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“You know what your problem is, Adri?” Owen asked, then went on without waiting for an answer. “You think too much.”
I liked knowing what to expect. I liked knowing the rules and working in the lines. I didn’t try and cheat the numbers in accounting, I didn’t bring my own candy into the movie theater. I liked clear expectations. He was changing everything, and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to keep up.
Owen looked at me, then glanced back down at the floor.
I knew what he wanted, but there were so many ways it could go wrong. He’d said it didn’t have to be sexual, but the tension in the room made me feel like I was doing something wrong.
But he’d finally started opening up to me. He’d talked me and… Was he really asking that much? He was trying to help. With what, I wasn’t sure, but he didn't seem angry or mocking. So that had to be a good thing.
If I walked away, would we get another chance? Another opening where he actually talked to me and shared? I knew I was basically just an unwanted roommate to him, but he was looking at me like I mattered — and I didn’t want to lose that.
Stepping around my chair, I looked down at the floor by his feet then back up to his face. It was still as unreadable as ever, but he wasn’t laughing at me and he seemed so serious.
But what if he wasn’t?
Could I handle it? Could I see him every day knowing what he thought of me…? What I’d done? Probably not, but I wasn’t sure I had a choice. If I walked away without at least trying to open up to him or to show him that I was listening to him, I’d lose without even trying.
I took another step.
Walking away was looking better and better.
Suddenly I was there, too close and in his space as he just nodded and pointed down at the floor. “Kneel.”
He said it like it was so easy. But his voice was still calmer than usual, warmer — or maybe that was just what I wanted to hear.
I wasn’t sure I could do it. I wanted to understand it, to really be able to get what was going through the guy’s mind as he knelt in front of his master. This was my chance. I wasn’t the type of guy who had kinky men falling at my feet. If I walked away, there was a good chance I’d never have that kind of moment again… that sharp, clear point in a relationship where a man pointed down at the floor and told me to kneel.
Did it matter that it was Owen? Yes. Was I ready to walk away from it forever? No. I knelt.
I wasn’t as smooth as the men I’d seen in the videos, and I felt weird and clumsy. But one moment I was looking down at his face, and the next I was looking up at this expression. It was guarded and careful, but there was something else behind his usual mask.
I just wasn’t sure what.
“Good boy.” The sound of his voice startled me at first, and I almost didn’t recognize it as my brother’s. It was soft, every bit as gentle but firm as the master in the movie. I felt a chill run through me, and I didn’t know what to make of it.
His fingers brushed the top of my head, then smoothed through my hair like he was petting me.
“Good boy,” he repeated, then offered me half of the cookie from his hand. I froze. He expected me to eat from his hand?
If it was for research, I had to try. If it was for Owen… I still needed to try. I opened my lips, and he slid the cookie into my mouth. I felt his fingers brush
against my lips as I closed my mouth around the cookie. His fingers were softer than I’d thought they would be. And there was that underlying smell that was Owen, a homey mix of comfort food and a spicy smell I couldn’t identify.
He’d fed me.
Owen just watched as I chewed, then brought the other half up to his mouth. I couldn’t drag my gaze away from him, but I wasn’t sure what it meant. I’d knelt, and I’d eaten the cookie. Now what?
He drew his finger along the seam of my lips, considering me for a moment before turning back to the cookies. It was oddly intimate, especially considering these were store-bought chocolate chip cookies we’d both forgotten about. He took another, again breaking it in half.
He offered it to me, murmuring, “You’ve earned your treat today, Pup.” How? We’d gotten into an argument, and he’d left. It made me nervous all over again.
“Such a good dinner you made for your master,” he went on, and it was surprisingly like… praise.
Coming from Owen, it felt especially strange — but it felt especially valuable, too, like it was something so rare I needed to clutch it in my grasp and never let go.
I took the treat… from my master… and that time, his fingers lingered longer so I tasted the cookie and his skin. It felt…. He’d said it didn't have to be sexual, that BDSM didn't have to be sexual. I must have been doing something wrong because it felt intimate and my insides were churning. He was going to hate me. He said it wasn’t sexual.
I just wished my cock had gotten the memo.
