Sullivan kissed him once, small and tender, beneath the ear. Then with his other hand he pushed, slowly but irrevocably, until Tobias was once more bent over the arm of the chair. That hand stayed between his shoulder blades, just enough to let him know the weight, to let him know he couldn’t move. Enough to center him and trap him and it was exactly what’d been missing. He sighed in gratitude.
“Good,” Sullivan breathed, dark and pleased and strained, and shoved his fingers deep, hard enough that pleasure and pain swirled within Tobias and he lost track of the world all over again.
At some point, he became aware of more water, of Sullivan repeating his earlier questions. Tobias was sore and even copious amounts of lube couldn’t kill the near-constant burn now, and his dick had leaked so much that the towel was dark and damp beneath him, and he could barely breathe for the pleasure that racked his body, and he jerked at the rough, impossible mixture of cruelty and appreciation in Sullivan’s voice when he said, “You’re trying so hard, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Tobias whispered, “Will you hold me down harder?”
Sullivan went still. “If you’ll tell me why.”
He didn’t know how to say that he was on the verge of disobeying—all he could think about was coming. He knew he’d said he wouldn’t come without permission, but he also knew he couldn’t hold off anymore. His brain was too much of a mess to manage those words in the right order. So he went with, “Need to be good.”
Sullivan made a small, punched-out noise, and his fingers inside Tobias were suddenly twisting in a determined, straightforward way that killed any chance of resistance.
“No, that’s not—” Tobias started to lurch upward, half-panicked, because it was way too fast, he’d never hold out, not like this, and Sullivan forced him back down, both of them letting out harsh sounds in the process, and none of that was helpful in the not-coming thing, and Tobias cried out as Sullivan drove him straight to the cliff—
“Come, Tobias. Come now.”
—and over, directly over the edge.
The orgasm bowed his back, flowing through him like jolts of electricity, and it fucking hurt, it hurt so good, and it went on for ages, for whole centuries, horrible and impossible and so overwhelming that when it was over Tobias’s legs were useless. He lay slumped over the arm of the chair, shuddering, only faintly aware of Sullivan shoving his jeans down and sliding his dick through the mess of lube between his cheeks. His cock caught on Tobias’s oversensitive rim several times, and it was downright painful, and each time Tobias jerked and each time it made Sullivan’s breathing grow faster, and it wasn’t long at all before Sullivan was coming across the small of Tobias’s back and shuddering against him.
* * *
Sullivan had expected it to be a fluke.
He’d gotten caught up in the moment yesterday, that was all. Speed and impulse and high emotion—it would be hard for anyone to resist desire when it sprang at you from out of nowhere like that.
A staged scene would be different, he’d told himself. There was always an element of performance to it, and sometimes it was hard to get past the awkwardness of that. More than that, now Tobias had an idea of what was happening; self-awareness could impact a sub’s ability to get lost in play.
After the conversation he’d had with Lisbeth and Caty, Sullivan had planned to let this thing between him and Tobias die a quiet death. Too much potential risk, too much drama, he had too much pride to sleep with someone who was manipulating him, blah, blah, blah.
One quiet confession of vulnerability and a heartfelt apology later, Sullivan’s pride and maturity had taken a hard-left turn. When Tobias had haltingly said that Sullivan could do whatever he wanted with him—and don’t think that hadn’t gotten him hard, fuck—Sullivan had gone along with it like a teacher who gave a pop quiz on the last day of school before summer vacation—partially because he got off on being a bastard, partially because he had to fill time somehow. He’d told himself that if it worked out, they’d both get off; if it was shit, well, once the case was over, they’d never see each other again.
Oh, how the arrogant fell. If it worked out, they’d both get off—what the fuck kind of dumbassery was that? He’d thumbed his nose at the gods of kink, and now in punishment, he had a sub—a true, natural sub, not a partner doing him a favor or a date trying it out for fun, but someone who’d likely be unable to live without kink now that he knew what he’d been missing—sprawled helplessly in front of him, and this wholehearted abandon in the face of Sullivan’s perversion was no fluke. This, this was magic.
It had only been a week. As of tomorrow, they’d have known each other for exactly seven days.
It felt like Tobias had left a deeper mark than that amount of time should allow.
When Sullivan had caught his breath, he pushed himself upright and tried to get his head in gear. Tobias was limp beneath him, covered in come and lube and sweat, and by all rights he should be about as unattractive as it was possible for a man to be, but he was so gone on the experience that he could only be described as beautiful.
Jesus, Tobias was beautiful.
And he’d taken it so well. There’d been nothing but obedience, nothing but the struggle to serve. Sullivan had pushed him hard, especially for someone so inexperienced, and Tobias had never quailed. He’d asked Sullivan to hold him down because he was that determined to be good.
Sullivan would be lying if he said that wasn’t one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced.
“You did so well,” Sullivan said, making Tobias’s lips curve upward at the corners. “You were so good for me.”
It took some
