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Kneeling on finished wood.
“Turn your head off. Your only purpose is to please. To be a slave. The sooner you accept it, the happier you’ll be serving whoever buys you. Rumor is, Roarke has his eye on you. Trust me, you’ll like him much more than a few others sniffing around. Impress him. Here he comes.”
The warm leather of a collar wrapped just tight enough around my throat to never let me forget it’s there.
A cock that’s heavy on my tongue, just a few hours post-shower so it tastes clean, but still like him instead of his soap.
“This one is the best slave I’ve ever seen. I assure you, you’ll be pleased with him tonight.”
A hand on my head, soft but controlling, guiding my cheek to a strong thigh, fingers playing with the loose strands of hair as he murmurs, “That’s it, that’s a good boy, just keep it warm, slave.”
The peaceful feeling of relief in my chest every night I get sent to bed by a master in the house, knowing I’ve pleased them all enough to be done for the day, knowing I’ll get the chance to please them again come morning.
And then all I can see is Maison. All of the variations of his smile, from grumpy to lazy to fucked out. A brilliant grin and the one just after he laughs and the mischievous one whenever I catch him sneaking a bite of my food before dinner is finished. I see his eyes, warm, firelight flickering in them, kind, loving, stormy with desire, bright with happiness.
It’s enough, I hear a memory of myself tell him. You’re enough.
Lies, lies, so many lies, I keep telling him, telling myself, telling everyone all of these fucking lies.
I’m out of the pub before I realize it, halfway down the sidewalk toward the corner, my lungs seizing with panic. Someone grabs my shoulder to stop me. I immediately fall to my knees.
The world goes soft and quiet. Manageable. Safe. My body is in the perfect kneeling position, my arms where they should be, my chin tucked, my eyes down. A hand rests on my head. I breathe out. Close my eyes. Sink into it.
“Please,” I hear him say, his voice choked and awful. And for just a second, just one terrible, awful, disgusting second—my stomach swoops with disappointment that it’s Maison in front of me. Then the feeling is overwhelmed by absolute devastation. “Please get up. I hate this. You know I hate this, Nol. Please, Christ, get up, baby.”
He can’t look at me, even once I’ve gotten to my feet. He doesn’t touch me. He barely even talks to me apart from asking a perfunctory, “Are you okay?” that we both already know the fucking answer to.
When we get home, I settle on the floor beside the fireplace, ignoring that Matt and Bryce are on the couch. Tears run down my cheeks, overlaying the dried tracks from previous ones. Someone drapes a blanket over my shoulder. A moment later, Maison is lowering himself to sit beside me.
We sit there without speaking for a long time before he asks, “Did it help?”
I blink and look over at him. The lights are all off except for a small one in the hall that helps people walk down it at night. The couch is empty. In fact, the whole house seems to be, as if everyone has gone to bed.
“Kneeling,” Maison clarifies, his eyes full of anguish. He looks at me a moment longer before tearing his gaze away and focusing it on the fire. “Did it help?”
I look at the fire too, thinking about how far we’ve come from the first time we sat together like this.
“You help me more,” I tell him. And it’s the truth. Regardless of what’s missing, regardless of my other wants and needs, he truly comes above it all. “You’re enough, Mais.”
He snaps his gaze over to me, his eyes wide with hope. “Yeah?”
“You’ve always been.” I wrap a hand around the back of his neck, guiding him closer until our foreheads are pressed together. “I’m sorry you ever doubted that.”
He releases a shaky breath. “I love you. You know that, right? I love you so fucking much, Nolan.”
“I know, Maison.” I smile, the movement of my lips causing our mouths to lightly brush. “I love you, too.”
Epilogue
Maison
Denial is a funny thing. Depending on how you use it, you can keep that shit up for a long time. And when two people are in denial together? Watch the fuck out—that shit is powerful.
Power always runs out.
I go looking for Nolan to let him know the timer on the oven is about to go off, surprised he isn’t already in the kitchen waiting like usual. He’s given me multiple lectures on how even an extra minute in the oven can make or break a dish. That man never lets a timer fully run out before he’s there with his oven mitts on. I’d take the dish out myself when the timer goes off, but I’m not allowed to touch the food anymore after a lemon incident last week.
There aren’t as many places he can be now that it’s so cold out, Nolan doing just about everything possible to avoid the chilly air outside these days. I figure my best bet is the pool room since I know that’s where the others are.
