Outside the Lines

by Anna Zabo

  I had him, but I’d give him this. We found a rhythm, him pressing in and me savoring the taste and texture of his dick until both of us were moaning and my scalp was tight with pain and tension from Simon gripping my hair. I’d make him pay later, but for now it was enough to hear his groans and feel the quaking in his legs as I brought him closer and closer to ecstasy. My only warning was the thickening of his dick before he was shouting out and shooting ribbons of semen down my throat. Like he had that night behind End o’ Earth, I swallowed every drop. My first and last full taste of Simon Derry.

  He loosened his grip on my hair and grunted when I sucked him clean. “I’m going to pay for that, aren’t I?” He didn’t even seem mildly concerned.

  Didn’t know exactly what I’d do, but yes. “Sit down on the bed.”

  He did and I scooped up his clothing and tossed the bundle on a nearby chair, then stalked over to where he was sitting. “What’s the opposite of Simon says?” I nudged his knees apart and stepped in until I hovered over him.

  He craned his neck back to meet my gaze. I adored the length of his body and his unashamed nakedness. “Simon does exactly as you say?” Amusement in his voice.

  I cupped his chin with one hand, and toyed with a nipple with the other. “Only you didn’t.” I pinched the nub of flesh between my fingers. Simon gave a sharp intake of breath. “Did you?”

  “No,” he whispered.

  I leaned down and took those lips before grinding his nipple between my fingers. Oh, how I loved the struggle and the taste of Simon. He squirmed against me, his throaty groans music as he surrendered his mouth. When I relented, he sucked in a breath and looked down, his cheeks flaming and his dick hard again. He’d grabbed hold of my shirt. I was sure that was what kept him from tumbling onto his back, especially given the way I leaned into him.

  “You like pain.” At least on some level, given his reaction.

  Simon wet his swollen lips with his tongue. “No, and yes.” He gazed up, his eyes wide and beautiful. “Pain and I have a complicated relationship.”

  “Don’t we all.” I hadn’t let go of his chin, and stroked my thumb against his jaw. “You did say anything, once upon a time . . . that still true?”

  “Wasn’t too long ago.” Simon’s smile was slight. “And yes, I meant what I said.”

  That was a heap of faith to hand me. “You have done this before.”

  A chuckle. “Once upon a time.” The smile fell into seriousness. “I trust you, Ian.”

  “How do you feel about gags?” There’d been one in their guest room drawer.

  His pulse quickened under my grip and his fingers shifted against my shirt. “I have a complicated relationship with gags, too.”

  Those words sent heat into my blood. “Good.” I enjoyed his obedience, his discomfort, and how he gave me his body. “Lay yourself out on the bed.”

  He closed his eyes and let himself drop to the mattress. While I undressed, Simon repositioned himself neutrally on the comforter. No assumptions that I would tie him up, but none that I wouldn’t either. I stroked myself as I contemplated Simon’s limbs and his surrender. He’d loved the sash and the cuffs. I loved him in strips of leather. What to use was an easy enough decision to make. I got what I needed and returned to the bed.

  He eyed the cuffs with interest, but when his gaze fell on the gag, he tensed. Not much, but it was enough to send a little bolt of desire through me.

  “It has a dildo.” His voice was breathless.

  I dropped the cuffs next to Simon and turned the gag over in my hands. “It does.” Not a very large one. It wasn’t meant for anal penetration, after all. The idea was to fill the mouth, not to choke the wearer—much like a ball gag, but . . . specific.

  Simon swallowed.

  “I want you to understand that your lovely mouth belongs to me tonight. Since I can’t fuck you in both your holes at the same time—” I held up the gag.

  “Okay.” Trepidation there.

  “You can say no, Si.”

  Annoyance crept into his expression. “Yeah, I know. I would if I wanted to.” He paused. “I know the risks. I’m consenting.”

  Yes, he’d played before. Maybe not in a what’s your safeword type scene, but there were other ways to do kink. “Just checking. You need some kind of signal if things get too much?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’ll know, believe me.”

  Well, that was that.

  I gagged him first, slipping the end with the little cock between his lips and buckling the straps around his head so it was secure. His mouth and throat worked against the intrusion, but his breathing was fine—if a little fast. He shifted on the bed, his hips rocking ever so slightly. He might not like the gag, but it obviously turned him on. I wrapped a hand around his shaft and stroked a few times. “Good?”

  Simon moaned and gave me a look that was both a yes and an are you fucking kidding me? He thrust his dick into my hand, and I laughed. I let up on his cock—he’d come once already. The next time, I wanted to be buried to the hilt inside him, with his tears on those cheeks. Pain and pleasure.

  I took each wrist and kissed his pulse points before buckling leather over them. Simon’s chest rose and fell, his grunts muffled by the gag and his limbs shaking under my touch. Once they were circled with leather, I pulled his arms up to the headboard, clipped the cuffs together, and used my sash to tie him down to the slats.

  Simon moaned, and I stroked his throat. “I’m tempted to tie your ankles up there, too.”

  I’d never seen his eyes go wider than at that moment. White around his pale blue irises. Could be fear, could be desire. Either way was fine with me. “I suppose we could see if you’re flexible enough.”

  Simon whimpered as I wrapped the cuffs around his ankles. His moans were exquisite when I folded his legs up above his head. Yes, indeed, he was flexible enough and vibrating as I tied him down.

  Such a lovely view, Simon trussed up and exposed for me. Eyes closed and mouth working against the dick I’d shoved into it. I savored every tremble and groan as he waited for whatever I wanted to do next. I ached to bury myself in him, take all that I could and bring him off harder than I’d managed before—and I was done with waiting. Some lube on my fingers opened him enough. I rolled a condom on my dick and slicked myself up, then knelt over Simon, the head of my cock pressed against his ass. “Want this?”

  Don’t know how he managed it, but he rocked up and took me inside a fraction. My breath caught, and he seemed to smile around the gag, as if to say Simon says fuck me.

  Two could play that game. I pulled back and slammed into him as far as I could. Hot, tight, and deep. Simon moaned and struggled and rolled his head back against the pillow. “My bed, my rules, Simon.”

  His reply was the sexiest, deepest moan I’d ever heard in all my times fucking men. It pulsed through me and played over every part of my body. I drove forward over and over to hear that sound again. My hands gripped Simon’s shoulders and our bodies rammed together. The tears I wanted rolled from the corners of his eyes, but he met my strokes and my gaze. Both demanded more from me, so I gave Simon everything I had, taking him hard and fast. Making him moan and cry and tremble. All my breath. All my soul.

  Unfair that I had only this night, but with how deep I’d fallen, I couldn’t go beyond that.

  I wanted too much of Simon. Not only nights of passion, and the days of friendship. I wanted—needed love. A house. Cats. All of what he already had with someone else.

  I wished to God I was jealous of Lydia, but I wasn’t. They were twined in my mind. Losing Simon meant losing her too, and I choked at the thought. But what choice did I have?

  Though I burned with desire, I ached with sadness. Pain and pleasure indeed.

  Cuffed to my headboard, moaning around my gag, Simon thrust himself on my cock as I fucked him within an inch of his life. When my balls tightened and sparks threatened to blur my vision, I gripped Simon’s dick and jerked him off until he yelled ar
ound the intruding gag and pumped his jizz over my hand and his chest. That sight, his abandonment, and how he tightened around me stole the last of my vision. I rammed into his ass and spilled my balls until I’d emptied myself. I held myself there, deep inside him, desperate to remember every movement and breath and the glorious seconds that hung between us where no cares in the world existed.

  Simon’s whimper was joy. He pressed his body against mine and we lingered, joined as one.

  Time has a way of marching on, though. Before I softened too much, I pulled out and tossed the condom, then dragged myself up near Simon’s head and freed his ankles, carefully lowering each leg back down to the mattress.

  His eyes flicked closed for a moment and he sighed.

  Before I unbuckled the gag, I kissed away the tears on his face, tasting a different kind of salt. When I freed his mouth, his lips were swollen, red, and wet with spit. Simon took several deep breaths and I let him rest before I trapped him again, this time with my lips and tongue.

  He uttered a throaty groan, then relaxed and opened to me. We kissed lazily, and I traced my hand over his chest, memorizing the texture of his flesh and the contours of muscles and bones.

  My Simon, my joy, at least for a little longer.

  When we broke apart, I reached up and freed his wrists from the headboard. A moment later, he caught my head between his hands and kissed me. A gentle, sweet and loving taste that tumbled my heart in ways his submission and ecstasy never could.

  “Thank you.” He stroked my hair and held my gaze. “For everything. For coming into my life. For the model, the shooting. The sex. This, right now.”

  God, my chest ached like it was full of burning stones. I laid my head down on Simon’s torso so he couldn’t see my expression. Maybe he wouldn’t guess that the choking in my voice was from despair and heartache. “You’re most welcome.”

  “I love you,” he whispered, and I wanted to cry.

  “Love you too.” Because I did, and that was the problem. What I needed from Simon and what he could give me were two very different things. “Simon, I—” I didn’t know how to end this. Not gracefully, not kindly. I was so fucking confused because my heart needed what I knew it couldn’t have. I longed for forever, but I only had now. Tonight. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  I closed my eyes and listened to Simon’s heartbeat. I didn’t think he was lying when he said he loved me, but I knew that he couldn’t love me like I wanted. Long-term, committed love. A true partner.

  In the end, I knew what I had to do.

  I woke and found myself alone in my bed, and cold panic washed through me until I spotted Simon over by my fantasy sculptures. He’d put on his underwear, but nothing else. Lovely. I’d never tire of looking at him.

  The smell of coffee filled the apartment, and I rolled onto my back to stare at the ceiling. Guilt gnawed at me. I’d gotten spooked by the empty bed, and yet I was about to walk away from the man I’d fallen for. But I didn’t know how else to do this. Simon had a full life. I wanted to be a significant part of it, not a side fling.

  He must have heard or seen me moving—the drawback to a no-bedroom apartment. “Do you want some coffee?”

  For someone I’d fucked into oblivion last night, he sounded way too chipper and awake. “Yeah.” I struggled to sitting, my head a mess and pain pounding against my temples. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said I had a hangover.

  Drunk on Simon. Hopefully, the coffee would help.

  He handed me a mug and sat on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t want to wake you. But I needed some caffeine.”

  I breathed in the aroma from the mug and took a sip. The headache remained, but it was fading. “It’s fine. My place is your place and all that.” My heart bled as I drank my coffee. “What time is it anyway?” There was a clock on the nightstand, but that would mean turning away from Simon, and I didn’t want to do that yet.

  He glanced there for me. “Just after eight.”

  Not too late. “I should get to the lot by ten. They do consider evening shoots and all, but I have a bunch of stuff I didn’t do while we were rebuilding the model.” Sounded reasonable. Normal.

  I didn’t want to leave.

  His smile was achingly beautiful, and I tried to write it into my bones.

  “Enough time to get ready, then,” he said.

  I nodded. “And drop you off.” It came out as a whisper.

  He leaned down and kissed me. It was tender and kind. The kiss of a lover. “You know where to pick me up again.”

  God, my heart.

  His gaze drifted toward my sculptures. “I hope you didn’t mind me looking at your art.”

  “Not at all.” That came out honest, and I followed it with a laugh. “I wish other people could see them.”

  “We could help you with that . . .”

  We. End o’ Earth. Simon and Lydia. The offer tugged at me in so many ways. I’d love to sell the sculptures to people who’d care for them, but that would mean continuing on with Simon. To cover my confusion, I sipped my coffee and stared into its dark depths. “Let me think about it?”

  He chuckled. “Of course. I don’t mean to be overeager. I’m like that with Lydia’s work, too.”

  “She’s a pretty amazing artist.” A wonderful human too. Fuck.

  “She is.” He breathed out the words like a man totally in love. But his expression didn’t change when he focused on me. “So are you.”

  “Thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted to tell him what was churning inside me, but that wouldn’t change a damn thing. “I should get my ass showered and dressed.”

  He patted my leg and stood. “Let me get out of your way.”

  I lingered in the shower longer than normal. Simon cared about me, that was obvious. I loved him—obvious as well. I wanted all that I couldn’t ask from him. A lifetime. A commitment. A home together. He had those with someone else.

  I’d known him exactly one week. That was far too soon to be this in love. I’d crash and burn. We’d both get hurt. Better to nip this off now. Cold turkey.

  Nothing left to do. I got out, shaved, and dressed. Simon was over by the sculptures again, wearing the clothes he’d had on last night. He smiled as he handled a dragon I’d yet to paint. Such a simple expression, so honest.

  “Would you like it? You can have it, if you want.” I’d give him the moon, if I could.

  He looked up, both gratitude and shock written on his face. “I couldn’t.”

  “Sure you can.” I collected my wallet and keys. “I want you to have it.” A little piece of me. “Paint it. It can be . . .” It could be a memory of us.

  “All right.” His voice was reverent and soft.

  I packed the sculpture in bubble wrap and a random cardboard box, and Simon carried it down to the car. Bliss when he looked at the contents. Adoration too. Simon seemed to have an infinite capacity to love. I didn’t understand it.

  On the way to his house, we held hands when we could, and I succeeded in not letting out any of the tears in my throat or the ones lurking behind my eyes.

  Simon touched my thigh. “What will you be working on next?”

  At least I could talk shop without cracking. “A flashback scene. Have to recreate the ambiance of Bluewater Bay from the seventies. It uses trick photography and angles, so I’ll be building individual miniature pieces, rather than a big set.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  My smile came easily. “Yeah, it should be.” My humor fled when I turned onto Simon’s street. In moments, I pulled over in front of his house. Their house. “Say hi to Lydia for me?” My throat felt tight. I’d miss her too. Dexy and Jesse. My temporary little family.

  “Of course.” He laughed and pulled me into a hug that turned into a kiss, which turned into me indulging in a last taste of those lips and that mouth. I swallowed one of Simon’s delightful moans.

  “God,” he said, when we broke apart. “You’re too much.” He stroked my
cheek. “Call me?”

  “Sure.” I was so damn good at lying. “I’ll see you around, Si.”

  “You better.” He opened the door and climbed out into his life.

  I pulled away from the curb and headed back to mine. “Goodbye, Simon,” I said to his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Once I was back on familiar roads, I let the tears fall.

  My feet felt like they weren’t touching the ground. I was sore in all the right ways and I had a gift from Ian in my hands. When I got into the house, I made my way into the kitchen—if Lydia were home, that’s where she’d be. And she was, sitting at the kitchen table, her Kindle in front of her and a mug in her hand. Purrbody occupied the chair next to her, looking regal on the light blue cushion. The whole place was white and blue and yellow, and our royal kitty somehow knew he was as pretty as a model sitting there.

  Lydia grinned at me over her coffee. “Wow. Looks like you had a good time.”

  Hell, yes, I had. I set the box down on the island and crossed over to her. “Overall, yeah.” I gave His Royal Fluff a scritch on the head, and he presented his cheeks for me to scratch as well. “The filming was a bit rough. Hard to see something you worked so intently on go up in flames, but it came out great on camera, and the director explained the camera and the shot to me.” I sat down across from Lydia. “And I met Hunter Easton.”

  Her coffee mug clanked down on the table. “No, you didn’t!”

  Purrbody seemed downright disgusted at the outburst, but he didn’t move his fluff, just swished his tail.

  “I did! Honest! I should’ve gotten a photo, but I didn’t want to ask . . .” I mean, it isn’t every day you meet an idol, but . . . he also was a local.

  She sat back. “Yeah, I get that. I wouldn’t have asked, either.” Probably for the same reason.

  “Right? Anyway, after that, I was pretty out of it, so Ian took me to his place.”

  “And you had a blast.” Her sexy sly smile was back.

  I shivered from the memory of Ian’s hands over my body and the press of the gag’s cock in my mouth. His grin when he cuffed me to his headboard. “He’s . . .” I spread my hands, helplessly and met her gaze. “I’m really in love with him.”