by Nora Phoenix
“My business plan,” Rhys answered, almost automatically, since he was a little distracted by the fact that it seemed Cornell wasn’t wearing any underwear. There was an outline visible, a not-so-subtle swell under the fabric, meandering down his right leg, and Rhys swallowed.
“Business plan? For what?” Cornell asked, pushing himself off against the doorway and slowly walking into the room. Rhys was glad to see him walking correctly, not favoring his good leg. Even his upper body was straight, which would help prevent other injuries like back pain. But then his eyes got drawn to that slightly bobbing bulge in the man’s sweatpants, and he had to avert his eyes and focus on Cornell’s inquisitive gaze.
“For my own practice,” Rhys said, getting up from behind his desk because he wanted to be on eye level with Cornell. It would help keep his attention off the man’s cock. “I’m taking the money Dad left me and opening my own practice.”
Cornell’s eyes widened in surprise, and then Rhys watched as he struggled for composure. He felt himself get misty again as well.
“It’s gonna be like this for a long time, isn’t it?” Cornell finally said, his voice pinched. “Us tearing up every other minute over something that reminds us of him…or even at mentioning his name.”
“Yeah,” Rhys said softly. “I think that’s how grieving works.”
Cornell grabbed his arm, hanging on to it with a firm grip. “I don’t like feeling this way.”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to like it. It’s…life.”
Cornell let out a shaky sigh. “You’re handling this far better than me.”
There was such profound sadness on his face that Rhys couldn’t help but step close and press a soft kiss on his cheek. “Everyone grieves differently. And don’t forget that we both lost someone else. I’ve always known I would lose him at some point, because that’s how life works. Sons bury their fathers. But you, you lost your…”
He hesitated, not even sure what word to use. Best friend didn’t even come close to covering it, but Cornell had no idea Rhys knew what they had been. Well, maybe it was time to open up about that.
“You lost your soul mate. It’s different. Not more or less, but different.”
Cornell’s hand on his arm tightened. “S-soul mate? We were friends, best friends.”
Rhys scoffed. “I’m neither stupid nor blind, Cornell.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rhys stood close enough to drill into his eyes, and he loved that he was taller, even if by less than an inch. “Yes, you do. You two haven’t been mere friends for a long time, probably since my parents divorced and you split with what’s-his-name.”
Of course he knew the name of the Asshole Arnold, as his dad had dubbed him, but that didn’t mean he had to dignify him by mentioning him by name. Rhys had overheard a conversation between his mom and dad when his dad had been catching her up on what had happened. It had been crystal clear Arnold had cheated on Cornell before “trading him in for a younger model,” his dad had said. Even at age seventeen, Rhys had been furious about that betrayal.
Cornell’s tongue peeped out to lick his lips, a little nervous tic Rhys had spotted before. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Oh, I bet you don’t,” Rhys said, feeling more than a little smug. “And by the way, don’t you worry about going through my dad’s personal things in his bedroom, ‘cause I already saw his entire collection of sex toys."
Cornell paled. “I need to sit down.”
Rhys thought he was joking at first, but when Cornell actually started to walk, he helped him get to the desk chair and lower himself, his face wincing. That must hurt his knees, Rhys thought. It was a hard move to make on your knees since it required so much control in your muscles.
“You okay?” he asked, a little concerned when Cornell butted his face in his hands.
Cornell’s head shot up. “Of course I’m not okay! I just discovered my godson knows about his dad’s sex life.”
“And quite a bit about yours as well,” Rhys supplied helpfully.
Cornell’s face disappeared behind his hands again. “Oh god,” he groaned.
Rhys perched against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. “Why is that so embarrassing? Did you really think I thought you were virgins? Or not having sex?”
“Can you please stop saying words like virgins and sex? They’re disturbing coming from your mouth.”
Rhys grinned. If Cornell thought that was disturbing, he was in for a surprise. “Why? I rather like both.”
Another groan, deeper this time, and what a beautiful sound it was. “Please, kill me now.”
They both froze, and then Cornell slowly raised his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, his whole face depicting shock. “I wasn’t thinking. God, what a horrible thing to say after… I’m so sorry, Rhys.”
“It’s okay,” Rhys said, breathing in deeply to get rid of the instant tension in his body that ill-timed joke had caused. Still, he understood. It was a joke, nothing more. Cornell would be the last person in the world to make light of his father’s death.
When Cornell’s face kept showing horrified shock, Rhys closed the distance between them and put both his hands on the man’s shoulders, taking care to keep the right one light so it wouldn’t exacerbate his injury or cause him pain. “It’s okay. I know what you meant. It was a joke.”
As before, Cornell seemed to react to his touch, relaxing under his hands. Rhys felt his shoulders drop lower and his face lost the expression of deep shock and regret. He gently squeezed his good shoulder, not willing to let go yet, and to his satisfaction, Cornell leaned into his touch. It was such a minor movement that he probably didn’t even realize himself, but it pleased Rhys.
“Why don’t you go take a shower while you still have energy? It’ll help warm up your muscles as well. Make sure you leave the door open so I can hear you in case you need help. After, we’ll do some exercises, okay?”
Cornell nodded, and Rhys let go of him. Then, because the man still looked a bit forlorn, he bent over and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “You’ll feel better after a long, hot shower. You always do.”
4
The hot water pummeled down on his back, his muscles relaxing in joy, and Cornell thanked Jonas silently for installing such a great shower in his guest bathroom. The one in the master bathroom was even better, but he wasn’t ready to enter that room yet. Too many memories there.
His head was a mess after that confusing interaction with Rhys. Okay, his joke had been stupid. He’d been so damn embarrassed that his brain hadn’t been working properly when he’d cracked it. It had been insensitive as fuck, and he should thank god on his knees—not like that even was an option—Rhys had taken it so well.
But in his defense, he’d been completely flustered that Rhys apparently knew about Jonas and him. How much did the kid really know, though? Rhys might suspect his dad and Cornell had been intimate—there was an understatement—but not how often or in what roles. Maybe not all hope was lost yet, and he could maintain a shred of dignity?
Then his mind went to Jonas’s vast collection of toys—toys that Rhys had alluded to seeing, and if that was the case, he was screwed. God, Jonas had been a total toy-whore, an addict to the latest and the newest, and Cornell had made endless fun of him for buying yet another new shiny object. He had more dildos than a sex store, a broad assortment of cock rings, spreaders, butt plugs, and even an impressive collection of handcuffs, rope, and various instruments to inflict pain. You know, for when he had a guy stop by who didn’t bring his own whip.
Hell, he’d built a damn playroom in the basement, a room that was locked at all times to prevent Rhys from seeing it, but if he had moved in here… Cornell groaned all over again. If Rhys had seen the basement with the toy cabinet… Embarrassed didn’t even cover it, and he felt his cheeks heat up all over again—and not from the hot shower. He would never live that down, though he had to admit Rhys had been pretty
cool about it.
But what was up with that weird vibe between them? Was he imagining things, or had there been some moments between them? There had been that awkward exchange about needing help or not in the bathroom. God, the thoughts that had gone through his mind. It wasn’t that he had wanted Rhys to watch, but he’d always loved a little humiliation, and it had created a picture in his head. And he could’ve sworn Rhys had picked up on it, too, though he hadn’t said anything.
Then there were these things Rhys told him to do, these subtle commands that fell so easily from his lips…and that Cornell so willingly obeyed. Did Rhys know what it did to Cornell, that warm, authoritative voice? Of course he didn’t. He probably didn’t have a clue, since Jonas and Cassie had kept that part of their lives hidden from him.
God, he was so much like his mother. Cassie was a phenomenal Domme, and there had been times where Cornell had wished he was bi, like Jonas. But he was about as gay as one could be, he supposed, one hundred percent on the Kinsey scale, if that was even possible. Well, ninety-nine percent then. He loved women, appreciated and respected the hell out of them, but not as a romantic partner or even as a Domme. He needed that male strength, the harshness of a male body, the firmness and hairs and muscles.
And now he was hard, because of course he would be, thinking about that. He sighed, even as his hand automatically slipped around his dick, pumping it a few times, aided by the soapy shower gel that was still on his body. Then he stilled, remembering the open door, not just to the guest room but to the hallway as well. He’d left both open, even though he’d been a little apprehensive about it, because Rhys had made a good point about being able to hear him.
Now, that could backfire on him. He’d have to be oh so quiet. So he squeezed tighter, making small but intense movements, steadying himself against the wall with his other hand. His dick grew even harder, excited to finally get some action again. It had been, what, weeks? Cornell’s movements stilled as he realized he hadn’t jerked off since the accident, then resumed again with fervor.
No wonder he’d been picturing someone watching him pee. Or imagining sparks between him and Rhys. He was simply horny. Hell, he’d already been horny when the accident happened. That last scene Jonas and he had done together had been a total bust. Oh god, the Dom—or the guy pretending to be one, rather—had been blessed with such a perfect cock. It had been a fucking work of art, probably eight inches of solid flesh, rock hard, and perfectly curved. Too bad the idiot hadn’t had a clue how to use it and had even less experience in domming.
It had been the last conversation he and Jonas had ever had, discussing whether they should find a different club. Well, that question was moot now. He’d never find another club…and he’d never have another session with Jonas. It would be him and his right hand, maybe a Grindr hook up if he was lucky. Then again, most of those assumed he was a top and a silver daddy, and he was neither.
He let go of himself, his erection wilting as if it had never happened. It was for the better. He had no business going there, not while staying in what was now Rhys’s house. He looked at the open door, the part of the room he could see, the slight draft making him shiver. And then it hit him all over again that this was his life now, this painful, recalcitrant body and this heavy, grieving mind. This blackness inside him that was supposed to get lighter and better over time, but that felt as oppressive as the first day.
He rinsed himself off, exhausted suddenly, and shut off the shower. Toweling off took ages, his shoulder refusing to cooperate, and by the time he was done, he was too tired and in too much pain to get dressed. He slipped under the sheets, too hot after the shower to cover himself fully, and let the sadness overtake him. When he fell asleep, his pillow was wet from tears.
* * *
Rhys stood in the hallway, his hands balled into fists, his nails cutting deep into his flesh. Was there anything worse than listening to Cornell’s intense grief? Finally, the man had fallen asleep. How Rhys had wanted to storm in there to console him, to take him into his arms and tell him things would get better. But he couldn’t.
Oh, he’d slipped into the room with every intention of being there for Cornell, but one glance at the man’s body had confirmed he was buck naked. And that, Rhys couldn’t do. Not for himself, but especially not for Cornell. That was a level of intimacy the man was nowhere near ready for, and to be honest, neither was Rhys.
This thing they had, this connection or spark or whatever you wanted to call it, this was too fragile, too precious, to recklessly endanger by making a bold move like that. No, this required patience and a light touch, even if Rhys’s hands ached to hold him, knowing his touch would make Cornell feel better. The man responded to touch like nothing else.
He’d relaxed when he heard Cornell’s breathing even out, then deepen. Luckily, the door was still open, and he all but tiptoed inside. Cornell was sleeping on his stomach, the sheets covering him only partially. Fiery scars painted his shoulder and the leg that was visible. God, Rhys had come so close to losing Cornell as well, and that made it hard to breathe at times.
Cornell’s face was turned sideways, subtle stubble covering his skin. He’d have to help him shave, Rhys realized, because Cornell preferred to be clean shaven. His hair was too long as well, a dark lock falling over his forehead. Rhys brushed it back, his heart doing a funny little jump at the sight of Cornell sleeping. He gently pulled the covers over him, hesitating only briefly before pressing a soft kiss on his forehead.
“Sleep well, sweetheart,” he whispered. He closed the door behind him as he walked out, and that was good, because he’d barely stepped out when his mother called.
“Hi, Mom,” he answered.
“Hey honey, how are you holding up?”
He walked back to the living room so he wouldn’t wake Cornell up. “Good. Better,” he corrected himself.
“Have you been back to school yet?”
“No. I only have one paper I have to finish and one final exam, but I’ve postponed both. I’ve talked to my profs and they understand.”
She made an appreciative sound. “Good. Glad to hear it. And work?”
He took a deep breath. Here we go, he thought. “I’ve taken off work for two weeks.”
“Why?” his mom asked, audibly baffled. “Is there something going on you’re not telling me? Are you sure you’re okay?” she then asked, her voice filling with worry. “If you want to stay here for a bit, then—”
“Cornell is staying here,” Rhys interrupted her.
“Come again?”
He installed himself on the couch. This wasn’t gonna be a quick conversation. “I asked him to move in here while he’s recovering. He can’t live on his own, Mom. He’s nowhere near ready for that. His ability is still limited, and his house is a death trap with all the stairs.”
“Rhys…”
He waited, too experienced in her little tricks now to succumb to the temptation to keep talking and defend himself. That was what she did, either stay silent with quiet disapproval or say a few words, and he’d feel almost forced to fill that silence. He no longer did.
“I’m surprised he agreed,” she said finally. “He’s a man who’s attached to his independence and privacy.”
“He’s also a man who knows when he needs help,” Rhys pointed out.
“Does he now? And did he come to that conclusion himself, or did he need a little help getting there?”
“I didn’t put pressure on him in any way,” he said stiffly, offended that she would even suggest it. “You know I would never do that.”
It only took her a second to cave. “I know, I’m sorry. Does he know?”
“About me? Hell no.” Rhys laughed. “Do you really think he would’ve moved in if he’d known?”
He heard her let out a sigh. “No, he wouldn’t have. It would’ve made him way too uncomfortable. It still will when he finds out, Rhys. This is not something you can keep from him for long.”
He forced himse
lf to not get defensive. “I know, Mom. I have zero intention of keeping it a secret. It hasn’t been the right time yet. The man is grieving deeply.”
“So are you, honey,” his mom said, her voice soft and warm.
“I know, but it’s so hard for him. I just…”
“You wanna take his pain away,” she completed his sentence. “You want to take care of him.”
She’d always seen right through him, even as a kid. Rhys didn’t know if it was because she was a Domme and so experienced in reading body language and picking up on subtle clues or if it was a natural talent. Then again, he was the same way, often sensing people’s emotions way before they showed them.
“I do,” he confessed, almost holding his breath at her reaction.
“Oh honey,” she said, and he waited, slowly counting in his head to refrain from saying more. “You know this has disaster written all over it, right?”
He pushed out a breath, already regretting saying anything to her. Of course she wouldn’t support him in this. She, too, thought he was still a child. The only person who’d treated him as an equal had been his dad. “Possibly.”
“Not possibly, Rhys. It does. He’s more than twenty years older than you, the same age as your father.”
He leaned forward on the couch, gesturing with his left hand as if his mother could see him. “And you’re telling me this, why? Do you think I don’t know how old he is? How far we’re apart in age? You’ve told me yourself, over and over: a D/s relationship doesn’t necessarily mean you’re in a love relationship as well. It doesn’t even need to include sex. Or have the rules somehow changed now that it concerns me?”
"No, of course they haven’t," she said, sounding tired and much older. “But it’s hard for me to know that you’re making such a colossal mistake.”
Rhys’s jaw ticked. “It’s my mistake to make. And don’t you dare butt in. This is my private life, and you stay the hell out of it.”
“Hmm,” she said, and Rhys almost cringed at the iciness of her tone. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe it’s for the better. Maybe you need to fuck that man out of your system once and for all so you can move on.”
