“This is real,” I sob into my arms. “You’re r-real, I’m real, th-this shit is real.”
He immediately slides his arms around me, traces his palms up my stomach and chest under my shirt, and pulls me upright so I’m leaning back against him. He kisses my neck while I stand there, my pants still around my thighs and my cock still hard, his hands feeling me up as he praises me.
“Good boy,” he kisses the words into my skin. “Will you remember, or do you need this to hurt a little more?”
“I-I’ll remember, Daddy,” I promise, my hips shifting restlessly. “I want–I want you to–please.”
One of his hands reaches down and grips my dick, and I choke on a moan. His other hand covers my mouth as he strokes me, gentle and mindful of friction without lube. It still feels amazing–just enough to make me cry some more, not enough to make me cum. Young-gi holds his hand over my mouth and makes me take it, licks the tears off my cheek, bites at my ear, teases me.
And not once does my shame come for me. My ass hurts so bad, it’s euphoric. I think I might be high on this, addicted to this. It’s everything I want. It’s what I need. Nothing about this feels fake.
“I’m going to take you back home,” Young-gi reminds me. “And have a little fun with this,” he gently squeezes my dick, and I nearly scream, the sound muffled behind his palm. “Ready to go? Or do you need more time? More of my attention right here?”
More tormentis what he should be calling it. But I get what he’s saying. And part of me is tempted to tell him to keep me here, to hold me like this, to let me suffer and relish the way I got caught, the way I surrender to him. But I want him so badly, want to take him inside me, want him to play with me just like he said, and make me cry, whatever he wants.
“Take me home,” I rasp, yanking his hand off my mouth so I can speak. “Please, Daddy, take me home now. I-I-Ineedyou. I need it.”
He knows how I feel about that word. I’m basically cracking myself open and letting him see my insides. Letting him see everything.
“Good boy,” he whispers, peppering kisses to my temple, down my cheek. “Good boy, Tommy. So brave. Let’s go then.”
He pulls my sweats up over my aching, hard dick. “How will we get back up?” I ask, my thoughts turning to the fact that I have to actually get back upstairs in this condition.
“It’s my building,” he says arrogantly. “I alerted my team that it was a false alarm, but to keep everyone outside until I say so. We can get upstairs before anyone else comes back in. Let’s go, baby.”
“So you telling me to be quiet was bullshit?” I ask, a little pouty. “We were never going to get caught?”
“Just part of the game,” he smirks. He links our fingers together, wipes my tears off with his other hand, and leads me toward the exit. “You liked it.”
His tone dares me to lie, but I don’t want correction anymore. I’ve been corrected, now it’s time for my reward, so I tell the truth. “Yeah.”
He chuckles darkly as he yanks the music stand out of the door handle and pulls me back into the light.
Chapter 29
Young- gi
I’ve never done this before.
Sure, I’ve fucked. But I’ve never done anything like this. And I don’t mean that Tommy is a man, although that is also new. What I mean is, I’ve never…felt anything like this before.
I don’t have a name for this feeling. Like I’m seeing for the first time, like I’mbreathingfor the first time. Whatever emotion makes a person feel as though they’re being reborn, that’s what I’m feeling. I’m locked-in, locked-on. I’m never leaving him.
Tommy lets me herd him back the way we came, still hiccupping the last of his emotional tears. That was a heavy, intense scene, so I have no doubt that he’s feeling off-kilter. Not just the chase and capture, which would rock anyone’s emotional core, but his confession first, too. He’s given me so much of himself in such a short time. I’m humbled. It feels holy.
In the elevator, I take a moment and send a message, giving the all-clear to the building security to let people back in the door, since I’ve got my Tommy–all tearful and turned-on–out of sight. No one should see him like this except for me.
I only use my phone for a second, but Tommy clearly doesn’t approve. As soon as my eyes are off him, as soon as my hand isn’t in his, he presses himself against the opposite wall of the elevator, glaring at me.
Stuffing my phone back in my pocket–where it will stay even if my entire empire comes crashing down around me–I stalk over to him, press into him, hold him there with my body weight.
“I’ve got you,” I remind him, a promise and a threat. “I caught you.”
He shivers, and his eyes flutter to half-mast. But the turn of his sensual mouth isn’t happy, or sad. It’s one of those trickier emotions, with nuance. Anxious, perhaps. Needy, most definitely.
The door to my penthouse is busted, but it still closes. I shut it behind us, and he jumps.
“We’ve got no knob,” he reminds me.
