by Anna Zabo
After that, time slipped away into touch and taste and bites and moans. Fingers and lips and tongues moved over flesh. Hard cocks rocked together until Justin realized the whimpers weren’t all his and that the last “Fuck, please,” hadn’t come from his mouth.
They were equals, at least at the moment. It had never been that way with Francis. He kissed Eli’s shoulder, breathing in the deep, rich scent of his skin. “I like this.”
“Me too.”
The spell broke. “What’s going to happen, Eli?”
Nimble fingers brushed over one of Justin’s nipples, and pinched—hard enough that Justin threw back his head and gasped.
“Well, first I’m going to fuck you until scream, then I’m going to make you pancakes.”
Hell yes. “I’m more of a waffle guy.”
“I’ve noticed you like to waffle.” Teeth in Eli’s smile.
Justin’s witty reply died when Eli wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked. He nibbled his way up Justin’s chin. “Sex and pancakes?”
Anything. “Please.” It came out as begging. But—“I don’t think my back can take it again.”
Eli kissed him and took his breath and thoughts away by fisting his cock at the right pace to drive him wild. Justin moaned into Eli’s mouth.
Eli grazed his lips down over Justin’s chin and throat. “I don’t need you on your back.”
No, he didn’t. They moved, Eli turning Justin around. “Hands on the headboard.”
Justin complied, head already in the clouds, body burning. “Fuck. Please.”
“Patience.”
Soft touches over the welts and bruises on his back sent shivers down his length to settle in his balls. “Not good at that.”
“I’ve noticed.” Eli kissed the small of Justin’s back. The familiar sound of foil being torn and the snap of a bottle of lube filled the room.
Anticipation burned like sparks across his body as he waited—and waited.
Eli’s laugh was dark. “Someday, I’m going to make you hold yourself like that for hours.”
Justin let his head fall. “Better not be today.”
Eli pressed his cock head against Justin’s hole. “That’s four.” He thrust inside, hard. And again and again, until Justin couldn’t breathe for the pleasure of being taken so fast. A coarse cry ripped free from Justin’s chest.
“You feel so . . . good.” Eli’s words were fully weighted with lust. Each stroke drove Justin off his knees.
Eli lit Justin’s nerves and blood and flesh—he should have been ash from the friction, the hard ramming. His back burned anyway and Eli’s thighs ground against the welts from his caning, the pain flaring at the back of his skull and blending with the absolute ecstasy of Eli ramming deep into his ass.
He managed one word. “Eli!” It was half a moan, half a gasp.
That only made Eli plow in harder and circle a hand around Justin’s cock. “If you come, I’ll fuck you straight through until I’m done with you.”
Oh hell. Those words, Eli relentless pounding, and being jacked off pushed Justin right to the brink. Eli covered Justin’s hands on the headboard with his own. Lips pressed against Justin’s shoulder then Eli bit down, digging into muscle. Heat like hot coals coated with silk and wine flared down Justin’s back and he tumbled into bliss and agony, screaming all the way down. Everything went white.
How long the orgasm lasted, he couldn’t tell, but Eli held true to his promise and fucked him mercilessly the entire time until he, too, came, his shout long and loud.
Justin lost his grip on the headboard, landing against pillows and mattress and sheets, Eli heavy on top, breath shaken and hard.
“Holy fuck.”
Not Justin’s words. He tried to push up but couldn’t manage to stop trembling long enough to get his arms under him.
Eli slid his cock free and they both groaned at the loss.
“Justin?”
Though his throat felt like sandpaper, he managed to speak. “Here.” He paused. “I think.”
A croaking laugh from Eli. He rolled off. “I’m not much better.”
Justin finally lifted himself up on his elbow. Eli was a mess of sweat and curls and scruff and smile, and the most glorious thing Justin had seen in a long time. “You said something about pancakes?”
Eli’s laughter shook the bed. “You know, that would be five, except the room’s spinning. Since you caused that, I’ll give you a break.” He reached over the bed’s edge and dropped the condom. Hopefully into a trash can.
“I’m at your mercy.”
“Don’t you forget it, either.” Eli nudged him with his foot. “And yes, pancakes. As soon as I can move off this bed.”
Justin sank back down onto the pillows. That had totally been worth it. “I can wait.”
“Oh, now you can wait.” Eli’s grin lit his face. “What am I going to do with you, Justin?”
“Feed me breakfast, apparently.”
Eli rose enough to grab hold of Justin’s arm and pull him over into his arms. “And coffee.” Eli dug his fingers into the welts in Justin’s ass.
Justin twisted in his arms. So deserved that.
Eli relented and kissed Justin on the brow. “I am, after all, quite merciful.”
“Very.” Justin listened to Eli’s heart and pushed away the doubt that kept creeping back into his mind. Right now was perfect.
* * *
Eli ran his hand through Justin’s hair, smoothing out tangles and enjoying the slip of the silken locks against his fingers. Justin was in his bed. Abrasive, messy, Justin was all the things Eli should hate. But that content face, the brown scruff that didn’t match the blue-black of his hair, those cheekbones as sharp as knives—he’d never wanted a man more. Even after the lust had been satisfied. This . . . closeness. He wanted more. Beyond work, beyond play.
Favorite flavor of ice cream. Best album. Comfort movie. Eli shifted. “I should make us coffee. Feed Lavi.”
“Coffee would be good.” Justin sat up and scrubbed his face. “Mind me catching a shower?”
“Not at all.” The grin came naturally. “Do you some good.”
“And whose fault is it that I’m covered in sweat?”
A little more than just sweat. Eli pulled him close. “Are you complaining?” His lips hovered over Justin’s, heart tumbling when Justin smiled.
“Not at all.” Justin brushed his mouth, and that was all Eli needed to deepen the kiss and steal Justin’s breath the same way Justin stole Eli’s. When Justin moaned, Eli relented. “Towels are in the hall closet.”
Justin’s shaky exhale was delightful. “Want to join me?”
So tempting, but they had time. No need to rush. “There are things I want to do to you later. Breakfast first.”
Justin’s eyes were so blue and so full of desire. “I can wait.”
“Good.” Eli climbed out of bed and headed for the closet to find a pair of shorts. “No jacking off.”
“I’d rather you do that to me.”
“Damn straight.”
When Eli returned, Justin was sitting on the edge of the bed, and his gaze slipped down Eli’s body—and stopped.
Shame and embarrassment tightened Eli’s throat. This is why he hated being naked in front of anyone else.
Justin looked up and paled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . .”
Eli waved the words away, but didn’t put anything in their place. Couldn’t without giving away too much of his pain. He took a long breath and pushed that down deep, where it belonged. Finally words came. “Don’t worry about it.”
Justin gripped the edge of the bed. “Um, my backpack is still in your car.”
So it was. “I can get it for you.”
“If you wouldn’t mind.” Shyness there. Trepidation.
Stupid leg fucked everything up. Eli closed the distance, drew Justin off the bed and into his arms to chase away the ghosts and the worry. “I don’t mind.”
Justin relaxed.
“Maybe I should make the coffee? I do know a thing or two about brewing a cup . . .” He pulled back. “Assuming you have decent coffee and not some store-bought shit.”
Now there was the Justin he knew and lo—shit. Eli stepped away. “Brat.”
“Barista, thank you very much.”
Eli snorted to cover the sudden uptick in his heart. “Not anymore.”
“Once a barista . . .” Justin’s smirk was exactly the kind Eli loved to flog away.
Later, perhaps. “Whole beans from Commonplace Coffee. There’s a drip maker, but I usually use a French press.”
Justin nodded, seriousness wiping away the snark. “I can work with that.”
“Let me grab a t-shirt and I’ll get your backpack.” After all the years of modest dress being pounded into his head, going outside shirtless was a bit too much. Shorts were hard, but he could manage that. He grabbed the top shirt off a pile in his closet and put it on. Might be cold, given the time of year, but he didn’t feel as naked.
Justin was entirely naked and in Eli’s hallway. “Hey, is this a chin-up bar?”
Eli stepped into the hall in time to see Justin grab the bar and execute a well-formed pull-up. The muscles of his back rippled and highlighted the bruises and welts there.
Justin hissed and dropped to the floor. “I forgot.” He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.
“Your back will remind you.”
Justin laughed. “And my ass. And whatever other part you beat.”
Eli nodded to the stairs. “Coffee. I’ll get your bag.”
“No hints?” Disappointment there.
“If you want, open the door to your left.”
He did and reddened, his dick twitching. “Holy shit!”
The playroom wasn’t huge, but it did have quite the collection of floggers and whips and canes hanging on the wall. “If you’re good, I’ll let you do more than look.”
Justin swallowed and shut the door. “I make very good coffee.”
“You’d better.” With that, Eli gripped the railing and headed downstairs. He was already falling for Justin; no need to actually do a header down the stairs.
* * *
Coffee did nothing to ease the apprehension rising in Justin. He sipped at the cup he’d brewed and stared at the photos above Eli’s mantel. He recognized two from Jerusalem. One a long shot of the city with the Dome of the Rock prominent, while the other had to be of the Western Wall—a close-up of large stone blocks with tiny pieces of paper shoved in between the cracks. Prayers to God.
Had Eli left one of those slips? Was he even religious? How much had the trip cost?
Francis had been very well traveled.
Justin’s back ached from the shower, but his limbs were languid from the marathon of sex he and Eli had been having.
Lovers. Eli wanted to be more than just a Dom. And that playroom? It promised even more pleasure and mind-blowing orgasms. He should have been ecstatic, but the prickling in the back of his brain had started. Didn’t matter that Eli was amazing in bed and considerate out of it.
He scratched his neck. Doms lied to get what they wanted. And everything about this house screamed the differences between Eli and him, and it was the same gulf that had existed between Justin and Francis.
Money.
For fuck’s sake, even the coffee was decadent. Justin knew what these beans cost per pound. Sure, it was an excellent cup, but not anything he would ever have as a daily brew. Eli? There wasn’t any other coffee in the house. The kitchen was bigger than his apartment, and it sported shiny stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. The stove was restaurant-grade. Everything in the cupboards and fridge was top-shelf, from the crackers to the freaking organic, hand-pressed orange juice. Sparkling, too, like the bathroom had been. Which meant a cleaning service, since it wasn’t Eli on his knees scrubbing the floor or the tiles in the bathroom.
Francis’s apartment hadn’t been this big, but it had been as spotless and as full of all the luxuries Justin could have wanted, save the one he needed.
Freedom.
He would not be drawn into that trap again. Schoolwork was as good an excuse as any to get the hell out of here. Last thing he wanted to be was the happy little submissive for another rich guy. Been there, done that. Didn’t have the t-shirt because whores didn’t get to own anything.
He liked being a sub. Loved the flogging and the sex and obeying, within reason. For guys like Eli and Francis, reason came down to gold watches and money in the billfold. Chains made from gifts and presents. He wouldn’t be locked up again.
The creaking of the stairs signaled Eli’s arrival. Justin took another sip of coffee to fortify him and faced Eli.
Eli wore jeans and a dark green sweater that clung to every inch of his tall, slender frame. Justin gripped his mug tighter. Entirely unfair that Eli was even hotter when dressed casually.
Uncertainty in Eli’s expression. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the banister. “Are you all right?”
No, he wasn’t. How could he want someone so wrong for him this much? “Just . . . catching my breath.”
A gentle smile, as if Eli had heard the lie. Limp apparent in each careful step, he entered the room. “It’s okay. I understand.”
No, you don’t. Not when you buy coffee at thirty bucks a pound. Justin studied the photos above the mantel. “Did you take those?”
Eli stood next to him. Too close. Not close enough. “Yes, a couple years ago. I needed to go and see.” Eli stared at the photos. Pride and sadness marred his expression. “I don’t have the easiest relationship with my heritage.” He folded his hands behind his back.
So many things in this room spoke of Judaism. The photos. The menorah. A silver cup with obvious religious symbols on it. Sure, there were other objects that didn’t. A small bear on a bookshelf, a cat sculpture, a rainbow mug, but everywhere Justin turned, there were hints of Eli’s background. Hebrew lettering. A Star of David.
That set this house apart from Francis’s. So different from Justin’s stark, undecorated apartment, too. All his mementoes were gone, shoved into a storage locker by Francis. Even his diploma. Probably sold off as abandoned property by now. “I don’t have much of a heritage at all.”
Eli shifted with his whole body and Justin looked up into gray eyes. Not feigned interest, either.
“I’m a military brat from a long line of military brats. I was born in Louisiana, but we moved around so much . . .” Justin shrugged. “First kid not to go into the service.”
“That’s a heritage, too.”
So much compassion. Unusual for a Dom, even more so for a wealthy one. Justin retreated to the kitchen because he couldn’t take any more of Eli’s understanding. “I guess.” He finished his coffee and put the mug down on the expensive countertop. “It’s nothing special.” He paced to the breakfast bar and sat on one of the stools.
“Neither is mine. It just—shaped my past.” Eli pulled a mug—another pride one—from a cabinet and poured coffee from the French press. “Would you still like breakfast? I was serious about making pancakes.”
“I—” No. Yes. What did he want? With Eli so close, so different from the cold bastard of two months ago, it was hard to decide. “I don’t know.”
No count, no note of infraction, though there should have been, given the long pause. With another master, there would have been. Hell, Francis would have bent Justin over the nearest stool and spanked his ass until he cried.
Eli leaned against the kitchen counter and took a swallow of coffee. “Justin, would you like me to drive you home?”
“No.” That came out without thought. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”
“But you’re not sure you should stay.”
Was he so obvious? He didn’t need to be played, least of all by Eli. “I guess the morning after is old hat to you.”
“Hell no.” Eli didn’t move. “I’ve woken up next to three guys in my life.” He paused. “You
’re number three.”
Good thing Justin was sitting, because that would have taken his legs out. He grabbed on to the edge of the bar to steady himself. “What? How is that even possible?”
Eli set his cup down and hoisted himself up on the counter. “Simple. I either go home after we play, or he goes home after we play.”
“I think I need more coffee.” Justin retrieved the last of the coffee from the press. “Why? I mean, if you’re dominating and fucking the guys, why not take them home?” That’s what Francis had expected, for Justin to be available around the clock. That had meant living with the fucker, basically.
Eli picked his coffee up and sipped. “The whole Dom/sub thing is easier when there are no complications. And I’m . . . a bit complicated.”
No shit, Sherlock. Justin’s brain spun trying to piece all the bits together. Everything Eli said—as odd as it was—made things safer. “But why me?”
Eli glanced away then refocused on Justin. “Because you remind me that I’m not alone in the world. That I don’t want to be alone, despite what I tell myself.”
Oh. “Definitely need more coffee.” That made his heart full and heavy. Thrilling. Terrifying. A vulnerable Dom was kind of like a unicorn.
“My offer for pancakes still stands.”
All things considered, that might be what he needed. “You make food. I’ll make more coffee.”
Eli slid off the counter, landing on his good foot. “Staying?”
“Yeah.” Whatever the hell this was, it wasn’t the path Justin’s hookups usually took. That meant there was hope that it wouldn’t end like Francis.
Complicated, indeed.
Chapter Ten
Such a strange and tenuous beginning. Eli poured batter on the griddle and watched it bubble then solidify. He couldn’t blame Justin for being hesitant—he was. But he couldn’t run from his own house. Or his feelings. When the sheen on the batter turned matte, Eli flipped the pancakes.
I like this. Too much. Liked the normalcy of breakfast, though there was nothing normal about Justin standing in his kitchen on a Saturday. The fear that had caught him last night surfaced—then submerged. Monsters didn’t make pancakes.
