His Boy Next Door: #12

Choices

by R.J. Moray

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©2015 R.J. Moray

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First Electronic Edition

About His Boy Next Door

An older man.

A submissive discovery.

Eighteen-year-old Channon Beaumont is a virgin in every sense of the word, and as vanilla as angel cake. But the moment he lays eyes on the dominant older man next-door, he knows he'll do anything he's ordered just for the chance to be with a man like that.

When he rented the house for the summer, billionaire entrepreneur Jonathan Nash never expected to find such a sweetly obedient youth in his backyard. Channon takes naturally to submission, so Jack decides to train his boy into the perfect submissive, willing to endure anything Jack demands of him and enjoying every second of it.

Channon finds himself sucked deep into a world of dominance and submission, pain and pleasure, and willing service to the only man he's ever wanted to call Sir. And Jack? Just might accidentally fall in love.

Episode #12

With graduation behind him, the reality of letting Jack whisk him away from his life starts to sink in. Is this really the life he wants? And what, exactly, does Jack mean when he says he's offering Channon a choice?

This book is episode 12 in an ongoing series, and contains acts of a sexual and kinky nature. Read at your own risk.

Choices

The thing was, Channon had a plan. Go with Jack, get a job, do whatever Jack wanted, be happy. It was simple, as plans went, and really only had a couple of problems, the first being what he was going to tell his mom.

Having talked to Kim and Jack about it, though, he'd come to the conclusion that he had to tell her the truth, or as much of it as she could stomach—he was gay, he'd broken up with Kim, he was dating Jack, he was moving out. The nature of his relationship with Jack wasn't anyone's business, and he had absolutely no intention of saying anything that might even remotely hint at it to his mom of all people.

Which left the second problem—how was he going to tell her?

Kim had offered to help, but no way was he letting that happen. Jack had offered too, and Channon felt...better about that. He could invite Jack over for dinner, they could break it to her together, watch her (potentially) have a meltdown, and then he could run away to Jack's after if everything went horribly wrong. Or even if it went okay.

Would she freak out? Maybe?

Not nearly as bad as his dad, though, he was pretty sure. God, he didn't want to tell his dad, not ever if he could help it. Maybe he could just...not mention it. Like, for the rest of his life. Ugh, the thought of it was awful.

He was dwelling on that so thoroughly that his mom had to call his name twice before he realized she was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

"There you are. I thought you'd turned to stone."

It didn't seem like a criticism, exactly, but Channon winced anyway. "Sorry. I was thinking about...stuff."

"That much is obvious." His mom gave him a considering look, eyes flickering over him as if looking for signs of illness. "You've been out a lot, lately."

Channon blinked. "Yeah?"

"I expect you're seeing as much of Kim as you can, before she goes away."

Oh. "No. Not really," he said, feeling his face heat.

His mom gave him a 'yeah, sure' look. "Really." Then she folded her arms, frowning a little. "Channon...I know you're eighteen now, and I can't stop you from doing, well, anything, but I hope you're being safe. Because Kim's a smart girl with a good future ahead of her. Don't ruin that by doing something careless, all right?"

It took him a moment to realize what she was getting at and then—"Mom!" Now his face really was red. "I'm not...not doing that."

Though, honestly, he was doing exactly 'that', only not with Kim.

His mom didn't believe him anyway. "I'm just saying, be sensible about it. I can get you—"

"Mom!"

"—condoms, if you—"

"Mom!" He realized he was cringing against the sink, hands practically up over his ears. "Stop it! I'm not sleeping with Kim." He swallowed, glancing up at her to see if she believed him. Not a lot, he thought. So. "Um. Actually, we broke up."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"We...broke up?" He didn't know how else to put it. "For good."

"Oh, honey," and she came over to pat him on the shoulder, looking sad for him. "I'm sorry. It was bound to happen, though."

Channon said nothing to this, because there was nothing to say. Instead—"We're still friends. It's okay."

She pursed her lips. "Well, if you say so. Still, if you need condoms—"

Channon made a disgusted noise. "Please stop saying condoms? Please?"

"—just let me know."

"Sure, fine, whatever," he agreed, just to get her to stop. And he still had to ask—"Is it okay if I invite Mr Nash over for dinner? Tomorrow, maybe?"

She smiled, for once genuinely pleased with him. "Of course. That's very thoughtful, Channon." She paused, watching him. "I'm glad you're making an effort to be friendly. He must get lonely, in that house. And I don't suppose there's much...manly company for him around here. Though, there's that hairdresser in the mall. I should get his number...."

Somehow Channon managed not to choke on his tongue. He was rescued from saying anything by the buzz of his phone in his pocket. Jack, inviting him over. "I'll ask him, and let you know. Uh, I'm going out."

She frowned. "I guess you're too old for curfew, now. Try to stay out of trouble."

Considering what he and Jack usually got up to, Channon thought the warning kind of weak. "I have to go," he said, all in a rush, and legged it out the back door.

He found Jack in the kitchen, drinking tea. "Try this," Jack said, filling a small white china cup with no handle and pushing it across the bar. It smelled like flowers, and Channon said so. "So it should." Jack gestured at the pot, a see-through glass thing, and Channon could make out little bright bits in among the green leaves.

It tasted less like flowers, and like all the drinks Jack gave him wasn't exactly as sweet as Channon would have liked, but it was actually surprisingly good.

"All right?"

"Pretty good, sir."

Jack smiled a little. "Glad to hear it. Now. I have something for you. Several somethings, actually. Take a seat."

Channon did, curious and not bothering to hide it. Jack reached for a pile of things on the other end of the breakfast bar, and laid them out in front of Channon one by one: a thick sealed envelope, a folded piece of paper, and a shallow white box about seven inches across, tied with blue ribbon.

"Go on," Jack prompted. "Open them up."

Channon reached for the envelope first. It had 'Channon Beaumont' scrawled across the front, and when he opened it he found a bunch of official looking paperwork with his name on it.

He blinked at it, and then up at Jack. "I don't understand."

"It's a job offer," Jack said, topping up his tea. "A paid internship, really. I had HR draw it up. If you take it, you'll be working under Nate. Distantly. He doesn't really manage the interns, but you can go to him if you have any issues."

Channon flicked to the part with a job title and starting salary. Holy crap, that was a lot of money. "Uh, sir? I don't...this says it's a programming internship?"

"Don't worry," Jack said, leaning his forearms on the bar. "There's training. You'll pick it up. And I can help you out," he added, cocking his head on one side.

It reassured him a little but, really, not that much. Channon wasn't smart enough to program anything, he was pretty sure.

"Open another," Jack said, and Channon picked up the folded paper. It was a printout of a property listing in Santa Rita, a huge condo overlooking the harbor, and taped to it was a single key. "That's my place," Jack said, as if it was nothing. "You can move in with me. Or stay," he added like an afterthought, "until we find you a place of your own."

Channon stared at it, unable to bring himself to look Jack in the eye. The offer was tempting, incredibly so, but also unbelievable. Unreal. Who would give Channon something like this?

And then there was the last thing, the box. It was square, the ribbon rich and satiny and tied in a neat bow. Channon picked it up, pulled the ribbon, and lifted the lid. He'd been half-expecting it, but the sight of the collar (simple, black leather, with a buckle on one side and brass rings riveted to the other three) took his breath away.

"It's a training collar," Jack explained, and he sounded so calm, how could he sound so calm? "I'm not asking you to be my slave," he said, and the word sounded like velvet in his mouth, "but I am offering to be your Sir. And to keep you, and care for you, the way I think you want."

Channon reached out to run a finger along the top rim of the collar. It was smooth and cool, and dangerous in a way, but he wanted it, with a fierce churning in his gut, wanted it more than anything. He cleared his throat and made himself meet Jack's eye. "What I have to do, Sir?"

"In what way?"

"To have this," Channon said, fingers tightening on the collar.

Something in Jack's eyes seemed to lighten, like a burden lifted. "All you have to do is choose it, Channon."

"And I only get one?" Channon asked, glancing at the other two items on the bar.

"No. None of these are dependent on one another," Jack added, watching Channon carefully. "You're welcome to accept or reject any combination. It's up to you."

Channon took a deep breath, and asked, "Can I have all of them, Sir?"

Jack's smile was warm, but there was an edge to it that set Channon's pulse racing. "I'd really like it if you did."

Good. Channon nodded, licking his lips. "Then I will, Sir. Please."

"I'm so pleased," Jack said, and he leaned over the bar to kiss Channon on the mouth. "I guess we're going to have to tell your mom, huh."

The reminder made Channon wince. "Yeah. Um. I asked her if I could invite you for dinner."

Jack arched his eyebrows. "Sure. When did you have in mind?"

"Tomorrow? Or, you know, whenever you're free, sir."

Jack smiled. "I'm free tomorrow. For you. Unfortunately I've got work to do tonight, so I'm going to have to send you home in a minute."

Channon tried to smile back, only his nerve failed him. "Great. Good. Thank-you, sir."

"Don't worry about it," Jack reassured him. "I'll be there. Everything will work out fine."

He sounded sincere, but it was hard, all the same, to believe him.

* * *

Channon spent the whole of the next day panicking. Eventually, his mom sent him outside for yard chores to get him out from under her feet. It didn't help much with the panicking, not when every turn of the lawnmower brought Jack's house back into view.

They were going to tell her, tonight. He hadn't really worked out what he was going to say, but he was almost entirely certain she wasn't going to like it. Wouldn't that be the normal response? But then, maybe it would be worse if she didn't care, if she just brushed it off as yet another thing Channon was doing and failing at in his life.

"You look nice," she said to him when he came down after his shower. "I don't remember buying that shirt."

Which would be because she hadn't. Jack had picked it up for him, a v-neck t-shirt in a greeny sort of blue, which apparently brought out his eyes. What he said, however, was, "It's new."

His mom didn't ask any more questions, which was probably just as well. She just said, "Can you set the table for me, please?" and left it at that.

He had just finished when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" he yelled, racing to the front door. Jack grinned at him from the doorstep. He had a studiously casual look about him, from the soft rumple of his hair to the t-shirt and jeans he had on under a charcoal blazer. He wasn't clean-shaven, two days worth of stubble on his chin. He was gorgeous, full stop. Channon couldn't stop himself from grinning back at him, despite the nerves twisting his gut like snakes. "Hi. Come on in."

Jack was charming, as usual, complimenting the food, the zinnias in the front garden. Channon's mom tried several times to introduce the topic of 'that hairdresser in the mall' and Jack ignored it, but politely, all the way through dinner until Channon's mom served dessert.

"Actually, Nadia," Jack said smoothly, as if it was nothing, "I'm not looking for someone to date right now. In fact," and the pressure of his shoe settled against Channon's foot in a comforting sort of way, "there's something we should talk about."

Channon's heart thudded up into his throat. This was it. This is where everything could come apart.

His mom gave Jack a politely confused smile, looking at him expectantly.

Jack spread the fingers of one hand against the tablecloth, his expression mild. "I've offered Channon a job," he said. "More of an internship, but the pay's good. He'll have to relocate, but I don't think he minds that. Do you, Channon?"

Channon shook his head, biting down on the 'No, Sir,' that wanted to come out of his mouth. "I don't mind."

His mom blinked, as if trying to cover her surprise. "Oh, that's very kind of you. What sort of internship is it?"

"It's in our tech division. Basic troubleshooting, some programming. It's a good place to start if you want a career in development."

"Well." Channon's mom looked dubious. "If you think Channon can handle it," she said delicately.

"I think Channon has every chance to be excellent at it," Jack said firmly. "He's capable of dedicating himself to things that are important to him, doesn't mind research, and has good attention to detail. And programming is a lot like languages, you have to pay attention to syntax. All that French practice should come in handy."

Channon's mom glanced at him, her doubts evident on her face. But she smiled. "Well, I'm sure he'll try his best."

"I expect so," Jack said, and Channon thought, Of course I will. There really was no other option. "So, I'll be taking him with me when I go back home. I've offered him the use of my spare room. And I think he's accepted," Jack added, tilting his head to smile at Channon.

Channon's chest felt so fucking tight he could barely breathe. His mom was looking at him and he couldn't read whatever was in her face. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," he said, conscious of the weight of Jack's foot against his sneaker.

"Well," she said. And then, "Well, that's very exciting. Isn't it Channon?" Her smile was bright and brittle and Channon felt it like a stab beneath his ribs. He'd hurt her feelings, he just knew it, and it was all the more obvious when she immediately stood up from the table. "I'd better put the coffee on," she said and walked out of the room.

Channon shoved himself up out of his chair, stopping only when Jack touched his hand. "Channon?"

"I have to...sorry," he blurted out, and then he followed his mom to the kitchen. "Mom?"

She was setting out coffee cups and a herbal tea for herself, and didn't look up at him. "Congratulations," she said, falsely cheerful. "You're very lucky."

"You don't like it," he said, knowing it was true.

She shrugged a shoulder. "I think it's an opportunity you shouldn't let pass you by. I just wish you'd said something earlier."

"It only happened yesterday," Channon mumbled, feeling like a jerk. She had a point. He could have warned her. And, sickeningly, he realized he was going to have to surprise her all over again. "Uh...Mom? I need to tell you something."

"Something more than that you're moving to Santa Rita?" she asked, glancing up, and there was too much edge in it for it be only a tease.

Channon nodded. "Um." There was no easy way to say it. "I've been...see, I've been thinking, and...I don't know if you...anyway, I think I'm gay."

For a long moment she just stared at him. Then her expression melted into concern. "Oh, honey, no." Channon didn't know what to say to that, it seemed so strange. "Oh, Channon. I know you like Mr Nash, and he's been very kind to you, very tolerant. It's understandable if you have a crush on him, but it's just a crush. It doesn't mean, well, anything."

Stung, Channon couldn't let that stand. "It does," he protested. "And...it's not a crush."

"I just don't want you to get hurt," she said, patting his arm and looking pained. "You can't think he'd be interested in you—"

"Why not?" Channon couldn't help it; the words just burst out of him, hot and angry.

"Channon," his mom chided. "Be reasonable. He's a grown man."

"I'm a grown man," Channon argued.

His mom rolled her eyes. "I'm sure."

"I am. And you're wrong. Jack does like me."

"Channon—"

"He does. We're dating."

That stopped her dead. She stared at him, mouth open. Then she closed it with a snap. "Are you joking?"

"No," he said, with a sudden rush of adrenaline. "I'm not. He's my boyfriend."

His mom took a deep breath, one hand flattened to her chest. For a second Channon thought she might faint or scream, but instead she let the breath go and put her hands up to his face. "You're not...this isn't because of the job, is it? I know I said he was an opportunity, but you don't...Channon you don't have to be...whatever it is you think. Your father—"

"This isn't about Dad," Channon protested. "This is about me."

"Yes, this is about you." She slid her hands down to his shoulders and squeezed him, peering into his face. "You don't have to...do things because you think you have to. Is this really what you want?"

"Yes," Channon said, because it was. "I want Jack and I want this job and I want to go with him. And I'm gay," he added, because at least he seemed to have her attention for once.

She winced visibly. "And you think...Channon, do you really think he cares about you?"

"Yes," he said firmly, sure of this at least.

"I'm glad to hear it."

Channon turned. Jack was standing in the doorway, warmly back-lit by the glow of the dining-room lamps. He smiled, leaning up against the door-frame, and Channon felt his heart judder in his chest.

"I know it must seem unlikely," Jack said, holding out his hand. Channon took it at once, and held on too tight, not wanting to let Jack go. "But I do care about Channon. Which is why I offered him the job in the first place. He'll be good at it, and it'll be good for him. And I understand that you're concerned, Nadia, but please believe me when I say that I have Channon's best interests at heart. You have my word that I'll take care of him."

For a long moment no-one said anything. It felt like the air in the room had turned to crystal, hard and sharp and ready to shatter.

And then Channon's mom breathed out, scrubbing a hand over her eyes. "All right. I can't stop you. So," and she gave Channon a weary look. "I suppose I'd better help you pack."

* * *

That night when Jack was leaving, Channon summoned his courage and asked, "Can I come with you?"

Jack looked from him to his mom, and back again. "Sure," he said. "Of course you can."

"I'm going," Channon told her, heart in his mouth.

But all she did was reach for his collar and pull him down to kiss his cheek. "Be good," she said, and Channon couldn't help the blush that crawled up his neck. If she only knew.

Jack slung an arm around his shoulders on the front porch, tugging him in to kiss the side of his head. "You did really well tonight," he said, walking Channon down the driveway.

"I thought she'd be mad," Channon said quietly, leaning into Jack's chest. "I really—" but he was distracted by the flicker of curtains across the road. Mrs Williams was spying on them, it looked like. Well. He supposed it didn't matter.

"I think she was shocked, but I don't think she was angry with you. More worried than anything. She thinks I'm seducing you," he explained, unlocking the front door.

Channon followed him in, stopping to take off his shoes. "Didn't you, sir?"

Jack shot him an amused look. "'Seducing' implies that you didn't want to be seduced. And all I did was make it obvious I was interested. You came to me."

It was true. "I did, sir."

"Do you regret it?"

Channon shook his head. "No, not even."

Jack grinned, heading into the kitchen. The square box was still on the breakfast bar where he'd left it yesterday—he'd taken the key and the envelope but Jack said the collar had to stay with him. Channon bit his lip, looking at it, wondering how the thing would feel around his neck.

"Do you want to try on your collar?"

In that moment there was nothing Channon wanted more. "Please, sir."

Jack took off the lid and lifted the collar out of its box, holding it in his fingertips. He arched an eyebrow, mouth curling up in one corner. "There are conditions to this collar, Channon. Technically, even though it's yours it's still mine. You only get to wear it when I give you permission. You only get to wear it when I put it on you. And when I do, there's a certain...protocol that has to be followed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Channon waited, certain that whatever Jack wanted he'd say and all Channon would have to do was obey him.

Jack lifted his chin, eyeing Channon down the slope of his nose. "On your knees."

It was easy now to go to his knees. Though, he was still dressed and that, if anything, made it strange.

As if he could read Channon's thoughts, Jack said, "I won't always want you naked. Sometimes we'll go out, sometimes there might be another reason. But whenever I put this on you, your neck has to be unencumbered. So if you're wearing something with a high collar it has to come off. This is okay," he said, nodding at Channon's t-shirt. "Now. Knees apart. Sit on your heels. Hands behind your back. Tuck your left hand into your right but leave it loose-curled, not a fist. Sit up straight at first but then drop your head to expose your neck. Eyes on the floor. Good boy," he said, when Channon had done all this.

The snick and jangle of a buckle caught Channon's ear. He held very still, waiting, heart thumping like a bass drum.

"Once this collar goes on, Channon," Jack said, low and velvety, "you have to be very, very good for me. No talking back. No sass. No teasing. I want verbal replies for every question I ask you, no nodding or shaking your head. If you want to say something to me then start with 'Please, sir,' and wait until I acknowledge you. And if you need to take the collar off, ask me if you can rest, and I'll take it off for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Channon said, filing it all away.

"Good."

Jack's hands were huge and warm under his jaw, the collar cool by contrast, leather coiling firm and solid around his throat. Jack tucked a finger under it, tightening the buckle, and then his hands pulled away, one ruffling through Channon's hair to settle heavily on his head.

"Channon," Jack said, and it was his Sir voice, the one that would not stand for disobedience. Channon kept very still, eyes fixed on the floor between his knees.

"Yes, sir," he said.

Jack carded his fingers through Channon's hair. "I have reading to catch up on. Make a pot of decaf and bring it out to the pool deck. Bring one cup, some creamer, no sugar. You'll need a tray. Understand?"

Seemed simple enough. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Jack gave Channon a final pat and walked out of the room. Channon heard the thud of his feet on the stairs. He stood up, conscious of the weight around his throat, and went to the coffee machine. It was pretty straightforward, all he had to do was figure out the buttons, and then he hunted through the cupboards for a tray. The one he found was a little dusty, so he grabbed a cloth from the sink to wipe it down and that was when he caught sight of his reflection in the window.

The collar looked so strange on him, this handsome black band buckled against his skin, and yet—he reached up to touch it and the reflection did the same—somehow it looked right. For him. Jack's still, the same way that he was Jack's.

The coffee machine chimed politely and he hurried to dry the tray, fill a little jug with creamer, find the rubber trivet for the pot, and fetch a spoon and one of those double-walled glass cups Jack preferred.

When he made it out onto the deck, Jack was stretched out in one of the lounges, wearing his glasses and reading on a tablet. He didn't look up. Channon put the tray down on the knee-high glass table beside Jack's chair. He wondered if he was supposed to fill Jack's cup and decided that yes, he should, so he did. Jack ignored him, focused on reading. It made Channon feel...weird. Not at all unhappy but strangely self-conscious, as if by not looking at him Jack made him somehow the center of his own attention.

The cushion on the decking beside Jack's chair was large and square, not small and round, but it was a cushion and Channon took it as an implicit instruction. He knelt down on it, remembering how Jack had told him to kneel before and spreading his knees, hands clasped behind his back, head down.

Jack's hand settled immediately onto his head, stroking him. He said nothing, just petted Channon absently and kept reading. After a minute of this he reached for the jug to add creamer to his coffee, stirred it, sipped from the cup, and put it down again, hand returning to Channon's head to rub smooth whorls into his scalp.

It was comfortable. Jack's hand didn't exactly pull him in but the weight of it settled Channon's brow against Jack's thigh, and Channon closed his eyes. There was a low breeze, shuddering the ferns in the garden beds and lipping up the surface of the pool—he could hear the soft kiss of water on tile. The moving air was cool, drying the light sheen of sweat that had come up on the back of his neck, the weather too warm to be completely comfortable even now the sun was down. The cushion beneath him was surprisingly thick, and Channon turned his cheek against Jack's thigh, content to be there. Jack's fingers stroked down the back of his neck, teasing the short hairs of his nape, and Channon let out a long breath because this...this was blissful.

He lost track of time, kneeling there by Jack's side. Somewhere between the lapping of water and the susurration of leaves and Jack's steady petting, the world melted away. There was, really, nothing more important than this, the two of them, together. When Channon swallowed he could feel the collar bob at his throat. That was right too. All of it. If he could have this, if this was what Jack was offering him, then maybe everything would be all right. Maybe the future wouldn't be so bad. Maybe...

All he had to do was trust Jack. Jack wasn't going to hurt him, not in a bad way. Jack would take care of him. He hadn't known that was what he wanted, not before Jack, but now it seemed like a wonderful gift. To belong to someone. To be looked after. To have someone care enough to take control of his life like this.

This was what he wanted. And this was what Jack had for him.

He sighed, his body gone slow and lethargic. He wasn't sleepy but he felt so heavy, his limbs thick, joints like honey. He could smell Jack, the deeply masculine scent of him, the spice of his cologne, the coffee in the air. He felt the rough texture of the cushion beneath him, the way the decking slats felt through it, the brush of a breeze over his skin and Jack, now stroking his hair and behind his ears, now not, his fingers strong and deliberate and trustworthy, the thigh beneath Channon's cheek warm and firm.

"Channon."

Channon tilted his head to look up over Jack's hip, blinking against the dim pool lights. Jack's face was lit from beneath by the glow of his tablet and it was ethereal, otherworldly.

It took an effort to open his mouth but Channon did. "Yes, sir?" His mouth felt foreign, tongue not his own.

"You need to get up, now."

Channon did, wobbly on his feet but he steadied quickly. He put his shoulders back, spine straight, light-headed and loose. "Sir," he said, watching Jack for, well, anything.

"Go upstairs and wait for me by my bed."

Channon almost nodded, but he caught himself. "Yes, sir," he said, and turned to go.

The stairs seemed steeper than usual, and he held onto the banister because he felt a little dizzy. Everything seemed more than usual, the snick-snick of his jeans as he walked, the click of the door when he opened it. He went to his room, because he was upstairs and he knew the rules, undressed and put his clothes away. He went into Jack's room and then down on the floor, knees spread, hands behind his back. The slate was cool and hard beneath him, but he accepted it, eyes closed, waiting for Jack.

It could have been a long time. It might not. He heard Jack on the stairs and then the door closed behind him. A hand brushed through his hair. "Good boy." The words melted warm into his bones; he could hear Jack undress, go into the en suite, the hiss of water on tile. And then, soon after, the water shutting off, the scrape of a towel, the weight of Jack settling onto the bed, flicking the light off and the lamp on. "Channon, come."

He opened his eyes. Jack was sitting up against the headboard and had leaned down over the side of the bed, fingers curled to beckon Channon over. Channon put his hands on the floor and crawled to him, and Jack rewarded him with a firm stroke through his hair.

"Up you get." He patted the mattress and Channon climbed up. Jack hooked a finger in the ring at Channon's throat and tugged, and Channon went with it, went down easily by Jack's side, head pillowed on Jack's chest. Jack laced fingers in his hair and petted him, running his hands down the back of Channon's neck and over his shoulders.

It felt nice. Everything felt nice. Jack smelled so good and Channon pressed his nose to Jack's skin, breathing him in.

Jack hummed, fingers catching on the buckle of the collar. "You've been very good. I'm going to take this off now." He did, pulling it loose and setting it on the bedside table.

Immediately Channon missed it. He swallowed, lifting a hand to his bare neck and pressing his fingers to it.

"How do you feel?"

Channon wet his lip. "Good?"

"Is that a question?"

"I...I feel good, but," and he didn't know how to say it so he just said the first thing that came into his head, "I wish you hadn't taken it off, sir."

"That's all right." Jack kissed his hair. "You can't wear the collar all the time. I want you to want to. It's a privilege. How did you like it?"

Channon thought about it, wondering if there was a way to sum it all up easily. "I liked being yours. Just...being quiet, and good for you. I thought," and he broke off, unsure if he should say it.

Jack squeezed him. "Tell me."

"I thought it was going to be harder." Channon twisted to look up at him. "Maybe something I wouldn't like. But it was easy. I don't know why it felt so good."

"Because you're mine, and you want what I want," Jack said simply, cupping Channon's cheek. "Did it make you happy to please me, even though all I wanted was for you to be good, and quiet, and serve me coffee?"

"Yes," Channon admitted.

Jack's smile was small and warm, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "You like pleasing me. There's nothing wrong with enjoying it for its own sake." He trailed fingers down Channon's cheek. "You know, there's a reason I took the collar off you. I thought you deserved a reward. Do you want it?"

Would he ever say no? Channon nodded. "Please, sir."

Jack's smile widened. "You'll have to make some choices," he said, "show some initiative. I won't be telling you what to do this time. Do you think you can manage that?"

It sounded ominous, but Channon said, "Yes, sir," anyway. He could do anything Jack wanted.

"All right. Sit up." Jack let go of him to rearrange the pillows until he was comfortably reclined against the headboard, legs outstretched. He was naked, soft between his legs and gorgeously gold-brown in the lamplight, muscular and masculine, and he tucked his hands behind his head, showing off the flex and bulge of his shoulders. "Normally, I know we don't do it this way. I tell you what to do, and you do it. I put you where I want and you stay there, and I take from you what I want. I like that. I think you like it too, or you wouldn't still be here. Yeah?"

Channon nodded. "Yeah. Yes, sir."

"This time," Jack said, voice gone deep, that velvety drawl that made Channon tingle from head to toe, "I want you to show me how much you want to please me. You can worship me," he added, mouth curving suggestively, "however you like. In whatever way you think will please me. And I want it to be things you like doing, things that turn you on, that make you hungry for it. All right?"

"Yes, sir," Channon said, heart thudding with the enormity of what Jack was asking of him.

"It's okay if you get yourself so worked up that you come," Jack said, and he was smirking but it was a joke Channon felt like he was in on, not mockery. "There's no rules this time. Whatever you feel like."

It felt huge, too big to comprehend all at once. How could Jack expect him to choose for himself? And Channon wanted to do so many things, how could he know where to start?

Jack smiled, and he felt it steady him, like an anchor. "When you're ready, Channon."

Channon bit his lip. "Can I kiss you, sir?"

"Anything you want," Jack assured him, so Channon planted a hand on the bed to brace himself and leaned down to press his lips to Jack's mouth.

Jack let him, passive for once, only opening his mouth when Channon gingerly ran his tongue over Jack's lip. Channon licked him, tentative until he felt the answering press of Jack's tongue against his. It sent a thrill through him, and he had to pull back, squeezing his eyes shut against the hot rush of affection that bubbled up and threatened to choke him. When he opened his eyes, Jack was watching him, lips parted and wet and red, and Channon had to kiss him again so he did.

He kissed Jack's mouth, his jaw, and Jack lifted his chin to allow Channon access to his throat. Channon kissed that too, running his tongue over the bristle of stubble, mouthing down to lick the hollow of Jack's collarbone, and he couldn't keep himself from sighing, this small soft sound of contentment breathed into Jack's skin.

He could hear Jack's breath, deep and even as Channon mouthed his chest, kissing him and licking him, finding a nipple and laving it with his tongue. Jack hummed, shifting a little, and Channon took that for 'more', sucking Jack's peaked flesh and teasing it with his tongue. He kissed his way across to the other and did the same there, sure that the small hitch in Jack's breath meant 'go on'.

But he couldn't stay here, not when he knew where he wanted to go. He kissed Jack's ribs, his belly, trailing a hand down Jack's side, over his hip and down to tease the seam of his thighs where they kissed together. Jack spread for him and his heart felt like it might shudder to a stop. It didn't, and he took a breath, pressed his mouth to Jack's hip, to the crease of his thigh, and then he moved into the gap of Jack's legs, down on his belly between Jack's knees. He looked up—Jack was watching him, eyes dark and focused. He was firm now, cock thrusting up smooth and hairless from his crotch, curving back to lay against his belly. Channon felt a pulse of something deep in his gut, a throb of want and God how he wanted to suck on Jack. Not yet. Not until...there was something else he wanted first.

He nuzzled Jack's thigh and Jack opened up wider, pulling up his knees, feet flat on the bed-covers. Channon wriggled up to kiss Jack's balls, licking over them hungrily, and at the first taste of masculine musk Channon couldn't help the moan that rose out of his throat. Jack sighed, settling himself, and Channon—there was no other word for it—worshiped him, tonguing him meticulously until he was wet, practically sopping. Jack's breath had gone shallow now, and when Channon looked he saw Jack's mouth open, his lips glossy as though he'd been licking them, and the shudder that went through Channon's body was so intense he had to take a breath to steady himself.

But. He still hadn't got what he was after, and he put his hands up beneath Jack's thighs, coaxing him up and open.

Jack chuckled, cocking his hips up and spreading his thighs obscenely wide, clearly aware of what Channon wanted and willing to let him have it. Good. Channon slid his thumbs between Jack's cheeks to open him up, and licked along Jack's taint, up then down, then further down to tongue his asshole. No cinnamon oil this time, just the dampness of the shower, but Channon didn't care—Jack tasted musky and manly and intensely of Jack, and Channon circled the tightness of his rim with the tip of his tongue, listening to Jack's breathing deepen. He licked his way in, pressing into Jack's tight flesh, and this, of all the things they'd ever done, was the most intimate, the one that frightened Channon with how much he wanted it, and how intense it made him feel. Jack was so hot inside, and Channon delved into him, until his tongue ached and Jack was soaking wet, his hips shifting in tiny circles as if he wanted to fuck himself onto Channon's tongue.

Channon shuddered, pressing himself against the bed, and he was hard, aching, wanted to rut against the covers and spill everywhere, show Jack just how much he loved worshiping Jack's ass, but...but no. No, he wasn't finished.

He licked his way back up Jack's taint—Jack sighed softly as if in regret—and up to lap over Jack's cock. He took his time here, making Jack wet from root to tip, and he didn't dare look up, didn't think he could take whatever look was on Jack's face. But then he braced himself on one hand, wrapped the other around the base of Jack's cock, lifted it up to press his lips to Jack's slit in a kiss, and he couldn't help it. His gaze flickered up by itself and, oh, Jack was staring at him, eyes so dark they were almost black, tongue caught in his teeth, the muscles of his shoulders straining. God, he looked like he was going to snap, like if Channon didn't get on with it he'd haul Channon up and flip him onto his back and just fuck right into him. Channon dragged his gaze down and slid his lips over the head of Jack's cock. Jack let out a tiny gasp, and Channon sucked on him, giddy with how good it felt to have Jack in his mouth.

He still couldn't take all of Jack, but he tried, sucking Jack down until he was lodged in Channon's throat and then pushing, holding his breath. Not enough, but good enough. So he sucked Jack in long, slow strokes, sliding his hand up Jack's length to meet his lips coming down, tongue pressed flat and broad to the underside of Jack's dick, massaging him up under the head.

Jack made a broken sound, and Channon dared a glance up. Jack had his head tipped back now, mouth open, and all the muscles of his belly clenched, thighs corded like it was everything he could do not to fuck up into Channon's mouth. Channon whimpered, sucking hard, and he reached down to squeeze himself because, fuck, he felt he might overflow just from the sight of Jack like that.

Jack opened his eyes, staring straight down at him. "Channon," he growled, and Channon couldn't take it.

He pulled off, mouth aching, and gasped, "Sir," and Jack gave up on holding back, reaching down to knot his fingers in Channon's hair.

"Come here," he ordered, and Channon scrambled up, straddling Jack's thighs. Jack hauled him down, plundering Channon's mouth with his tongue, and Channon moaned because Jack and because one of Jack's hands closed tight on his dick, squeezing hard.

Jack fucked Channon's mouth with his tongue, holding Channon helpless and still until he'd had his fill. Then he braced Channon above him, licking his lips, something wild in his eyes.

"You make me want to fuck you," he said, low and rough, and Channon's cock twitched in Jack's hand.

"Please, sir," he begged, "please."

Jack's expression didn't change, but he reached for the lube. "Hold out your hands," he ordered, and Channon did. Jack pumped a generous dollop into Channon's palms. "Get yourself ready," Jack said, watching Channon hungrily, and Channon got such a rush from that it made him giddy.

He spread his knees wide, still straddling Jack's thighs, and scooped up half the lube on two fingers. He reached between his legs, and Jack didn't look away for a moment as Channon slicked himself, pushing up inside and working in. Too quick, really, but the burn was good, he wanted it, wanted Jack badly enough he couldn't wait.

"Careful," Jack warned, and Channon forced himself to slow down, rolling his hips until he could take three fingers as far as they could go.

"Sir," he pleaded, "I'm good, I'm ready, I...will you?"

Jack caught Channon's other wrist, tugging it down to wrap Channon's lube-filled palm around his cock. "Slick me up," he said, and Channon did it. Then Jack was guiding him up, one hand under Channon's thigh and the other holding his slick cock up to press where Channon's fingers were still buried in himself. Channon slipped them free, and then Jack was pushing up into him, hot and hard and perfect. "Careful," Jack groaned as Channon tried to slide down on him. "Go slow."

It seemed impossible, Channon's thighs shaking with the effort not to just sink onto Jack's cock, but as Jack slid into him, as he let his weight settle into the cradle of Jack's hips, Channon was grateful for the advice. Jack seemed so much bigger than usual, big enough to burn, filling him up until the breath was punched from his lungs, his blood roaring in his ears.

"Ah! Ah, ah, ah..."

"Shhh." Jack curled his hands around Channon's thighs, lifting him and easing him down in gentle increments. "Slow. Ah, Channon."

Channon let himself down, finally seated, and then he leaned back and oh God it was almost too much to take. Jack squeezed his thighs, thumbs digging deep and holding him still.

"Take your time," he said, his voice strained. "Channon, you're so tight. Just...take it easy."

It was hard, though, when every twitch of his hips seemed to push Jack deeper inside him. Channon rocked his hips experimentally, and oh, the hot pleasure that shuddered down his veins made him gasp and he did it again, harder this time, and this time Jack groaned deep and ragged. Channon braced one hand on Jack's thigh, his heart racing.

"Sir," he pleaded, "please, can I? I want to so much..."

Jack growled, hands running up to grip Channon's hips. "Fuck. Do it," he ordered, and Channon rocked up and back down, and oh yeah, that was perfect, that felt so good. Jack hissed, tightening his grip, and Channon made a high-pitched noise as Jack tilted him just right, dragging over his prostate and making every nerve in him seem to shudder loose. "There," Jack breathed. "Fuck yourself on my cock."

So he did. Everything turned to molasses, everything thick and liquid, except for the places where Jack held him hard enough to bruise. Channon rode him, and the smooth roll of their hips pushed Channon up to the peak so quickly he tried to slow down.

"Keep going," Jack ordered him.

"I'll come," he protested, faltering.

"What did I say?" Jack demanded, eyes gone dark and dangerous.

Because Jack had already given him permission. Channon felt the heavy warmth deep in his gut writhe, expanding through him, and he had to, he fucking had to. He caught his cock in one hand, jerked it one, twice, and that was it, he was over the edge, spilling over his hand and Jack's belly and Jack's chest in hot white jets. He made awful noises, still riding Jack's cock and, fuck, how good Jack felt inside him.

And then. Jack wrapped one hand around the back of Channon's neck to hold him steady, and fucked up hard into him. Channon gasped, overstimulated, and then Jack groaned, hips stuttering, and Channon swore to God he could feel the hot pulse of Jack filling him with come.

For what felt like a long time Jack just held him right there, skewered on his cock, their skin swimming with sweat, and he felt so close it was hard to tell what was Jack and what was just Channon anymore.

Then Jack breathed out, hands loosening as he collapsed back on the pillows, blinking lazily up at him.

"You," he sighed, lifting a hand to brush Channon's cheek. "God, Channon. You're perfect."

Channon wavered, and Jack reached out to brace him. "Sir," he breathed, acutely aware of Jack still huge in him, and also...also something else. "Are you going to punish me?"

Jack frowned. "For being perfect?" he asked, still a little breathless.

Channon shook his head. "I...you said I could come and I...forgot." And nearly disobeyed him. That was fucking unforgivable.

Jack's expression softened. "No, I won't. There's no need." He slid a hand down to pat Channon's hip. "Come on, off you get. I need a shower," he added dryly, glancing down at his come-splattered torso.

After, when Jack had him wrapped in a towel and was kissing him lazily against the sink, Channon still hadn't quite convinced himself that he didn't need to be punished. Surely Jack should. Surely. But he couldn't question Jack. That would be—no.

Jack bit Channon's lip. "Where are you? You've gone somewhere," he said, eyeing Channon curiously.

"I..." but he couldn't say it was nothing. "I really thought I should be punished," he said, quiet and ashamed of himself.

Jack sighed, and kissed his cheek. "No. I already made up my mind. If you keep dwelling on it, though," he said sternly, "then I'll punish you for that. But not this. You were wonderful. Better than I'd hoped. So perfectly mine," he said, resting his damp temple against Channon's. "I can't wait to get you home. You're going to love Santa Rita, I just know it."

Channon had to swallow the lump that came up in his throat. "I will if I'm with you, sir."

He felt the twist of Jack's grin against his jaw. "Good," Jack said, and it sounded like a promise.

Continued in Season Two
His Boy Next Door: #13 Members Only

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Also by the Author

Published as R.J. Moray

His Boy Next Door (Channon Beaumont) series

Season One

Volume One (1-3)

A New Discovery

Breaking In

Bad Decisions

Volume Two (4-6)

New Toys

Eating In

Staking Claims

Volume Three (7-9)

Punishment

Submission

Showing Off

Volume Four (10-12)

Shared Interests

Fears

Choices

Season Two

Members Only

Published as Robin Moray

Bonded to the Alpha series

Bonded to the Alpha

Loyal

Claimed

Mallory Witches series

Something Wicked

About the Author

R.J. Moray writes MM BDSM erotica for readers who like their Doms a little more tender, but just as dominant.

For novel-length MM erotic romance, check out the works of Robin Moray, who is exactly the same author in a slightly more elaborate hat.

You can follow the author on twitter @robinmoray or tumblr at robinmoray.tumblr.com, or email Robin via therobinmoray@gmail.com.

Interested in hearing about new releases from this author? Join the Robin Moray mailing list.

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