His Boy Next Door: #5

Eating In

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 #5

Jack's penchant for exhibitionism and voyeurism is driving Channon crazy, and when he combines it with a new dirty pleasure, Channon can't deny how much he loves doing exactly what he's told.

This book is episode 5 in an ongoing series, and contains acts of a sexual and kinky nature. Read at your own risk.

Eating In

When the results arrived Channon took them straight to Jack's to hand them in.

Jack glanced over them. "Good. You're clean. I expected as much." But then he presented Channon with a second set of results, with 'Jonathan Elliott Nash' written at the top. "So am I."

Channon hadn't realized Jack had got himself tested too, and blinked up at him in confusion. "I don't..."

"Did you think I was worried you'd give me something?" Jack smiled, trailing his fingers up under Channon's chin. "Channon, this was always for your peace of mind. You should be careful. Really, you shouldn't have blown me without a condom. I knew I was clean. But you had no way of knowing that."

He was right. Channon blushed, looking down. He wasn't sure if Jack was disappointed in him for being...gullible? Credulous? Thoughtlessly reckless? Whatever it was, Channon vowed he'd do better, though he wasn't sure exactly how.

Jack clicked his tongue, catching Channon's jaw in his palms. "Don't look so downcast. Now it's official. I could have fucked you with a condom but," and he grimaced, "I really didn't want that. Now we don't have to. It's just going to be me, in you." He kissed Channon's brow, light and dry, before tipping Channon's chin up to lick into his mouth. "Mmm. I'm so looking forward to that. The waiting is a trial."

Channon opened his mouth before he could think twice. "We don't have to wait, sir." When Jack arched an eyebrow at him he went on, losing his nerve but, well, eager enough to overcome it. "You could fuck me now."

"I could," Jack agreed pleasantly. He kissed Channon again, sucking his lip until it was wet and swollen. "I'm not going to. Do you know why?"

He was always asking these kinds of questions, making Channon work things out for himself. Channon was getting used to it, and he knew Jack preferred him to try and fail than not try at all. So. Why? "Because you like, um. Drawing it out."

"Yes. And, because I said so. I don't want to get you into the habit of thinking you can wheedle things out of me." He pinched Channon's chin, smiling fondly. "Come upstairs. I have a surprise for you, though you probably won't enjoy it."

Which wasn't ominous at all.

* * *

"Normally," Jack said, standing by the bed in the spare room, "I'd pay someone to do this. But I really want to do it myself."

Channon looked from the towels laid out on the stripped-back bed to the white appliance plugged into the wall, to the spatulas on a towel on the bedside table, and glanced up at the back of Jack's head in confusion. "Sir?"

Jack smiled, but not at him. "If you're still dressed when I turn around, Channon..."

Vague as that was, Channon knew it wasn't an empty threat, so he skinned out of his clothes and shoved them in the drawer, just in time for Jack to eye him over his shoulder.

"Better. Now. Come here."

He had Channon climb up on the bed and lie down on his back. It was awkwardly personal, Jack spreading his knees open and running his fingers over Channon's skin. Then Jack opened the lid of the appliance, and dug around inside with a spatula. The stuff in it was dark, thick like honey, and smelled sort of spicy and hot.

Jack gave him an expectant look. "Well? What do you think I'm going to do?"

With his thighs wide, and that goop on a little wooden stick, Channon thought he had a pretty good idea. "Wax my legs, sir?"

"Not your legs," Jack said, and...oh. Right. Of course.

Channon nodded, lip caught in his teeth, but he wasn't about to say no.

The wax was hot but not enough to burn. Jack laid it down with deft strokes, intent on his work in a way Channon hadn't really expected. "This is going to hurt," he said, peeling up the hard edge of the cooling wax and then—

"Oh my God!"

"I warned you," Jack murmured, but he sounded amused by this, as if Channon staring at him in hurt betrayal, hands clutching the towel beneath him into fists, was the whole point of it.

Maybe it was. Channon swallowed, made himself lie back down, turned his face away. "Sir," he said, and he didn't imagine Jack's low chuckle, just before the hot kiss of wax at the base of his cock.

God, how it hurt coming off. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, and then Jack slapped his skin, the sharp ping of it offsetting the pain and making it somehow bearable. Jack made him crook his knee, hold himself up out of the way. He explained what he was doing as he went: hard wax, because genitals were too sensitive for strips; hold the skin taut for obvious reasons; pull against the direction of hair growth; pressure after made the sting fade. He took the hair off Channon's crotch, his cock, his balls. He left Channon's legs alone, but Channon was smooth from navel to taint and had figured they were done when Jack tapped his hip. "Roll over."

This was immeasurably worse than before. Jack made him hold his cheeks open, ass up in the air, and it wasn't sexy, it couldn't be anything but embarrassing, but the way Jack hummed as he smoothed wax onto Channon's skin made him think that Jack, at least, was enjoying this.

I really want to do it myself, he'd said. Channon considered it, imagined what Jack must see. Him, presenting himself to be waxed, exposing himself, cock hanging smooth and half-full between his legs, everything hairless and sleek. And yelping every time Jack tugged another strip of hair out of him, wriggling like he couldn't stand any more.

Okay. Jack probably loved that. So Channon could bear it, if he had to.

Then it was over, and Jack's hands were smoothing soft scented cream into his skin, caressing him gently as he said, "You didn't even kick me once. Well done."

Channon hadn't realized kicking Jack was an option. And it wasn't, just considering it made his brain recoil like he'd been burned. Kick him? The thought of raising a hand to him was horrifying, of defying him just...no. He'd never do anything like that.

Jack pulled him up off the bed, led him around to the mirror and made him inspect himself. It was weird, seeing himself smooth and hairless, so neat.

"Eventually we'll do your legs, chest. Underarms," Jack added, his reflection smirking in the mirror. "Those hurt. But for now this will do." He ran a hand over Channon's junk, fingers lingering on the smooth skin. "What do you think?"

"It makes me look...more naked," Channon said, his cock hardening in Jack's hand.

"It does. Vulnerable," Jack said, kissing Channon's neck very lightly as he examined his handiwork. Channon tried not to whimper. It wasn't that he still hurt, his skin was just so sensitive now, all clean and smooth. And Jack was touching him, which never failed to make his nerves sing. It was directionless touching, though, not designed to go anywhere or make Channon squirm, just Jack looking over his possessions, making sure things were just the way he liked them.

Channon leaned his head back against Jack's shoulder, soaking up the warmth of his body, and it made Jack look up, hazel eyes bright in the mirror.

"No tight pants for a couple of days. No exercise, no sunbathing. And no sex either," Jack said with amusement. As if he had to. Channon wasn't even allowed to jerk off without permission, how was he supposed to have sex?

Or maybe it was just a warning that the next two days were going to be tense. Channon nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Jack slapped his ass, more affectionate than anything else. "Get dressed. I've invited your mom for dinner and she'll be here in, hmm, half an hour."

Channon gaped at his back as he walked out, and then scrambled for his clothes.

* * *

"I'm going to be honest with you," Jack said, smiling, "I get the base sauce from a farmer's market. All I added was some guanciale and pecorino."

Channon didn't know what either of those were, but the pasta was delicious. He opened his mouth to say so, but the pressure of his mom's presence made his tongue thick and clumsy so he stopped himself, concentrated instead on coiling spaghetti around his fork.

"It's delicious," his mom said pleasantly. "Thank-you so much for inviting us. Your house is lovely."

"Thank-you. Personally, I'm finding it too big for one person," Jack said, topping up her wine. Channon had sweet iced tea with a sprig of mint in it and a bendy straw that had seemed to amuse Jack no end. "It's not really mine, anyway, just a rental. You should see the condo I have back in the city," he added, not exactly smirking but close. "The view is incredible. Plus I have hardwood floors," and he grinned, as if he knew exactly how he sounded. "All this slate's too cold."

"Sounds wonderful," Channon's mom said politely, and then she went on to compliment the garden.

The only thing that made any of it even remotely okay (which it wasn't) was the fact that Jack had locked up the toy-chest and hung the key inside his wardrobe. "There," he'd said, showing it to Channon. "Unless your mom picks locks, she'll never know."

He'd kissed Channon then, in his bedroom, a possessive kiss that made Channon's knees want to buckle, and then he'd ruffled Channon's hair.

"It'll be fine. Stop panicking." And he'd smiled. "That's an order."

So Channon was trying to be obedient, trying not to panic, trying to look like Jack hadn't spread hot wax on him today just because he wanted him clean, or maybe just to see him squirm.

It didn't help that Jack kept smiling at him, nudging his toes up against Channon's ankle under the table. It certainly didn't help that he'd unbuttoned his shirt at the throat, exposing a few inches of tan chest and hair. Channon wanted to slide his tongue through it, map out the rough texture, lick his way down to Jack's crotch and just—ugh, his mom was sitting right there, it was probably illegal to think about this.

"So, Channon." Jack lifted his wineglass, eyes bright and dangerous. "Are you looking forward to prom?"

Channon didn't drop his fork, but it was a close thing. He felt his face warm and stubbornly tried to shake it off. "Yes, sir." He saw Jack's smirk deepen, and realized what he'd said. "I, uh," he started, trying to think of something, anything to cover his slip. "Mostly I'm looking forward to after."

It took the white flash of Jack's teeth for him to realize how that sounded and, oh, how hot his face got then.

"Only a month until you graduate," Jack said easily, as if that had been exactly what they were talking about, not what Jack was going to do to him after the dance. "Do you have plans for the summer?"

Channon shook his head, suddenly embarrassed. "I mean, I guess I'll look for a job," he said, awkwardly pushing his food around his plate. "Or something."

"Your father said you might go stay with him," his mom said easily, as if this was no big deal. Channon twisted around to stare at her, a horrible tightness rising in his chest. Go stay with his dad?

"Why?" he asked, the word just coming out without thinking. His mom gave him a Look, but it was too late now to keep their dirty laundry private. Anyway, she'd brought it up in the first place. It wasn't his fault.

"I'm sure he just wants to spend some time with you," she said, smooth and even, and Channon bit his lip.

That'd be a first, he thought, but what he said was, "Is he coming to graduation?"

"Have you invited him?" He shook his head. She gave him a 'well, what can you expect?' look, and turned back to Jack. "Channon's father is in acquisitions. His schedule's packed. Channon always seems to think his dad can just drop everything for him at a moment's notice," she sighed, and Channon dropped his gaze to his plate, ears burning with the embarrassment of it all. "You'd think he'd have learned by now."

Jack's voice, when it came, was smoothly expressionless. "Graduation's a pretty big deal. I'm surprised Mr Beaumont hasn't made arrangements for it."

Channon looked up. Jack was smiling a polite meaningless smile, but the hand on his fork gripped so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.

"I'm sure he would have, if Channon had put a call through to his PA. Channon's not very good at organizing himself. Lucky he has Kim to take care of him, or who knows what he'd be wearing to prom," she added, smiling as if it was hilarious.

Jack's mouth thinned, his eyes flickering to Channon's just for a moment before his expression eased back into politeness. "I'm sure we'd have worked something out," he said, and then he changed the subject to housing prices.

* * *

After dinner, Channon's mom tried to help Jack carry out the dishes, but he refused to allow it.

"Then let Channon make himself useful," she said, and Jack smiled, agreeing Channon would be very useful.

Channon carried the dishes out to the kitchen, and started stacking the dishwasher. He could hear his mom and Jack in the dining room, their voices carrying easily through the echoing house. Jack offered her coffee; she declined on the grounds of caffeine. Jack offered her decaf, "But good decaf, I promise," which she accepted, and then she excused herself.

Channon paused, bending over the dishwasher. Was Jack coming in? He couldn't hear footsteps, but Jack was barefoot (as always when he was home) and moved like a cat.

Somewhere in the house a door closed. Channon caught a glimpse of movement reflected in the kitchen window, and then there were strong hands on his hips, sliding around and up over his belly. Jack

He was pulled back against Jack's chest, Jack's lap, his strong thighs, and he leaned back, heart in his throat because his mom was here and what if she caught them?

"Sir?" he squeaked, and Jack chuckled in his ear.

"Your mom's in the bathroom. Since you're being 'useful' I thought I'd make use of you."

They didn't have time to do anything, though, did they?

Jack slid a hand into one of the front pockets of Channon's jeans, fingering the mound of cock thickening in his boxers. He caught Channon's earlobe in his teeth, tugging on it until he pulled a moan from Channon's throat, the press of sharp incisors dangerous and delightful. Channon leaned back into him, letting his hands go loose, his frame loose, holding himself up against Jack's chest. He figured that's what Jack wanted, Channon pliant as a rag-doll. He was rewarded with a soft hum, and the swipe of Jack's tongue over his bitten skin.

"Sir," he breathed, wanting this but, oh, not like this, not when his mom could...

"Mmm?" Jack's fingers were gentle, the brush of them forcing Channon's flesh to tighten, harden, but, God, how light it was. A tease of the worst kind, offset by the rough scrape of teeth at his ear.

They both heard a door open down the hall. Jack pressed a kiss to the corner of Channon's jaw and slid smoothly away, leaving Channon hard and flustered and hunched over the dishwasher.

"Channon," his mom chided when she found them. "Still not finished with that?"

"I've been distracting him," Jack said, and how his mom could miss the suggestive warmth in that Channon had no idea. "So you'll have to forgive me."

She didn't seem to suspect a thing, though, and by the time Jack handed him a decaf and a slice of Death By Chocolate Channon's unwanted erection had almost completely gone down. Almost. (It didn't help that Jack spend the rest of the evening smirking at him when his mom wasn't looking, which was beyond unfair.)

Full of coffee and cake, Channon went home with his mom. Jack had put some extra cake in a box for them to take, saying something about 'young men and their appetites'. He'd patted Channon on the shoulder, smiling for his mom, and the surreal nature of the whole thing had stripped away Channon's ability to think of anything beyond, I've had his cock in my mouth in this kitchen, and, God, don't let it show.

At home, Channon put the cake in the fridge, glancing up through the kitchen blinds at the dim glow of Jack's living room curtains. He was just over there, just out of reach. If only he'd kept Channon overnight. If only it was Friday already, prom night and...and everything Jack had promised. If only he—

"Do you like him?" His mom had come up silently behind him, and it was a good thing Channon hadn't been still holding the cake or he'd have dropped it on the floor.

"Mr Nash?" God, did his voice have to sound so squeaky? "I mean...I guess so. He's," but there weren't any words for it that wouldn't give him entirely away. "He's nice." Not true. 'Nice' meant sugar cookies and white roses. Jack wasn't nice. Jack was wicked.

"Well, he certainly likes you," his mom said, watching him with an unreadable expression. "Are you...Channon, you know he's homosexual, don't you?"

Channon gave her a horrified look. "Yeah, I know that, but—"

"That's not bothering you, is it?" She patted him on the arm, all concerned and soft, and Channon didn't know why. "It's understandable if it does, though...you have nothing to worry about. There's nothing wrong with homosexuality. It's just different. And you can't catch it," she added, smiling a little.

God, if he could have avoided this conversation for the rest of his life. "I'm not scared of catching gay," Channon said, voice breaking on it, it was so stupid.

"Good. Because Jonathan Nash is an opportunity. I know you're not ambitious, Channon," and her smile did nothing to take the sting out of it, "but he's a very powerful man and somehow you've made a good impression on him. He could help you get a job, even without college. So...try not to disappoint him, all right?"

The irony of it was stunning. Channon swallowed, and nodded, and said, "Yeah, okay," and tried not to think about it at all.

* * *

Two days without sex, without Jack talking him through his hand on his dick over the phone, without anything more than the slick of lotion rubbed into his skin twice a day. It was driving him crazy. And then it would be another two days to prom and he was going to lose his mind.

Jack texted him little teases.

Are you being a good boy?

yes Sir

You must be tempted, now you're all clean and smooth.

He was, actually, had got used to it after a little careful examination with a mirror—which he'd had to curtail because anything more than a brush of his own fingers was enough to make him hard—and now he was eager to try it out, just glide his hands over himself smooth and easy. But Jack had forbidden it and Channon couldn't.

yes Sir but u said

That's my boy.

Ugh, it was terrible. Jack totally got off on it, too, Channon just knew it. Like with the book.

Jack had given it to him in the morning before school, had caught him in the driveway to hand it over. It hadn't made sense, at first—a nice leather-bound book with a combination lock set into the cover. It was red, beautifully textured, and completely unexpected.

Channon hadn't been able to hide his confusion. "A diary?"

Jack had smiled, stunningly handsome in a three-piece suit, clean-shaven and delicious. Channon found it hard to look at him when he was like this, in his public skin that he wore for the world. That someone like him would look at Channon...it just broke his brain sometimes.

"It's a journal," Jack said. "For your secret thoughts. Well," and he smirked, "not secret from me."

"I don't...have secret thoughts," Channon told him. It was, he figured, almost entirely true. For one, he told Jack anything Jack asked of him. For two...even if he did, they'd be super boring. Much too boring to write any of them down.

"Oh, I think you do." Jack's smirk only got worse. "It's for fantasies, Channon. Things you'd like to try, things you just like thinking about." He leaned in, narrowing his smirk down to something reasonable to show in public. "Sex fantasies."

Oh. Channon felt the heat rise beneath his skin, the threat of a blush because they were talking about this here in his mother's driveway an hour before school. "Okay."

"I want you to write in it, at least a couple of times of a week. And I'll be checking."

Channon made a face. "Like homework?"

"Exactly like homework. Only I won't give you detention if you're lazy."

"Just make me stand in the corner, sir?" Channon asked, feeling cheeky.

Jack seemed to like it. "Not just."

And he'd left Channon there, with a sex journal burning a hole in his backpack, and the start of an unfortunate hard on.

Sometimes he wondered what, exactly, Jack was getting out of this. Someone to torture, someone eager and desperate, someone who'd do anything he wanted. But why Channon? He'd said some things—Channon blushed when he thought about it—about Channon being shy and polite. Obedient. And he liked Channon's body, that much he'd made clear, standing him in front of the mirror and caressing him all over. Maybe he just liked the convenience. Channon lived right next door, how much more convenient could it get?

Maybe Jack liked how weak he was. Not physically—Channon didn't fight, really, but he'd been dragged into brawls before, and he wasn't exactly fragile—but mentally. Maybe he liked watching Channon writhe and beg and sob. He certainly hadn't objected to it yet, didn't seem disappointed in Channon for whimpering at him. No, he liked that, liked it best when Channon couldn't take any more and broke open in a blubbering mess.

Well. If he wanted weak and pathetic, Channon had plenty of that for him.

Still, the idea of a man like Jack being into him, really into him, was so far from anything he could understand that his brain just sort of shut off when he tried to think about it. It was like Kim all over again, with the 'out of his league' thing, only this time no-one was staring at him incredulously because nobody knew.

The idea of people finding out sent a delicious shiver down Channon's spine every time he thought of it. But then he tried not to think about it because...well, he didn't want to imagine how Jack might react. He was pretty sure a guy like Jack didn't need the nuisance of people knowing he was screwing his barely legal neighbor

So, when Jack texted him on Wednesday evening—all it said was, Come here, no details, nothing—Channon took extra-special care not to be seen jumping the fence, coming up to the pool-side door and letting himself in quietly.

"Sir?" he called, crouching down to get the laces on his shoes.

"Upstairs!" Jack called back, his voice echoing through the empty house.

It really was too big for one person. Channon chose not to speculate on whether it would be too big for two.

He padded upstairs in his socks and found Jack in the study at the top of the stairs, a long but narrow room made to appear much larger by the huge floor-to-ceiling windows that opened out over the pool.

The view was pretty awesome. Behind Jack's house the hillside dropped away, the suburbs below all pink-pale in the sunset. Channon's house didn't have the same, the drop angling sharply south behind another row of houses, but he knew what the view from the park looked like and this was similar. When the lights came up the suburbs would spark into a glittering sea, bright points picked out against the black, burning the stars from the sky.

He could see into his own yard, too, and—"Huh."

"What is it?" Jack was sitting at his desk, watching Channon, his weight leaned on one elbow and the light from his laptop screen illuminating his face. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and Channon wondered if he'd been working from home all day.

Channon lifted a hand to point. "I can see into my room."

"And you never pull the curtains," Jack drawled, propping his chin in his hand and grinning like a wolf. "Shameless." It should have made him shy but it didn't, and it must have been obvious because Jack arched an eyebrow at him. "You don't seem to mind."

He hesitated, but—"You can look at me all you want, sir."

"Mmm. And who rented this place before me?"

"Uh..." but Channon went instantly scarlet as he remembered. "Mrs Emerson. But she was, like, fifty, I don't..." Except. She'd always invited him to use the pool, paid him last summer to keep the lawn mown for her, and she'd got around the whole time in a bikini and a satin dressing-gown, offering him endless glasses of lemonade and cookies. Oh my God.

Jack seemed to find this deeply amusing. "You poor innocent," he teased. "You really don't think anyone looks at you, do you?"

No, except..."No-one but you, sir," he said, looking Jack in the eye.

Jack smiled. "You're wrong about that." He closed the laptop and set it aside. Then he tilted his head, gaze running over Channon from head to toe and back again. "I'm going to let it slide one last time because you don't seem to have actually grasped what I meant when I said that I want you naked by default. So, Channon, let me be specific." His tone had turned serious, almost hard, and it made Channon flinch. "This is the last time you come upstairs and don't immediately go to your room and undress, unless I order you otherwise. Do you understand me? Make sure that you do, because if you fail to obey this rule in future I will punish you, and you won't enjoy it."

Channon swallowed, caught between shame and something far sharper. He'd failed. Jack was definitely disappointed. He hoped Jack would allow him to make up for it, though he had no idea how he could.

But...Your room, Jack had said, and it filled him a fierce sort of elation because he had a room and a drawer and Jack was letting him have another chance, God, he'd do anything Jack asked to earn it

Not asked. Ordered. That's what this was, after all.

Channon took a breath, looking down. "I understand. I'm sorry, sir, I'll do better."

"Apology accepted. Now, strip for me."

It was impossible not to glance up at the great wide window and feel exposed. But Channon had been ordered and he wasn't going to hesitate now, not when Jack was already being lenient, so he peeled down to his skin, putting everything in a neat pile on the floor the way he thought Jack liked.

"Come here."

Jack held out a hand. It wasn't until Channon was within arm's reach that he realized Jack wasn't reaching for his hand, had decided instead to cup his fingers beneath Channon's balls, nestling them in his palm and squeezing possessively.

"Do you like this? Waxed clean?"

"Yes, sir," Channon admitted.

"And are you clean? Like we talked about?"

Channon felt his cheeks flame instantly, remembering the mortifying conversation they'd had about 'intimate personal hygiene'. Not that it had really been a conversation so much as Channon saying absolutely nothing while Jack looked more and more amused by his horrified silence, and then Jack had patted him on the head and sent him home with an instructional pamphlet and a number of 'things'. But. The lesson had stuck.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, deeply embarrassed.

"Good."

Jack caught Channon's half-hard cock in the ring of his forefinger-and-thumb, and slid the skin back to unsheathe the head of it, pink and fat in his fingers. Channon held very still but his breath hitched, going shallow as Jack played with him. It seemed idle, an amusement. Still, Channon thickened up in his hand until he was straining against Jack's fingers, hot and tight, a single drop of pre-come beading at his slit.

"Get up on the desk," Jack said, low and intent, and Channon did as he was told. "Lie back." Channon did, the polished wood cool against his skin, legs sprawled off the edge. "Spread your knees."

Channon did, acutely aware of the view he was presenting to the wide open window. The sun had set, dimming down to dusk, and the only light in the office had been Jack's laptop, now dark and sleeping. He didn't think anyone could see in, even if they were watching, but still he felt exposed.

It was probably the point. Jack slid his chair in between Channon's thighs, shielding him from prying eyes. His fingertips stole down to tease Channon's cock, light and gentle, toying with him. Channon bit his lip, desperate not to whimper, but Jack shook his head.

"If you don't make noise, Channon, I'll drag it out of you. Remember, I like the sounds you make. You're so sensitive." He tugged gently on one of Channon's balls, just enough to make Channon gasp, and he smirked as he did it. "I want to hear everything you feel."

That was definitely something Channon could give him. So, when Jack ran his thumb up behind Channon's balls, massaging his taint, Channon let the moan in his chest spill up his throat, over his tongue, let Jack have it, giving it up to him along with everything else.

"Good boy."

Jack smoothed his thumb down, catching the rim of Channon's asshole. He pressed there, glancing up, and Channon let his breath out in a sigh. Jack's thumb was dry. He wasn't just going to shove it in, was he?

"Put your hands behind your head," Jack said. "Give yourself something to hold on to."

Why did he need something to hold on to? But he did it, because he'd been told, and then Jack bent down, hands gripping into the meat of Channon's thighs and—

Channon nearly shot up right off the desk because Jack had just licked a hot stripe up his cock and...fuck no, was he going to do that? "Sir!"

"Hold still."

But Jack's mouth was on Channon's cock, lapping him up, and Channon had never felt anything like it before, had never imagined...because Jack had said he wanted to get his mouth on him but Channon hadn't really believed it.

He always means it, Channon thought, mind unraveling under the onslaught of Jack's tongue. Everything he said he'd do he's going to, every single thing.

But he couldn't think, not now, when Jack was devouring him, the scratch of his stubble sharp and strange against Channon's smooth-waxed skin. Jack licked him leisurely, taking his time to get Channon wet all the way from tip to balls, and then his balls too, laving them with his tongue until Channon was shaking, breath pared down to tiny gasps, hands knotted painfully in his hair and his spine as tight as a wound spring.

Jack licked his way back up, taking his time, and then he caught Channon's cock in his mouth—in his teeth, oh God—glancing up at him to grin. Channon yelped, tried and failed not to buck, Jack's teeth a dangerous pressure on his vulnerable flesh.

But Jack just hummed and closed his lips around Channon's cock, tongue fluttering against him, and Channon melted against the desk because this...how could this be happening? The warm wetness of Jack's mouth, now tight, now loose, now teasing, his tongue stroking all along the length as he sucked Channon down, and Channon realized just how much he had to learn because this, he wanted to do this for Jack, wanted Jack to feel like his bones were dissolving, like the heat rising up along his spine would melt him down to nothing.

"Ah! Sir!" He was going to come, he couldn't help it, no no no—"Sir, I'll come, I—"

Jack hummed again, but he relented, letting Channon out of his mouth with a wet filthy pop, and then he was nuzzling down, lifting Channon's hips up off the desk to lick along his taint. It was almost too much, the heat of his tongue, the gust of his breath. Channon moaned, all the muscles of his belly trying desperately to curl him up like a pill-bug.

"Look at you, gone to pieces like that." Jack's voice was wet and dark, and Channon blinked blearily, unable to focus. The light was almost gone now, twilight settled dim over the landscape outside. Jack was a dark shape against it, a bright-eyed shadow, teeth shining white and dangerous in his grin. "You taste so good, Channon. I could eat you all night."

Which would probably kill him. Channon tried to breathe, tried to get his head together. Jack was going to want something and he needed to give it, whatever it was, whatever Jack needed. He couldn't mess this up.

But Jack wasn't done. He lifted Channon up, hands strong on his thighs, ducked his head down to lick along Channon's taint, and then Channon nearly screamed as that insistent tongue slid over his asshole.

Oh God, is he doing this?

And he was, licking over Channon with firm swipes, slicking him up. Channon could hear himself moaning like, like he was dying, but it was so far away he couldn't care about it. Jack's tongue breached him and he bucked. Jack's hands tightened and he stilled. Jack pushed his tongue into Channon and Channon was his, God, his to take however he wanted, and that was all he could think of as Jack's tongue fucked into him.

It was so wet, so hot, so dirty, and so close to what he wanted, very nearly but not deep enough, not enough of Jack inside him. He spread his legs as wide as he could, knees pulled up as far as they could go, and Jack balanced him there, opening him up with his tongue, lapping at him, kissing the tight ring of his flesh, teasing him with the scrape of teeth and the rub of his stubble.

And he kept going, working Channon into a frenzied mess, and Channon didn't even realize the words spilling out of his mouth were, "...please, sir, please sir, I can't...oh, please, please," a litany of mindless begging, until Jack slid a hand up to ring his cock.

"Come for me," he said, lips brushing Channon's taint, and then he had his tongue in Channon's ass and was jerking him with quick firm strokes, and everything came up at once to crash over Channon like a wave.

The sound that came out of him was awful, helpless and raw as he came, the pressure of Jack's tongue drawing out his shudders, deepening them until he felt wrung out and hollow.

He tried to catch his breath, the room swimming back into focus. It was dark now, the lights below blinking into a glittering constellation against the night. But he could still make out Jack as he stood, as he slid a hand up into the pit behind Channon's knee to hold him in place. He could see Jack open his jeans one handed, saw the thick weight of his cock as he took himself out, saw him lick his palm, saw his hand wrap around. There was no sound besides the low rhythm of Jack's breath, the slap of his skin, and then (blunt pressure up against his hole, that was Jack's cock, oh God) the deep heartfelt groan as he spilled himself in Channon's cleft. No, right over his entrance, hot and hard and, fuck, he could slide right in right now, Channon was slick and open for him.

But. Jack sighed, running his fingers through the mess, pressing a fingertip into him. "Good boy," he said, and he sounded ragged in the dark. The fingertip slid in to the first knuckle, and then out to circle around and push back in again, fucking Jack's come into him.

Channon couldn't speak. He felt too wrecked, smashed open like a skiff blown against a rocky shore, all his dirty secrets spilled out on the sand for Jack to see.

Because as much as he had enjoyed that, as much as it ruined him, the thing was...if it were Jack...if Channon was the one with his face buried in Jack's ass, tongue working over his hole, licking into him, slick and hot and wet...Channon shuddered, his cock twitching useless and spent on his belly. He wanted that. Fuck, he wanted that, wanted Jack to know how he...how he felt. Wanted to please him like that. Wanted to be his.

"Sir?" he breathed, weak as water and thin besides, and Jack slid his finger deep, right in until his knuckles were buried in Channon's cleft, hard up against his skin.

"Yes, Channon?"

He licked his lips, blinking at the dark shadow cut against pale overshadowed stars that was Jack. "Can I...maybe..."

Jack pressed his thumb into Channon's taint, crooking his finger inside to make Channon twitch. "Ask me."

He hissed, the pressure of Jack's finger too much when he was this sensitive. "I...can I do that for you, sir? Maybe?"

"Do what? This?" and Jack withdrew far enough to press a second finger in, working them both in just past the entrance to tease against him inside.

"Ah! No, I...with my tongue. On you."

Jack leaned down over him, fingers still working away, just gently exploring him. Channon couldn't make out much of Jack's expression, but the brush of lips on his mouth made Channon shiver. "You want to eat me out? Worship my ass while I jerk off?"

Channon shuddered. "Yes, sir." It came out a whisper, and in this light Jack wouldn't be able to see the heat in his cheeks but oh, how he burned.

He could feel the curve of Jack's smile against his lips, and then Jack kissed him, pushing his tongue deep into Channon's mouth and sucking hard on his lip. "Good."

Continued in His Boy Next Door #6: Staking Claims

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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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