EPILOGUE

IT WAS REALLY GETTING TOO warm to keep wearing thicker, high-necked shirts around the office.

But Vic didn’t really have a choice, when even a lighter shirt might offer a shadowed glimpse of black leather against his throat—and the collar he wore, locked tight and snug against his skin, pressing just enough to remind him of Amani day in, day out, with each and every breath…

That collar was no one’s business but his Master’s.

But he was glad to rip his choking tie loose, as he climbed the stairs to their airy top-floor loft, with its light-filled spaces nearly glowing as the skylights reflected down on honey-toned ash flooring and the scattering of cellos in different sizes and finishes that somehow always seemed to end up everywhere, especially with Amani in the middle of the summer semester and constantly fidgeting over which instrument’s subtle differences in sound would work best with which performance piece. Ever since he’d changed his minor to a focus in performing arts, he’d been a whirlwind, planning out summer classes to catch up and graduate on time—and Vic couldn’t even be sure he’d find him home, when he might be down at the university performance hall, practicing for the acoustics, or might be out with his mother picking out furniture for either her new home, or theirs.

No…he was here. Vic heard the mellow notes of bow against strings before he even opened the door, soft and passionate and silky-smooth, and he smiled as he slipped in quietly, dropping both his briefcase and his tie in the foyer before easing the door closed with barely a click of the latch.

Amani sat in a straight-backed chair near one of the wide bay windows, sunlight sheeting over him as he swayed in time with the sweetly mournful music rising from quivering strings, amber eyes almost fully closed, his delicate face lost in rapture. Vic could have watched him like this for hours, the way he moved with such grace, everything in tempo, from the tumble of his hair to the flit of his fingers to his shallow, sighing breaths…to the back-and-forth sway of the slender silver chain around his neck, and the tiny key dangling from it.

Vic lingered on that key, as he unbuttoned the throat of his shirt and slipped his hand inside to trace over the slim leather band, the faint rise of the lock in the back, flushing with a touch of aching pleasure. He watched Amani for a moment longer, then ducked toward the kitchen, meaning to start on dinner—but Amani sucked in a breath, lifting his head, music stopping as he blinked owlishly.

“Oh,” he said dazedly—before smiling, warm and lazy, as he rose, propping the cello against the chair. “I didn’t even hear you come in. How goes another day of corporate dismemberment?”

“The usual. Everyone’s screaming, the Board’s tried to sue me six times just today, and my father’s completely uninterested in stopping my violent rampage through all of Newcomb Textiles’ holdings, which just makes watching everyone flail vastly more entertaining.” Vic grinned, stepping closer to draw Amani into his arms; he never got tired, even now, of the familiar way that lithe body fell against him, draped in another of his stylishly graceful caftans, that subtle hint of allure in every movement. “I never knew dismantling a business empire could be so fun. The legal team’s ready to kill me over the new startups, though.”

“They’ll get used to the new world order soon enough. I’ll bet Julie’s having fun with the new agritech subsidiaries, though.” Amani stretched up on his toes, catching Vic’s mouth in a soft tease, biting at him with gentle control until he groaned, knees sagging. “Mm…welcome home, pet. Did you do what you were supposed to today?”

“Mmn. I hated it, but I did it.”

“And?”

“…mmmngh.”

Amani’s eyes narrowed. “And?”

“…better. I’m out of the ‘Danger, Will Robinson, danger’ range and somewhere closer to not standing up too fast or I’ll get the vapors.”

A snort escaped pretty lips. “You could have just told me your numbers.”

“One thirty-six over eighty-four.”

“Which means you have to go back?”

“Which means I have to go back,” Vic admitted grudgingly. “It’s a step, though.”

“It is. And since you did as you were told and went to the doctor today…” Amani hooked his finger in Vic’s collar, sweet pressure against his throat making him swallow thickly, and tugged him down. “I did promise you a reward, sweet boy.”

“Ah, God.” Those two words still shot straight to his cock, pulling it on a tether. “Do I get to pick the reward?”

“Was there something special you had in mind?”

Vic nodded, but couldn’t open his mouth. He’d been working up to this in his head all day, half-distracted at work, turning over how he would say it, how he would ask, and yet now he was fumbling with his entire chest fluttering until he thought he’d pass out.

“Master…I want…I want…”

“Tell me what you want, sweet boy,” Amani coaxed gently, and Vic shuddered.

“I want to try,” he whispered. “I’m…I’m ready. If you want to take me. If you want me that way.”

Amani briefly just…stopped, his eyes widening, flushing with warmth under dusky skin, before he smiled, slow and pleased. “I do. And every way.” His fingers threaded into Vic’s hair, soft caresses reaching down to his scalp. “What made you decide?”

“Missing you every time I’m away. You…you make me whole. And I want it to be in every way. Any way you want me…as long as you want me,” Vic breathed, heart in his throat—because this, too, was what he’d wanted to say all day. What he’d wanted to say since he’d met Amani, and some beautiful thing inside his fey bright lover had reached into Vic and taken control.

Amani’s nails trailed shiver-sharp lines down the back of Vic’s neck. “And if how long I want you is forever?”

“Then I want that too.” More than anything, enough that his heart could have seized and stopped then, frozen in this perfect feeling as he pressed into Amani and kissed him again and again, turning words into kisses and kisses into words. “Master…Amani. I never want this to end. I know who I have to be outside, to other people…but with you I’m real. With you I’m true, I’m right…and I need to be able to come home to you.” The words that had been building up inside him lodged in his throat, but he couldn’t live without saying them, without asking, “Promise you’ll be with me. Promise you’ll love me…and promise you’ll marry me.”

Amani’s startled breath, his trembling lashes, his searching amber eyes left Vic prickling with anticipation, needing a response, something. “Are you proposing to me, pet?”

“If I’m allowed.” And he sank to one knee, corralling Amani’s hips with his palms, and rested his cheek to the embroidered silk over Amani’s body. “Spend the rest of your life with me, Amani. Be my Master always. Mine and only mine.”

“That sounds like an order.”

“It’s a plea.”

That seeking, penetrating gaze lingered…then softened in a smile. “You could have made it a demand, and I’d still say yes. Yes.” Amani burst into laughter, bright and joyous and infectious. “But you get to tell my mother.”

That simple yes was as satisfying as the feeling of leather against skin, as heady as the click of a lock sliding home, as perfect as the sound of a lilting voice raised in pleasure and sensuous command.

And Vic was happy.

He closed his eyes, melting for the fingers in his hair, the warmth in his arms. “That shouldn’t be so hard. Your mother loves me.”

“She might not when she finds out you want to marry me. She might decide you’re not a good match.”

“All that matters is if I’m good enough for you.”

“No one could be better.” Amani grinned wickedly. “But you get to tell her why she’s not getting grandchildren.”

“Who says we can’t adopt?”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Amani tilted his head. “A little litter of our own?”

“Always underfoot, breaking everything, spilling everything else, and we’ll never have sex again…”

Amani stiffened. “I’m putting a cap on two.”

They both fell into quiet laughter, leaning into each other, tangled and warm. But as their laughter faded into sighs, Amani curled his knuckles under Vic’s jaw, pulling him up into a slow, languid kiss that melted him into submission, little tingles of anticipation rushing through him as Amani’s tongue delved into his mouth in wet, thrusting suggestion, teasing and stroking him inside.

“My sweet boy,” Amani sighed, as Vic moaned and leaned into him. “Always mine.”

“Always?”

“Did you have any doubt?”

“Never.” Vic shook his head. “But show me anyway.”

Amani’s only answer was a smile, one that promised he would show Vic everything, playing his body as if he knew Vic better than Vic knew himself…as he straightened, unclasped the chain from around his neck…and hooked the end to the delicate silver loop on Vic’s collar, turning to lead him into their bedroom by his leash.

He shed his clothing with every step; he knew by know his Master loved him naked, always exposed and ready for him, nothing hidden from searching eyes that devoured his every vulnerability. And as they stepped into the cozy, quiet room they’d made their own, he climbed onto the bed and knelt with his thighs spread wide, his cock pulsing hot, his wrists crossed behind his back, his head bowed. Like this, he was ready for his Master; like this, he trembled as Amani traced his fingertips over his shoulders, his arms, his chest, his thighs, defining the shape of him with the lightest touch. Like this, he was ready for the cuffs around his wrists, the scent of oiled leather and the reminder that he was helpless, obedient. Like this, he shivered and bucked and dripped wet with pre-come as the straps locked around the base of his cock, the swell of his balls, commanding control of his pleasure for Amani and Amani alone.

And like this, he was ready to open himself to the touch of slender fingers as Amani poured them over with lube…and, sinking across Vic’s body to straddle his lap, captured his mouth and darted both his tongue and one finger inside.

Vic stiffened, at the first light brush against untouched flesh—oily and smooth and warm, testing and pressing gently, while Amani mimicked with feinting darts of his tongue that bordered on obscene, working Vic’s panting mouth to erotic softness and heat. He tried not to tense—but he couldn’t help it as that finger circled and returned, pressed and teased, slid in slow and left him gritting his teeth, starving for air, rolling his hips as pressure and burning caresses rocked him from inside.

It hurt—it hurt so much more than he ever expected, that one slim finger, then two, a grinding, hot dragging within, a thing that flushed him deep and burst with pleasure from the root to the tip of his cock and transformed into some dark mimicry of pleasure as Amani guided him through it with sinful lips and the promise in every slow-plunging taste, capturing him and holding him prisoner to sensation unlike any he’d ever known. Nothing had ever felt as intimate as being explored this way, and as Amani released his mouth, biting his lower lip and tugging before letting go with a last snap of his teeth, Vic caught his breath on a sharp cry as Amani slithered down his body, dragging against his agonizingly straining, wet-slicked cock, and bit down on his nipple in a spark-shock snap of pain that made his cock spurt and his back arch, torn between raw, conflicting sensations…as a third finger slipped inside, filling him with a thickness he almost couldn’t stand.

“M-Master,” he gasped out, tossing his head back, rising up on his knees only to sink back down, almost impaling himself on those fingers. “Fuck, Master!”

“Relax, sweet boy.” Purring approval, the warmth in that stroking voice caressing over him and only making him shudder deeper. Vic tried to relax, but when Amani began those slow, thrusting strokes of his fingers, when he brought that glide and rhythm inside Vic until his body took control…he couldn’t stop himself from curling into Amani, the warmth of his body, even as he lifted his hips and rocked himself back and opened himself, bared himself, begged with his body where the only word he could remember to say was Master, Master, Master. He writhed, played so expertly by Amani’s touch, taken to a place beyond control where he need only give himself up, trust his beloved, and fall into torture as only Amani could make pleasure be.

“How does it feel, sweet boy?” Amani asked, and Vic whimpered in the back of his throat, squeezing his eyes shut as Amani twisted his fingers inside and caressed his inner walls in strokes of silk.

“Tight,” he gasped out through his teeth, then melted into a shuddering moan as the next thrust came harder, faster. “Deep. Hurts….”

“Do you want to hurt more, my love?”

Yes. No matter what Amani asked of him, the answer was always yes. And Vic answered not in words, but with the acquiescing bow of his head, the readiness of his body as he spread his thighs and lifted himself up.

Slick fingers slipped out of him, leaving him empty, the void left behind a demanding thing—but he watched, rapt, as he was gifted with the vision of Amani’s caftan falling away over his naked body, burnished and coppery and glowing with a lustrous sheen, every fragile slender limb just as strong as it needed to be to hold Vic completely under his command. Warm, smooth skin hissed against him, sheer perfect arousal in every touch, as Amani slid beneath his thighs, gripped his hips, drew Vic up to straddle him. He bucked, as he felt the press of Amani’s cock against his ass, the first hot wet dew of pre-come dripping against his cleft, the thickness of a cock-head nudging against him. His heart lurched, his gut tightening, a spark of fear only making the anticipation that much sweeter, ramping up that whispering need to ease that empty pull.

Amani’s eyes lidded as he moved against him, pleasure in delicate features, burning in amber cat-eyes. “Here,” he whispered, guiding Vic to position himself, shifting him on trembling thighs. “Just as you like. Let me watch you take me.”

He obeyed as though he had no other choice—because for him, the only choice was this. This was what let him be who he had always needed to be: to be guided, to be taken, to be captured, to be owned. To relinquish all control; to obey, and to sink into the bliss of pure trust, pure surrender, pure compliance. As he sank into the burn, the invasion, the intimacy, the pleasure…he lowered himself, twisted his hips, and pressed himself down on Amani’s cock.

The shape of it. The heat of it. The stretching thickness of it, parting his flesh, flowing in deep, feeling as though it split him and opened new places inside him, bared him so that nothing was secret from Amani. Not his pleasure, not the raw hoarse cries of agony that tore from his throat, not his absorption in Amani’s own soft cries or how his Master’s body bucked beneath him, tormenting fingers playing rough over his cock in electric jolts of pleasure-pain.

He felt no shame, in arching his back and writhing his hips, twisting and dragging his Master’s cock inside him; he felt no hesitation, as he pulled against the cuffs and spread his thighs wider and took every inch, spearing up inside him and sliding against his flesh as he impaled himself again and again, addicted, craving, desperate to find that peak that hovered ever out of reach as they came together in crashing movement, tangling bodies, the tight demanding pull of the leash around his neck and the throb and spurt of his Master’s flesh. This, for him, was perfection. This, for him, was love.

This was his submission. This was his salvation.

This was his love, bound heart to heart.

And he would forever belong to his Master.

THE END