Page 108 of The Associate
He removed his hand completely and sat back on his heels.
Samuel shattered.
A ragged, broken wail tore from his throat, long and loud. He was crying in earnest now, tears streaming freely, his body convulsing with the force of denied release. He was a sobbing, lust-wrecked mess, completely and utterly undone. The relentless cycle of almost-there and brutal denial had stripped him of every pretense, every shred of dignity or control.
“Please,” he begged, his voice hoarse and wrecked, barely recognizable. “Gael, please… let me cum. I’ll do anything… anything you want. I need to... I need it. Please, I’m begging you… I can’t… I can’t take it…”
He was beyond shame, beyond thought, beyond any sense of self. There was only the agonizing, hollow need for release, and the man who was its sole, merciless arbiter.
Gael watched him for a long, endless moment, his chest heaving, his own desire a stark presence in the room. He saw thetears, the trembling, the absolute ruin of Samuel’s composure. A dark, triumphant satisfaction flashed in his eyes, followed by something softer, almost tender.
“Good boy,” he murmured, the praise a balm on Samuel’s frayed and screaming soul. He leaned closer, his breath hot on Samuel’s ear. “You are so good... begging so sweetly for me... So perfect.”
He lowered his head again, and this time, there was no tease, no denial. He took Samuel all the way, until the head of his cock bumped the back of his throat, and he swallowed, the convulsive, tight muscle sending Samuel into a spiraling freefall.
And then he sucked. Hard.
The orgasm hit Samuel like a freight train. He screamed, a sound torn from the deepest, most primal part of him, as his hips bucked wildly against Gael’s unyielding hold. Wave after blinding wave of pleasure ripped through him, molten and electric, pouring out of him in pulsing jets down Gael’s accepting throat. He saw stars, his vision whiting out completely as he surrendered every last shuddering pulse, every drop of essence, to the man who had wrought this devastating ecstasy from his very core. It went on and on, wracking his body with convulsions, until he was utterly spent, hollowed out.
When it was finally, mercifully over, he collapsed, boneless and liquefied, held aloft only by the steadfast anchor of the cuffs. Gael released him slowly, swallowing one last time with a soft, slurping sound before pulling off. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of Samuel’s head, and kissed him, deep, slow, and thorough. Samuel could taste himself on Gael’s tongue, salty, bitter, and he moaned weakly into the kiss.
Gael broke the kiss, his breath warm on Samuel’s swollen, bruised lips. He looked down at the wreck he’d made of him,bound, trembling, tear-streaked, and a faint, dark satisfied smile touched his mouth.
“Mine,” he whispered.
And in the blissful wreckage of his senses, Samuel could only believe it was the most fundamental, the most undeniable truth he had ever known.
Chapter 27
Samuel
The familiar hush of The Crimson Knot enveloped Samuel like a second skin now, rich with the scent of leather and clean sweat. This was his third visit, and the initial, choking terror had been sanded down to a low, constant hum of awareness; a live wire strung through his veins. Gael’s arm was a solid band around his waist, a grounding weight as they stood at the periphery of the main lounge, their booth forsaken for a better vantage point.
The central podium was occupied.
Two men. The Dominant was older, with a closely shaved head and wide shoulders. He wore simple black trousers and nothing else. The submissive was younger, slender, sitting on a chair before a table that held a silver bowl. His back was a pale, elegant curve, his head bowed.
“Ice play,” Gael murmured, his voice a low vibration against Samuel’s temple. “Sensation. Not pain. The shock of extreme cold, followed by the rush of blood returning.”
Samuel watched, mesmerized.
The Dom took a handful of glistening chips from the bowl. He held his hand above the sub’s back, letting a few pieces scatterand skitter down the knobs of his spine. The sub gasped, a sharp, visible shudder rippling through his shoulders. The Dom’s other hand came up, a large palm splayed between his shoulder blades, holding him steady, anchoring him through the shock.
Then, methodically, the Dom began tracing patterns. He dragged a single, melting cube along the sub’s flank, following the line of his ribs. He pressed a cluster against the nape of his neck. Each touch elicited a jerk, a hitched breath, a low whimper that was more surprise than distress. The Dom’s face was a mask of intense observation, watching the skin bloom from pale to a vivid, reactive pink. He would pause, lean close, and whisper something. The sub would nod, his breathing ragged but his posture remaining willingly open, offered.
The ice melted, leaving wet, glistening trails. The sub’s skin was flushed now, alive and sensitized. The Dom ran a dry, warm hand over the cooled areas, and the sub arched into the touch with a soft, broken sound of relief. The contrast was the entire point, Samuel understood. The sharp, shocking cold, making the simple warmth of skin feel like a blessing.
Then the Dom’s hands moved to the sub’s waist, guiding him up from the chair. He turned him, bending him forward over the padded bench instead. The sub went willingly, his chest flat against the leather, his flushed back presented. The Dom unfastened his own trousers.
Samuel’s breath caught. He knew, intellectually, that sex happened here. But seeing the implicit become explicit, in the soft, public light of the podium, sent a jolt through him that was entirely different from watching impact play.
The Dom didn’t rush. He took a bottle of oil from the table, poured a generous amount into his palm. Samuel watched, unable to look away, as those slick, strong fingers prepared thesubmissive, working him open slowly. The sub’s face was turned to the side, his eyes screwed shut, lips parted on panting breaths. A low, continuous moan spilled from him, a sound of profound need.
Gael’s arm tightened imperceptibly around Samuel’s waist. His lips were close to Samuel’s ear. “Being watched,” he whispered, the words a warm puff of air that made Samuel shiver. “It’s a kink for some. Exhibitionism. For them, the audience is part of the play. It heightens everything.”
The Dom positioned himself. He gripped the sub’s hips, and with a single, steady push, he sheathed himself inside him.
A punched-out cry tore from the sub’s throat, echoing softly in the quiet of the room.
