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I don’t kiss him even though I want to, and I don’t praise him even though he deserves it. I have a collection of restraints that I’ve tested throughout the last couple of years, but sometimes simple is what works best.
For his legs I have to grab the leather cuffs with the spreader bar, and his eyes are on me the whole time I’m wrapping his ankles. The cuffs for his hand are individual and go on each wrist, with the option of connecting them together or to the bar.
For now, I connect them to the bar.
It’s strange to set him up like this and not have him cursing me out. Even stranger that we aren’t truly playing.
But I need to take care of him, and this is the only way.
I warn him with a firm hand on his abdomen that I’m going to begin and wait for the breath he’s holding in his chest to be released before I do.
The exploration is slow, dragging my fingers through the dark pubic hair at the base of his dick. Gently rolling in between my fingers to spy the redness and dry, raw marks that make him flinch.
I make a note to pick up some cooling pads that one of my foster sisters swore by after she had her baby and is supposed to help with soreness down there.
When I dip my fingers lower, that’s when he tests the restraints. His legs jerk, and the chain connecting his wrists rattles. He has his mouth pressed into a hard line, staring at the ceiling like he can’t bear to watch what I’m doing to him.
I spread him slower this time, pausing when his thighs strain hard. I wait for him to relax and keep going, repeating the process until I’m staring at the damage and my heart breaks.
His hole is swollen, bright red, with bruising around the outside and some small tears I can see just inside. Even just brushing along the edges has him trembling and gasping out my name.
I glance up to see his face wet with tears, so I pull my hands away and knead them over his thighs instead.
“Are you done, Shiloh?” I ask as I start working on undoing the leg restraints. “This isn’t a punishment. This is because I care. Because I’m worried, and because dominating you is the only way you let me in.”
He gulps but doesn’t say anything. I drop the spreader bar and cuffs onto the floor, reaching for his hands, but he pulls them above his head and out of my reach.
“If you want to play again—which would look a little different for a while until you heal—I need your explicit permission. Otherwise, I’m going to take the cuffs off, and you’re going to take a warm shower on your own.”
Shiloh’s eyes bore into mine as I wait for a response. Again, the urge to lean over and kiss the frown on his face until he can’t remember why it’s there is strong.
After a long moment, he tips his chin up and lowers his hands to his chest.
“Can we keep them on? They make me feel less…” He closes his eyes and swallows down the rest of his sentence. “You still want me after all of this? After the panic attack and the…?” He motions to his body.
I lean over him, sinking an anchoring hand into his hair and drawing his eyes to mine.
“Don’t underestimate my need for you. My need to mark you. To see you cry and plead.” I bring my free hand to his face and stroke his swollen cheek. “My need to protect you. I want you, and as long as you’re willing to let me, I’ll take you.”
It’s too open—too honest—for him, but that doesn’t stop me from kissing those busted lips and devouring his protests of being cared for.
Because as long as this man lives, I’ll care for him.
“Now, if you’re still with me, sweetheart, those cuffs might make my next request a little difficult.”
Glassy eyes gaze up at me as his chest heaves with quick and heavy breaths.
“And what’s that, Morales?” The snark that’s been missing creeps back into his voice, and I can’t help the grin that takes over.
I grab his bound wrists and yank him into a sitting position. Chest to chest, I hover my lips over his.
“You’re going to fuck me, firecracker.”
Chapter 17
Shiloh
Corvin Morales is digging through my box of dildos. Strap-ons specifically.
