His Boy Next Door: #11

Fears

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 #11

When the weight of a nebulous future becomes too much for him, Channon turns to Sir for comfort, and Jack takes advantage of it to spoil his boy.

This book is episode 11 in an ongoing series, and contains acts of a sexual and kinky nature. Read at your own risk.

Fears

The week of graduation, Channon had decided he didn't care. All it meant was the end of high school and the beginning of whatever happened next. It wasn't like Jack was leaving yet, and Channon still didn't quite believe Jack really meant to find him a job, but...well, Jack always followed through when he said something. Even when he didn't promise it, he did it anyway. So Channon ought to have more faith in him.

Still. The idea seemed so remote. He shouldn't rely on it. But it was easy to, when Jack smiled at him as if he was something special.

He'd been reading a lot, on the Internet, about the sort of things they did together and the sort of relationship they seemed to have. Jack rarely said 'Dom/sub' or 'BDSM' or anything like that out loud, but Channon had a pretty good idea by now of what was going on.

What it boiled down to, he figured, was that Jack was Sir and Channon was his, and that while Channon had to trust Jack to know what was best for him, Jack had to be able to trust Channon to be honest. That was what the homework list had been for, and Channon knew that any day now they'd be setting down some real limits, shaping their relationship into something solid and tangible.

Channon thought he knew what he wanted, though a lot of it could be summed up with 'whatever Jack wanted', and it made him feel better now that he knew what kind of things there were to want.

All this reading, though, kept him up late, too many tabs open in his browser, and he was yawning through study period on Wednesday when he caught Kim watching him with concern. He covered his mouth and tried to look alert, but he clearly didn't do a very good job of it because she cornered him after class.

"Hi, Chan," Kim said, catching his arm. "Are you okay? You look kinda tired."

"I was up late," he said, because it was true, and, "researching," he added, because that was true too.

Kim frowned. "You can't have much homework, now," she said, sounding concerned. "Are you late on something? Do you want my help?"

"No," Channon said quickly, hoping like hell he didn't turn red. "It's not for school. It's just..." But he couldn't think of anything, and his face was already burning incriminatingly.

Because she wasn't stupid, Kim's eyes widened as if she could guess exactly what he wasn't telling her. And, because she was kind, she smiled, hugging his arm. "Gay stuff?" She whispered conspiratorially. All he could do was turn redder, his tongue tied with embarrassment, but apparently that was all he had to do. "I've been doing some research too," she said, as if this was a great secret for them to have together. "Get lunch with me. I want to talk to you."

After that, he really didn't have much choice. Kim shuffled him into the food queue, made him get a salad with his meatballs, and then sequestered them at a corner table, far away from everyone. He realized she always had bossed him around, and he'd always let her, and he'd never minded. He liked doing what Kim wanted, he been happy when she was happy, even if it meant doing things he hadn't really wanted to. Like bowling, or shopping, or mini-golf with her cousins.

The whole submissive thing suddenly looked really obvious, and he felt a bit stupid for not picking up on it sooner.

Kim didn't give him long to dwell on it, however. As soon as they were settled she leaned in close to ask him privately, "So, how's Mr Nash?" Channon had no idea what shape his face made—whatever it was Kim looked smugly satisfied. "You like him," she said. "You really like him."

Channon sighed, too tired to argue with her. "So what if I do?"

"Then you should tell him," she said, cheerfully optimistic. "He's into you, it's obvious. Oh, come on, Channon," she teased when he didn't say anything. "He picked you up from prom. He tied your tie for you, didn't he?" And when he still didn't say anything she gave him a wry look. "I knew you didn't tie it yourself. It was perfect."

"Maybe I looked it up on YouTube," he protested.

"Did you?"

He sunk, cheek propped on his fist, resigned. "No."

Her triumphant grin was blinding. "I knew it!" She bumped her shoulder up against his, looking so pleased with herself. "You should kiss him. Do you want to kiss him?"

"Don't you think he's a bit old for me?" Channon asked, not meaning it at all but still wondering what she'd say.

She shrugged. "He's really hot. I don't think it matters."

"Right. So it would be fine if you dated him?"

"That would be different, because I'm a girl. What?" She asked, blinking at him innocently. "It would. Don't blame me, I don't make the rules. Anyway, he's gay, isn't he? If he wasn't, though, I'd think about it."

"What?" Channon stared at her, and she smiled prettily.

"He's hot, nice, and a tech mogul. I think my parents could overlook an age gap for Jonathan Nash." She tipped her chin up, with that fake haughty thing she did when she was pretending to be as spoiled as she was rich. And then she dropped it, forking up some salad. "You know, I was reading about him online. JNNS Inc's stocks are," and she launched into a complicated explanation Channon didn't follow at all. "Anyway," she eventually wound down, "I'm pretty sure dating him would be good for my investment portfolio."

Because of course she had an investment portfolio. Channon, who hadn't even thought about Googling Jack, and didn't have an investment portfolio, made a face. "Yeah, well. I bet you'd be good at it." Dating Jack. Being sophisticated. All that.

"Except, you know. Vagina." She tipped her head on one side, eyeing him with a small frown. "What's wrong? I'm not head-hunting him, Channon. Unless he really is bisexual, in which case—"

"He's not," Channon said quickly. "He's gay. It's just...I don't know."

Kim watched him, thoughtful and serene. Then she nodded, glancing down at her lunch. "Is this why you were researching? Are you...worried about physical things? You can tell me," she said earnestly, and he really thought she meant it. "I won't laugh, and I won't tell anyone. I promise."

Even though it was closer than any other reasonable guess, that wasn't what was bothering Channon. And now he started to talk about it, it really did bother him. "No, not that. I mean...not how you think. I'm not worried. I'm pretty sure I'll be okay with, you know, that."

"Then what?"

Channon felt trapped. On the one hand, he wanted to talk to her. On the other, he couldn't be honest, could he? She would freak out, he was pretty sure. But if he didn't tell her something then he'd end up lying to her, and he hated lying, and he was bad at it, and anyway he'd get caught.

She looked so honest and well-meaning, and despite the fact that he was pretty sure he had never loved her the way she'd wanted him to, he did miss her. And soon she'd go, off to college. He might never see her again.

He leaned in, beckoning her down. "Okay, but you can't tell anyone." She mimed zipping her lips, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "No, I mean it, you can't tell anyone, like no-one, at all. Ever."

"Okay! Okay, I won't tell anyone, I swear. Go on. You're killing me."

Channon breathed out. This was it. "So, I might have hooked up with him."

Kim's eyes went wide. "You made out with him."

"Yeah, but also..."

Her mouth went wide. "Oh, you hooked up with him. Holy crap! Did you really?" She must've accepted his embarrassed shrug as a yes, because she went on straight away. "Was it good?"

"Yeah.... It was really good," he admitted, unable to stop himself smiling over it.

"Oh my God! That's incredible. Would you do it again? Are you dating now?"

Channon nodded. "I think so. I mean, I hope so." He hesitated, because this was where things got a bit weird. A bit weird. Yeah, you're not going to tell her about the actually weird part. "He asked me to go with him, when he goes back."

"Like...a toyboy?"

Channon flinched from that. "He said he'd help me get a job. So...I don't know." But this wasn't really the point. "I guess...I want to go. I like him." That part was simple. "But I don't know. I mean, I know he likes me? I know he likes me a lot. I guess I just don't know why. He could do better, is what I'm saying." Even with everything Jack wanted of him, Channon was a hundred percent sure he could get that from someone better looking, smarter, good at more things than Channon was. He would always be having to tell Channon how to do everything. There must be people out there who already knew, who would be good for him without all the misunderstandings and mistakes he was pretty sure he was making.

But he couldn't tell Kim about that. Anyway, the rest of it was still true, too.

When he looked up she was gazing at him with this strange soft pity. It wasn't the first time she'd done that—this was her 'Oh, Channon' face, and true to form she followed up with a gentle, "Oh, Channon. You know...listen." She took his hand, cupping it in both of hers. "You were good enough for me, and you're good enough for Jonathan Nash, even if he is a hot self-made billionaire entrepreneur. In fact, if he doesn't treat you the way you deserve, then let me know and I'll, I'll tear him a new one." She looked fierce about it, and Channon didn't doubt her at all but he had to tease.

"You know, you're pretty scary for a cheerleader."

She smiled a sharp and almost dangerous smile. "Don't underestimate cheerleaders. I've had to deal with drunk quarterbacks. I'm pretty sure I can manage a billionaire."

* * *

Kim said one more thing that stuck with him later. "You're going to have to tell your mom at some point. Do you...need help with that?"

At the time, Channon had snorted. "She doesn't even know we broke up, and you want to help me tell her about Jack?"

"Channon! You going to tell her that we broke up, too. I can't believe you haven't."

"We don't talk. You know that."

She had looked sad, but patted his arm reassuringly. "You're going to have to talk about this. You can't keep it secret forever. It's not fair on her, or you, or Jack. And there's nothing wrong with it, so you don't need to be ashamed. All right?"

"All right," he'd said, just to get her off his back.

But now, daydreaming in French class, Channon thought about it. She was right. If he was going with Jack in a month or so then his mom would have to know. He needed to tell her before that.

What if she freaked out? What if she...He didn't think she'd kick him out of the house, didn't think there'd be yelling, or tears. He had no idea what to think. The worst he'd ever got from his mom was dismissive disappointment, or she told his dad and—Oh God. His dad. What was he going to think?

The thought of his dad's face made Channon feel ill.

But you have to. You can't keep this secret. It's not right. And, in a voice much like Kim's, There's nothing wrong with it. You don't have to be ashamed.

And he wasn't, he really wasn't, except in a way that was fun, just thinking about what would happen if—

"Monsieur Beaumont? Votre attention , s'il vous plaît."

Channon jerked, blinking up at his teacher. "Désolé, professeur. Quelle page?"

* * *

Jack didn't have much time for Channon that week, but he called on Wednesday evening for nothing more than a 'check in and a chat' as he put it.

"How are you feeling about what we did on Monday?" Jack asked, and Channon lay out full length on his bed, one arm hooked behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

Jack meant the thing with Nate. "Good, sir," he said honestly. "Really good."

"That's good. You know, if you ever feel bad after something we do, if you're anxious or conflicted or don't know how to feel, I want you to call me. If I can't talk to you right away I'll make sure I do as soon as I can. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. You mean, uh, like sub drop?"

"That's exactly what I mean," Jack said, his voice warm with approval. "You've been reading again."

"Is that okay, sir?"

"Absolutely. If you have any questions, you can ask me. I'm happy to talk to you about that."

Channon hesitated, but then decided to take the offer at face value. "Actually...There was something I wanted to ask you about, but not, you know, about that. Something else."

Jack didn't sound surprised or annoyed. "Sure. Anything you like."

Channon tried to choose his words carefully, though he hadn't planned for this and everything came out stilted and wrong. "It's just...I talked to Kim today. She asked me, well, lots of things. And I told her a bit, but...she asked if we were dating. And I said yes, because..." Only he couldn't finish.

"Because you didn't know what else to tell her," Jack finished for him. "It's alright Channon. I think it's safe to say we're dating. You can tell your friends I'm your boyfriend, if you like."

Channon nodded, lightheaded with relief and also because Jack had said 'I'm your boyfriend' and it sounded so good. "Okay. Um. She also said that," and he swallowed because this was the hard part, "I should tell my mom."

"Are you worried about what your mom might think?" Jack sounded reasonable, his voice even, warm, but Channon sighed and admitted that he didn't know. "It's okay," Jack said. "We'll tell her together. Alright?" His voice dipped down, low and intimate, and Channon closed his eyes, basking in it. "You know I care about you, Channon. I care about you a lot. More than I think you realize."

How good it was. "Thank you, sir. I...appreciate it."

"Good. Now," and Jack's tone shifted, now a little playful, "I take it you're still friends with Kim."

"Is that okay, sir?"

"Do you have feelings for her?"

Channon hesitated, not wanting to lie or give the wrong impression. "I like her. I mean, she's actually a better friend than Ben," who hardly paid any attention to Channon outside of football and parties and co-op online. "But it's not like I want her. I just want her to be happy."

"And how did she take the news about us?"

"She's encouraging it," Channon said, unable to help his exasperation. "That's why I told her. She was trying to get me to kiss you."

That got him a chuckle. "Really? I knew I liked her. In that case, yes, it's fine for you two to be friends. Sometimes exes make the best friends. Not all the time," he added dryly. "Anyway, it's good for you to have someone to talk to, someone who's not me. Otherwise you end up in an echo chamber full of only one idea, and then it's hard to be objective about what's going on and whether or not you're really happy."

Channon didn't really understand that, but he said, "Okay," anyway, and then, "Um, sir? I wondered..."

"Yeah?"

"What are you wearing, right now?" he asked cheekily, and Jack's low laugh warmed him like a ray of sunshine.

* * *

Friday was graduation, and Channon's dad didn't come. Jack did, though, in a blue two-piece suit with a snowy white shirt but no tie, casually gorgeous with his top button undone and hair more bedroom than boardroom. He chatted easily to Channon's mom, and let her introduce him to other parents and some of Channon's teachers, describing himself as a friend of the family when asked.

Kim, of course, took advantage of this to introduce Jack to her parents, ignoring the way Channon glared at her around Jack's shoulder.

"Mr Nash, these my parents, Rob and Julia Welland. Mom, Dad, this is Jonathan Nash, co-founder of JNNS Incorporated. And Channon's next door neighbor," she added, in a brightly innocent tone.

Kim's mom was instantly charmed, and even her dad seemed inclined to like Jack.

"So you've taken an interest in Channon, then?" Mr Welland asked politely.

"He's a bright young man," Jack said with a smile. "I think, with the right opportunities, he'll do well for himself. People these days underestimate the power of politeness to open doors for you. Too many of them have taken the example of Steve Jobs, and I think the corporate sector is worse off for it."

Mr Welland looked unconvinced, but was too polite himself to argue. "Channon is certainly very well-mannered. I think we have Nadia to thank for that."

"She certainly ought to be proud of him," Jack said, and he made it sound like agreement but Channon felt it was actually something else.

"How much longer are you in town for, Mr Nash?" Kim asked sweetly, smiling one of her prettier smiles.

Jack didn't look at all fooled by it. "Only a couple more weeks, at most," he said easily, smiling right back at her. "And you're off to college. Where are you studying?"

"University of California, Irvine," she said, tipping her chin up as if challenging him. "I saw a TED talk by Professor Kubrin and I was inspired."

"To what field?"

She smiled sharply. "Criminology."

"Good for you," Jack said, sounding genuine.

"I was hoping she'd go into marketing," Mrs Welland interjected, with mock exasperation. "But she doesn't want to take after her mother, apparently."

Mr Welland cleared his throat. "Frankly, I don't care what she does, so long as she's happy and successful. And, knowing our Kim, I can't imagine her being anything less than successful."

"I'd say 'good luck'," Jack said, offering Kim his hand, "but it doesn't sound as though you'll need it. Maybe 'work hard and prosper' might be more appropriate."

"Is that what you did, Mr Nash?" she asked, taking his hand and shaking it.

"Well, I had my fair share of luck, too," he confessed.

The afternoon went on much like that. When it was over, Channon took his diploma home. His mom said he should frame it, but he tucked it into a folder, along with his achievement certificates. It wasn't a big deal, after all, not a big enough deal for his dad to visit, anyway.

He sat on his bed, suddenly feeling really awful. School was finished. He was supposed to be an adult now, but really.... Compared to Kim he had no idea what he wanted, no idea what he was doing, just this vague suggestion that he'd follow Jack and do whatever Jack had in mind for him.

Kim was so confident. Her parents were so proud of her. And he envied her, not for the money, not even the fact that her parents were still together, but that they cared, that they thought she'd do well at whatever she wanted to do, and the fact that she would, because they believed in her, and they always had.

It had been less than an hour, but Channon felt the urge to call Jack come over him like a fever. It wasn't sub drop, he didn't think, but he did feel miserable, so he picked up the phone and called, and almost at once Jack answered.

"Hey, Channon. What's up?"

"I think," Channon said, not sure how to put any of this into words, "my parents are disappointed in me."

For a moment Jack didn't say anything. Then, very evenly, he asked, "Do you think that's your fault, or their fault?"

"Mine? I mean, it's not like...Maybe if I was good at anything, then...I don't know. I'm sorry," he added, suddenly feeling ridiculous. "I shouldn't bother you. I know you're busy, sir."

"Stop." That was Jack's serious voice. "I'm not too busy for you. Come over and we'll talk about it. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," Channon said, and immediately the tension drained out of him. Jack would know what to do. Whatever happened now, Jack would take care of it.

When he opened the door, Jack was in comfortable old jeans and a thin khaki t-shirt, clearly relaxing after an afternoon in a suit. He pulled Channon against his chest the moment the door was closed, wrapping him up in a warm loose hug. "Hey," he said gently, into Channon's hair. "Not feeling so good, huh?"

"No, sir," Channon admitted, and Jack squeezed him.

"I wondered. You looked a little tense today." He pressed a kiss to Channon's temple, and pulled away far enough to look him in the eye. "It's a big step, finishing school. Especially when you're not going to college. Kim is pretty much just trading one school for another, but you're venturing out on your own. That can be scary."

"Everyone thinks it's a mistake," Channon said, feeling sullen because it was his decision, and he made it, all by himself. It wasn't like his parents were going to pay for college—his dad had called it a waste of money the one time Channon had brought it up—but they acted like it was such a stupid idea not to go and that Channon was stupid for having it. "I don't even know what I'd study if I went."

"That's normal," Jack said, rubbing Channon's shoulder and then pulling him in the direction of the living room. "You know, I thought I was going into electrical engineering."

"But you didn't?"

"Nope." Jack pushed him onto the sofa and then sunk down next to him. "I hated it. And I thought I had to finish, to prove to everyone that I could."

"What happened?"

"I ended up rooming with this programmer," Jack said, stroking Channon's hair in soothing circles. "He had all these side projects, and they were always fascinating. He bounced ideas off me, and then I ended up neglecting my own studies to work on things with him. Eventually, my supervisor sarcastically suggested I should transfer into computer science. So I did."

"And that's...how you ended up here?" The stroking was nice, pushing all the stress out of him, but it was nicer when Jack let him lean on his shoulder, which he did now.

"Yeah. Ultimately, I didn't really use that degree, but it meant I kept working with Nate, and eventually we built some software in our spare time, and marketed it right, and the rest flowed from there. Hard work, and luck. And balls," he added, sounding amused. "We ate a lot of instant ramen, for a while there. You should've seen our crappy apartment. Nate used to name the roaches. Mostly he named them 'Steve'," Jack said, smiling and tilting his head to eye Channon sidelong. "Creative, right?"

It sounded sort of nice, crappy apartment notwithstanding. Or maybe that was part of it, this past Jack shared with Nate, some kind of shared adversity or something. Whatever it was, Channon felt like he wanted it. Something like that. Just to do something.

Jack stroked Channon's cheek. "So. Why do you think your parents are disappointed in you?"

Channon sighed, resigned to this now. "They look it. Dad always sounds it. I don't know how to make them happy. I tried, but nothing ever works."

"You know, I'm pretty sure that's not your fault," Jack said gently. "Can you give me an example?"

There were so many it took him a few moments to choose one. "When I get good grades, Dad says I should work harder at football. He says there's no point wasting time on something I'll never be good at. But...he never came to my games, anyway. He said he'd come if we made the playoffs, but we never did."

Jack's hand stilled on Channon's shoulder, his fingers tightening. "Do you think that's reasonable?"

Channon shook his head, unable to say it out loud. It wasn't. It couldn't be. But—"Maybe if we had he wouldn't have come anyway."

"Maybe. But this really isn't your fault, Channon. Your parents make their own decisions and have to live with them. I don't think there's much you can do about it, and I don't think you should spend too much time trying to please them when it just makes you unhappy. I think you should do what you want, to make you happy."

Channon looked up, and it was all there, in Jack's face. The future he was so worried about, and the only thing that made him really, actually happy. "I'm happy when you're happy, sir," he said. "When you're proud of me. When you say it. I want to make you proud of me."

Jack's smile seemed tinged with something sad. "You do. You make me very proud." Then he ducked his chin, brushing his nose over Channon's. "I have an idea."

His idea, it turned out, was to run Channon a bath.

"Do you take baths often?" Jack asked, sitting on the edge of the tub as it filled. Channon hadn't been in the main bathroom before, only Jack's en suite, and he couldn't quite wrap his head around how big the tub was.

"Uh...no, sir? Do you?"

"When I can make time for it," Jack said, opening up a jar of white powdery stuff. He scooped some into the water and immediately the scent of it bloomed in the air, spicy and thick and herbal all at once. The water turned milky white, and Jack swished it around until it was even, almost creamy. "Okay, in you get."

It was hot, almost too hot, but Jack just smirked at him and Channon settled gingerly into the water. The scent was incredible, wrapping around him in a warm mist. Jack settled down on his knees, reaching for a bath jug.

Channon wasn't exactly sure what Jack got out of this, but it was clear that Channon's job was to sit still and melt into the deliciously warm water while Jack washed him. Jack did it thoroughly, taking his time, drenching Channon's hair and slicking his hair back out of his face. Then he soaped up a washcloth and went to town. He paid attention to the space behind Channon's ears, the back of his neck, made him lift each of his arms and scrubbed under them too.

He tweaked the dark tuft of hair under there. "I'm tempted to let you keep this," he said. "But then again, I could have you smooth as silk all over and I like the idea of that."

"Even my legs, sir?" Channon asked, letting himself be handled however Jack liked.

"Mmm-hm." Jack rubbed over Channon's chest, working down to his belly. "Silky legs and silky stockings are something that needs to be experienced." Channon must have looked skeptical because Jack chuckled and pinched his chin. "You don't like the sound of that? Or you just don't know how you feel about wearing womens clothing?"

"I...don't know if I want to, sir."

"How does the thought of it make you feel?"

"Weird," Channon admitted, and Jack nodded, but waited so obviously for more that he had to go on. "Sort of...anxious."

"That someone might see?" Jack suggested and Channon nodded. "The same way you felt about someone seeing you naked?"

It was...a bit like that, actually. "Stronger, sir."

"Because you think it's wrong? Or because you think people will think things about you that aren't true?"

Channon wavered. "Maybe...both?"

Jack nodded. He pushed Channon's shoulder until he was leaned back against the slope of the bath, and reached into the water for one of Channon's ankles, lifting his leg above the surface and propping his foot on the rim of the tub.

"There's nothing inherently wrong about cross-dressing," Jack said, soaping up Channon's thigh. "And anyone who actually thinks you're less of a man for wearing lipstick and heels is trapped in their own limited perspective. That being said," he added, working his way down to Channon's ankle, "gender is fun to play with. So much of it's ingrained in how we see ourselves. It can be exciting, letting someone see you in a corset and lace panties," he said, flashing Channon a sly grin. "Humiliating, but in the fun way."

Channon blinked at him. "But you don't...dress in drag, sir."

"I don't," Jack agreed. "But, do you really think I've never?" It was too much. Channon couldn't imagine it at all, and it must have been obvious because Jack looked thoroughly amused. "I've done a lot of things. It took a while to work out exactly what I like, so I tried everything I could. And now I know that what I like is this," he said, running one hand up Channon's leg to fondle him under the water.

Channon thought about it, while Jack soaped and rinsed him, and then Jack washed Channon's hair, rinsing it out with clean warm water he was careful to keep out of Channon's eyes.

Of course he washed everything, making Channon kneel up and bend over while he cleaned between his cheeks. It was humiliating, and yet...Channon couldn't help but think about what Jack had said about humiliation 'in the fun way'. Like Jack messing with him in public, or telling him to be a 'good host' to Nate. And Jack had said, 'Channon likes light humiliation,' which...did he?

Maybe he really did.

"Okay." Jack smacked him lightly on the ass, not even hard enough to sting. "Lie down and relax for a bit."

He added a bit more hot water to the tub, kissed Channon on the brow, and told him he'd be back shortly.

Channon lay back, resting his head on the towel Jack had folded up for him. The lights were down low, and the steam rising up through the air made him feel wreathed in mist. It was, actually, pretty fucking relaxing.

All his worries seemed insignificant now. It didn't matter what his parents thought. Jack was proud of him, he'd said so. Jack had told Kim's parents that he thought Channon could do well for himself. Jack believed in him.

And that's all I need, Channon thought, closing his eyes and letting the milky water soak into him. He could be whatever Jack wanted, so long as Jack believed in him.

"Don't fall asleep, you'll drown in there."

Channon blinked his eyes open. Jack was leaning against the door-frame, watching him, his mouth gone soft and his eyes...that wasn't possessiveness or hunger or the stern look he had when he wanted to be obeyed unconditionally. This was something affectionate, something warm and maybe tender. This was special, and Channon sat up, the water sluicing off him, wanting nothing so much as to go to Jack and be Jack's, always.

Jack smiled. He picked up a towel. "You ready to get out?"

"Yes, sir."

Jack helped him up, and then he toweled Channon down, drying his hair and everything else. Channon tried to be easy about it, lifting his arms without being asked, helping when Jack knelt down to dry his feet. When he was done, Jack wrapped Channon in a dry bath sheet, and cupped his hands beneath Channon's jaw to hold him still for a kiss.

"You smell edible," he sighed against Channon's lips, and Channon grinned because, well, he did.

"Are you going to eat me, sir?"

Jack chuckled. "We'll see. Come on," and he ushered Channon out and into the master bedroom.

Channon stopped just inside the door. The curtains were drawn, so even though the sun was still up it was like night in here, lit only by lots of little candles scattered about on every surface. The effect was startlingly romantic, and for a moment Channon didn't know what to do with it, but Jack pressed firmly in the small of his back and he went in.

The bed-covers had been peeled back, folded and set on a chest against the wall, and in their place a huge dark cloth had been spread over the mattress. It looked soft, and when Channon touched it he thought it might be some kind of microfiber.

"We're going to get messy," Jack said by way of explanation, and then he tugged the towel from Channon's hips, dropping it over the foot-rail. He kissed Channon's shoulder, just a quick peck. "Climb up on the bed."

Channon did, kneeling on it and turning his head to watch Jack over his shoulder. Jack pulled his damp t-shirt off over his head, and it never failed to make Channon's pulse jump to see Jack's muscular chest, the breadth of his shoulders.

Now he came around the bed, and picked up something from the bedside table. He held it out, draped black and silky across both palms. "Do you know what this is, Channon?"

Channon licked his lips. "Yes, sir. It's bondage rope."

"Very good. This is nylon," he added, uncoiling it with deft flicks of his fingers. "I bought it for you. You can touch it."

Channon did. It felt smooth but somehow dangerous. Or maybe that was just because he thought he knew what was going to happen next.

"How did it feel when I tied your wrists last time?" Jack asked, no indication that he was anything other than curious.

"Good, sir," Channon said. Last time it had been with the tie Kim picked out for him, that Jack had cut up afterwards in a way that made the symbolism hard to miss. "Um. Helpless, I guess."

Jack nodded. "I'm partial to ropework. There's an art to it. I'm hoping you'll like it too. If you do," Jack said, looping the rope around Channon's neck and pulling him in, "I'd like to tie you up like a gift and sit you in the middle of a room so people can admire you. Like a centerpiece. How does that sound?"

Humiliating. But the fun way. Channon swallowed, imagining all those eyes on him, seeing him bound up and helpless. Vulnerable. "Tonight, sir?"

Jack's smile was almost sweet. "No, not tonight. Not yet. One day."

"It sounds good," Channon admitted, only blushing a little. "If you want me to, sir."

"I do." Jack nuzzled his cheek, apparently pleased. "But tonight I'm just going to tie up your wrists."

"Sir."

When Jack let him go, Channon held out his hands, palms up, wrists together. Jack looked pleased, but he turned Channon's hands inward, so his wrists were facing, and pushed them about six inches apart.

"Hold them still for me," Jack said, and Channon did, watching as he looped the black rope around Channon's wrists several times like he was winding yarn. "I'm going to need you to tell me if anything pinches or hurts, if your hands feel tingly or numb. I don't expect they will—this should be comfortable. But if they do, it's very important for you to tell me. Do you understand?"

Channon nodded. "Yes, sir." The rope wound now around the lengths strung between his wrists, wrapping around them to make a thick tube of coils separating his hands. Jack tucked two fingers in against the inside of Channon's wrist, on one hand and then the other, and seemed satisfied.

"Comfy?" he asked.

Channon nodded, clenching his fists to test the solid weight of the rope. It felt good, secure. Inescapable, like black nylon manacles.

He looked up, suddenly acutely aware just how secure it was, and how vulnerable he was. Jack could do anything he wanted, and the only protection Channon had was a safeword and Jack's promise to honor it. His heart-rate spiked, his belly twisting with apprehension. This was all about trust, and Jack had never done anything to make him think Jack didn't deserve his, but still. He had to trust him.

"You okay, Channon?" Jack asked, watching him intently.

Channon took a breath, and made himself relax. "Yes, sir."

"Good."

Jack had the ends of the rope tied together now, making a triangular loop. He tugged and Channon went with it, helpless to resist. You could if you had to, he told himself, but still, the vulnerability of it was obvious.

"Come," Jack said, and Channon was led up to the head of the bed. "Lie down." He did, ending up on his belly with his arms over his head, face turned into the crook of his elbow. Jack tied the loose rope above the knot to the rail of the headboard, and ruffled Channon's hair. "Good boy."

Tied down, Channon twisted around a little to watch Jack over his shoulder. Jack stripped down to tight boxers, and picked up a bottle of what looked like oil from in among the colognes and things on his vanity. Then he knelt up on the bed. "Settle," he said, pressing the broad flat of his palm in the center of Channon's back. "Just relax."

Channon lay back down, closing his eyes. He heard the snap of a lid, the click as it was closed again, and then the warmth of Jack's oiled hands settled onto his shoulders.

Channon hadn't ever had a massage before, or at least Kim had rubbed his shoulders for him through his shirt but it had never been like this. Jack's fingers were strong and firm, and slid over his skin in bold, possessive strokes. The scent of the oil rose up in the air, spicy and musky and warm, and Channon felt himself loosen, all his limbs gone limp. Everywhere Jack touched him he was warm, melting like ice-cream beneath his hands, just a pool of liquid on the soft cloth beneath him.

He could hear his breath grow slow and heavy, heard the thickness of it gathering in his throat, the low moan that he couldn't swallow.

Jack oiled his back, his shoulders, up his arms and his hands too, stroking his palms and his fingers. That felt much better than Channon would have expected, the pressure of Jack's careful thumbs tugging another moan from his throat. Then Jack was working his way back down, at least one hand on Channon's skin all the while, an anchor to keep him from floating away. His palms on Channon's ass were broad and hot, slick as butter, and he kneaded the muscles so deep that Channon groaned, tucking his face into his arm. Blunt fingers trailed down the backs of his thighs, palming and squeezing them, and each stroke seemed to sluice the tension from his flesh, in one way, and coil it, in another.

Because these were Jack's hands, moving over him as though they owned him, this was Jack's bed beneath him, Jack's breath ghosting over his skin and the pressure of Jack's lips when he bent to press a kiss to the curve of Channon's ass. Jack eased his thighs open and Channon spread for him. Jack smoothed oil into his calves, and Channon felt the muscles beneath twitch and flutter in Jack's hands. His feet—he groaned when Jack pressed his thumbs into the insteps, with the pressure he brought to bear on the balls on them, when he oiled each toe. And then his hands swept up again, thumbs along the insides of Channon's thighs, slowing to trail up between the halves of his ass and oil him in between, too.

"You good, Channon?" Jack asked, fingertips working into his asshole. Channon was so, so liquid, and so slick that Jack slid in easily, one finger in to the knuckles at once, and then, so easily, a second finger pushing in beside the first.

Channon moaned, now too far gone to care, and he tilted his hips up to give Jack a better angle. But he hadn't answered and Jack's fingers stilled in him, crooking just short of where he wanted them.

"Channon," he said, his tone a warning, and Channon licked his lips, trying to find his voice.

"Yes, sir," he croaked. "I'm good."

Jack hummed, fingering him carefully, and it felt good, but so slow, like honey dripping down the back of his throat to pool warm in his belly. The pressure on his prostate was unbearably gentle, so much so that Channon whimpered, arousal seeping through him like the slow rise of the tide until he was saturated in it, overflowing.

"Sir," he groaned, and Jack just hummed again, three fingers teasing Channon's entrance and then, ahh, the wonderful stretch of them inside him made him whimper.

Jack pressed into him—Channon moaned helplessly—and then he slid his fingers out, his other hand squeezing Channon's thigh up high. "Turn over."

Channon struggled to comply. For a moment he couldn't understand why his hands wouldn't go where he wanted them, but then he remembered. He was tied down. Jack had cuffed his wrists and leashed him to the bed. He blinked his eyes open, seeing the black cord around his wrists again, thick and solid and inescapable. Then he rolled over, arms still up above his head, settling back to see Jack wiping his hands clean on a wet cloth, Jack watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You liked that, huh," Jack said, gaze dipping to where Channon's cock lay full against his belly.

Channon nodded. "Yes, sir," he managed, still thick and throaty.

"We're not done yet," Jack told him, and then he had more oil in his palm and started over at Channon's ankles. Channon could barely stand it, every brush of oil into his skin bringing Jack closer to his cock. But when Jack got to the saddle of his hips, all he did was swipe up Channon's sides, thumbs trailing over the skin of his belly, and Channon groaned because he ached so. Jack chuckled, and Channon watched the curve of his mouth as Jack leaned over him, oiling him from wrist to shoulder on one side, the other, palms gliding down over his chest, fingers dragging lines of heat on his skin. It was all so much, warm and slick and wonderful, and Channon felt like his heart might burst from how much he wanted Jack. He tried to lie still, tried not to lean into Jack's hands, tried not to moan, but when Jack's thumbs skimmed his nipples Channon couldn't help it. "Ahh!" and he arched up, pressing shamelessly into the touch. "Sir!"

"Good?"

He nodded, and Jack swept his hands over Channon's belly, rubbing in smooth circles, down, down, down, until his thumbs dipped into the hollow of Channon's groin, down between Channon's thighs and up behind his balls to press firm into his flesh. He was up on the bed now, between Channon's knees, his gaze fixed on his hands—he had one caught now around Channon's cock at the base, thumb stretched to cuff his balls too, and with the other he reached for the oil bottle, uncapping it and drizzling a long stream of thick honey-colored liquid over Channon's cock like he was topping off a dessert.

The oil was lukewarm but the sensation of it pouring over him made Channon's dick twitch, made something in his gut snap to attention. Jack slid his oiled fingers over Channon's balls. One hand wrapped around Channon's cock and Channon's heels dug into the mattress as his hips jerked up off it.

"Sir," he gasped, and then it was just slow, gentle strokes, neither fast nor firm enough to be enough, just more of the same wonderful tease. He was so slick, so wet, Jack's hands so big and warm and torturing him. He could hear himself whimpering, the soft litany of his breath and these tiny punched-out noises he couldn't keep in.

"You look incredible," Jack said, smooth and low. "Tell me how you feel."

"Good," Channon breathed, and when that wasn't enough he licked his lips, blinking hard and trying to come up with the words for it. "I feel...like honey, in the sun."

This seemed to please him—Jack's hands tightened deliciously for a moment. Then he slid his hands free, and stood up. For a moment Channon thought, No! because it couldn't be over, could it? And then, Oh, because Jack liked nothing better than getting Channon worked up and then making him wait, and Channon despaired but, of course, he accepted it. Whatever Jack wanted.

Still, he must have looked forlorn because Jack smiled, a small dark thing, and said, "Poor boy. Don't worry. We're not done."

Thank fuck. Channon bit his lip, watching as Jack skinned out of his boxers and came back up on the bed, his cock bobbing full and thick at his crotch. He poured more oil into his hand and began to grease himself, and Channon wanted it, wanted to touch it, wanted to suck on him or hold still for Jack to fuck his mouth, but more than that he wanted Jack to fuck him until he saw stars.

Jack's smile was promising, as was the way he pushed up between Channon's thighs, settling in between them so his cock lay slick-oiled against Channon's own. Then he came down on his forearms, covering Channon with the great muscled weight of his body, and caught Channon's lip in his teeth.

When Jack pinned him down and rubbed up on him, Channon felt like his heart might beat right out of his chest. Jack only thrust against him, dick sliding wet against dick, and Channon moaned because it was like and unlike being fucked, the same roll of the hips, a different sort of friction.

Jack smothered him, licking into Channon's mouth and sucking his tongue and tugging his lip with blunt teeth, and Channon let him because it was Jack and because he could do nothing to stop it. The heavy warmth of Jack between his thighs, Jack's chest against his own, Jack's mouth hot and wet on his, was overwhelming and yet...Channon caught his fingers in the rope that leashed his bound wrists to the bed, and it anchored him, something to cling to when Jack was so much Channon could barely stand it.

And still not enough. Channon bit his lip, trying not to sob when Jack kissed his throat, when Jack bent to lick his nipples and tease them with his teeth. He bucked up against Jack's hips, trying to rub himself against Jack's belly, because the slow burn of this was so frustrating he felt he might die of it.

Jack didn't scold him, only thrust against him—once, twice—then he leaned back, gripping Channon's thighs and pushing them back, folding him up on himself. Channon saw Jack take hold of his own cock, felt it pressed against him, and then Jack slid slowly into him, this huge hot weight bearing down on him like an avalanche.

The sound that came out of Channon's mouth was obscene, a throbbing wet sob that felt like it tore him in two. Jack bent over him, catching his mouth again and kissing him as he rocked in slick slow thrusts until he was settled deep in Channon's flesh.

It made him giddy, like he might faint, so he clung to the rope and just tried to breathe as Jack slid out, back in, smooth slow strokes that made it feel as though the world was slowly crumbling to an end. He couldn't take this, he couldn't, he wouldn't even come he'd just break, this hot tight feeling expanding in him and bearing him up until he was lost in it, hopelessly adrift.

Then Jack's hand slid between them, curling around Channon's cock and stroking him, and Channon felt a sob crack in his throat because...no, it was too good, no, he couldn't, no, no...

"No?" Jack said. He'd stopped, still inside him, hand still gripping Channon's cock, but he leaned back to look Channon in the eye. "Do you want to stop?"

"No," Channon protested, because he didn't want that, he didn't. "No, sir, sir, I'm green, I'm green, I...I feel like I'm dying."

Jack rocked into him. "Good," he said, slippery fingers sliding the length of Channon's cock. "A little death's good for you."

But this time, when he thrust back in, it was harder, firmer, more what Channon was used to, and Channon cried out and Jack did it again, and now...well, now Channon couldn't bear it because he was so close to coming he could feel it in the back of his teeth.

"Then do it," Jack said, and thrust, and Channon bucked up to meet him, again, again, and then he was dragged under by the sheer intensity of the pleasure that flooded him as he came. It pulsed through him, a swollen melt-water washing him away until he was lost, drowned at sea, gone forever.

Jack made a deep noise, hands lifting Channon's hips up, and then he fucked in, a handful of deep strokes before he threw his head back, mouth open on a groan as he spent himself.

Channon tried to put his arms around Jack's neck, tried to pull up into his arms, but he couldn't, he was trapped, and suddenly he couldn't bear it. "Sir," he begged, throat tight and threatening to break. "Please."

Immediately, Jack fixed his attention on him. "It's okay," he panted, stroking Channon as if he were a skittish animal. "You're safe. I've got you." But he knelt up, still buried in Channon to the hilt, and reached for the rope, loosening it enough to slip one and then both of Channon's hands free.

Channon gasped in relief, and then buried his face in Jack's neck, arms around his ribs and clinging to him. "Sir," he mumbled, because...he didn't have anything else.

"It's okay," Jack said again, holding him.

He shifted them a little, but Channon didn't want him to go and he stayed close, stroking Channon's flank and making soothing sounds into his hair.

Eventually, he said, "All right, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. Channon had to swallow before he could speak. "Yeah. I...sorry, I don't..."

"You don't have to be sorry." Jack kissed his cheek. "Everything got a bit intense for you, didn't it?" Channon nodded, unable to speak. "Why do you think that was?"

"I don't know, sir."

Jack stroked him, making a soft sound in his throat. "You said 'no'. But you didn't want to stop. What happened there?"

Channon squeezed his eyes shut, feeling stupid. "It was just like you said. Intense, I guess."

"Do you want to be able to say no to me?" Jack asked mildly, as if it really was nothing, just another thing they did. "Say 'no' but not have things stop?"

And he'd thought about this before, so he said, "Yeah. Yeah, I think."

"And you'll use a safeword, if you have to?"

Channon nodded. "Yes, sir."

Jack hummed in his throat. "All right. But I warn you, if you say 'no' and I think it's unwarranted I might be hard on you. Or, is that what you want?"

"I don't know," Channon admitted, and then, "I think so. Maybe."

"Okay." Jack rolled him onto his back and leaned down to kiss him, inside him still and only half-hard now but enough for Channon to feel it. He leaned his brow against Channon's, and Channon could just make out the curve of his smile. "Then that's what we'll do."

Continued in His Boy Next Door: #12 Choices

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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.

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