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Victor groaned. “You bring it out of me, angel.”
Oliver closed his eyes against that name. Twice now, he’d almost begged Victor to stop, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. No one had ever thought of him that way, and the sincerity in Victor’s tone was goddamn addicting. He tilted his head to the side and dragged his tongue over Victor’s, curling them together, filthy and wet.
Victor moaned so loudly Oliver was pretty sure he was going to get complaints from his neighbors, but he didn’t care.
“Tell me what you like,” Victor begged.
And fuck, wasn’t that a goddamn novelty. Most of his clients liked it when he came, but they more liked the idea that he was getting off on the same things they were. And very few of them looked at him like he was a person. They believed their cash bought his compliance, and him getting off—the rare times he did—was just a bonus.
He was so stunned by Victor’s words he hadn’t realized they’d made it over to the couch until the backs of his knees touched the cushions. Warm fingers cupped his chin and drew his gaze up.
“What do you like?” Victor repeated.
Oliver swallowed heavily. “This. You.”
Victor rolled his eyes, a little annoyed while somehow managing to be endlessly patient. “What do youlike, angel?” he said again.
Oliver’s cheeks started to burn. “I don’t—”
“From one neglected man to another,” Victor told him very softly, almost at a whisper, “tell me what you’ve been keeping to yourself. And I know how hard it is to say out loud, but please try. I want to give it to you.”
“Okay.” Oliver took a fortifying breath and closed his eyes. It was easier to do it without looking. “Before—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “When you…how you told me I was good.”
“Okay.”
“Being manhandled and possessed. Having someone get off on how much that sort of thing turns me on.” He met Victor’s gaze before he added, “But…not because they think I’m used up and can’t say no just because they paid me to be there.”
“Oh, angel,” Victor murmured.
The pity should have hurt, but it didn’t. It was tender and sweet, and Oliver was still so fucking hard he was pretty sure he was going to ruin his jeans if he felt any more pressure against his dick.
Victor’s grip on him went harder, and Oliver gasped. Victor’s gaze held his, hard, unrelenting, and absolutely powerful. “Thank you. You’re so good. You’re so good for me. I know that was hard for you to say.”
Oliver’s whole body gave a single tremble from the roots of his hair to the pads of his toes. “I…yeah.” He felt entirely off-kilter—like all the power was out of his hands, which was completely new. Even when his clients paid him for total submission, Oliver always had the upper hand. But with Victor, he’d been swept off his feet and was floating in a sort of limbo.
“Unbutton your jeans,” Victor told him, his voice cutting through Oliver’s fog. The command grounded him, and he shuddered with relief. “My fingers aren’t very good with those things, and I want to see those pretty panties.”
Oliver moved to his waist, flicking the button through the hole.
“Zipper next.”
It slid down without any resistance, even with Oliver’s trembling hands.
Victor groaned and rubbed the heel of his palm over the soft panties that Oliver had chosen to put on. They were lilac silk in the front, with cotton inside to cradle his dick and balls. “I want you to leave these on. I want to feel this against my thigh when you hump me.”
Oliver wanted to moan, and laugh, and pass out, and maybe fucking ascend to the heavens with how turned on he was.
“God, yes,” he whispered, then thrust his hips forward once. “Now?”
Victor laughed. “Take your jeans off first.”
Oliver obeyed instantly, out of his jeans with ease seconds after Victor’s command. He stood there in his tight T-shirt with his dick all on display, filling out the front of the panties.
Victor let out a sharp exhale and cupped his hand over Oliver’s erection. “Lovely.”
People had called Oliver that before. Most men were taken by his delicate features that made him look more feminine, especially when he wore a little accent makeup and formfitting clothes.
And he liked it that way. He loved being seen as soft and fragile—even though he wasn’t. He loved not fitting into any sort of mold or box. He never wanted to be part of the status quo.
