Reluctant groom, p.10
Reluctant Groom, page 10
Owen’s stomach flipped as he slumped listlessly against the wall. Everything inside him screamed to acquiesce to this man’s wishes. He hardly understood it. “I’m sorry, sir,” he whispered, unable to draw enough breath to make his voice louder.
“Good.”
Owen’s emotions seesawed, catapulting him into relief at the sound of that one word. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
“That’s all right, kid.” Beau pressed the length of his body against Owen, one strong arm wrapping around his waist and keeping him from sliding to the floor. “I know, and I want things, I shouldn’t. You should run.”
His voice had gone dark and dangerous. Owen probably should run, but he didn’t want to, all he wanted was to hand himself over. “What things?” he asked.
The answering chuckle was sinful. “I play hard,” Beau said, nuzzling Owen’s temple. “With ropes and whips.”
“Oh.” Oh, God. The fascination from long ago woke up deep in Owen’s chest. “Will you hurt me?”
“Not unless you want me to. This won’t be like those videos you were in. What we do won’t be for someone else to jerk off to, it’ll be for you to feel good.” There was a pause. “I can’t give you much, kid, but I can give you this.”
Owen’s heart thudded loud in his ears. He teetered at the edge of a cliff, one step back and he’d be on safe, familiar ground. There’d be a sandwich and he’d go to his room, maybe watch a few episodes of something on streaming. The next morning, he could email Jennifer and ask if he should go to casting calls or if she had any scripts in mind for him.
Or he could throw himself off the edge and fall headfirst into the unknown.
It was barely even a choice. He was the same man who’d left a tiny town to chase a dream on the other side of the country. He picked the unknown.
“Please don’t blindfold me,” he said. “I can’t, not after…” He trailed off and swallowed hard.
Beau cupped his cheek. “Fuck those assholes. No blindfolds … that’ll be different for me. Usually, I borrow a sub, and they don’t know who it is playing with them. But I want you to know.”
A shudder passed through Owen, either of delight or fear, maybe both. “Do you … um, is there a room in the house? Where you … you know?”
Beau threw his head back and laughed. “That damned book. No, kid, I don’t have some red room of pain. I’ve got shelves and equipment in my closet upstairs, in my bedroom. One book and everyone expects you to be outfitted like a club at all times.” He shook his head. “Come on, let me show you how this all really works. BDSM isn’t about the equipment. It’s nice to have, but not necessary.”
Owen leaned against Beau, who kept an arm around him, guiding him up the stairs and to a part of the house Owen hadn’t seen before. Beau’s private rooms, he supposed, one with video game equipment, another a tastefully appointed home office, and then they were in a spacious bedroom. A metal, four-poster king bed dominated one wall, a bank of huge windows another.
It was almost too much. The space smelled masculine and clean, and for a second, Owen thought he might change his mind and run as panic built in his chest.
But then he spied a sock on the floor, half under the bed. A mystery novel sat upside down on top of a chest of drawers. There were two empty water bottles sitting on the bedside table. The upwelling of fear dissipated. Beau was human, just a regular person who happened to live a life most people could never imagine. A life lonelier than most people could imagine. Owen hadn’t lacked sexual partners, he knew how to enjoy himself, but he’d always had at least one dinner with them first. They’d talk, argue, make jokes. They’d all known who he was, and he’d known them as people, not just things to be used.
Well, he thought ruefully, Beau was using him, but it felt different than anonymous sex.
Owen ended up sitting on the side of the bed. “Should I get undressed?”
“No.” Beau eyed him. “Stay right there. I just need to get a few things.”
Abruptly alone, Owen tried to pull himself together while simultaneously mentally running through everything he knew about being a sub. It wasn’t a lot, and most of it was probably wrong. He really had no idea what he was doing. He dropped his face into his hands.
“Owen?” Beau’s voice asked him a minute later.
“I had a poster of you tacked to the inside of my closet door.”
Laughter rumbled, but it didn’t sound unkind. “Which movie?”
“The epic fantasy one.”
“So much hose in that flick. I bitched every day about the pantyhose.”
Gentle fingers pried Owen’s hands away from his face. “My dad ripped that poster down and burned it when he found it. Never said anything, but, um, the message was clear.”
Beau crouched down. Something swirled through his honey-brown eyes, emotions that disappeared or morphed before Owen could name them. “That bastard doesn’t own your identity.” The words dripped with venom. “He doesn’t own any part of you, and I’m about to prove it. Tonight, you’re mine, but only if you want to be.”
His head seemed too heavy, but Owen nodded an assent. It was his choice, damn it. Beau was right. There were a lot of things he hadn’t picked, from being in those ridiculous pornos because he’d needed the money, to working some terrible job to make ends meet. Hell, even the wedding hadn’t been a choice, unless he’d wanted his career to end before it started. But this moment, handing his body over to a man he’d had more than one wet dream about as a teenager? This was his decision.
“Good,” Beau breathed. “Ground rules.” The tie around Owen’s neck came undone easily in his hands. “No touching unless I tell you to. You come when I say so. I will not stop, even if you tell me to, unless you give me the safe word. Pick one.”
Owen’s mind blanked. “Uh … Oscar?”
“Like the award?” Beau’s lips curled into a crooked smile that made Owen’s cock twitch.
“Like that. There’s no reason we’d be talking work so it shouldn’t come up.”
“Good thinking.”
The praise made Owen glow. He wanted more of that.
Beau quickly undid the collar and buttons of Owen’s shirt, pulling both it and the suit jacket off him. He removed Owen’s polished dress shoes and socks. His hands were sure and steady, but each simple touch sent bolts of lust pinballing through Owen. By the time he was down to nothing but his pants, it was impossible to hide his erection. He tried anyway, pulling his knees up while hunching forward, not wanting to be so obviously desperate for Beau that a few brushes of fingers had made him hard as a rock.
“No hiding,” Beau said, voice rumbling with a command that made Owen rush to do as asked. He flopped onto his back, hands at his sides, and the bulge in his trousers very apparent. “Better.” Beau undid Owen’s belt, fingers avoiding his cock. The dress pants slid down his legs, followed by his boxers, until he lay naked on the soft quilt. Beau stood at the foot of the bed, finger tapping against his bottom lip, like he was inspecting Owen. “Gorgeous,” he finally rasped.
Owen felt very exposed, since Beau was still fully dressed in his immaculate suit. He wanted to grab a pillow to cover himself. “What happens if I disobey? Do I get a spanking?” Saying it made him squirm in anticipation.
The crooked smile on Beau’s face widened. He sat on the side of the bed, trailing a finger along Owen’s arm. “You would like that too much.”
Owen pouted, making Beau chuckle.
“See?” Beau wrapped his hand around Owen’s wrist. “If you don’t do as I tell you, then—” He hesitated. “Then you have to eat broccoli for breakfast.”
Ew, gross. “You’re going to make me eat my vegetables?”
“Yeah, kid, I am.”
“I guess I’ll do as I’m told,” Owen grumbled, but a little more of his unease left him.
Beau lifted Owen’s hand to his lips. A soft kiss pressed to the tip of one finger sent tendrils of heat unfurling down his arm. “You better. Now arms over your head.” Beau stood as Owen complied. “All the way on the bed.”
Owen scooted up, then extended his arms overhead. Beau stood and pulled out a velcro cuff on a tether. It must have been hidden under the mattress. He strapped in Owen’s wrist, checked the tightness, and moved to the foot of the bed. Both of Owen’s ankles were treated the same, followed by his other wrist. He tested the bonds, which felt secure, but didn’t pinch, or allow him more than an inch or so of movement.
Excitement slid through him, lighting a pulsing fire of need low in his belly. This was what he’d always wanted and had never known how to ask for.
Beau backed away from the bed, pausing to pick up something he’d brought from the closet. The sharp snap of leather against his palm made Owen jerk his head off the bed. Beau stood, still in his suit, though the front now contained a telltale bulge. He held a riding crop with a wide leather head, which he was inspecting.
“Sir?” Owen asked, his throat abruptly dry with a mix of anticipation and worry.
“I like you saying that. Please address me as such.” He continued studying the leather. “What we’re doing is something that usually requires a great deal of trust. I’ve given you no reason to. In fact, I’ve treated you like shit. I’ll probably continue to, so don’t expect things to change. This is just fun, which I hope we can have more of in the future, but always at my discretion.”
Owen’s head thunked back against the mattress. He’d known he was marrying an asshole. A handsome one, who was twice his age and had some demons that were probably well-earned.
He hadn’t been expecting the sex, and fuck, the worst of it had to be that he still trusted Beau. Maybe because he’d grown up watching his movies and had him confused with his characters, or maybe it was because Beau had never pretended to be anything besides an ass.
“I understand,” Owen said with a sigh.
Beau marched across the room and swatted Owen’s shoulder with a smack that sounded loud but barely stung. “I understand, what?” he said, voice low but firm.
Oops. “I understand, Sir.”
“Better.” Beau rolled up the sleeves of his expensive dress shirt.
Owen’s breath caught in his throat. This had to be a dream. Nobody had forearms that beautiful.
The head of the crop landed softly on his sternum and drew down his belly, making goosebumps race over his skin. He whimpered.
“Do you know, Owen Laflen, what you’re supposed to be doing right now?”
“Uh, no, Sir.”
“Good job on the ‘Sir.’”
Warmth flooded Owen. He wanted badly to please this man and hated himself a little bit because he so obviously did.
“No frowning.” The crop darted back up to barely tap against Owen’s lips. “This is how it’s played. You want to obey and I want to make you obey. You don’t have to feel bad because you wish to.” Beau leaned down, his warm breath ghosting against Owen’s ear. He shivered. “Owen,” Beau whispered. “All you have to do is feel.” Beau nipped at Owen’s earlobe before straightening up.
“Yes, Sir,” Owen murmured, eyes on the crop. Lips in a thin line, eyes intense, Beau trailed the head of the crop over him, cheeks, shoulders, chest, sides, and stomach. Feather-light touches on his tense thighs, a light tap on the bottoms of his feet. It all made Owen hyper-aware of his own body, from the roots of his hair to his pinkie toes.
The strokes and taps continued until he was nearly melting into the bed. The bonds on his limbs kept him in place, kept him open and available to Beau, as Owen did as he was told and felt. Finally, Beau teased the head of the crop close to Owen’s cock, but not touching. The languidness fled. A few more fleeting touches had him panting.
Fuck, Beau was good at this.
“Please, Sir.” Owen gasped when the crop swept up his inner thigh. “Please.”
Beau still looked cool and calm, except for a faint flush on his cheeks. “I like that,” he said. “You begging.” Strain laced his voice.
Tension coiled tight through Owen and he pulled at the restraints, all his need focused on his cock and his raging desire to come. He wanted Beau to know how desperate he was. “Please, Sir, I need to get off. Please let me. Please.”
The crop whipped up and smacked Owen’s nipple, the sting sharp, followed by a wave of pleasure. His hips lifted and he moaned. The head of the crop ran down his belly, flicked back up to his other nipple, then ghosted down again.
This time, Beau dragged it over Owen’s straining erection. He nearly came, his sac drawing up and his hips stuttering. The rough slide of the leather was more intense than any caress had ever been.
“Not yet,” Beau chided, and Owen dropped back on the mattress with a groan.
“Please … Sir.” He’d sell his left nut to come, but he wouldn’t until he had permission.
Beau, his carefully coiffed hair ruffled, something dark swimming through his fathomless eyes, bent over the side of the bed, his face hovering above Owen’s. “Kiss me,” Beau said with a growl.
Owen did as told, lifting his head up and sloppily smashing his mouth to Beau’s. He shuddered, one hand gripping Owen’s hair and keeping him put while the other wrapped around Owen’s cock. The leather shaft of the crop was still in Beau’s hand, and it pressed against Owen’s erection as Beau roughly stroked him.
The hint of pain drove Owen over the edge. He grunted harshly, the pleasure pulling him under like a riptide of bliss. His vision whited out, and for long moments, all he knew were the pulses of his release and the all-consuming heat of Beau’s mouth.
Just as Owen started to come back to earth, Beau pulled away.
“Fuck,” he growled, throwing the crop at the wall. He raked a hand through his hair, staring down at Owen. “Fuck, I…”
Beau undid his belt, the jangle loud in the otherwise silent room. His face was marred with a snarl as he pushed his pants and underwear down. Stepping out of them, he climbed onto the bed and straddled Owen’s chest. The weight made breathing hard, but Owen didn’t care about anything but the impressive cock Beau had a hand around. He used the other to yank Owen’s head up by the hair again.
“You’re going to suck me, Laflen.” The words were hard-edged, cutting.
Owen, wanting to do nothing but please the man who’d drawn such pleasure from him, obediently opened his mouth wide.
With a savage thrust, Beau forced his cock deep. Owen moaned, pleased to be taken and used by this man. It was as good as winning the spot in the commercial, or his first part in a school play. He was wanted.
Beau fucked his mouth with short, sharp strokes, grunting with each one. He forced himself deep, and Owen’s eyes watered as he swallowed around the cock stuffed in his mouth. His breath was harsh in his nose, rasping, but he was proud of how he was able to take what he was being given.
All too soon, Beau groaned and his cock jerked, sending cum pulsing down Owen’s throat. He swallowed quickly, eager to please.
“Laflen,” Beau grunted. He stroked Owen’s hair clumsily. “Laflen … Owen.” Beau’s face paled and he threw himself off Owen. With a jerk, Beau opened one of the restraints. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Owen undid his other arm and his ankles. He was on cloud nine, satisfied and proud. That had been magnificent, better than any dream, and he wanted more.
Beau, in his expensive but now rumpled shirt, sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.
“Sir,” Owen said, putting a tentative hand on Beau’s shoulder. He flinched but didn’t pull away. “Thank you.”
“You shouldn’t thank me, kid.”
So, they were back to kid, then.
“Too late, already done. Now lie down and get some beauty sleep. You need it, old man.”
Beau looked over his shoulder at Owen, brow raised. “You’re skating awfully close to broccoli.”
“Lie down, sleep. We both need it.” He tried to keep a smile on his face, but it slipped as his body trembled. Cold had seeped into his muscles.
Beau sighed, but pulled back the sheets, and somehow herded Owen under them. He couldn’t stop trembling. Beau turned him on his side and spooned him from behind. He draped a leg over Owen’s shaking ones.
“I got you,” Beau murmured. “And, kid, you did good.”
The warmth of Beau’s body seeped in along with his words. For the first time in his life, Owen knew he was in the exact right place. It was almost like being home. Too bad it wasn’t real.
Chapter Five
Back pain woke him up like it did most mornings. Beau stretched his legs in a vain attempt to relieve it, popping his left ankle in the process. It ached too, and he cursed the director who’d insisted Beau do the stunt himself. Production had ground to a halt while Beau had nursed a broken bone, and every time it ached, Beau still hoped the jerk never got a project funded again.
His bed was unusually warm. Then the pillow stuffed against his chest moved and murmured. Beau’s eyes snapped open. The kid was still in bed with him, and of course Owen would be a cuddler. His dark hair was going every which way. Beau told himself sternly that it wasn’t cute, and that Owen muttering to himself in his sleep was absolutely not adorable.
Guilt pickled at Beau. He’d done Owen wrong last night, used him, took out feelings on the kid he wasn’t responsible for. Owen didn’t have a thing to do with how shit his father was. But Beau had snapped, only seeing the parts of Owen that reminded him of Tucker. Owen had done nothing to deserve that.
Beau even kind of liked him, or at least Owen wasn’t as annoying as he’d been expecting.
Owen sighed. “Orange marmalade,” he slurred. “Sugar.”
What the hell was he dreaming about? It certainly wasn’t the crap that plagued Beau at night.
“Hey,” Beau said, petting his head.
Owen’s brows drew together, but he didn’t wake up.
“Owen.” Beau slapped his rear. That got his eyes opening. They were a hazy blue before Owen blinked them clear.
