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Once he was fully naked, he sank onto the bed next to Caleb. The air was thick with tension, desire crackling between them like static. Caleb looked at Roman in a silent plea for approval, for further instruction. Each movement of his hand was deliberate, a dance of pleasure and restraint. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his features as Roman followed Caleb’s self-induced unraveling.
“Good boy.”
It was all Caleb needed to hear. The praise fueled him, stoked the fire in his belly. He kept his pace steady, his breathing ragged as the heat coiled tighter within him, threatening to consume him whole. Yet he dared not cross the line Roman had drawn. The brink of ecstasy was his to balance upon but never to tip over. It was a game of trust and control, and Caleb played it willingly, knowing his reward lay in the hands of the man who commanded his very soul.
“Look at you, taking your pleasure from your hand. So desperate to come, yet holding back for me.”
Caleb’s breath hitched. The words wrapped around him like a touch, one that teased and pulled at his senses. His movements became more fervent, driven by the need to showcase himself, to revel in the vulnerability that was so cherished by the man before him.
“Fuck, yes…just like that.” Roman’s approval was both command and benediction, urging Caleb closer to the edge he wasn’t allowed to tumble over. “You’re beautiful like this—unraveled, needy.”
Heat flushed Caleb’s skin. He was lost in the moment, in the weight of Roman’s stare, in the dirtiness of the words that painted him as nothing less than a work of art—a masterpiece of submission.
“Touch your hole,” Roman said, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Play with it. Show me how much you want my cock, how desperate you are.”
Obediently, Caleb shifted, trailing his fingers lower. He circled the rim, sensitive from when Roman had fucked him earlier that day, teasingly at first, but then pressed in, and a low moan spilled from his lips at the intrusion. The sensation was slick, dirty, and utterly intoxicating.
“More.”
Roman’s command was simple, but it echoed with the weight of unspoken trust between them. Caleb complied without thought, adding another finger, stretching himself, losing himself to the dual sensations and the man who orchestrated them with nothing more than words and an authoritative presence.
“God, yes.” A predatory glint gleamed in Roman’s eyes. “That’s it, good boy. Fuck yourself with your fingers. Pretend it’s my cock.”
Caleb moved his finger in tandem with the strokes of his other hand, the combination driving him to dizzying heights of arousal. Each movement was an affirmation, a silent vow to please and be pleased in return.
“Beautiful,” Roman whispered, and Caleb knew it was true because Roman made him feel it, like he saw himself through Roman’s eyes.
His breathing was labored as his body became a tightrope of tension and need. Sweat slicked his skin, the saltiness mingling with the fading scent of Roman’s cologne. A moan clawed up from his chest. He delved his fingers deeper, driven by the relentless urge to obey, to show his devotion in the rawest form.
“Please.” Pleasure edged him toward oblivion. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—cross that line. Not without Roman’s say-so. His muscles coiled, teetering on the precipice of release, yet he held back, clinging to Roman’s command like a lifeline.
Roman drank in Caleb’s struggle, every quiver and whimper stoking the fire in his gaze. Between them ran the tangible electricity of their connection, a silent dance of dominance and submission.
“Enough.” Roman’s voice sliced through the fog of Caleb’s arousal, sharp and unyielding. “Shower. Now.”
Caleb stilled his hand, his body protesting the abrupt halt. Chest heaving, he rose from the bed. But disobedience wasn’t an option. Caleb stumbled toward the bathroom on limbs trembling with unspent desire, the cold air hitting his fevered skin like a shockwave.
Roman trailed him, each step a measured assertion of his control. He turned on the water and, when it had reached the right temperature, gestured for Caleb to step under the spray. Droplets traced paths over Roman’s body, mapping out the terrain Caleb yearned to explore again and again.
“Take care of me, precious.”
Caleb’s hand trembled as he picked up the bottle of shampoo. His fingers, usually so sure and steady on a keyboard, now fluttered like nervous birds. Roman stood before him, all commanding presence and raw masculinity, and Caleb shivered with the power of it all.
Caleb poured shampoo into his palm, the scent sharp and clean, and stepped behind Roman. He worked it into a lather, then touched Roman’s scalp. He massaged gently, his touch reverent, worshipful. Each circular motion was a silent promise, a pledge of servitude and desire.
Roman’s body came next, and the forest-scented shower gel was Caleb’s favorite. He would forever associate that smell with the love of his life. He traced the contours of Roman’s body with his hands, mapping the expanse of his chest, the curve of his waist. Water sluiced over Roman’s body, mingling with the soap as it cascaded in rivulets. Caleb washed Roman with a focus that bordered on obsession, his movements deliberate and slow. This act of washing wasn’t merely about cleanliness. It was an intimate dance of power and vulnerability.
Roman’s breathing grew heavy, syncing with the rhythm of Caleb’s strokes. With each sweep of his hand across Roman’s broad back, Caleb felt the responsibility of his submission, the trust it required, the power it gave him. The satisfaction of serving Roman filled him, as potent and heady as the steam surrounding them.
Caleb knelt to wash Roman’s legs. And once they were done, he finally got to do his favorite part, cleaning Roman’s impressive cock and his heavy balls. He took great care, handling them like one would fragile glassware.
When he was done, he rose, water streaming from his body as he stood at attention, every muscle taut with readiness. He waited silently for Roman’s next command.
Roman ran a finger down Caleb’s wet cheek, a simple touch that seared straight through him. “You’re never prettier than when you’re on your knees for me. Will this need for you ever go away? Will I ever look at you and not want you?”
“I hope not, Sir.”
Roman wasn’t the kind of Dom who punished Caleb for speaking. In fact, he’d made it clear he wanted Caleb’s responses. Theirs was a dance, not a one-way marionette act.
