Page 96 of The Associate
Gael didn’t move. He let the sensation bloom, a low, persistent heat. He liked the sight of it. The contrast of Samuel’s paleness against the dark fabric of his own clothes. The implicittrust in the careless, sprawling limbs. The sheer, unvarnished physicality of it.
His hand, which had been resting on his own stomach, moved. His fingers trailed down, bypassing his own body, to ghost over the soft, heated skin of Samuel’s thigh. The touch was feather-light, a whisper of contact. The skin was silken, warm from sleep. He traced the subtle dip of muscle, the delicate line of a tendon behind the knee.
A deep, unsettling want coiled in his gut, sharper and more fundamental than the familiar itch for a scene, for power, for orchestrated surrender.
He wanted him. Not a submissive. Not a project. Not a beautiful, broken thing to be fixed.
He wanted Samuel. The feel of him, just like this. The weight and the warmth and the unguarded quiet. He wanted to map that skin not as a Dominant, but with the idle, covetous curiosity of a lover. He wanted to kiss the sleep-softened mouth, to feel those long limbs wrap around him as he welcomed him into his body. He wanted the simplicity of touch, stripped of protocol, devoid of toys or terms, reduced to its most primal, unnerving essence: skin on skin, breath shared in the quiet.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this. This raw, unmediated want. In his world, desire was often a component of the dynamic, a spice to the main course of control. It was acknowledged, enjoyed, even celebrated, but it was almost always framed within the architecture of play. This was different. This was a hunger that felt separate from the Dominant in him. It felt… human. Terrifyingly so.
It unnerved him.
And if he was honest with himself, it scared him.
He didn’t do this. He didn’t let down the walls. He didn’t blur the lines. He didn’t fall asleep with a virtual stranger whose trauma he was only beginning to fathom. He didn’t lie here, painfully hard, aching with a desire that felt dangerously like affection, tracing the skin of a man who, by all rational measures, was a catastrophic liability.
The fear was a cold trickle down his spine, a warning system flaring to life. It whispered of attachments, of complications, of the monstrous vulnerability of caring for something so fragile. It echoed the ghost of past failures, the quiet disasters born from moments exactly like this one; moments of softening, of letting the guard drop, of mistaking intensity for intimacy.
A deep, slow breath. A shift of weight against his thigh. Gael’s focus snapped back to the present. He looked down.
Samuel stirred. It was a gentle, unconscious movement at first, a nuzzling into the warmth of Gael’s neck. His dark lashes fluttered against his pale cheeks, then lifted slowly, sleep-heavy and unguarded. For a few blissful seconds, there was only the soft haze of waking, his mouth slightly parted, his gaze unfocused and soft as it met Gael’s.
Then, like a shutter slamming down, awareness returned. Gael saw it happen in real-time. The softness vanished, replaced by a stark, familiar rigidity. The slight parting of his lips tightened into a line. His body, which had been a relaxed curve against Gael’s side, went board-stiff. The fear was back, swift and cold, erasing the vulnerable peace of sleep.
Gael couldn’t allow it. Not now. He wouldn’t let the boy retreat back into that frozen fortress of shame.
His hand, which had been resting on Samuel’s bare thigh, rose. He lifted his fingers and let them come to rest against Samuel’s cheek, a gentle barrier against the coming storm.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough vibration in the quiet room. “You are safe.”
The words were simple, almost absurdly so. But he felt the effect immediately. A full-body shiver wracked Samuel’s frame, a violent reaction to the promise of safety; a concept so foreign it was physically shocking. Then, as if the strings had been cut, the tension drained. Samuel’s body went pliant, melting back into the bed, into Gael’s side. His face turned, just a fraction, into the cup of Gael’s palm. It was a silent, heartbreaking request.More.
Gael answered it.
He leaned down and kissed him.
His lips were gentle against Samuel’s, a tender pressure meant to soothe, to reassure. He tasted of sleep and salt-dried tears. Gael kept it slow, a barely-there brush, a whisper of contact.
A soft, broken sigh escaped Samuel, warm breath mingling with his own. Encouraged, Gael deepened the kiss by the smallest degree. He parted his lips, inviting. Samuel’s mouth opened for him without hesitation, a silent, trusting yield.
That trust was a spark thrown on tinder.
Gael’s control, already frayed from a day of holding himself in careful check, began to unravel. The kiss shifted. The softness ignited into something warmer, hungrier. He angled his head, slanting his mouth over Samuel’s more completely. His tongue traced the seam of Samuel’s lips, asking, before sliding inside.
The taste was an addiction. The soft, helpless noise Samuel made in the back of his throat was a drug. It was a low, yearninghum that vibrated against Gael’s tongue and shot straight to his groin, heating his blood to a low simmer. He’d been hard since the boy had bent for him, since the handprints on his ass, since he’d watched him sleep, since forever, it seemed. But now, with that sound in his ears, the simmer became a boil.
The kiss turned passionate, then ravenous. Gael’s hand slid from Samuel’s cheek into his hair, fingers tangling in the silken strands, holding him steady as he plundered his mouth. Samuel responded with a beautiful, clumsy eagerness, his own tongue meeting Gael’s in shy, desperate strokes. His whimpers grew louder, more frequent, little gasping sounds swallowed by Gael’s relentless mouth. Each one was a match strike against Gael’s restraint.
He couldn’t take it any longer. The careful distance, the patient waiting; it was ash.
With a growl that was half frustration, half pure need, Gael moved. In one fluid, powerful motion, he flipped their positions. Samuel gave a tiny, surprised cry as his back met the soft cushions, Gael’s body coming down over him, caging him in. Gael looked down at him; flushed, breathless, beautifully bare, his eyes wide and dark with a mixture of shock and desire.
Gael grabbed both of Samuel’s wrists in one hand. They were slender, the bones delicate under his grip. He pinned them above Samuel’s head, against the pillows, holding them there with effortless strength. Samuel’s chest arched, a silent offering, a gasp catching in his throat.
With his other hand, Gael grabbed the sharp curve of Samuel’s hip. The skin was warm. He fit his own clothed cock against Samuel’s and ground down.
The contact was electric. Samuel’s back bowed off the couch, a sharp, choked moan tearing from his lips. Gael swallowed the sound, kissing him deeply, filthily, as he repeated the motion.
