“Down,” I say. I flick his titanium nipple piercing.
Obediently, he sinks to his knees in one fluid movement as though he has no bones.
“Wrists behind your back.”
His smile broadens. Already, his cock is stiff, straining skyward from the prelude of my teasing.
I cuff him, then pause to admire the lines of his body from behind: the planes of soft skin, the curves of his buttocks, the angles of his shoulder blades. His blond hair is disheveled as always. Freckles cascade down the length of him, fading along his back and arse, lit by the lamp’s warm glow.
I run a hand across Ben’s shoulder blades. He shivers. I rake my fingers between them, along his spine and into his hair, tugging his head back slightly.
Ben moans softly. “Yeah…”
“Like that, huh.” My fingers tighten.
His breath catches.
“No talking,” I say.
I catch him by the elbow and help him up onto the bed, bending him over to display his arse, a pale vision. God. I’m hard in my boxers as I watch him like this. To improve the sight, I put the ankle cuffs on him, and after a false start, I secure each foot to a post of the bed. Definitely better. His legs are splayed tight, and he’s on his stomach. With light fingers, I tease his balls and his arse. He groans.
“Shh,” I say.
He presses his face into the covers to muffle himself as my fingers continue to torment. It’s learning a new language, learning Ben’s body, each quiver and reaction. I work him as I rub myself against his arse. He’s all gold and dark purple leather, caught under firm restraint, and I take in the sight of him. Beautiful.
Two more things to make this perfect.
I find his navy blindfold and take his sight. He trembles. When I place a pillow under his hips, his cock’s already seeping. Mine is too. We’re both worked up after our conversation.
And he trusts me. God, he trusts me.
Stepping out of my boxers, I reach for a condom and lube, pausing to prepare myself and him, teasing relentlessly with demanding fingers as he sobs out until I stop just as suddenly and he cries out with the absence of me. And then I press and press till I’m fully inside, deep until he gasps. I bite the nape of his neck and grasp his hips.
“You want this?” I ask.
Ben groans with desire. I bite his shoulder for good measure and hold him tight against me, working him as I work myself, and I know we won’t last long like this and he’s shaking so hard, biting down on his own lip to keep from calling out, crying out, giving over everything he has and everything he is to me, and I ride him without mercy, a union of language, and he’s gasping, on the cusp of coming.
“Say it,” I demand. I grasp him tight against me, riding him, and oh it’s pure ecstasy having him like this, unable to move even if he wanted to, but I know he’s getting off on the restraint, the deprivation of movement, the weight of my body. Beneath me, he bucks and writhes and shudders.
“Fuck. God. Charlie, please. Oh please.”
“You can’t come yet,” I declare.
He sobs out.
I tease and let up, tease and let up, tease again and then it’s hard to say who’s going more wild—him or me—with the damn relentless teasing and then I finally give him what he wants, a proper fucking and he’s pinned beneath the weight of me, splayed, and we press together and I stroke him mercilessly till he spurts all over my hand and the bed and the cushions and I follow and collapse on him as we both shudder and shake.
“Holy shit,” I gasp.
Ben groans.
My arms are tight around his waist, my face against his shoulder blade. His legs tremble. I stay like this as long as I dare, till I withdraw to deal with the condom. I pause to admire the sight of him again.
“I could leave you like this till next time.” I just might, too.
“You could.” Ben tries to catch his breath. “But you’ll still need to bring me shortbread and tea.”
And we laugh as I release his ankle restraints and wrists, falling into bed together in a tumble of limbs and leather, caught in each other’s embrace.
