A Case of You [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations ManLove)

by Tymber Dalton

  Stuart snorted. “That’s evil, Sir.”

  “I know. Hey, I have to get my sadistic fix with him where and how I can, when I can.” He squeezed Stuart’s hand. “It’s not all about canings and sex. Although that is a lot of fun, too.”

  No arguments from him there. “Yes, Sir.”

  He’d slept…beautifully. All night. No bad dreams at all.

  “How do you feel about showing me around after we find something to eat?” Brandon asked.

  “There’s not a lot to see around here, Sir.”

  “That wasn’t exactly a request.”

  Stuart had been afraid of that. “Yes, Sir.”

  “I thought we could stop by your parents’ place and you can introduce me to them.”

  Now he felt wide awake, his pulse pounding. He rolled over to face Brandon. “Why?”

  Brandon wasn’t so sleepy he couldn’t arch an eyebrow at him.

  “Why, Sir,” Stuart corrected.

  “Again, this isn’t exactly a request.”

  Shit. Stuart had been afraid of that, too.

  “How’d you sleep last night?”

  Stuart had to struggle to think to answer him while still processing what Brandon had just said they were going to do. “Good, Sir.”

  “And how did last night’s dinner go?”

  “It…went well, Sir.”

  “Rather than waiting until tonight, and piling your nerves on top of nerves with me meeting your parents and Jake and everyone at the same time, let’s chip away at it. Your parents might be less defensive about us if we meet them alone.”

  “I…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t have any idea how it’ll go.”

  “Exactly. If it goes bad, you’re already anticipating that. If it goes okay, then it’s one more worry off your plate. And I do want to see where you grew up. It’s part of who you are.”

  Brandon reached behind him to the bedside table, where his phone was charging. “Holy crap.”

  “What?”

  He showed him. It was a little after eight locally, meaning nine Florida time.

  “I’m shocked we slept that late,” Stuart said.

  Brandon kissed him. “I’ll call Jeff. You please make me a cup of coffee, unless you want that butt plug in right now.”

  Stuart jumped from the bed and got Brandon’s coffee started in the room’s tiny one-cup maker. Then he took a piss and by the time he made it back to bed, Brandon was holding the phone to him to take and was climbing out of bed.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, you.” Jeff sounded like he was smiling. Stuart closed his eyes and imagined Jeff’s hazel eyes and blond hair. “Sounds like last night went okay?”

  “It did. He’s a nice guy…” They talked until Brandon returned from the bathroom. “We’re going to go eat breakfast and Sir wants me to show him around.”

  “He told me.” Jeff’s tone changed, serious now. “Trust him, okay? Lean on him. You know he’ll take care of you.”

  Warmth exploded in his heart. Even deeper, in his soul. How these two men knew him so well, loved him so hard and thoroughly.

  “I know.”

  “And get him his coffee before he tortures you.”

  Stuart laughed. “Will do. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, buddy. You got this.” Stuart heard one of the girls yelling in the background and Jeff pulled the phone away from his face. “I’m sitting on the bed, thank you very much!” He came back. “Sheesh. I’m gonna kill Bran for siccing them on me like this.” I so much as stand up, one of them’s nearly on top of me ordering me to sit down.”

  Stuart grinned. “Enjoy.” He returned the phone to Brandon so he could say good-bye and got up to fix the coffee for him and start a second one for himself. When he brought the steaming paper cup back to bed, Brandon accepted it with a smile where he sat propped up against the headboard.

  “Thank you, boy.” Then he pointed.

  At his cock.

  Stuart carefully climbed onto the bed so he didn’t jostle Brandon and make him spill his coffee. He settled between Brandon’s legs, and eagerly sucked down his cock. Brandon sipped his coffee and plunged his other hand into Stuart’s hair, holding him pressed against his abs, his cock growing thick and hard in Stuart’s mouth.

  Brandon’s gaze never broke from his, watching him, silent, the corners of his eyes crinkled in that way he got when something amused the fuck out of him.

  Stuart was almost ready to signal he needed Brandon to let him up so he could breathe when Brandon did just that. His hand never left Stuart’s head, but he eased up on the pressure so Stuart could pull back a little and gulp in air around the man’s member.

  Then Brandon set the coffee on the table, picked up the remote and turned on the TV, set it to the morning news, and then picked up the coffee again.

  Took a sip.

  All while Stuart eagerly serviced him. He slurped at the thick, rounded head, tracing the ridge and slit with his tongue and lips, going deep and sucking as he pulled back. He kept one hand curled around the base and, balanced on his elbows, used the other to massage Brandon’s sac.

  Brandon’s fingers raked through Stuart’s hair and lightly tugged him down, wanting him deep.

  Stuart complied. His good boy.

  Always his good boy.

  With his mind spinning fast and hard into subspace, Stuart lost himself in the service, in the warmth of Brandon’s body against the slight chill in the room, the sweet, musky scent of him, the hair on his thighs brushing against Stuart’s shoulders.

  Everything.

  Him.

  Yes, he trusted him.

  Absolutely.

  Completely.

  Without question.

  Finally, Brandon set the cup aside and cradled Stuart’s head with both hands. “Take care of your Sir, boy.” His fingers curled around Stuart’s head, digging into his scalp now with pleasant pressure.

  Under him, his own cock was hard and rasping against the stiff hotel sheets, so close to getting off himself. The only thing keeping him from humping one out against the mattress was knowing he’d be punished for it later.

  And not wanting to disobey his Master.

  Never.

  Stuart tasted salty pre-cum, warm, rolling it down his tongue and wanting more, wanting to suck his balls dry.

  His good boy.

  Always.

  “Get ready.” Brandon’s cock hardened and he pulled Stuart deep, again pressed against his abs and the head of his cock down Stuart’s throat. Ready for him, he swallowed, moaning with Brandon, loving having done this to him, knowing he got to be the one to do this to him, alone with him and missing Jeff at the same time. There was nothing he enjoyed more than the rare weekend mornings that both men were in the mood and they didn’t have to be somewhere early, where he could suck them both off and then wait to see if they’d reward him then or make him wait.

  Or make him do more to earn it.

  Finally, Brandon’s cock deflated enough Stuart could breathe again. He stopped sucking but held it in his mouth, Brandon’s grip easing as he stroked Stuart’s hair. He kept his cheek pressed against Brandon’s belly, happy.

  “Good boy,” Brandon whispered. “Very good. Let’s cuddle.”

  Brandon slid down and Stuart climbed up, his head in the crook of Brandon’s arm and his cheek pressed against his ribs. He loved listening to his heartbeat.

  Brandon turned toward him, draping his other arm and a leg over him, possessively. Forehead to forehead, he nuzzled Stuart’s nose. “And that’s how you’re going to wake me up tomorrow morning,” he whispered. “Like a good boy should.”

  Oh, he was down the rabbit hole. Even as his own cock rubbed against Brandon’s hip, he sighed with aching relief. “Yes, Sir.”

  Instructions.

  Orders.

  Order to the day.

  A plan.

  “My very good boy. I love you so fucking much.”

  “I love you, too, Sir.”
<
br />   Brandon kissed him, slow and sweetly, savoring him. When his tongue demanded entrance, Stuart willingly gave it, moaning into his mouth and knowing his Sir tasted himself there.

  He smiled. “Go get your coffee, baby. We have a long day ahead of us, and we need to eat breakfast.”

  Sooo…

  No release yet for him.

  Another sigh escaped him. “Yes, Sir.”

  * * * *

  Brandon barely held back his laugh. He knew Stuart was hornier than hell now, but that’s the way Brandon wanted to keep him. He could drop Jeff hard and fast into subspace by a well-timed bite.

  Stuart didn’t need anything that obvious, if Brandon primed the pump, as it were, ahead of time.

  Kept horny, Stuart would be easy to manipulate with something as simple as Brandon’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades—something Brandon frequently did to him during sex or during scenes. Or holding and pressing his wrist. Even holding his hand and squeezing.

  Stuart would have to wait for release until after tonight, following the rehearsal dinner.

  Provided nothing serious happened to truncate their visit ahead of that.

  After hearing Eileen talk about their brother last night, Brandon had a feeling things might get…interesting once Jake was tossed into the mix. But it was possible Jake would get himself disinvited to the wedding by John tonight, depending on how Jake acted. John was in agreement it might be easier to put up with and simply ignore the asshole rather than direct confrontation. Most bullies fed off the energy given to them. If no one was playing Jake’s game, he might take his ball and go home in the mistaken feeling that they were the ones losing out.

  It’d be a win-win.

  Whether or not that would be the strategy to beat remained to be seen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brandon didn’t have to worry much about being distracted while driving. It was farmland…farmland…some pastures with cows, followed by—spoiler alert—farmland. Considering it was nearing winter, most of the fields were brown and picked over.

  Between that and the nasty, grey day, low cloud cover, and bitingly cold, intermittent drizzle that seemed to seep through his bones, Brandon wasn’t very impressed with this corner of the Midwest.

  At all.

  Nothing against it personally, except after having lived in Florida all his life, he was admittedly spoiled.

  After breakfast, they headed out. Stuart’s parents lived about forty-five minutes from the hotel. Not exactly next door, but for Brandon’s purposes a comfortable distance, meaning they likely wouldn’t drop in on them unannounced.

  He’d never again gripe that the interior of Florida was a vast ocean of nothing, that was for sure. At least if you drove long enough there you hit an Interstate, the Turnpike, Lake O, or a large body of salt water.

  Or, at the very least, a Publix.

  Here, it felt like rolling hill after rolling hill of nothing but…nothing.

  Stuart’s parents lived in an old two-story farmhouse plopped in the middle of a windbreak on four sides of some nondescript evergreen trees Brandon didn’t care to identify. The grey shingled siding would have blended in perfectly with the grey sky if it was a slightly darker shade of blah.

  The muddy, rutted driveway led up to and past the farmhouse. Stuart nervously directed him to park in the front yard, next to an older Buick with mud splashed on its fenders, and an older Ford truck that seemed to be mud-colored.

  When Brandon shut off the engine, he started to reach for his door handle and realized Stuart wasn’t moving. “You all right?”

  He had relented and hadn’t made him put the butt plug in.

  Yet.

  But he’d brought it with him, tucked into the side pocket of his laptop case, along with a bottle of lube. That was sitting on the floor of the backseat, behind the driver’s seat.

  “Yes, Ma-Sir.”

  Brandon snorted. “That was cute.”

  “Sorry.”

  He patted Stuart’s leg. “Not even going to ding you for forgetting to get my car door for me yesterday and today.”

  His head snapped around and his eyes widened. “Oh, crap! I’m sorry, Sir!”

  “It’s okay. I know you’re nervous.” He pointed at himself, circling his finger. “Saaaadist. Not asshole.”

  Stuart finally smiled. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  He climbed out and waited at the front of the car for Stuart to join him. He knew the chances were slim of some gang of corn rustlers coming along and robbing their car, but he hit the door lock on the key fob anyway before slipping it into his jacket pocket and following Stuart up the yard and to the front door.

  * * * *

  Stuart was beginning to regret this. The closer they approached his parents’ house, the tighter his stomach felt, wound dangerously taut, pain setting in.

  Familiar pain he hadn’t recognized, at first.

  Until he realized it was something he’d nearly always felt, to some degree, when he’d lived here in Iowa. Since his teenaged years when he realized he was gay, what it meant, and that it also meant he couldn’t come out to his family while he was living under their roof and within Jake’s punching distance.

  Despite Brandon’s comforting presence to his left, he still wanted to turn tail and run.

  He forced himself to walk up to the front porch, open the storm door, and knock on the wooden door, knowing the doorbell didn’t work and doubting it’d been fixed since he’d last been there, considering it had never in his memory ever worked.

  The one time he’d offered to fix it, after getting his vo-tech training, his father had almost angrily brushed off the suggestion.

  Stuart hadn’t offered again.

  When he stepped down and let the storm door swing shut on its wheezy pneumatic arm, Brandon’s fingers brushed the back of Stuart’s left elbow before falling away. Comforting without uncomfortably smothering him with physical affection.

  The man’s a genius.

  He heard footsteps and it was his mom who opened the front door. Her eyes widened. “Stu!” She called over her shoulder. “Carl, it’s Stu! Get down here.” She shoved the storm door open and reached out to hug him.

  Only when she leaned back and was going to wave him inside did she seem to notice Brandon standing there, holding the storm door open.

  Her gaze swept him up and down. “Hi.”

  Brandon offered a charming, handsome smile. “Hello, Mrs. Powell.”

  Stuart cursed himself for his stupidity. “Mom, this is Brandon Ziegler. My husband.”

  He was prepared for her to continue the pointless argument that Brandon wasn’t his husband. She pleasantly surprised him with a too-tight smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Nice to meet you, Brandon. Won’t you come in?”

  Stuart let out a sigh of relief. Polite voice. That meant she wasn’t exactly happy, but she wouldn’t be rude.

  He’d take it as a win.

  He heard his father trudging down the stairs as they walked back toward the kitchen after hanging up their jackets in the entry. “Ellen, what’d you yell?”

  “It’s Stu, Carl. Put in your dang hearing aids.”

  “I need new batteries.” They came face-to-face with him at the bottom of the stairs. Stuart was surprised to see Brandon stood at least two inches taller than his dad, who was a little taller than Stuart.

  Somehow, he’d had it in his mind that his father would be…taller.

  Brandon took point and extended his hand with a smile. “Mr. Powell, Brandon Ziegler. Nice to meet you.”

  Stuart wasn’t sure his dad would shake with him, at first, until he finally took Brandon’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Carl.”

  “Thank you, Carl.”

  His dad scratched at the back of his neck. He’d obviously shaved that morning, and looked like his mom had made him get a haircut in the past day or two. “We’re having lunch in a minute. BLTs, if y’ant some.”
<
br />   Brandon touched the back of Stuart’s arm again, gently prodding him forward. “Thank you very much, we’d love that.”

  Stuart waited for his dad to follow his mom, who’d already gone ahead. When Stuart glanced back, Brandon dropped him a wink that hardened his cock right there.

  Oh, boy.

  * * * *

  Stuart mostly kept his mouth shut unless he was asked a direct question. His parents were church-social polite, meaning he could tell they weren’t exactly thrilled to have what they perceived as one of the reasons for their son’s express ticket to Hell sitting at their kitchen table, but his mom wouldn’t let Brandon get up and help with anything while his dad sought refuge in the safety of asking Brandon about his job.

  He also seemed suitably impressed when Brandon gave him the details about his job, of how he was a district manager, yet Brandon didn’t drift into bragging, which his father would have hated immediately.

  He also seemed impressed that Brandon had worked his way up from high school and a part-time entry-level position to where he was now. And that he didn’t get his college degree until his thirties, and only because at that point he was trying to support a child and move ahead in the company.

  Finally, his dad turned his focus on Stuart. “That electrician’s job working for you a’right then?”

  “Yes, sir. They paid for me to get my state contractor’s license. The owner’s a very nice guy, Cedro Luzon. Small, family-owned company. We do a lot of new construction work for developers. Keeps us really busy. Great group of people I work with, too.”

  His father nodded as he stirred milk into his coffee. “I wan’t sure ’bout you goin’ to vo-tech, but glad it worked out. Bein’ an electrician’s a good trade.”

  “Thank you. Me, too.” He’d spent a lot of afternoons and weekends busting his hump working during high school to save up the bulk of the tuition, until his parents kicked in the last couple grand for him as a loan, which he’d long since paid back.