"Julian." Ezra accepted the man's enthusiastic embrace, muscles stiffening visibly beneath his suit. His mouth tightened at the corners. "Still allergic to subtlety, I see."
Julian laughed, clapping Ezra on the shoulder before turning to me. His gaze traveled openly down my body, lingering at my throat, my hips, my crotch. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. "And who is this delicious creature? Please tell me he's not merely decorative."
"Julian Frost, meet Micah Salt, my protégé." Ezra shifted closer to me. "Julian teaches art in Halifax."
Julian's eyebrows lifted as his hand clasped mine. I shuddered as his thumb stroked my maimed finger. He held the contact until I had to tug my hand away.
"Protégé? How remarkably uncharacteristic of you, Ezra. You've never shared your toys before."
Ezra didn't just tense—he shifted, like an alpha challenged. I caught the micro-movement, the almost imperceptible adjustment of his weight onto the balls of his feet.
"You still fancy yourself my artistic equal," Julian added, eyes glittering with something dangerous. "Your methods and mine are not so different. Perhaps your boy would benefit from seeing another master's technique."
"Micah's schedule is quite busy at the moment," Ezra replied, muscle twitching in his jaw. A vein pulsed visibly at his temple.
Julian inched closer. “Ah, I see. Well, then perhaps we can find time to have lunch together? I’d love to see your work, Micah.”
Before I could respond, Ezra stepped forward, inserting himself between us. His back pressed against my chest, his body radiating heat and tension. My mouth watered suddenly with the desire to press against him, to find the comfort of his nipple between my lips, to draw the security of his body into mine. I swallowed hard against the craving, knowing it would have to wait.
"Micah's work requires further development before public exhibition.” Ezra’s tone was glacial. “When he's ready, I'll be sure to send an invitation."
Julian's eyes flicked between us. He grinned, revealing perfectly capped teeth. "Well, when you're ready to emerge from under Ezra's... tutelage... my offer stands." He handed me a business card. "Call me anytime. For anything."
Ezra went rigid, a predator ready to strike—white-knuckled, vibrating with tension. Julian smirked before turning away, disappearing into the crowd with a backward glance that made Ezra's nostrils flare.
Ezra’s hand shot out, closing around my elbow in a grip that would bruise. He leaned in, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Come with me. Now."
His fingers dug into my arm as he steered me away from the main gallery, past curious onlookers, down a corridor toward the administrative offices. Finding a supply closet, he opened the door and pushed me inside, his hand planted firmly between my shoulder blades. Darkness enveloped us before he flicked on a small light.
My chest squeezed and cold panic prickled at the back of my neck. Suddenly all I could think of was the hours I’d spent in darkness for sucking my sleeve in my grandmother’s closet.
"Give me his card.” Ezra’s demand snapped me out of it.
I retrieved Julian's business card from my pocket and placed it in his outstretched hand. Without breaking eye contact, Ezra tore it into tiny pieces, letting them fall to the floor. His eyes had darkened to storm gray, pupils blown wide with anger and something darker.
"He wants to fuck you," Ezra snarled.
I shook my head. “I don’t want him, Daddy. I promise.”
Ezra crowded me against the shelves. His cologne filled my nostrils, sandalwood and cedar and something uniquely him. Ileaned toward him unconsciously, mouth parting with the desire to nurse at his chest, to take the comfort only he could provide.
"That's not the point." His hand shot out, fingers gripping my jaw hard enough to make me gasp. "Your body belongs to our work now. To me."
He released me and unbuttoned my pants. The zipper rasped loudly in the small space. He slid inside to grasp my bare cock, his palm rough and hot against my sensitive skin. The contact sent electricity shooting up my spine. Two weeks of denial had left me hypersensitive, and I was already half hard before he even touched me.
"Daddy," I whimpered, panic rising as my body threatened to disobey. "I can't—I might not be able to—please, I don't want to ruin our project—"
"Shhh," he soothed, stroking me slowly. "I know you want to be good. I'm not going to let you fail. That's for our creation. I just need to touch you, to feel you, to…" He paused and swallowed. “I just need to do this.”
My head fell forward against his shoulder and I nodded. Whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, I would give him without question. Ezra kept stroking me, bringing me to the edge quickly. When I whimpered out a warning, he squeezed hard and gave my balls a firm tug. The denial made my legs go weak. A sob tore from my throat, loud enough that he pressed his other hand over my mouth.
"Quiet," he commanded against my ear. "Unless you want the entire gallery to know what their rising star is doing in the supply closet."
I nodded frantically against his palm, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes—not from pain but from the unbearable tension of being brought so close then denied again. My maimed finger throbbed as if in sympathy with my aching cock.
"Who owns you, Micah?" he repeated, his voice a low growl that vibrated through my body.
"You do, Daddy," I gasped when he removed his hand from my mouth. Sweat beaded on my forehead, trickling down my temples.
