Johnny started to protest but Amanda said, “No, no, no. Shut up, J! Amanda knows best. You know you’re still so in love with him it’s stupid. Your face gets all soft and goofy when you talk about him. Just admit it, you’re in love! And you will forgive him for whatever he did, just like grownups who have problems and work them through do. If you run at the first sign of a problem, you’re gonna be alone all your life, my friend, I can promise you that.
“So, number one you call your sweetheart, and you apologize to him for running away, and you arrange to meet and talk things through.
“Number two, you call Billy and his wife and you arrange to go over there. At which time you confess to the horrible, hideous crime of being a homosexual, and you throw yourself on the mercy of their court. Think of this as damage control. You get there before Mom and Dad have time to get their version out there.
“Number three, you get out the want ads and look for a new job. No way are you going back to work for your dad. Your days of being his whipping boy are over, got that?”
Johnny nodded, dazed. She was laying out his life and it all seemed so easy. And it made sense. The last thing she had said made his pulse zing. The work at the garage had been near to unbearable, especially lately as Eric had opened his eyes to so many new worlds in art and literature. He’d never really allowed himself to consider another avenue. Being a mechanic and working for Wilson & Sons was what one did. No discussion—it was the way things were.
But now it wasn’t. Amanda was right. Even if he had wanted to continue to work there, for close to minimum wage if truth be told, his father would never let him back. And life with Hank would be worse than hell on earth once he knew “the dreadful truth”. Instead of being terrified at the prospect of being without a job, Johnny turned to Amanda and said, “You know, I could train for something different. Something in the arts. Maybe graphic design.” He stared dreamily into space and Amanda clapped him on the shoulder.
“That’s the spirit! The world is your oyster, Johnny Wilson. Nothing’s going to hold you back now.”
They walked together to a nearby park. It was a cold day but the sun shone brightly and the sky was that wonderful deep blue only an autumn day in New York could produce. Amanda had discreetly left Johnny alone as he punched in the number one, his speed dial location for the man of his dreams.
Eric answered the phone. Johnny said, “I love you. Can we start over?”
Chapter 17
When Johnny opened his apartment door, Eric held out the bottle of red wine. His heart hurt with the stiffness of the gesture, but he sensed Johnny’s need for distance.
Johnny took the offered bottle with a nod of thanks. “Come in. The lasagna’s almost ready.”
Eric couldn’t read Johnny’s mood in his face, and decided not to try. “It smells great,” he said instead, inhaling the scent of garlic and tomato sauce as he entered the tiny apartment. He’d been there a few times before, but only to pick Johnny up or drop him off. All their time together had been spent in Eric’s more spacious apartment.
“I’ll just open this,” Johnny said, indicating the bottle. “You can have a seat.” Johnny waved toward the living area, which contained a well-worn recliner and a futon couch with a knit afghan thrown over the back. Eric watched Johnny open the bottle of wine at the counter that separated the galley kitchen from the main room.
Johnny poured two glasses and came into the living room, where Eric had settled on the couch. Johnny handed him a glass and perched on the edge of the recliner, his back stiff. Eric could feel Johnny’s tension and tried to keep himself calm and relaxed. He resisted his impulse to pull Johnny into his arms. Whatever would be, would be.
“My family knows,” Johnny blurted suddenly.
It took Eric a few moments to process this—his first irrational thought being they knew he’d used his safeword, but of course that made no sense. Peering into Johnny’s anxious face, all at once he understood. “About us—about you? That you’re gay, you mean?”
Johnny nodded glumly. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure they found my slave album, too. No one’s talking to me.”
Eric blew out a breath. He’d been so focused on his own issues, his own problems in the face of the debacle at the club, it hadn’t occurred to him there was more shit in the game. “You okay?”
Johnny shrugged. “I don’t know what I am. I tried to call my brother Billy to find out what the hell’s going on. He said my dad is going ape shit and it’s probably best if I just lay low for a while. When I tried to get more out of him, he said he had to go, and he hung up, just like that!”
Eric reached out, putting his hand on Johnny’s knee. “Give them time,” he advised. “They’ll come around.”
“You don’t know my family,” Johnny said darkly, staring down into his wine glass. The oven timer dinged and Johnny stood, draining his wineglass. “Food’s ready,” he said over his shoulder as he headed toward the kitchen. “I hope you like it.”
They ate at the small kitchen table as the sun set, the room bathed in the purple neon glow of a sign outside the window. The food really was quite good, and Eric told Johnny so, pleased to see the shy smile move over his handsome face. Johnny didn’t seem to want to talk, and Eric took his cue from this, just glad to be with him, all too aware how close he had come to losing him.
After dinner he helped Johnny wash and dry the dishes and put away the leftovers. Afterward they sat side by side on the couch, finishing the last of the wine. “You’ve had a lot to deal with this weekend,” Eric finally offered.
Johnny shrugged. “Yeah. I know it was probably just a matter of time before my family figured things out. I guess I wish it had happened on my own terms. Amanda says it’s a good thing they found out. Saved me the trouble, she said.” He gave a mirthless laugh.
“There’s something to that,” Eric agreed. “Whatever happens, Johnny, I’m with you. If you want me to be,” he added softly.
“Oh, Eric.” Johnny grabbed Eric’s hand and squeezed. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the club, about what happened,” Johnny said.
Yet another apology was on the tip of Eric’s tongue, but he kept his mouth closed. Johnny already knew his feelings. It was time to listen.
Johnny continued. “It wasn’t all your fault, you know. You always tell me how important it is to be honest about my feelings and my needs. I wasn’t entirely honest with you. I didn’t let you know when I was scared. I—I guess I wanted to please you, and so I kept quiet when I should have spoken up.”
“You did tell me, Johnny. I wasn’t paying the proper kind of attention. I guess we both learned a lot, and that’s really what counts—not what happened so much, as what we can take away from it. Where we go from here, each of us.”
He looked at Johnny, memorizing the curve of his cheekbone, his green, golden-flecked eyes, the line of blond stubble on his jaw and over his red lips, the tousle of his shiny blond hair, aware that just being here with Johnny was enough, even if it was the end of something.
At that moment Eric let go.
He actually felt it happening—the tight, hard knot that had seemed to replace his heart since last night suddenly unraveled, and for the first time since then he could draw an easy breath. He loved Johnny. He knew that with certainty. But at that moment he realized he loved him enough to let him go, if that’s what Johnny needed.
What would be, would be.
Eric felt a peaceful calm settle over him and he smiled at Johnny, waiting.
Johnny turned to face him. He touched the leather bracelet on his wrist and then touched his throat. “I want to wear your collar, Sir. If you think I’m worthy.”
A quiet, fierce joy moved through Eric like fire warming him from the inside out. He reached for Johnny, pulling him into his arms, claiming him with a kiss that left no question as to Johnny’s worthiness, or his own. When he let Johnny go, Johnny fell back against the couch, breathing hard, his lips parted, his erection bulging in his jeans.
Eric stood and held out his hand. “Come home, Johnny.”
“Yes, Sir,” Johnny breathed, taking the offered hand.
~*~
Amanda juggled the plastic containers of turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes, fresh corn and sweet potato pie. Marlon also carried containers of food—Eric had cooked a Thanksgiving meal large enough for a small army, and though they all ate until they thought they would burst, there were still plenty of leftovers. Eric’s sister, Margarita, and her husband, Steve, had to leave an hour earlier, with a plane to catch for Puerto Rico, where Eric’s mother was living temporarily while caring for an elderly aunt.
“Next year at our place,” Marlon said.
“It’s a deal,” Eric replied, smiling as he wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. Johnny realized with a sudden, bittersweet tang that this was his family now—his own still estranged, though he recognized this was partially his doing. He’d been hurt and humiliated by their refusal to speak with him right away, and when his brother Billy did finally reach out, Johnny was the one who didn’t return the call.
As he so often seemed to, Eric read Johnny’s mood precisely. Looping his arm around Johnny’s waist as they watched the two women climbing into a cab on that snowy November evening, Eric said, “You’re missing them, huh?”
“Yeah,” Johnny admitted, flashing back to his mother’s Thanksgiving table crowded with relatives, the men talking loudly, the women passing huge platters of food, the children cutting up and giggling. He attempted a smile. “You’re my family now.”
Eric smiled at this, but shook his head. “They’re still your family too, Johnny. When you’re ready to reach out again, they’ll be there for you. Give them a chance.”
Johnny nodded, though he wasn’t so sure. To change the subject, he said, “The meal was great.” He patted his stomach. “I don’t think I’ll be eating for a week after that.”
After they’d cleaned the kitchen, they soaked together in a hot bath. Johnny knelt, naked and wet, drying Eric’s hard, sexy body with a big white towel before drying himself. He loved doing this, loved the shiver moving over his wet body as he tended to his Master, loved the erotic, sensual feeling of this small bit of suffering for the man he adored.
In the bedroom, he saw the black leather collar with the three large O rings waiting on the bed, Eric’s silent signal that it was time to play. Johnny’s cock rose to instant erection as he knelt beside the bed and lay his head against the mattress.
Eric came behind him, reaching over Johnny’s shoulder for the collar, which he fastened around Johnny’s neck, buckling it securely in back. As it always did, the feeling of the soft leather around his throat eased Johnny into a submissive headspace.
“Are you ready, Johnny? Tonight’s the night.”
Johnny nodded, a sudden lump of nervous anticipation rising in his throat. He was ready, at least as ready as he’d ever be. He wanted it—he was the one who had brought it up, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous.
To delay it just a while longer, he said, “May I worship your body first, Sir?”
Eric smiled, a flash of white against his creamy coffee complexion, and nodded. He lay down on his back and Johnny sat beside him. He moved his hands over Eric’s chest, lightly kneading his pecs before drawing his hands down Eric’s smooth stomach too the rising cock at his groin.
Scooting down, Johnny crouched between Eric’s legs. He stroked Eric to full erection before sliding his mouth over the hard, thick shaft. He licked and kissed Eric’s cock and balls, closing his eyes and opening his throat, taking Eric deep, his own cock throbbing. Eric groaned, thrusting against Johnny. Johnny pulled back, aware he wasn’t allowed to make Eric come—not yet. He let the hard, slick shaft glide from his mouth and lowered himself, crouching between Eric’s legs to seek the tiny pucker between Eric’s ass cheeks with his tongue.
In the month since the debacle at the BDSM club, Eric had lovingly taught Johnny how sensual and erotic rimming could be—both the giving and the receiving, and Johnny now loved to lick and kiss his Master’s asshole, pulling sweet, sensual shudders from his body when he pressed the tip of his tongue past the ring of muscle and into the heat.
“That’s so good,” Eric sighed, letting Johnny stroke and lick him for several minutes. But then he shifted, reaching to pull Johnny up beside him. “It’s time, Johnny. But first get on your hands and knees. I’m going to chain you to the headboard to help you stay still while I cane that gorgeous ass of yours.”
“Yes, Sir,” Johnny said, scrambling to assume the position, his heart shifting up a gear. Eric clipped a length of chain that hung from the headboard onto the O ring at the center of Johnny’s collar, which forced Johnny’s head down to the mattress. He turned so his cheek rested against the sheets.
Though caning hurt, Johnny had come to crave its stinging bite, and his skin tingled in anticipation. Eric rolled from the bed and retrieved a short-handled, thin cane, which he whipped in the air a few times. Though he wanted it, Johnny couldn’t help but wince at the whipping swish of the cane. Eric’s grin was evil, his dark eyes flashing.
“Five on each side,” he informed Johnny. Standing by the side of the bed, he thwacked Johnny’s bare ass, each blow a burning slice of erotic pain that moved directly from Johnny’s ass to his cock, making it throb with each stroke.
Johnny was panting by the time Eric was done, his ass a crisscross of fire. “Thank you, Sir,” he managed.
“You’re welcome, slave,” Eric replied. “Are you ready to open yourself fully to me now?”
“Yes, Sir,” Johnny whispered, praying this was true, hoping he could handle what he’d asked for.
Eric unclipped Johnny’s collar and helped him into the sling they’d hung in one corner of the bedroom. It was a wide, sturdy hammock of black leather that comfortably cradled Johnny’s back and shoulders. There were supported stirrups on either side for his legs to rest comfortably, leaving his ass exposed for long, lingering sessions of intense anal intercourse with Eric standing in front of him, pulling him forward as he thrust inside him.
But tonight they were going to try something different—something Johnny had been reading about and watching on the internet. Something he wanted to experience for himself.
He watched now as Eric took the tube of lubricant from the night table, squeezing it onto his fingers. Moving to stand in front of Johnny, Eric drew his lubricated fingers along the crack of Johnny’s ass as he leaned forward to kiss his mouth. He touched Johnny gently at first, his strokes easy and sensual until Johnny relaxed completely. Eric pressed one finger and then two into Johnny’s asshole. They slipped in easily. It felt good, and Johnny moaned.
Eric laughed softly. “Good boy,” he said, his voice low with lust. “Keep breathing. Slow and easy.” He added a third finger, and Johnny grunted at the sudden fullness. “Relax,” Eric crooned. “You need this. You need to suffer for me.”
“Yes,” Johnny whispered, knowing it was true, knowing nothing was truer in this world. He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. Eric took his time, moving his lubed fingers slowly and sensually in and out of Johnny’s ass until he felt himself melting.
“I’m going to add the fourth finger, Johnny,” Eric said, squeezing still more lube onto his fingers. Johnny nodded, thinking he was ready, loving the erotic, sensual feel of the fingers already inside him. Yet, when the fourth finger pressed home, Johnny jerked back, gripping tight to the chains that held the sling aloft. “That hurts!” he cried, tensing.
“Relax,” Eric said in a soothing voice. “This is what you need. You can do this. Breathe for me, baby. Long, deep, easy breaths. Slow and steady.”
Johnny nodded, aware of the sudden burst of perspiration at his armpits and along the small of his back. He could feel the hammering of his heart and hear the rasp of his breath in his throat, but at the same time he wanted this—he did. There was something so supremely submissive in what he was doing, in what Eric was doing to him, and th
is thrilled him to his bones.
“Breathe,” Eric whispered again, leaning forward to kiss Johnny’s eyelids closed. Johnny drew in a deep, shuddering breath, slowly counting as he inhaled, holding it, and letting it go. He did this over and over until his panting eased, his heart rate slowed, his muscles finally let go.
“Yes,” Eric whispered. Johnny felt Eric’s fingers pushing deeper, opening him. There was a moment of sudden, intense pain and then, all at once, he felt a pulsing, tingling pleasure hurtling through him, as if Eric were literally stroking his cock from the inside out.
“Jesus,” he moaned. “What are you doing? It’s fucking amazing.”
“We did it, baby,” Eric said softly. “I’m all the way in. You’re doing great. I’ve got you—you’ll always be safe with me, Johnny.”
“Oh, yeah, oh man, yes.” Johnny breathed, shuddering as Eric’s fingers moved inside him. “Eric—Sir, I’m going to…oooh…”
The power of speech seemed to have deserted him. He was taken over by the intense pleasure melding into the erotic pain, by the fullness and the perfection of having Eric’s hand so deep inside him.
“Not yet,” Eric murmured. “Not till I say. Hold on.”
Johnny shuddered. Each flutter of Eric’s fingers deep inside him brought him closer to a climax he wasn’t going to be able to resist for long. He’d expected the pressure and the pain, had even yearned for it—but he hadn’t been prepared for the pure, blinding pleasure and the supremely erotic sensations Eric’s movements caused inside him.
“That’s it, baby,” Eric finally said, his voice seeming to come from a distance over the pounding of blood in Johnny’s ears. “Do it. Come for me.”
Johnny let go, ribbons of ejaculate shooting from his cock, Eric’s hand still working magic inside him. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, pulling his body taut, holding him in its thrall until he collapsed, shuddering and gasping, against the soft, supportive leather of the sling.
He lay back in the sling completely spent, floating on a soft, warm cloud high, high in the heavens, only vaguely aware as Eric gently cleaned him with a soft, damp cloth. Then Eric’s arms were around his shoulders, Eric’s lips warm on his cheek. When he finally found the strength to open his eyes, Eric was smiling at him, love light spilling from his gaze.
Golden Boy Two-Volume Set Page 20
