Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I sigh in relief, both because he’s letting me tidy the mess and because he’s still giving me more.
CHAPTER TWO
Colton
Caretaking is done in different ways. I’ve played with subs who want to be held afterward, but while I think James enjoys that too, it’s not all he wants. There are others who would want to be pampered, and I’d clean the mess for them and do whatever else they need, but that isn’t James either. It’s clear he couldn’t handle leaving it for later, and one look at his face told me he needed to be the one to clean it up as well, so I stand here and watch him, my dick deflating, still dressed while he gets cleaner and paper towels to scrub the little drops of cum that had dripped onto his rug.
I’m still not sure what I think of James. He’s not my usual type. I haven’t been with someone so much older than me before, and while that doesn’t bother me and he’s incredibly fucking hot, it is different. James is also more uptight than the men or women I tend to go for—not that we’re dating. I have too much going on in my life to make time to date, but when I do meet up with someone, they’re a little more like me—someone who smiles occasionally and isn’t so intense about everything.
It was his looks that had me message him in the first place—short dark hair, broody brown eyes, and a jawline a guy dreams about. That and the fact that so many of our kinks align. James isn’t looking for anything permanent or long term, just like me. He wants a Dom to play with, not a relationship, and considering that I’m transferring from community college to university this coming school year, for the first time at twenty-eight, my life will be too busy for a relationship.
But something about him is intriguing to me. I like watching someone so firm, so steady, come undone for me, to be the one to bring him pleasure because there’s no doubt in my mind James doesn’t get enough of it in his life.
I walk over to him, set a hand on his shoulder. James startles as though he’d forgotten I’m here. “It’s all cleaned up,” I tell him.
“I want to make sure.”
“You did a good job. Now Sir wants to fuck you. Are you going to be good and listen?”
A tremble runs the length of him, vibrating into my hand. I love that feeling, will never get enough of it—the proof of what I do for a sub. There is nothing like it.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good boy. Stand up.” I move back, and he obeys. “Put that stuff away and then walk upstairs with me.”
“Yes, Sir.” He hurries, like he doesn’t want to let me down.
What is this man like in his everyday life? I don’t know anything about him—hobbies, friends, family, career. Nothing. He’s not very forthcoming, and honestly, I haven’t been either. He reminds me of someone who spends most of his life in control, like he needs it, which is such a juxtaposition to him when we’re together.
That’s nothing new, really. Subs are just like everyone else, and all of them are different and aren’t a monolith. Who someone is outside this lifestyle doesn’t go by any set of rules, but again, I find myself more intrigued by James than I probably should be.
He returns a moment later, naked, soft cock hanging beautifully between his legs. I wrap my hand around it, give it a gentle pull and say, “You’re gorgeous hard, but just as beautiful soft. Maybe I should put a cage on you. Keep your pretty dick limp while I fuck you.”
“Whatever…” he says breathlessly, “…Sir wants.”
“Yes, I like that. Whatever Sir wants. Let’s go. You first.”
He heads for the stairs. He lives in a large house, in an expensive neighborhood. It looks nothing like my place, but almost as though it’s a spread in a magazine. I would have to hire someone to get this look. But one thing I did notice is it’s not very lived in. It’s immaculately clean, nothing out of place. Nothing that looks personal either. No family photos or photos of James. No college degrees on the walls or anything that says anything about who he is as a person.
His room is at the end of the hallway upstairs—all the other doors are closed—and I follow him inside. He has toys and supplies for me to use. Last time I told him I could bring my own, but he insisted I use what he had here—even asked if I needed him to buy anything specific that he didn’t have. Providing everything we might use was a limit of his.
“Stop,” I say, and he immediately does as told, freezing a few feet in front of me as though his feet suddenly grew roots to his carpet.