by René, Dani
His breathing leaves his mouth in a relieved sigh, and I know I’ve just made the right choice. I don’t know what happened between him and his father, but it must’ve made him realize he’s losing me.
“I will. See you soon.” He hangs up before I can respond, and I know there’s no turning back. If this is going to work, I need to walk in there with my guard up. I can’t be hurt again, and I can’t take his bullshit anymore.
I’m coming Oliver, and this time, you’re going to give me what I need, or it’s over.
* * *
As soon as the plane touches down and we’re on the tarmac, I see him. From the small window of the plane, I notice Oliver standing under a lamp post near his car. As always, he’s dressed in a suit, nothing out of place.
Moments later, I’ve disembarked, and we’re standing opposite each other. Neither of us making a move to say anything. He offers a nod after a while, then gestures for the car.
“Let’s get to the hotel,” he utters, not greeting me, not telling me anything other than that. I’m not sure what to make of him, of his actions, but I slip into the passenger seat of his SUV and focus on the road ahead.
With quick glances at his hands, I notice how they’re gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckle ferocity. It’s not far, and soon we’re pulling into a parking lot with a couple of cars on the far end. This place really is the ass-end of nowhere. I can’t believe a man like him grew up in a small town like this.
The contrast is alarming. He’s made so much of his life, and clearly, from so much of nothing. And I know there’s a story in there somewhere. There must be. We exit the car wordlessly, Oliver’s cool exterior once again in place. The man from the phone call hours ago is no longer here, and instead, I’m met with the Dominant.
“Thanks for coming,” he says when we step into the room. The place is small compared to his house, and the size is stifling when we’re both inside. I turn to him, meeting those gray eyes that hold all the secrets he knows he’ll need to divulge soon enough.
“Why am I here, Oliver?” I finally voice the question that’s been sitting on my tongue for the past however many hours. I’m tired, I’m frustrated, and I’m unsure what he wants from me. On the phone, he said one thing, and now that I’m standing in front of him, he’s acting aloof, as if my presence is no longer needed.
“You asked me to show you who I am,” he says, his voice distant, as if he’s unsure of showing me the man who’s hidden beneath so many layers of hurt and pain. He’s at the window, and I watch as he blocks out most of the view, but I can see the forest beyond—nothing there besides the dark trees.
“Yes, and you told me I’m not a part of your life. Then you left, and I had to figure out what to do. Now you’ve got me here. It’s time for you to either tell me your story or let me go.” I’m not sure where my strength comes from, the courage to voice the words I should’ve said in his house two nights ago. “When I walked out, I meant it. I won’t be a toy for you. I won’t be something you can push and pull at your will.”
“I know.” He nods. “It’s not fair of me to expect you to stay when you don’t understand. So, I figured, the best way for you to understand is to listen to what happened.”
“Okay,” I respond. Sitting on the mattress, I watch him for a moment. For the first time since I met him, Oliver is visibly nervous. His expression may be stoic, but it’s the tension rolling off him that gives him away.
He sighs, then begins to speak. “I was fifteen when I found out I was bisexual.” His words are drenched in sadness, which grips my heart, holding on for dear life. “It was eye-opening. All the boys at school were looking at porn on their phones. They would whisper and chuckle about breasts and pussy. At a glance, I was just like them. Looking at a naked woman made my cock hard.”
He smiles, shaking his head as he sips his coffee before he settles on the stool at the breakfast bar. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and I know I can’t interrupt him. I need to know who Oliver is, and if he doesn’t open up to me, I’m not sure I can stay.
“When I first kissed a girl, it was like fireworks shooting through me. We’d gotten to second base, and I was proud of myself, but,” He sighs, his stare finding mine. “There was also a boy I’d had strange feelings for. I was confused for a long time before he finally made a move.”
Shaking his head, he spins the mug on the counter. The sound is the only thing I hear apart from my heart, which seems to be racing wildly in my chest.
“He kissed me in my backyard, but my father caught us. However, it was the single most erotic thing I’d ever felt. He groped my cock, and even though I was confused as hell, I wanted more. I wanted both him and the girl together, in my room and naked.”
“And I’m guessing your father didn’t approve?”
He shakes his head. “No, not by a long shot. He dragged me inside and gave me a tongue lashing I’d never forget. One thing about Cartwright Michaelson, he never hit me. Physically, he left me alone, but emotionally, he basked in making me hurt in ways no strike could ever touch.”
My legs feel shaky. My chest is pained, my heart cracking with his admission. I had a family who accepted me for who I was. They never once admonished me for what I wanted or who I wanted. They supported me no matter what, and to hear someone else was insulted because he desired something different makes me sick.
“For a long time, I tampered down my feelings. But it got out. Someone saw the kiss I’d had with Tiago,” he tells me sadly, and my gut lurches. “It was the moment my life would be changed forever.”
I’m not sure what it is, but an acute pain in my chest from Oliver’s tone of voice stills my breathing for a moment. I can’t explain it, but I’ve never felt more connected to someone in my life, and now that he’s finally allowing me in, letting me see the most broken part of him, I want to confess my feelings. I want to tell him I love him while looking into his eyes. I want him to see the truth, but when I open my mouth, and before I can, he continues.
“One day, three guys from school caught me walking home,” he utters. “I was a scrawny kid. They were a year older, bullies. I normally kept my head down, but they seemed to want to target me that day.”
He sighs, the sound like a foghorn in the moon hanging in the dark sky, the silver streaming through the window. It’s strange when someone confesses their innermost fears. It tears you apart as the observing party. And there’s nothing you can do to ease the pain of memories.
“They dragged me off into the edge of the park where it met the forest not far from my house. Kicking, spitting on me, they went to town. One eye swelled up. I could just about see them. Then I heard a booming voice, deep and commanding. It was as if an angel had been sent to save me.”
Glancing away, I close my eyes and breathed deeply, calming myself at the thought of a young boy, scared, alone, and hurt — all because he wanted to love.
“He picked me up after chasing the bullies away. Took me into his home to patch me up. I thanked him.” There’s a wry smile on his face, but the despondency in his expression tells me there’s so much more to his story.
“Oliver—”
“He chuckled, told me boys will be boys, but he can help me.”
“That’s good,” I offer, leaning forward, praying with everything I have that he was going to be okay after that. Wishing this person was good. But Oliver shatters everything when he finally continues.
“He pulled me from the chair once I was all cleaned up and shoved me over the table. He ripped my pants down and told me he’d show me what it’s like to be gay. His body loomed over mine. He forced himself deep inside me, and he clamped his hand over my mouth to keep any screams from alerting passersby.”
Tears prick my eyes, and Oliver turns blurry in my eye line. The lump in my throat widens, thickens painfully. I want to say something, but I can’t find the words. There’s nothing I can say. Blinking, I allow my emotions to drip down my cheeks. I want to reach out to him, to
hold him, to make him see I love him, but I don’t. Fear holds me back.
“When he was done, he shoved me out the door, and I practically crawled home. When I got there, I showered and spent most of my time in bed. Over the next two years, I became a recluse. My father thought I was just lazy, but I was broken.”
“I’m so . . . Fuck, Oliver,” I mumble, my voice is low, a whisper, but he hears me.
He lifts his eyes to find mine staring back at him. “When I finally turned seventeen, I knew I needed to get out of there. I had one more year of school, but I couldn’t do it. So, my father paid for me to come to the city and finish up there. I decided from that day on I’d never allow anyone to take away my control.”
“You never told your father?”
He shakes his head. “Even if I did, he would’ve laughed and told me it’s because I was gay. He didn’t believe in bisexuality. He didn’t even believe that two women could love each other. My father grew up as a good Catholic boy.”
He sighs so loudly the pain etched in the sound only makes my chest tighten, my heart ached, and my throat thickens with a lump of emotion that’s threatening to choke me.
“The problem is there was one witness to what happened to me. A man I trusted with all my heart, and he broke every ounce of that trust.”
“What? Who?”
“My uncle. You see, my uncle is gay, but he’s hidden it from my father, his brother, all their lives. He knows what my father is like, so he’s lived in secret with the man who violated me. George Welham was a vile man. He had been married before and had a daughter. One day, I’d gone to his house to pick up school work since I was in the same grade as Nikita, and…”
The words taper off into nothing, and my body is tense when he meets my gaze once more. Guilt burns in those dark orbs and I realize with sickening clarity what had happened.
“They forced me to do something to attempt to fix me. The physical pain for me and her may have eased up, perhaps even healed and we could have moved on with our lives. But what broke me was the emotional agony.”
“Jesus, that’s so fucked up, Oliver. You needed support, not judgment.” I can’t take it anymore and make my way toward him. He doesn’t push me away when I close the distance between us. Reaching for his face, I take in the fine lines that crease at the corners of his eyes, the dusting of salt and pepper on his sharp jawline, and the way his eyes shimmer with hidden emotion.
“That’s who I am, Chance. The ugly, sordid story of how I became what I am. I enjoy doling out pain because I want to feel release. It now offers me pleasure. When I arrived in Chicago, I met a Dominant, a sadist, and he taught me to be what I am. He showed me there’s another way to deal with the anger.”
“And you spent that time learning.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.
“I was young, at college, met Nathan, and when he’d confessed what he had been through, I knew we would be friends forever. He was my best friend, still is, and alongside him, we found closure in our agony.”
He turns away, and I don’t feel angry, just sad that he has to deal with the memories that seem to be as volatile as the ones I deal with daily. He stares out the window, and I can’t help but take him in. If something like that had happened to anyone else, they’d be broken. I may have been hurt, but it wasn’t family who did it. I could walk away from the strangers and never see them again.
But for Oliver, he had to spend every day looking at the man he trusted. A man who not only broke that trust but also broke him emotionally. I step closer to his frame, but I don’t touch him, but I stand behind him.
We’re silent, but he knows what it means. I’m here for him. And I finally know he wants me here. I don’t ask about his father. I allow him time to work through the feelings I’m sure are currently waging war through his mind.
I know we’ll get through this.
I know it right down to my soul.
Chapter 28
Oliver
As dawn’s light slowly appears in the small room we’re standing in; I finally turn to face Chance. His expression is filled with sadness, not pity like I expected, and I’m thankful for that.
“I’ve never told any submissive I’ve had in my life that story before. Nathan is the only one who knew.” My voice is low, almost a whisper. I don’t know why, but my heart aches for him to hold me. But the moment he moves closer, I lift my gaze and lean back—emotions war within me as I continue. “I didn’t tell you this because I want you to pity me. And I’ve never admitted what happened because I never want people to feel sorry for me. If it weren't for that experience, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Stronger, more alert, but also, I wouldn’t be the man before you.”
He nods in understanding, and I know his own experience must’ve allowed him to face the pain and work through his trauma to come out on the other side. Chance is strong; he’s a man with conviction, he fights for what he wants, and I respect that.
Inhaling a deep breath, I watch him for a moment, looking into those green eyes that shine with confidence and pain, with the resolve of what happened to him, and the acceptance of where he is right now. I respect that about him—that he’s walked away from something horrific and made a better life for himself.
Doing something I’ve never thought I ever would, I take Chance’s hand in mine. The warmth of his touch scorches me, and I have to suck in a breath to keep from leaning in to kiss him, to hold him. I need to confess how I feel, or at least try to.
“When you told me what happened to you, I was raging inside. There was so much anger I needed to resolve, but nobody I could take it out on. When my men found that asshole, I wanted to rip him to pieces, to slowly slice his flesh from his bones. Perhaps it had something to do with my experience. Maybe not, I don’t know.”
“I get that,” he tells me. “It’s something I have felt over the years, and now I know even revenge isn’t as soothing as most make it out to be. Yes, the person may have suffered pain, they may even beg for mercy, but you’re the one who walks away with blood on your hands.”
I nod. He’s right. “So wise for a young man.” I smile, allowing the tension which filled the room to dissipate somewhat. “Nathan called me, told me about your plans for another one of the Seven Sins clubs,” I tell him.
“I wanted to—”
“Where were you thinking of moving to?”
His gaze burns through mine in the dark room. Even though there’s only a smidgen of light, I can see his expression clearly. He wasn’t expecting me to ask that. Perhaps he wanted to leave because of me, but when I told him I wanted him, I wasn’t lying. I’ve made my choice, and I’m not letting him go so easily.
“I wanted to go back to New York,” he finally tells me. “It’s where I grew up, and I’m hoping I’m able to make a name for myself in the city my father loved so much.”
“And is there a place for one more in your plans?” I step closer to him, needing to feel his warmth. I’ve never been an affectionate person, and right now, it’s no different. I want to fuck him, own him, claim him. Make him realize I’m here, and he’s not going anywhere without me.
“Maybe. It depends.” He chuckles.
Cocking my head to the side, I smile. “On what?”
“If this overly confident asshole wants to move to New York with me or not,” he teases, and I know there’s a time and place for everything. But right now, I want him bent over this goddamn desk.
Gripping his arms, I spin us around so he’s facing the window and I’m behind him. My hands trail down to his hips, gripping them as I tug him against my cock.
“This is how much I want to move to New York with you,” I hiss in his ear.
Chance responds by pushing his ass against the bulge that’s prominent in my slacks. The friction against me draws a groan from my chest, vibrating through me, and my need to be inside him is overwhelming.
Working his slacks, I pull them, along with his briefs, down his thighs. With one hand on his bac
k, I push him down until he’s bent over the wooden top. His body is mine. Only mine. The possessive force that hits me steals my breath.
“In my bag,” he offers, and I know what he means. I unzip the duffel and pull out a small tube. Flicking the lid, I squeeze some out, watching the liquid trail over the cheeks of his ass. Fuck, he’s beautiful bent over and willing just for me.
“I want to whip you, Chance,” I tell him while I shuffle and tug at my belt, pants, and underwear. “I want to make you fucking groan my name over and over again. Spread yourself for me. It’s time I show you just how much I want to own you. Because you’re mine, and I will be the one inside you. Nobody else, just me.”
Once my cock is released from its confines, I slap it on the lube which shimmers in the yellowish light of the rising sun. The slippery liquid coats my shaft, and I’m jerking myself slowly while my other hand teases the tight ring of muscle, easing Chance open enough to take me balls-deep.
Nudging his opening with the tip of my dick, I move slowly, inching myself into him. Chance is tight, fucking vise-like as I move my hips toward him. Our grunts and groans are the only sound in the room. Testosterone is hanging heavily in the air surrounding us.
“Just fuck me, Oliver, please,” he moans in a low, feral growl, and I can’t hold back. I slam my hips home, and I’m fully seated inside him. I still for a moment, because I’ll come too soon, and I want to savor this moment. I’ve never claimed any of my submissives before.
Every sub who’s been trained by me I’ve allowed to walk out, to find someone who can offer them the one thing I could never do. But right here is the realization that this moment is where I finally face my demons and admit defeat.
I was always at war with myself. Knowing for a fact I could never love, I didn’t. But Chance broke down those walls and made me see that I need to fight for it. Instead of lazing around like a wayward teenager, I need to claim what I want.
A life with him.
