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Ah, God. Max needed to stop thinking.
Fumbling blindly for the clip on the back of Sean’s harness, he unlatched the final chain and moved to the couch. Didn’t bother setting Sean down. Just walked them both over, then turned and sat down with Sean straddling him. Sean groaned again, still leaning completely against Max’s chest, as if every ounce of energy had been sucked from his body. And in fairness, it probably had. But Max had to get those clips off Sean’s nipples.
“Easy now,” he murmured, gently sitting Sean upright.
Sean made a pained face, but cooperated.
Max reached for Sean’s clamps. “Gonna take these off now. It’s gonna hurt, though, so brace yourself.”
“Okay.”
Max waited as Sean shifted atop his lap, his arms still secured behind his back. “Ready?”
“Yes, Maximus.” Sean winced and held his breath.
“Alright. On the count of three… One—” he released them.
Sean gasped, eyes wide, then howled in pain. “FUUUCK!—Holy!—Son of a!—Motherfu!—Ungh!—Holy shit!”
If Max didn’t already know how bad that shit truly hurt, Sean’s expressive little outburst would’ve been comical.
“Shhh, cat. Relax.” Max pulled him closer and blew on his nubs.
Sean jerked, though, back to panting, and wildly shook his head. “No! No, touching! Not even with air!”
“Okay, okay. Won’t touch… at all.”
Sean’s bent knees bounced urgently against the sides of Max’s thighs. “Hurts—Hurts—Hurts—Ungh, fuck—Make it stop.”
Max held Sean steady, reeling with the need to soothe. Which was ridiculous. Subs dealt with this kind of pain all the time. It came, it ebbed, and then it left. Everyone survived. No big emergency. But for some damn reason, he didn’t want to wait it out. Wanted Sean’s pain to be gone now.
With a growl—and absolutely no common sense—Max palmed the back of Sean’s head and pulled him close. Their lips met instantly. Sean sucked in a breath. Then their tongues joined in and got busy, too. Shit, he tasted good. Max savored his sweet flavor. Like honeysuckles warmed by the sun.
Sean moaned, body quieting, knees slowing to a stop.
“Yeah… That’s my boy,” Max purred, still not thinking. Just savoring the joy of comforting his a stór.
Sean hardened against Max’s belly, slowly rocking his hips, his mouth turning hungrier, bolder. Fuuuck. He loved how Sean responded to his touch. But still, he needed to slow shit down. Max slid his hands from Sean’s sides to his pecs and gently thumbed his nipples. Sean twitched with a groan, but didn’t stop kissing, as if Max’s lips were some kind of lifeline.
Max stilled his kiss, reality surging forward. He couldn’t be Sean’s lifeline. He couldn’t be Sean’s anything. Heart heavy, he eased Sean back to sitting upright, knowing that was most likely their last kiss. “No more, caitín. Need to get you some water.”
Sean shook his head. “No.”
Max nodded. “Yes.” Then slid Sean off his lap to the side.
Sean frowned, shifting awkwardly with his arms still behind him, his demeanor still appearing somewhat frazzled. Max grabbed the water bottle he’d set aside, uncapped it, then brought it to Sean’s lips.
“Drink,” he murmured.
Sean obeyed, intently watching him. So Max watched him right back, for old time’s sake. That, and the fact that after tonight, he’d never stare at those blue eyes again. Max’s insides teemed with anxiety, with anger, furious all over again at everything. “Ten minutes of rest,” he informed Sean tightly. “Then it’s time to get this shit finished.”
Finished indeed.
Sean eyed him tentatively. “You anxious for me to leave?”
Fuck, no. Hell, Max didn’t want him ever to go. Wanted to tug Sean into his arms and find a place where only they existed. Their own little iron-clad bubble for two, where Sean could stay with him always, and never leave.
“No… I’m just tired.”
“Oh… Okay.”
Max sighed and pulled Sean against him. Stroked his arm, pet his head. After all, Max was still Sean’s Dom, technically speaking, obligated to ease him back to stability. Exactly ten minutes later, though, Max was back on track, his stern Dominant front firmly in place. And his heart shoved face-first in a corner.
He leaned Sean forward and freed his wrists. “Off the couch, sub. On your knees. Time to further your education on full-time subbing.”
Sean stilled, his midnight blues briefly flaring, then scooted off the couch onto the floor. Max admired him for the millionth time, unable to help it. So beautifully obedient.
Kai was a lucky motherfucker.
Max frowned and cleared his throat. Mentally stepped back. Then cranked his internal thermostat to ice cold. “A twenty-four-seven sub,” he muttered, “is, for all intents and purposes, one who’s consensually owned by their Dominant. In many relationships, they’re reminded of this every day on multiple occasions. Subs love this. Love being reminded of this regularly. Some reminders are subtle, others, not so much. In many cases, the more a sub is reminded of their submission, the deeper—and more fulfilling—their submission becomes. If a Dom is worthy, he’ll stay consistent with this routine, lest his sub feel neglected. Neglected in the sense that their Dom ignores their transgressions or fails to exert their Dominance.”
