Colby’s fingers pressed harder into his neck. “You have ten minutes. Don’t make me wait longer than that.”
Keats nodded in Colby’s grip and reached for the handle on the door. He didn’t want to hesitate or overthink things this time. So he focused on simply moving forward and following the instructions. He was in the house, stripped, and in position in probably less than four minutes. The curtains were closed and only the lamps had been left on, so he tried to steady his nerves by counting the stripes on the curtains. He’d gotten to thirty-seven when he heard footsteps behind him.
And for the first time, Keats had no desire to run.
—
Colby stood in the doorway for a long minute, staring at the man in the center of his bedroom. Keats had followed the instructions to a T, so Colby was graced with an unparalleled view of Keats’s muscular back and arms, those tattoos flexing beneath Keats’s subtle, nervous shifting. Even the wicked bruising from the fight seemed to add to the beauty of the man—a sign of his bravery, a toughness that had allowed him to survive on the streets. And those worn blue jeans that had molded so nicely over Keats’s erection hung low on his hips, giving Colby the tempting sight of the dimpled indentations at Keats’s tailbone and the top curve of his ass. The man was finely built. Strong and masculine and proud.
The urge to conquer and bring forth that submission filtered through Colby’s bloodstream like a drug. But he would be gentle tonight. Keats was injured and he was new to all this. Colby would make it good for him.
He crossed the room with slow steps, his boots clomping against the wood floor, then silencing when he stepped onto the area rug that filled the space in front of his bed. He placed his hands on Keats’s hips. Keats startled but quickly reeled himself in, stilling.
“You still hard for me, Adam?” he asked, using his given name to help Keats understand things were different when they were in this mode, that he was vulnerable.
The muscles in Keats’s neck worked. “Yes, sir.”
Colby fitted his erection against Keats’s ass. “Makes two of us.”
Keats’s whole-body shudder made Colby smile with satisfaction.
“You’re going to learn to be still and how to be touched. You own nothing right now. Every part of you is mine. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Close your eyes and focus on my hands. You wanted to know what they feel like. Now you get your wish.”
Keats’s lids fell shut, and Colby stepped in front of him. Starting at the top, he mapped the contours of Keats’s brow, his cheekbones, his jawline, then traced the edge of his shiner with a gentle fingertip, trying to get Keats used to being touched. Keats was already breathing fast, but when Colby ran a thumb over Keats’s lips, the guy’s chest stopped moving.
Colby didn’t kiss trainees, and he rarely kissed a partner during a play session. It felt too sweet and intimate for his tastes. But he’d kissed Georgia, and now he found himself unable to pull his attention away from Keats’s mouth. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Keats’s and gave his bottom lip a nipping bite.
Keats rewarded him with a sharp intake of breath, and Colby went back for a second taste before moving his hands down to Keats’s shoulders. “Lower your arms to your sides.”
Keats obeyed and Colby indulged in running his hands over Keats’s biceps and then his chest. He avoided the bruised areas on his side but paid extra attention to the flat, brown nipples. He gave a hard pinch to one, and Keats muttered an oath. But from the way he clenched his fists at his sides, Co
lby could tell it had been a positive response.
“These would look good pierced. Would make them easier to torture.” Colby flicked the other one.
Colby let his gaze travel down Keats’s abdomen and then lower. Keats’s erection hadn’t diminished even if he was still harboring some nerves. If anything, the jeans looked to be straining even more in the front.
“Unbutton these, pull the zipper down.”
Keats complied, his fingers fumbling for only a second. When he spread open the fly, visible relief crossed his face. Colby took his fill, tracing the faint trail of hair that tracked below Keats’s navel with a fingertip. Then he dipped his hand inside, palming Keats through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs.
Keats groaned when Colby gripped him, but Colby was the one whose dick flexed. The guy was long and heavy in his hand. “Fuck, Keats. Now I know why those guys used to give you shit in the locker room. Goddamned jealousy.”
Keats tipped his head back as Colby gave him a stroke. “Yeah, well I’m kind of terrified of you. I’ve seen your shoe size.”
Colby laughed low and menacing against his ear as he moved his hand away. “You should be.”
He walked around Keats in a slow circle and then stopped behind him again. He slid his hand between the two layers of fabric protecting Keats’s ass. Keats stiffened instantly, but Colby wasn’t going to let him pretend this was something other than it was. He braced one hand on Keats’s shoulder to steady him and then let his other hand dip lower. He ran two fingers around Keats’s opening, rubbing the soft cotton fabric of his underwear along the sure-to-be-sensitive skin.
The choked sound Keats made wasn’t a bad one.
“Ever had a woman play with you here?” Colby asked, continuing to massage him with gentle but focused pressure.
“No,” he whispered.