I lean down, running my lips over the shell of his ear as I whisper, “Do you remember what we agreed on? What we decided the night I first took this hot mouth of yours?”
Cameron shivers, melting even further into me. “N-no?”
Running my tongue over the soft skin under his ear, I soak in his small gasp, the way he trembles.
“You told meIwas the one who made decisions. I’m in charge now. I control what you do, where you go, fuck—what youwearbefore anyone else lays their eyes on you.”
“Oh, god,” he whimpers, rubbing his body along the length of mine desperately.
“You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You don’t make the decisions here,” I remind him. “You’re going to take me home. Tomorrow. And after you do, once you’ve been a good boy and listened, I’ll reward you for it. Understand?”
I reach between us and grip him through his jeans, squeezing.
“Yes, oh fuck, yes,” he moans.
“Say it correctly, Cameron.”
“I understand. Ireallyunderstand,” Cameron insists.
Abruptly, I pull away. “Good. Now, get ready for bed. We’re going in the morning.”
Confused gray eyes stare up at me, his brow furrowing as a hand reaches out. “W-wait—”
“Nope. No rewards until you’ve obeyed. Got it?”
A disappointed look falls over his features, and if it weren’t so hot to boss him around, I’d feel a bit guilty. And I know it gets tohim,too, by the way his jeans tighten further.
“Got it,” Cameron agrees.
“Aww, good job, sweetheart,” I purr. “Now go shower.”
The morning fog curls around our feet as we step out of my BMW in front of the small, two-bedroom house Cameron lives in.
For a moment, anxiety takes over, and all I can think of is the fog that clouded me in the altar room—how it made thinking borderline impossible and all the air in the room expand inside my lungs.
But then Cameron comes to my side of the car and takes my hand in his, his face nervous and pinched. My own fear aside, it’s time to comfort my lover.
“It’s alright,” I tell him. “Whatever is waiting for us inside is something we can handle together.”
Cameron eyes the car in the driveway wearily, nodding.
I have to basically drag him up the small concrete pathway, watching as he slowly fishes out a key and turns the lock, opening the door.
And as he does, all I smell is cigarette smoke and liquor.
He steps inside first.
“Cameron!” A shrill voice sounds, and he freezes immediately. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling! Give me some cash.”
I… what?
“Sorry, Mom. I was out. Let me go grab—”
He begins to move further into the house, and I step into the doorway, catching sight of a woman sitting on the couch next to a man.
The woman looks like Cameron. Blond hair and narrowed gray eyes. But she looks mean—unhappy. They couldn’t be more similar or more different, at the same time.
“Hurry!” she hisses. “At least a hundred this time.”
