboard, specially chosen because it made it so easy to cuff Mick to the bed.
“This drives you nuts, doesn’t it, Picasso?”
“I’m pretending you’re not there,” Mick said.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed. You’re getting good at it.” The words came out in a far more serious tone than Griffin intended to utter them.
Mick turned to him with wide hurt eyes. “Griffin, I didn’t...I’m just. I thought you were mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Last weekend.”
“Last weekend was my fault, not yours. Have you been thinking this entire time I was mad at you?”
“Well...yeah.”
“Why?” Mad at Mick? It had never even occurred to Griffin to be mad at Mick.
“Because you won’t touch me.”
Griffin collapsed back on the bed and rubbed his forehead with both hands.
“Mick...The only reason I haven’t touched you very much since last weekend is that I’m trying to control myself a little here. It’s not you, it’s me. Me and my cock.”
“That’s it.” Mick looked up from his drawing. “I got it.”
“Got what? Why we didn’t have sex last night?”
“No, that still doesn’t make any sense to me. But I know what I can do for my art project topic.”
“The object and the story project?”
“That one.”
“What are you going to write about?”
“Your cock.”
“Wait. What?” Griffin sat back up again.
“I can write about your, you know, your cock and then do a drawing of you.”
Mick flipped to a clean page in his notebook.
“You want to use my cock as homework? You don’t think you’ll get in trouble for that?”
“Yorke’s a liberal arts school. Plus Professor Laird is really—and I mean really—gay. Plus we’re doing nudes later this semester anyway. Not doing nudes. It’s not that kind of school.”
“Sounds like a plan then,” Griffin said, happy to have an excuse to push bedtime back by another hour or so while he got over his lingering nervousness. The thought of Mick drawing him seemed a little weird but at least it allowed him to do something he’d wanted to do since he was a teenager. “Mick?”
“Yes, sir?”
Griffin rolled onto his side and put his hand on his forehead. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”
Mick only stared at him.
“Oh, God, I’m going to feel really fucking old if you haven’t seen Titanic,” Griffin said.
Mick burst out laughing and rolled on his side. God, it felt good to hear Mick laughing, really laughing again.
Mick held out his hand.
“What?” Griffin asked.
“Where’s my dime, Kate?”
“Kate? You just called me Kate? Do you want to be caned tonight?”
“Well...yeah.”
“Tough. We’re doing your assignment now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So how do we do this?” Griffin asked, quickly warming up to the idea of having Mick’s entire attention focused on his naked body. Best. Distraction. Ever. “Tell me exactly what to do.”
Mick looked at him with the deer in the headlights look.
“For posing, I mean,” Griffin clarified.
“Whew.”
Griffin cupped the back of Mick’s neck and kissed him on the mouth. “I’d never expect you to top me. Don’t worry. I’m not a switch and neither are you.”
“You had me worried there a sec.” Mick tapped his pencil on the paper, one of his nervous habits.
“But you are the artist.” Griffin kissed him again. “And it’s your homework assignment. So you get to tell me how to pose and where to sit and then you have to move lamps around and shit, right?”
“Lighting isn’t a joke.” Mick gave him another hurt look. “It’s really important to artists.”
“Mick, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Mick winked at him. The bottom fell out of Griffin’s stomach from sheer relief.
“You are in so much trouble for that.” Griffin threw Mick down and straddled his hips. Grabbing Mick’s slender wrists, Griffin pressed him into the bed.
“I want to be in trouble,” Mick said.
Griffin felt the first stirrings of an erection. He wanted nothing more than to strip Mick naked and cuff him to the footboard, flog him senseless and fuck him until morning. But that’s what happened last weekend that had gotten them into this nice awkward mess. He needed self-control here, and holding Mick down on the bed wasn’t helping in that area.
He sat up on his knees and handed Mick back his pencil.
“Where do you want me?” Griffin asked.
“Hmm...” Mick sat up and looked Griffin up and down with a detached appraising stare. “Can you stand up?”
Griffin slid off the bed and stood a few feet away. Mick sat on the edge of the bed with his notebook and pencil.
“I don’t think I want you completely naked.”
“I’m hurt.”
“For the drawing.” Mick made a few preliminary lines on his paper. “Your overall...what’s the word?”
“Fuckhotness?”
“That. Your overall fuckhotness would detract from your, you know—”
“My cock.”
“Right.”
“So partially nude?”
Mick looked down at his sketchpad. “Maybe in those chairs we never use. We should get some use out of them.”
Griffin sat in one of the chairs and leaned his head back trying to seem as casual as possible. Mick stood by the chair and studied him, first while standing, then squatting, and then from the other side of the room. Mick held a pencil in front of his face and seemed to be staring through it and at it while making a circuit around the chair.
“Are you trying to find a good angle for the sketch?” Griffin asked.
“No. I’m just trying to see how long I can be weird before you call me out on it.”
“I’m calling you out on it, weirdo,” Griffin said, laughing at his weird and wonderful sub.
“Are you comfortable?” Mick rearranged Griffin in the chair. He put Griffin’s right leg over the left arm of the chair and unbuttoned Griffin’s Mets jersey.
“You’re unzipping my pants at the moment. Yes, this is something I’m pretty comfortable with.”
Mick grinned. “I just want a hint of cock in the drawing which is why you should keep your pants on.”
“My cock doesn’t hint.”
Even during this perfunctory posing procedure, Mick’s hands on Griffin had already caused blood to pool in his hips. He wasn’t at a full erection yet but he was getting there rapidly.
“Okay, that is perfect...” Mick took a few steps back and looked Griffin up and down. Strange to be in this role-reversed situation where he was the object and Mick the one putting him in his place. “Can you stay like that?”
“I won’t move a muscle. Except that one.” Griffin nodded down at his cock. “I don’t have much control over that one. Unfortunately.”
“Why do you say that? ‘Unfortunately,’ I mean?”
“My cock has gotten me into trouble before.”
“Can you tell me a story about that? It’ll be for the sketch.”
“Well, I never got it caught in a sewing machine. Thank God.”
He glanced down and saw his cock protruding from his unzipped jeans. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen anything sexier than that serious studied look on Mick’s face as he drew with the grace and ease of a young Picasso.
“Thank God,” Mick agreed as he started making a few preliminary lines on his paper. “How does your cock get you into trouble?”
“It’s big.”
“Again, thank God.” Mick glanced up from his notebook and smiled at him.
So his sub liked his size? Interesting. “It’s not always a good thing. I mean, a lot of gay guys are size queens which works in my favor with them, but it’s caused its fair share of problems.”
“Like what?”
Griffin cast his mind far back into the past. Better to go back there than deal with more recent examples.
“Like my first girlfriend Linzy.”
“First girlfriend or first—”
“First first. First person I dated, first person I had sex with.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“Beat me by a year.” Mick snapped his fingers and Griffin laughed.
“Yeah, but you lost your virginity to the most beautiful dominatrix on earth. I lost mine to a fourteen-year-old girl who had no idea what she was doing. Which was fine. I didn’t know either.”
“What did she look like?”
“Dark brown hair, really long. Soft hair. Big blue eyes. Had a porcelain doll thing going. I really was terrified I’d break her. I guess I did break her.”
“What happened?”
“The story, like my dick, is a long one.”
Mick looked up at him with a Did you really just make that joke? look.
“Don’t pass out again, please,” Griffin said at the look of amused disgust on Mick’s face. “You really want to hear about my embarrassing first time?”
“I want to hear everything about you. But let’s start there.”
Griffin started talking. He and Linzy met freshman year at their high school. She was friends with a friend of his. It was lust at first sight.
“I should tell you this was in L.A. Did I tell you I lived in L.A. for about five years?”
“You said you were born in L.A. but I didn’t know you lived there that long.”
“Born there then moved to New York. Back to L.A. when Mom started modeling again. Anyway, back to Linzy...”
Griffin killed an entire box of tissues in one week over Linzy before deciding to ask her out. Age fourteen, no driver’s license. He had to get creative. Creative for a fourteen-year-old with a twenty-four hour erection meant asking his older brother for rides. Thank God for Aiden.
“Aiden’s your oldest brother, right?” Mick asked as he erased a line. Griffin wanted and yet didn’t want to know what part of his body Mick just erased.
“Right. Dad was married before my mom and had Aiden, Chris, and Lucas. Dad finds out his wife, their mom, is cheating and has a drinking problem. Crazy blood-in-the-water type divorce follows. Dad swears off women for eternity and that vow lasts until he meets my mom at a charity fundraiser. She was nineteen. He was in his thirties. Love at first sight. I know how he felt.”
Even in the low lamplight Griffin could see Mick blushing. For the first time he realized he did know how his father felt. Griffin hadn’t dated anyone seriously his entire adult life. The longest relationship he’d ever had lasted about two weeks and was conducted behind the back of the person he was supposed to be dating. His dad had money, lots of it, and three children. The last person his father should have fallen in love with was a nineteen-year-old cover model. The last person Griffin should have fallen in love with was a much younger guy with a suicide attempt in his past and one of the most homophobic fathers in the history of homophobia. The heart wants what the heart wants. And Griffin’s heart wanted Mick.
“Anyway, Aiden was old enough during the divorce to know Dad wasn’t the guilty party. So he took the lead in making sure Chris and Lucas didn’t murder me in my crib when I was born. We’re tight now but it was a shaky start. That we all get along so great now is all thanks to Aiden.”
“Sounds like a great guy.”
“He is. You’ll meet him at Christmas.”
“I will?” Mick asked with a squeak of panic in his voice.
“Don’t stress. Christmas is four months away.”
Mick stopped drawing.
“What’s wrong?” Griffin experienced a moment’s panic at the look of shock in Mick’s eyes.
“It’s just...” Mick smiled. “You’re already planning us being together at Christmas?”
“What? Did you think I’d get tired of you between now and four months from now?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Uncross your mind. Jesus, Mick, I’ve already planned our ten-year-anniversary party. It’s in Scotland, by the way. I’m going to have to get you your own kilt. Keep drawing.”
“Yes, sir.”
He almost told Mick that he was cute when he was insecure about them. Mick worrying about Griffin breaking up with him made as much sense as Mick worrying about gravity being revoked, which he apparently also worried about because he slept every night with his fingers clinging to the sheets. But Nora had told Griffin not to reward Mick for any behavior Griffin didn’t want repeated. They were only a month into their relationship and Mick being worried that Griffin would lose interest in him was cute now; it would be heart-breaking a year from now, or two years from now.
“Anyway, Aiden’s ten years older than me. He had just gotten married but still made time for his baby brother. Being driven around by parents on a date is humiliating, but when you had a cool older brother who hauled your ass around, it wasn’t so bad. Me and Linzy did double dates with Aiden and his wife, who is now his ex-wife.”
“What happened with Aiden’s wife?”
“He said he and Quinn just fell out of love and no amount of counseling could make it work. He respected her too much to keep her in a loveless marriage. She felt the same. Probably the most amicable divorce in history. Aiden’s the one I want to fix your mom up with.”
“My mom isn’t old enough to date.”
“You keep saying that but I will totally make this happen. Did you just whimper like a dying cat?”
“I might have.”
“Just checking. So me and Linzy start getting cozy on our dates. Constant making out and fooling around...”
They got to second base in a movie theater. He got his first handjob from her in a park. Aiden and his wife would take them somewhere and make themselves conveniently scarce so Griffin and Linzy could be alone together. After a couple months of feverish groping they decided to go for it. Linzy was on the Pill and Griffin had the box of Trojans his dad had given him during their birds and bees talk the year before. Time to bust that box open.
“So what happened?” Mick asked.
“I talked to Aiden about it. He was fifteen when he lost his V-card so he didn’t give me any shit for deciding to do it. In fact, he said me and Linzy could use his apartment. He and Quinn would give us the place for a day while they went out. Aiden’s got this old-fashioned gentlemanly streak in him. He said Linzy deserved better than having her first time in the back of a car or on a couch in somebody’s basement. His two cents was that we should wait a little longer but if we absolutely couldn’t, we could use the guest room.”
“Very cool older brother. I wish Erin and I talked more.”
“Yeah, I need to meet this sister of yours.”
“Thanksgiving maybe?” Mick looked up at him with a nervous sort of hope in his eyes.
“Definitely. Thanksgiving with your mom. Christmas with my parents. Cool?”
“Cool. So how did it go with Linzy?”
“Horrible.” Griffin could not emphasize the word enough. “First of all, she was terrified. Determined but terrified, which is a bad combination. Second, she was a virgin complete with hymen. Third, even at fourteen I had this.” He looked down at his cock.
“Ow.”
“That’s what she said. We tried to get it in a few times and I’m not kidding, she screamed every time. Screamed. Not winced or flinched or whatever. Screamed. I kept saying we should stop but she wanted to go for it. A girl screaming in pain is all nice and sexy if she’s on a St. Andrew’s Cross at the Circle and you’re flogging her. If you’re trying to have sex with her, it’s a boner-killer.”
“So what did you do?”
“We fooled around some more. I gave her an orgasm with my fingers which got her really wet. We smoked some pot and went for it again. That time we went through with it, because she was wetter and I was more relaxed. Well, stoned. Stoned is the correct word for it. But don’t tell Aiden that part. I don’t want him to know I did drugs in his house.”
Mick mimed zipping his lips and tossing the key away.
“So happy ending?” Mick asked.
“Not really. She bled a lot, which freaked me out. Blood on the sheets was bad enough but I had blood on me. I felt like a bull in a China shop with her, ripping her open. She wanted to have sex again but I couldn’t go through with it.”
“Did you two break up?”
“A month later. She said she didn’t want to be with a guy who was—”
“Scared to break her?”
“I think those were her words exactly.” Griffin gazed at Mick across the six feet of space between them. “I made you bleed last weekend,” he said. “During sex.”
“I know,” Mick said, almost solemnly. “I was there.”
“I felt like shit about it. I still do.”
“I know you did,” Mick said. “But you don’t have to. I was as into it as you were.”
“It’s my job to protect you.”
“You don’t have to protect me from you. It hurt. It healed. I’m fine.”
“Glad one of us is.”
Mick’s eyes flinched, which was a uniquely Mick sort of expression. His entire face stayed calm but his eyes would widen and narrow in a split second.
“I’m sorry. I guess I keep thinking that I know I’m fine and ready for sex. Guess I didn’t think you might not be.” Mick shrugged and went back to drawing.
“I will be ready again. I’m really sorry I’m like this today.”
“Like what?” Mick asked.
“Confused. Scared. That’s the last thing anyone wants in their dominant. It’s not very, you know…dominant.”
“That’s not true.”
“What?” Griffin wasn’t quite sure he’d heard Mick right.
“I said, that’s not true. I’m a sub and you’re not, so in this area I might know more than you do. I get scared and confused so it makes me feel better to know you sometimes feel that way. The last thing I want is a dominant who won’t tell me what’s going on. It makes me feel freaked out and confused.” Mick sketched and talked at the same time. Griffin would have to remember this, that Mick talked more while working.
“On the day of your collaring, Nora lectured me and told me not to coddle you.”
“She did?”
“I’m doing it anyway, aren’t I?”
“Kind of.”
Griffin sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling. Last Friday night everything had been going so perfectly. He loved making Mick wait until bedtime to beat him and fuck him. Making Mick wait made the entire day buzzing with anticipation. By midnight they were both about to scream from wanting it so much. He’d flogged Mick for about twenty minutes before cuffing him spread-eagled and face down to the bed. He’d been in such a hurry to get inside Mick he’d rushed the prep-time. Not enough lube and too much eagerness...bad combination. He thrust into Mick, who cried out in pain and not pleasure and when Griffin pulled out, he saw blood on his penis.
That had been last Friday night. They didn’t have sex Saturday or Sunday. All week long Mick had been distant. Usually Mick would text him every morning and all throughout the day, telling him every hilarious or weird thing that happened at school. But this week the messages had been few and far between.
“You know, I thought you were mad at me all week,” Griffin said.
“For what? Fucking me? I thought you were mad at me.”
“For what? Having the audacity to bleed? I don’t think you did it on purpose.”
“You didn’t make me bleed on purpose.”
“I hate it when you have a point, Mick.”
“I’ll never do it again, I promise.”
“Is your drawing done?”
“Yup.”
“Yup? Is that how you address me?”
Mick gave him a guilty look. “No, sir.”
“That’s better.”
“Do you want to see the drawing?”
He did want to see the drawing. Definitely. But he wanted to see something else a whole lot more.
“I’d rather see your mouth on my cock.”
Griffin raised his hand and beckoned Mick. Mick put his sketchbook aside and started to stand. Griffin shook his head and Mick froze. Griffin pointed at the floor and without needing any words of instruction Mick went down on his hands and knees. He crawled the six feet to Griffin’s chair and waited, kneeling at his feet.
Mick bent and took the tip of Griffin’s cock into his mouth and sucked on it lightly. Eight whole days without sex had nearly killed him. They could have fooled around and done something other than intercourse last weekend, but Griffin worried if he got too revved up he’d lose his resolve to give Michael time to heal. But he was the dominant in this relationship. How could he expect Mick to trust him if he didn’t trust himself?
Sighing with pleasure, Griffin closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the chair again. He needed this, needed to feel this connection with Mick. Mick licked him from the base to the tip and back down again. Mick put his hands on Griffin’s bare knees through the holes in his jeans. He loved feeling Mick’s fingers on his legs. He knew he wore his holey pants for a reason.
Griffin’s stomach muscles tightened as Mick took him deep into his mouth. The wet heat...the light scrape of teeth on his skin...the soft murmurs of eagerness that came from the back of Mick’s throat. Mick slid his hands up Griffin’s thighs and pressed his palms flat against Griffin’s ribcage. Griffin breathed into Mick’s palms in short breathy pants. Mick always kept his eyes closed during blowjobs. He said it helped him concentrate. Griffin didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to stare at Mick, his beautiful face with those crazy eyelashes of his and his pale skin and perfect lips that Griffin ached to bite all night long.
He raised his hips as the blood pounded through him. In his last moment of coherence he whispered Mick’s name. Griffin didn’t come in Mick’s mouth—he exploded. His orgasms always caught him off guard during oral sex. He could never prepare himself for the force of them. His climax wracked his whole body as semen shot out of him in wave after wave of release.
Griffin sunk into the chair, eyes closed and body spent as Mick carefully cleaned him with his tongue.
“God damn, I love my sub.”
“Your sub loves you too, sir.”
Mick sat back on his heels. He ran the back of his hand over his wet lips and Griffin nearly came again simply from the sight of it.
“I feel much better now,” Griffin sighed.
“So do I.”
Griffin leaned forward, cupped the back of Mick’s neck, and brought their mouths together in a long, lingering kiss.
“Show me your drawing,” Griffin ordered against Mick’s lips.
Mick crawled over to his sketchbook, grabbed it, and handed it back to Griffin.
Griffin stared at the sketch.
“Wow.”
“Is that a good wow?” Mick sounded adorably nervous. Griffin decided to make him sweat it a few minutes. He studied the page, shocked by the detail Mick could put into such a quick pencil sketch. Although the drawing and the conversation had revolved around his cock, Mick had focused the most attention onto Griffin’s face.
“Is this how you see me?”
“Yeah. But that’s how you look.”
“I’m this hot?”
Mick nodded. “That hot. And really, it doesn’t do you justice.”
Griffin closed the sketchbook and set it aside.
“I love you,” he said to Mick, cupping the back of his head again. “And I own you.”
“I know you do, sir.”
“So we’re going to wait another week before we have sex again. We’re going to wait not because I’m coddling you but because I want to be one-hundred-percent sure you’re okay and I’m okay. Tonight we’re going to get into bed, make out for an hour. I’m going to make you come so hard you might lose consciousness again. And you’re not going to worry about us waiting another week. You aren’t going to stress about it. Neither am I. Cool?”
Mick nodded and smiled. “Cool, sir.”
“Good. Now get into bed.”
“Definitely, sir.”
Mick scrambled off the floor and started stripping out of his shirt on his way to the bed. Not a single welt or bruise marred Mick’s back. Maybe in addition to the making out and the blowjob Griffin had planned, he’d get out the cuffs and the candle. A little wax-play never hurt anybody. So many options for torturing that boy tonight. He could erotically torture Mick all night long, no cock-in-ass sex necessary. Hell, he even had that new cane, the thin plastic job that stung like fire and left bright red welts. No, he’d save the cane for later. Mick hadn’t quite earned that sort of beating tonight. They’d save it for next weekend.
Until then he had a sub to beat and get off.
And a debt to pay.
Griffin dug in his pocket and found exactly what he needed.
“Hey Mick?”
Mick turned around.
“Catch,” Griffin said. “For the drawing.”
With an impressive display of reflexes, Mick caught the object and held it on his open palm.
“Thanks...Kate,” Mick said, pocketing the dime.
Griffin glared at Mick.
“That’s it, Leo. Get the cane.”