His Boy Next Door #22

Forgiveness

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 ©2017 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.

When Jack fails Channon for the first time, Channon is devastated. He blames himself, but Jack refuses to allow it, and his drastic solution is only going to make things worse. Channon must find in it in him to confront his Sir and tell him what he wants, before Jack does something irrevocable.

This book is episode 22 in an ongoing series, and contains scenes of an adult nature. Read at your own discretion.

Forgiveness

"You look like someone pissed in your cornflakes," Kenny said, nudging his ankle. They were pair programming, part of the 'integrated teams' initiative Nate was so crazy about. Channon usually enjoyed it, but today he wished he could just be on help desk, and move mindless people through their mindless problems.

"I'm fine," Channon mumbled, and then— "You're missing a curly bracket on the last line," because they were paired and this was his job and feeling flat wasn't an excuse not to do it properly.

It was strange, though, because normally? He did his best in things because someone expected it. That was why he'd played football, to make his coach happy. Well, if he was honest, he'd done it to make his dad happy but when it became clear that Channon wasn't the kind of instant success at it that his dad wanted it hadn't mattered how hard he tried anymore, his dad had never been going to be happy.

So he did it for his coach, and accepted the slaps on the back of his teammates and the general praise of the cheerleaders, and Kim, with her big blue eyes and shiny white smile and legs for days. He'd liked football, but that hadn't been why he tried.

Now, though, he worked hard at his job because programming was actually really cool. He got to put the world into neat lines of code, organizing things into semantically logical progressions. His code was easy to read, he'd been told. He hadn't known if that was a good or a bad thing at the time—it sounded a lot like his English teacher had said, that his writing was simplistic and therefore mediocre—but Jack had been pleased to hear it, and asked to see an example and then been pleased with that. So. Channon programmed because it was his job, and he enjoyed it, but mostly? Mostly for Jack because this was Jack's company and, like everything of Jack's, Channon tried to treat it with the respect it deserved.

It felt like an effort today, though. Talking to Kenny didn't help either. Kenny was generally okay, a bit highly strung and rabbit-nervous around Channon, but okay once he realized Channon wasn't going to…what, report him to Jack? And, Kenny had worked out that he was smarter than Channon, which had probably made him feel better about the whole 'boyfriend of the CEO' thing.

Today Kenny kept frowning at him and offering him coffee. "You're just…listen, are you sure you're okay?"

Channon dragged a hand over his eyes. "I'm tired," he said, and it wasn't a lie. He hadn't slept well. After Jack got home they hadn't done anything, in the end. Jack had taken the collar off him and told him to get dressed, and Channon had felt wiped out by it all. He'd asked if he could go to his room and Jack had let him. But sleep hadn't happened and he'd just lain there, staring at the inside of his eyelids, feeling run through and worn by it all. He'd given up around five, got up and got on the treadmill, thinking exertion might help, but all it had done was sap the last of his energy. So he'd showered and dressed and walked to the bus stop instead of calling the car service, because staying at home seemed pointless.

And here he was, with Kenny examining him like he was a particularly interesting insect.

"Do you wanna grab lunch?" Kenny asked.

"I brought lunch," Channon said automatically, but then he remembered—no, he hadn't. It was sitting in the fridge waiting for him at home. "Uh. I forgot my lunch, actually."

"So let's get banh mi," Kenny said decisively, and then he dragged Channon down to a place he said was, 'the best' and which turned out to be pretty much the best.

It was cold and Channon had forgotten his scarf, so they took their lunch to the atrium plaza and ate it there, next to a brazier.

"So, what the hell is eating you?"

"Nothing," Channon said. "I'm fine."

"You know, you're not the most expressive guy I've ever met," Kenny said, through a mouthful of pork. "But yesterday you were like a fucking sunbeam and today you're bummed, and this is the last time I'm asking about it. Also, if you don't cheer up Dana will cheer you up, aggressively. It's what she does. It's like a hobby."

Channon chewed and swallowed and tried not to scowl. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay. Do you want to talk about the Witcher? I can't stop playing Wild Hunt, it's amazing. Seriously."

"That's the one with the naked guy in the bath, right?" Channon asked and Kenny glared at him.

"Yes! But that's…seriously is that all you know about the Witcher?"

Channon couldn't help smirking. "Sure, it's like a dating sim or something."

"I know you're messing with me! I know you don't actually mean that!"

It was so easy to tease him. Channon said things like, "I heard you can grow a beard," and, "Like the witcher guy is really hot, isn't he? Hot grandpa picking flowers?"

Which was fine right up until Kenny scowled at him and said, "Yeah, haha, your daddy kink is showing," and Channon had to stuff food in his mouth because…shit.

Still, Kenny was happy to tell him all about game-play and lighting models and the rest while Channon listened, and it was easier than talking. His day was okay after that. He spent the afternoon paired with Rayyan, who was far less intrusive and had licorice-and-mint tea in a pot at her desk, which she was happy to share.

Jack texted him at five to five asking him to meet him by the car when he was done, and Channon did, trying to swallow the wriggling spider of anxiety lodged in his throat. Marco was on duty today, so he let Marco tell him about his dog and his cousins, and did his best to smile in all the right places, but he wasn't feeling it. When Jack came down Channon got straight in the car, buckling his seat-belt and tucking his hands under his thighs.

Jack wasn't particularly talkative either, simply watching him sidelong with this furrow between his eyes that Channon tried not to feel guilty about. It stayed there until they were home, and Channon took off his shoes, racking them carefully before heading to the kitchen to put the kettle on for Jack.

"Channon," Jack called, and it stopped Channon in his tracks. "Come here."

Jack was still in the entryway. Channon went to him, stopping within arms reach, and then didn't know what to do. He could kneel. He didn't know what Jack wanted, though, off balance and confused by it, so he just stood there like the stupidest person alive.

Jack reached for him, cupping his hands under Channon's jaw, and tilted his head up until Channon had to meet his eyes. They were that lovely familiar hazel, shadowed now in the semi-darkness of the condo, and sad in the corners of them, crinkles coming up beneath.

"Channon," he said, his thumbs gentle on Channon's skin. "Talk to me."

Channon had to swallow and wet his lips. "I don't know what you want me to say, Sir."

"You're upset." Jack's mouth was set in a thin line. "I know it's my fault. What happened last night wasn't okay."

"It's fine," Channon said, and he felt his voice break on it, felt his heart wrench painfully in his chest. "I'm fine, Sir."

"Don't lie to me." Jack didn't sound angry, he sounded…fuck, he sounded hurt. Channon had hurt him. This was all wrong. "You mustn't lie to me. Especially not about this."

"It's not a lie! It shouldn't be…it should be true, Sir, I'm sorry, I just—"

But Jack shook his head. "You don't have to be sorry for feeling whatever you're feeling. You've done nothing wrong."

"I did! I…if I was really yours," he said, feeling his chest go tight and awful at the thought that he wasn't, that he'd failed Jack, that Jack wouldn't want him anymore, "then I'd be okay with it, wouldn't I? No matter what?"

The hands on his jaw slid down his neck, over his shoulders, and then Jack was pulling him in until his face was pressed up against Jack's collar. "It doesn't work like that. You don't have to apologize to me for feeling something. Tell me what you're feeling. Don't tell me you're sorry for something I did."

And that was it. All of it bubbled up in him, this great terrible thing he didn't want to say out loud, but Jack had ordered him to and Channon couldn't keep it in. "I just…you…I thought you'd be there and you weren't. I know I'm not the most important thing in your life, so it's okay. You don't have to, to feel guilty, or anything." He mumbled it all into the sharp crease of Jack's collar, squeezing his eyes shut to ease the prickle in them. "I don't deserve it. I'm not…I know I'm not enough."

There. He'd said it. He wasn't enough, and he never would be, never had been in his life just enough for anyone. Especially someone like Jack, who could have anyone he wanted.

"You're enough." Jack said it roughly, wrapping his arms around Channon's shoulders and holding him close. "My God, Channon, you're…I've told you how perfect you are for me. How many times do I have to say it before you believe it?"

Channon felt weak, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind. "But it can't be true." How could it be true?

"I need you to understand that you are. For me, Channon. You're more than I could ever have expected. I don't know how to prove it to you. Or how to make it up to you."

There was no answer for that, so Channon just buried his face in Jack's shoulder and clung to him like a fucking child, afraid of what would happen if he let go. "You don't have to, Sir. I'm yours. You can do whatever you want to me."

The arms around him tightened, caging him in snug and warm and safe. "I won't do that to you again. I promised you something and I failed. I made a mistake. This is my fault, not yours."

How could it be? Jack never made mistakes. Jack was perfect, and Channon was just…the opposite of that.

"Maybe we need a break. No," he added when Channon tried to pull away from him, "I don't mean a break from us. You're still my boy. You're still mine. And I'm still yours, okay?" He loosened his grip, ducking his head to look Channon in the eye. "But some of this might need a bit more time before you can trust me again."

I trust you now, Channon thought, but a part of him wondered if that was enough. "What does that mean?"

"It means that we're not going to play for a bit." Jack smiled, but it was sad and soft and so unlike him that Channon rejected it at once. "Just for a little while, okay?"

Channon took a deep breath that shuddered him from head to toe. "So…you don't want me to be," and he glanced down at his cushion still sitting in the entryway, "waiting for you tomorrow night?"

"No, not tomorrow night. And maybe not next week either. We'll see." He brushed a kiss over Channon's brow, too gentle for it to be real. "Okay?"

Was it the beginning of the end? Was this when Jack decided Channon was too much effort, and sent him away? Maybe he was sick of Channon already, maybe all of this was a sign.

But Channon swallowed, and said, "Okay, Sir. If you want," though it was anything but okay.

* * *

Things were different, but they weren't necessarily better. Jack had to work late because of the whatever he was doing with the company, but he texted Channon to let him know, and Channon texted back: ok Sir dont work 2 hard

Jack didn't take him to bed, didn't fuck him on the sofa, didn't press Channon up against the kitchen counter and feel him up, or send him sexy messages throughout the day. Instead he was sweet, bringing glazed doughnuts home and making Channon decaf coffee to go with them, knocking on Channon's door late and waiting to be invited in before kissing him goodnight, brushing the hair off Channon's brow and smiling at him softly.

Channon hated all of that. Not what Jack was doing, not that at all, but the fact that he seemed to think it was necessary. He didn't need this. He needed Jack to send him to his knees and own him, so things could stop being confusing and start making sense again. He felt uncertain and unhappy, wishing so hard for Jack to stop being nice to him and go back to being Jack, his Sir, the absolute ruler in his life, the one who knew best, always, so Channon could blissfully obey him and know that whatever he did it was right and good and that Jack was pleased with him.

Work sucked. People kept asking if he was okay, and he kept telling them he was fine, and he didn't know how to pretend any harder than he already was. He felt dull, gray and terrible, and it took a while to realize—this was how he'd used to feel. Not good enough, getting by on the bare minimum, just existing. He hadn't realized how bad it was before, though, could only measure it in terms of how good it had been when Jack had given him the confidence to try.

Now? Now it was just gray murk again, except instead of zombie-walking through his days with no idea that there was anything wrong with it he couldn't help remembering how he'd felt when he was good.

It was hell. Jack didn't have time for him, but kept trying to make it, kept forcing a smile to ask if Channon wanted to watch something or go somewhere or just hang out.

Channon didn't, though. He didn't want any of that, wanted instead for Jack to just take control again, and Jack refused to. Not that Channon asked. He couldn't, could he? He couldn't just walk up to Jack and say, 'Sir, please, order me to do something, I'm drowning.'

He couldn't. Jack didn't. There was nothing Channon could do to change any of it, and he felt hopeless, watching this perfect thing drain through his fingers like sand.

And then, on Friday afternoon, he looked up to see Nate at the end of his desk, looking dire as fuck.

"Sir!" The word came out of his mouth before he could swallow it, and he flushed, feeling ridiculous. "Uh… Mr Scott?"

"My office," Nate said, turning on his heel, and then turning back to add, "You're not in trouble, don't worry."

How could he not? But he went, ignoring the looks from the rest of the help-desk team, and when Nate waved him into a seat he closed the door and sat down. "Sir?"

Nate didn't sit, propped himself up against his desk instead, folding his arms and frowning. "So, I guess something happened with Jack."

Channon didn't know how to answer that so he didn't, but maybe the way he clutched at his jeans gave him away because Nate sighed, tipping his head on one side to regard Channon with exasperation.

"Right. I knew it. He's such a…okay. Look, I don't know what's going on, but you can talk to me about it if you want. I know I'm not," and he unhooked a hand to wave it vaguely, "you know, your therapist or anything, but I'd like to think that we're friends."

"You're my boss," Channon said, and then added a, "Sir," for good measure. Fuck, it felt good, though, to call someone sir, someone who had the power to make him do things. It shouldn't have felt this good. It did, though.

"Yeah, I know." Nate made a face, taking a deep breath and propping his hands on the edge of the desk. "But…listen. Whatever happened, it's having ramifications. Jack's being unreasonable and I need you to go up there and talk him down."

Channon stiffened. How the fuck was he supposed to do that? What what the hell did 'ramifications' mean? "I don't understand."

"Me neither!" Nate scrubbed a hand over his face. "And I should. It's Jack. I've known him for…fuck, I'm known him almost as long as you've been alive, and…it really fucks me off when he doesn't listen to me." He fixed Channon with a Look, intent and terrible. "But he might listen to you. So. If you want to tell me what happened, I won't judge. I promise."

Channon turned his gaze down to the floor. The carpet in here was a kind of patterned gray that was supposed to disguise the joins in the carpet tiles and did a pretty good job of that, but it also reminded him so hard of the fact that they were at work, that he was in his boss's office, talking about relationship stuff and, and wasn't he supposed to not do that? That was totally unprofessional, wasn't it?

But Nate was Nate, and Channon trusted him almost as much as he trusted Jack, and even though that was largely because Jack trusted Nate, it felt…significant. Somehow.

So he took a deep breath, and said, "We had a…a date. Um. A play date, I guess. And I waited for him, but he didn't come home because…work, I think. And when he did he said he'd forgotten. About me."

It sounded stupid. Channon berated himself—how could he be so stupid? None of this mattered, not in the grand scheme of things. It was just a date, nothing important, nothing that mattered.

But Nate blew out a breath, and said, "Okay. That makes sense. Jack, you fucking idiot."

Channon didn't know what to say to that. It angered him to hear someone say something like that about Jack, but also…also Nate was listening to him, and didn't seem to think Channon was the one being unreasonable here, and that felt…

He didn't know. So he waited for Nate to tell him what to do.

"Jack's not good at failure," Nate said. It sounded like an admission of guilt, or a secret Channon wasn't supposed to know. "When Jack fails at something, he burns it to the ground. Almost literally, sometimes. I've got his code on aggressive backup because sometimes when it doesn't work he deletes everything he's done and starts over, which is nearly always the worst thing to do. He's a perfectionist, and sometimes that's dangerous. I'm impressed, really, that failing at this one thing with you meant he decided to throw away fifteen years of building this fucking company from the ground up instead of just," and Nate shrugged, giving Channon an apologetic look, "breaking it off with you. Jack doesn't do things by halves, he's all or nothing. And apparently you're something he's doing all of."

Channon didn't know what to say to any of that, so he stayed quiet, watching Nate think.

Nate took his time, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling, and then— "Okay. Okay, listen." He fixed Channon with that Look again, intent and serious, and Channon sat up straight under the weight of it because this, at least, he understood. "Do you want Jack to be happy?"

"Yes." No question, that was all Channon wanted. "Yes, sir."

"Do you think he'd be happy if he sold the company off? Do you think he needs more free time for…whatever he does with his free time?"

'Whatever he does with his free time' was Channon, and Channon was already shaking his head, convinced that he didn't. "No. He'd be unhappy if he did that."

"That's what I think, too. But. Would you be happier if he did? He'd have more time for you. It's okay if you say yes, just be honest with me, please."

The answer swelled in his throat before he had time to think. "No, I wouldn't." Not for Jack to do that to make time for Channon that Channon didn't need. He had enough. Fuck, he had plenty, it was just this one time that…but… "Is that what he's doing?"

"It's what he seems to think he should do." Nate shook his head, frowning to himself. "It won't make either of you happy, but of course he never asked. Ugh," and he scrubbed a hand over his face again, holding it there and peeking at Channon through the gaps in his fingers. "Jack's a bit of an idiot, you know."

"No, I don't," Channon said, feeling a defensive anger rise in him. Jack wasn't. Jack was Sir, and Sir was never wrong. "I don't think so."

Nate gave him a sympathetic look. "Of course not. Sorry. But, if you want to stop him from doing something stupid, then there's something I need you to do for me."

Which was how Channon found himself outside Jack's office at quarter to five.

Cynthia smiled at him, and buzzed him through. "Channon Beaumont here to see you." Jack must have given permission because she got up to open the door for him.

And then. There he was. Jack, rising from his desk and crossing the room in three long quick strides. "Are you all right?" he demanded, hands coming up to grip Channon's shoulders, eyes tracking over him as if looking for an obvious bleeding wound. "Did something happen?"

"I'm fine, Sir." Channon twisted to get the latch on the door, and couldn't work it out. Jack leaned past him to flick the button under the handle—of course that's where it was. "I just…can I talk to you?"

"Of course."

Jack drew him over to the desk, settling him in one of the guest chairs, a sort of cross between an office chair and an armchair. This one was comfortable—Jack had told him that when he wanted a guest to feel uncomfortable he used one of the others, but this was the good one. Jack pulled a chair up to sit across from him, close enough for their knees to touch. Channon could have leaned over and kissed him, if he'd wanted. He did want, wanted very much to kiss Jack in his office during office hours, but now wasn't the time.

Jack laid a hand on Channon's thigh, rubbing reassuring circles with his thumb. "What did you want to talk about?"

Okay. Channon took a deep breath. "Mr Scott told me you're planning to sell off the company."

Jack's expression flattened, went blank, and his thumb stilled on Channon's leg. "Did he now." It wasn't a question.

"Is it because of me?" As soon as he'd said it Channon realized how ridiculous it sounded. Why would Jack do that? Why would anyone do something like that because of someone as insignificant as him?

But Jack was frowning, not at Channon but frowning all the same. "Indirectly, yes."

Channon breathed out. "So you really are selling it?"

"It sounds like you think I shouldn't." Jack blinked and his gaze sharpened. "Are you advising me on how to run my business?"

"No, I…no." Channon hunched his shoulders, feeling very stupid and very sad and not sure why. "It's your business. I don't know anything."

"You do. And you don't think I should sell it."

"Not because of me, Sir."

Because that was the point, wasn't it? Channon didn't want that burden on him, didn't want to be the reason for something so momentous. And, there was what Nate had said, about the share price plummeting if Jack sold off and stepped down, about the potential loss of jobs. About the failure of the expansion Jack had been working on, about how people would lose money and yeah, sure, a lot of them were wealthy people who could afford to lose money, but a lot of those shares were given to employees for long service or outstanding performance and they were just people. They didn't deserve to lose money out of their budgets just because Jack suddenly wanted more free time.

Jack leaned back in his chair, watching Channon carefully. "How much of this is Nate putting you up to it?"

"Sir? I mean, all of it. Except that I don't want you doing something like this because, because you feel guilty."

Jack's eyes narrowed, suddenly sharp and dangerous as knives, and he leaned forward, his hand tightening on Channon's thigh. Channon's heart leaped in his chest. He couldn't move, transfixed by the dangerous look on Jack's face, as if Channon had made him, just now, very, very angry. But then Jack breathed in, closed his eyes, breathed out, and when he opened his eyes again they were…well, not murderous. "You're right. That's exactly why I wanted to do this. I don't like feeling this way. I especially don't like feeling this way because of you."

"I'm sorry I made you feel guilty," Channon said, not sure how else to do this. "You shouldn't, anyway. It's not like…you just…I shouldn't have expected anything." And he tried to smile, though he didn't feel like smiling at all. "It's not the first time."

At once he realized it was the wrong thing to say. Jack shoved himself up out of his seat, sending the chair skidding across the carpet, and took two steps away, toward the window. He'd turned his back, and Channon stared at the forbidding expanse of his shoulders straining the dark fabric of his suit. It was a shock, worse than anything Jack had ever hit him with, worse than the cane even, because when that happened Channon was expecting it, knew to brace for it, but this was out of the blue.

"That," Jack said, in a low, dark tone that shook with what had to be anger, "is exactly why. I can't—the thought of you waiting for me, because I told you to, and then I didn't have the fucking courtesy to let you know I'd be late because I forgot." He turned just far enough for Channon to see his eyes over his shoulder, narrow and furious. "And then you tell me I don't have to feel guilty about it because you expected too much? Because it's happened to you before." He shook his head violently, propping his hands on his hips and breathing in deep. "I can't stand it. I won't be that person."

Channon didn't know what to do. Should he get up? He wanted to go to Jack, put his arms around him and just cling on, and beg him not to be angry, not to be whatever this was.

"I'm not your fucking father," Jack spat, and the word was venomous, lodging in Channon's flesh like a poisoned barb.

It was all his fault. He didn't want to fuck up everything for Jack. He should offer to go, just pack his things and leave and let Jack get on with his life. This was all his fault. Of course he was ruining everything. It was his fault that his dad left, his fault that his mom had had to go back to work, his fault the team had never made state, his fault, all of it, and now Jack, and—

"Sir," he said, already half out of his chair. "Please."

Jack turned to him, and everything Channon was feeling must have been there on his face because Jack's eyes widened and he opened his arms up, holding them out. "Hey," he said, softer now, and Channon lunged for him, wrapping himself up in Jack's arms and burying his face in Jack's shoulder. "Hey, sweetheart," Jack murmured against his hair, stroking it with his fingers. "It's okay. You're okay. I've got you."

"Please don't," Channon begged, though he didn't know what he was begging for, only that he couldn't stop shaking. "Please, sir, please…"

"It's okay," Jack said again, kissing his temple. The scratch of his stubble was comforting, a familiar reminder of home, like the wool of his suit, the scent of his woody, spicy cologne. His arms, big enough and strong enough to hold Channon tight and close and safe.

"Please don't do something because of me, Sir, please don't." It was a muffled mess but Channon couldn't help it, he needed to get this out. "I'm not that important. I'm not…it's okay if you make me wait for you. It's okay, I don't mind, I'm yours, I should just…always be waiting for you, anyway. I don't want to be greedy or, or selfish."

Jack made a hurt noise, and his grip on Channon tightened, smushing Channon's face into his shoulder. "You are important. You're the most important thing in the world to me. I need you to understand that. I won't let anything get in the way of taking care of you, Channon. Do you hear me?"

"Y-yes, Sir," Channon mumbled. It was impossible to believe, but Jack never lied to him. Not like this. Somehow, Jack must have thought it was true. Channon tried to keep the two ideas in his head—he was unimportant; Jack thought he was important—and couldn't.

"You're probably the least selfish person I've ever met," Jack said, loosening his grip a little. Channon stayed snug against his chest, latching onto the rich fabric of his suit and refusing to let go. "And if I promise you something you deserve to be able to believe in it, and expect it, and not be disappointed by me. It's one thing if I promise you something and then take it away because you need discipline," he added, soft now and warm against Channon's ear. "It's another thing if I just fucking forget about it because I got carried away over work. That's…I'm so disappointed in myself, Channon. I hope you understand that."

Channon squeezed him. "I don't want you to feel bad."

"But you've been feeling bad," Jack pointed out, tilting Channon's chin up so Channon had to meet his eye. "I've been watching you mope about the house. How am I supposed to not feel guilty about that?"

"I'm okay," Channon said, trying to make it true. "I just…I figured I couldn't…that maybe if you said things then they might not…you might not mean them."

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. I want you to trust me, Channon. I want you to know that if I say something then it will happen, that you can rely on it, make plans around it. I want you to rely on me to do what I say I'm going to do. So, I need to make this up to you, in a way that makes you believe in me again."

"I do believe in you!"

"You don't." Jack looked so sad, even as he stroked Channon's hair. "You think I'm going to do it again."

Channon didn't know. Did he think that?

Jack brushed a thumb over his cheek. "How can I make it up to you?"

"I don't…you don't have to."

"Channon," Jack said in warning, and Channon bit his lip. "How?" When Channon didn't answer at once he pressed a kiss to Channon's brow. "You can have some time to think about it, if you want." He rubbed a hand along Channon's spine, smiling just a little. "You wanna go home? Or, if you like, we could go out for dinner. Somewhere you like."

Too many options. Channon wished Jack would just tell him what they should do instead of letting Channon choose things when he didn't know the right answer. He was tired, though, emotionally. And he was in jeans and sneakers, so he said, "Home."

"Okay. Go get your things, I'll meet you at the car."

* * *

Jack must have called Nate while Channon was packing up; he got a text in the car. THANKYOU! I owe you lunch and dinner and maybe breakfast ;)

Channon breathed out. "So, you're not going to do it?"

Jack arched a questioning eyebrow at him, so Channon showed him the message. It made him snort. "Sleazy fucker." He took Channon's phone, typed something in, and sent it before handing it back. "Well, at least he's happy."

Jack had locked the screen again, and Channon wanted very much to know what he'd sent but didn't want it to be obvious. Curiosity burned in him, but Jack was watching, with this low simmering amusement on his face, and Channon didn't have the nerve.

When his phone pinged again, though, he took advantage of it to read Jack's text.

If you want to fuck my boy, you have to ask.

And Nate had replied: Yes SIR!

Channon bit his lip. They were flirting. In his phone. It was…really hot, he thought, and made him feel squirmy and anxious. He knew what it was like to be sandwiched between them, to be spit-roasted on their dicks, to suck them off one after the other, the taste of the two of them thick on his tongue. And yet. He was Jack's, not Nate's. He answered to Jack, belonged to Jack, and if Jack wanted to let Nate fuck him, then Channon would bend over and spread his thighs and wait patiently for Nate's cock. That was all. That was what this was.

"To answer your question," Jack said, breaking into Channon's dirty thoughts, "I won't be doing 'it'. Don't worry."

That sounded like an order, so Channon tried his best not to worry and, surprisingly, managed it pretty well.

Jack had some calls to make, so after dinner he kissed Channon very tenderly and left him in the living room. Channon pretended to be scrolling through webcomics on his tablet but really he was thinking.

How? Jack had said. How can I make it up to you?

How could he? Channon didn't feel like Jack had anything to make up for, it was his feelings that he needed to get under control. Jack was Jack and Channon didn't dare imagine changing anything about him.

Still, he remembered with terrible clarity what else Jack had said back there, in the office.

I'm not your fucking father!

Channon bit down on his lip and turned his face against the back of the sofa, feeling very…unsure about that.

He knew what they were doing here. He wasn't completely stupid. He knew what Jack wanted, what Jack was to him. And it wasn't weird, it wasn't wrong. It was just that Jack…really wasn't his father.

His father? His dad? Would never have apologized for being late, or forgetting Channon. He never had. He'd always pointed out how it was Channon's fault in the first place. You should have walked home, he'd said. What kind of idiot just sits there in the rain? If you catch a cold it's your own damn fault.

And then Channon had caught a cold, and his dad had sighed and shaken his head and said, You see? Look what you did. God, sometimes I can't believe how stupid you really are.

So. It was Channon's fault for waiting for Jack when he should have known, somehow, what had happened. But how was he supposed to know?

The weight of indecision was crippling. He'd had his orders and he'd thought the best thing to do was to follow them, but then…he knew what his dad would have said to that. You're not a fucking robot, Channon. Think for yourself sometimes, for Christ's sake!

Except every time he'd tried to he'd messed it up, just made things worse. Nothing was ever good enough. He couldn't ever get things right. No wonder his dad left.

And if he couldn't get things right this time then Jack would send him away.

He couldn't bear the thought of it, but it felt inevitable. Just thinking about it scared him so much. What would he do then? He would have lost Jack, would never be able to get him back. He'd have to find someplace to live. Would he lose his job? Would he have to go home to his mom? And she'd sigh and ask what he did to ruin everything. Because of course he would, that's all he ever did, ruin things.

What's wrong with me? Why can't I do anything right?

He wished Kim was here. He missed her. She'd been the closest thing he'd ever had to someone he could talk to, even if he didn't really talk to her about things. She asked questions and she cared, and he didn't deserve it, after the way he'd treated her. Fuck, he missed her.

If only he didn't have to make decisions for himself, if only Jack would just tell him what to do and what was right, then Channon could just do it. Was it fair, though, to ask him to do that? He had so much to handle already, running his company, making his own decisions. Channon didn't want to be a burden.

But. If Jack wanted to make it up to him. Well, maybe Channon could ask for this.

The door of Jack's study opened. Jack came out, flashed him a smile, and disappeared into the bathroom. Channon thought about it, how he could ask. What he should do. And Jack had left his door open, so maybe this would be okay.

He got up, went into Jack's study, and knelt down on the rug beside Jack's chair. He leaned his head against the seat of it, his cheek warm on the velvety fabric. Jack's warmth. Channon missed him right now, the short distance between them seemingly infinite.

There was a footfall in the doorway and Channon lifted his head. Jack was outlined in light, a dim silhouette. He came in, and the lamplight swept up over him all buttery warm, and Channon thought, Oh.

Jack was objectively handsome. Channon knew that. People said it, gossiped about it, and it ended up in articles on the internet—'handsome self-made billionaire' they said, and Channon knew that was true. But Jack was also Jack, gorgeously brown with those knowing, intense eyes, his hair tousled and dark enough to be almost black, stubble lining his jaw and framing a mouth that Channon had kissed and kissed and given himself up to so many times. Jack had taken off his jacket and his tie, unbuttoned his collar to expose a tantalizing glimpse of black hair, and his sleeves were rolled up over his thick forearms with their dark pelts. He was the most beautiful thing Channon had ever seen in his life, and Channon wanted him with every fiber of his being, his veins and nerves yearning for Jack so powerfully it stole his breath.

And then Jack smiled, and Channon felt it settle on him like a blessing.

"There you are."

Jack crossed the floor on bare, brown feet, settled into his chair with Channon between his thighs, and ran his fingers through Channon's hair.

"How are you doing?"

"Okay, Sir." Channon laid his cheek against Jack's thigh, and Jack rumbled in his chest, a familiar sound of contentment. This was good. "I can just sit and be quiet, Sir. If you've got work to do."

"I'm good for now. Did you want to tell me something?"

Channon nodded, turning his face against Jack's trousers and pressing a kiss to the inseam. "Um. You said…you asked me how."

"Yeah, I did. Do you have something for me?"

"I thought…is it okay if I don't have to think too hard? About things. Just for a while?"

Jack stroked behind Channon's ears, his fingertips gentle against the cartilage. "How do you mean?"

"I don't like making decisions. I don't want to be a burden, but…I like it better when you just tell me what you want me to do and then I can do it. And I don't have to worry if it's the right thing or not, and then you won't be mad at me if I mess up by choosing the wrong thing."

Jack's fingers stilled, and then he went back to stroking. "When did you choose the wrong thing and I was mad at you?"

"Um. Not mad, but…when I waited for you. I should have known you weren't…that you didn't want me to."

"How were you supposed to know that, Channon? I've told you I'm not a mind reader. Why do you think you have to be?"

"Because? I should know how not to make you mad?"

Jack tipped his head up so Channon had to look at him, and his eyes were intent. "You didn't make me mad. I'm not mad at you, Channon. I'm mad at me."

"I shouldn't make you mad at you, Sir," Channon insisted, but Jack was shaking his head.

"You don't have the power to stop that. It would be unreasonable of me to expect you to know things like that without being told. If we do that again, I don't want you to wait more than ten minutes for me. If I'm ten minutes late and I haven't contacted you, then something's gone wrong and you should treat it the same way you would if I texted you to tell you I wasn't going to make it."

It was a good idea. Channon liked having a backup plan. But. "If we do it again, Sir?"

He felt plaintive, and Jack sighed. "If you want to do it again. I understand if you don't. It was a bad experience."

"I do, though. Sir, I do," and Channon caught the fabric of Jack's trousers in his hand, tugging because he didn't want Jack to think he was too whatever not to do that again. "It was so good. Please don't punish me by taking that away."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Jack frowned, but it was thoughtful, not angry. "Channon, do you still want to wait for me? Do you trust me not to hurt you again like that?"

"Yes, Sir. I really want to."

Jack licked his lips, watching Channon with this intense focus, as if he could read Channon's thoughts. "I need you to understand that I made a mistake, and that I'm going to make more mistakes the longer we're together. I'm going to hurt you sometimes, not because I like it or you like it, but by accident. And when I do I'm going to be disappointed with myself and that's probably going to make you feel worse. Do you know why I'm going to do that?"

What kind of question was that? Channon blinked and tried to think. "Because…you're human, Sir?"

"Yes. I'm human. I'm not a god," he said, but with the light catching in his hair and his eyes, Channon privately thought, No, you are. You're like a god to me. "Even if I want you to worship me, Channon. Do you understand?"

Channon wrinkled his nose. "Yes, Sir."

It seemed to amuse him. He cocked his head on one side, smirking. "Oh, you don't like that? Want me to be a god for you, Channon?"

"I like worshiping you. I want to, to do things for you, Sir. Um. Devotions." Which was about where Channon's understanding of religion ended. He wanted to worship at Jack's altar, give up everything for him. "Like the Hozier song," he said, and Jack's smirk blew out into a grin.

"You wanna worship in the bedroom," Jack said, and he bent down to kiss Channon's nose. "God, you're so cute. I can't believe it, sometimes." He straightened and looked Channon straight in the eye. "So, I think we're on the same page now. I'm going to make all the decisions for you for a bit, so you don't have to think too hard and get caught up in your head, okay? And if there are negative consequences they will be my responsibility. You don't have to worry. If something goes wrong, if you need me to decide something for you, you can ask me at any time. Just come find me or text me or call. I'll do my best to answer you as soon as I can. And if I give you an order and you realize you can't do it or it conflicts with something else, you have to tell me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." God, it felt so good. The weight of it all fell away, and he felt dizzy with it off his shoulders. "Thank-you, Sir."

Jack made a contented sound in his throat. "There we go. Look at that smile." He ran his thumb over Channon's lip. "Come up here."

Channon knelt up for him and Jack kissed his mouth, slicking into it with his tongue and humming. Channon let him do as he liked, still buzzing with relief, let Jack reel him in and pet him fondly. He wasn't tender now, nor gentle. His hands were firm and possessive, just the way Channon liked them. Fuck, he was so lucky to have this. He felt like he could do anything, if Jack told him to. Jack knew best. Channon loved him and Jack still wanted him and everything was going to be fine.

The hand on his back slid down to cup his ass and Channon canted his hips, spreading his thighs in case Jack wanted more of him, and Jack chuckled into his mouth.

"Oh?" He squeezed Channon's ass-cheek, his other hand lifting the hem of Channon's t-shirt to slide under and stroke over his hip. "You want something, Channon?"

"I always want you, Sir," Channon said, because it was true.

It seemed to make Jack happy, anyway. "Okay. Then I have an idea."

Jack's idea involved Jack lying fully clothed on his bed, reading aloud from Channon's journal, while Channon stood naked but for his collar at the foot of the bed, blushing and answering questions.

"'Sir, please,'—and I do like how many of these start that way, Channon, that's good—'please let me do everything you want. And everyone you want. I'll be good for your guests and your friends, I'll suck off whoever you tell me to, I'll let them fuck me as much as you want, if you want.' Mmmm," and Jack's eyes cut up at him dark and dangerous. "How many of my friends? Not just Nate, I'm guessing."

"I don't…as many as you want, Sir."

"Really." Jack looked him over, considering. "I think you could take four or five cocks in you. What do you think? Five loads of come in your ass, one after the other? What do you think of that?"

Channon shuddered, hands clutching at his thighs. "Yes, Sir."

"Or how about three in your ass and three on your face? Leave you dripping come everywhere."

"Sir," Channon whined, his face burning with shameful arousal.

"Yeah, you love the sound of that, look at your dick, Channon, you're ready to go off like a rocket." He eyed Channon lazily, his tongue caught in his teeth. "Touch yourself for me."

Channon did, jerking himself shakily as Jack kept reading. "'Dear Sir, please make me worship your ass. I love licking you out and licking your balls, and I'd love it if you came all over my face, or if you came on your abs and made me lick it up for you. Please let me please you.' I guess you really do like ass worship."

Fuck! It was all true. Hearing Jack say it out loud, though…He had to squeeze hard on his cock, trying not to get over excited.

Jack read silently for a moment, flipping the pages of the book. He was wearing his glasses, and it made him look soft and vulnerable. Or would have, if Channon hadn't known him so well as he did.

He looked up over the rim, his gaze lingering on the hand working steadily at Channon's crotch. "Hmm. I think I've found what I'm looking for." He closed the book and set it on the side table. "Come here."

Channon climbed up on the bed, his legs shaking. What had Jack found? Not the ass worship, apparently. Channon had felt sure it would have been that, and half expected that by now he'd have his tongue in Jack's ass, face buried in the musky masculinity of him, but instead Jack turned him around so he was sitting in Jack's lap, straddling his thighs. He was facing the mirror that covered the wall at the end of the bed, could see himself pale and naked reflected there in the glass, against Jack's shirt and trousers and broad, brown hands.

"Let's get you worked up," Jack said, his lips brushing Channon's shoulder. "Don't come yet," he warned, sliding his hands down over Channon's abs. Channon swallowed, watching Jack's hands in the mirror as one wrapped around his cock and the other slipped down between his thighs to cup his balls. His skin was warm, his grip firm, and Channon sank back against his chest as Jack slowly and methodically jerked him off. It didn't take long to make him squirm. Channon really was turned on by all of it, Jack reading to him, Jack making him wait at the foot of the bed like a naughty child, Jack's fucking glasses. He was still wearing them, and they made him look severe, authoritarian, like a teacher or a professor, someone with Channon's future in his hands, someone clever and dangerous.

Jack brought him up to the edge with quick strokes of his fingers, squeezing his balls gently, fingertips stroking firmly into Channon's taint. Channon felt his body go slowly taut, his cock aching in Jack's hand, the rise of heat in him this slow inexorable thing he couldn't do anything to prevent. He felt detached from it, watching it in the mirror. That was someone else in Jack's lap, someone else with Jack's hand teasing his poor swollen flesh, someone else gasping and jerking up into Jack's palm like he couldn't help himself.

"Good boy," Jack said, and then he bit down hard on Channon's shoulder. Channon gasped, shocked by the sudden pain. "Open the top bedside drawer and take out the red box."

Eagerly, Channon did was he was told, reaching over to get the drawer open and finding the box at the front of it. He handed it to Jack, and Jack hauled him back into place in his lap. Channon settled gingerly against him, his body thrumming with arousal and nerves. Jack made no move to touch him, though, just held the box out in front, and opened it up.

"Do you know what these are?"

Channon had to swallow. "Nipple clamps, Sir," he said. They were silver, pinchy looking things, with a chain running between them.

"These are going to hurt going on," Jack said gently, his lips brushing the bite-mark on Channon's shoulder. "But they're going to hurt even more coming off."

Was that supposed to be reassuring? Channon took a deep breath, steeling himself, but Jack didn't immediately put them on him. Instead he fondled Channon's cock, teasing with his fingertips.

For a horrible moment Channon thought Jack was going to put the clamps on his dick, but instead Jack said, "Touch yourself for me," letting go of Channon's cock to rub a hand over his chest. Channon watched himself in the mirror, jerking off in Jack's lap and shuddering as Jack pinched one of his nipples in his fingers. It hurt, more than usual because Jack was squeezing harder than usual, it really fucking hurt—and then Jack had closed the clamp over his nipple and Channon gasped, high and thready, because it fucking hurt, Jesus Christ.

"There you go," Jack murmured in his ear, wrapping his hand around Channon's and jerking him with firm, heavy strokes. "How's that feel?"

"It hurts," Channon gasped, "Sir, it hurts."

"Can you take it? Give it a minute. Here, let go. Fuck into my hand."

Channon bit down on his lip, rocking his hips up into Jack's palm. It distracted from the pain, took the edge off it until he could bear it. Still, he whimpered when Jack's fingers slid back up, closing on his other nipple and pinching it down hard. The second clamp went on just as tight, and Channon choked back the sob that threatened to burst out of him as the rubber-tipped end bit down.

"Good boy," Jack crooned in his ear. "There you go. Hurts?"

It took an effort not to whine. "Yes, Sir."

"Can you take it?"

"…yes, Sir."

"Excellent."

Jack took Channon's chin in his fingers and forced it up so that Channon had to look at himself in the mirror. The chain against his chest was indecent, something about it that made Channon feel strange and kinky. God, everything Jack did to him was kinky, weirdly erotic things that Channon felt certain he shouldn't like. And yet he did. That was just a fact, and unavoidable.

"You look nervous," Jack said, a whisper across his ear. "You should be. You don't know what's coming next." He brushed his fingers idly over Channon's cock, just toying with him now. "Ask me."

"What are you going to do to me, Sir?"

"I'm going to make you come," Jack said. "Don't hold back, just come as soon as you like."

It sounded…wait, how could that be bad?

Jack was already reaching for the lube, slicking his fingers and tucking his hand between Channon's thighs. Channon spread open wide for him, his reflection slutty and needy in the mirror, and Jack worked his fingers in with ruthless efficiency. Channon tried to breathe, tried not to focus on the hot points of pain on his chest, the ache of being stretched around Jack's fingers, the throb of his neglected dick. Instead he fixed on Jack's gaze in the mirror, still framed by those glasses, making him alien and unapproachable.

It became clear very quickly what Jack had in mind. His fingers found their way to Channon's prostate immediately, and pressed down. Channon jerked, unable to keep still, and then…then Jack began to slowly and methodically torture him.

It was, perhaps, the most intense thing Channon had ever experienced in his life. Jack was laser-focused, gentle but insistent, and he didn't let up, didn't waver from his goal. The sensation was too much almost immediately, and Channon tried to writhe away from it, this unnerving arousal rising in his throat, but Jack whispered in his ear to be still and kept massaging him inside until Channon's thighs started to shake. He couldn't keep still, twitching and moaning, the sounds just spilling out of him, and all the while Jack urged him on with soft words of encouragement.

"There you go, sweetheart, just go with it, you're so hot like this. Fuck, you look good when you're horny, you look like you'd do anything to get a cock in you right now. Is that what you want, sweetheart? Want me to fuck you? Want me to give it to you the way you like it?"

"Yes, Sir," Channon sobbed, he really did, he wanted it badly, but Jack reached up and tugged on the chain linking Channon's nipples together hard enough to make him yell.

"Yeah? That hurts doesn't it?"

"Y-yes, Sir!"

"But you can take it, can't you?"

"…yes," Channon admitted, reluctant because…if he just said 'no' Jack would take them off, he was almost sure of it, and that's what he wanted but…but Jack wanted and he could take it and—ah! Jack distracted him with another bite on his shoulder and Channon nearly jerked right up out of his lap.

"I'm going to milk you dry, Channon. You're going to come for me as many times as I want. But that doesn't mean you're going to enjoy it."

What? Channon couldn't get his head around that at all.

And then Jack braced an arm across his chest and pressed down inside.

It felt like forever, Jack massaging him with his fingers so deep, this constant, inexorable pressure. It was different than usual, not the urgency of Jack's dick in him, not the same as a hand on his cock or the tight heat of Jack's mouth. It didn't drive him to a peak, it dragged him under, sinking him in this hot, thick feeling he couldn't describe. It was like a well, gravity sucking at him until he was drowned in it, and Jack wouldn't stop, kept torturing him, until he lost track of everything except Jack, in him, pushing him deeper.

It built, pressure deep underground, until he felt like he was going to erupt, and then, just at the point of no return as his thighs shook and his breath sobbed in his throat Jack just…stopped.

It was the worst orgasm he'd ever had, his cock jerking and dribbling on his belly, but it felt like…it felt like disappointment, so close to something amazing and then it all ebbed away like water into sand. And it was worse when Jack ran his fingers up the seam of Channon's cock, pushing come out of him as if, as if he'd failed in the most basic purpose of his dick, something so basic it was hard, sometimes, to stop it from just spitting come all over the place.

Channon felt cheated. And from the look on Jack's face, that was exactly what Jack wanted.

"There we go. I bet you didn't like that at all."

He sounded so fucking smug. Channon whimpered, still impaled on his fingers, and then the bastard started to rub him again.

Oh, God, it was too much. He whined and jerked and tried to get away but Jack growled, "Channon!" in his ear and he had to subside, had to tolerate it, the unwelcome pressure on him when he was too sensitive so unpleasant and unwelcome.

It faded. It helped when Jack tugged on the clamps, the sharp flare of pain dividing his attention. He couldn't tell if they hurt more now or less, too unhappy to be objective, resigned to all this. Jack had already told him what he meant to do. Make Channon come. And now Channon understood why Jack had said he wasn't going to enjoy it. Of course he did, this was his own fault. He'd written it down, after all.

I want to serve you, Sir. It's for you, Sir, it doesn't matter if I get off, I want you to just use me like a toy. If I come, it's for you, if I don't, it's for you. I'm yours. Do whatever you want with me.

This was what Jack wanted. For Channon to come-but-not-come. And then he had a pretty good idea of what Jack would do next.

He was right. Jack fingered him through two more terrible orgasms, leaving him sticky and shaky and unsatisfied, and then he finally, finally took the clamps off.

The taking-off wasn't actually so bad, it barely hurt at all, but immediately after Channon bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut because…Jesus, the blood rushing back into them made everything hurt. Holy shit, this was awful.

And then Jack pushed him face down on the bed, squeezed lube right on his hole, and fucked him.

Channon lay there, his chest throbbing, ass in the air and Jack pounding into him. He couldn't have come again if he'd tried, felt used up and wasted, and Jack was groaning over him, his hands holding Channon open to be fucked, his cock huge and hot and merciless.

Channon felt weightless, empty. Everything stripped away, leaving him a blank page on which Jack could write whatever he wanted. And what Jack chose to write was, Mine, with every stroke of his cock, every thrust, every squeeze and bruise and welt.

"Look, Channon," Jack ordered, and Channon lifted his head to look.

The view was familiar. The first time Jack had fucked him it had been just like this. Prom night. It felt like forever ago. The person he'd been then had changed irrevocably. Back then it had been just nebulous fun. Now? This was more. This meant something. He was possessed; Jack had him completely under control and Channon wanted nothing more than that, than Jack, in control of him.

"God, you're beautiful with a cock in you," Jack gasped, and he sounded fond. "My sweet lovely boy. So good for me, taking my cock even though you can't enjoy it. So obedient. I'm so proud of you."

It felt…better than the ruined orgasms. Just this warm wonderful praise that filled him up. Full of Jack, his cock, his approval…it didn't matter if Channon had a good orgasm or a bad one or none at all. He had Jack's approval, and that was worth more to him than anything in the world.

When Jack buried himself deep, grinding in to spill in him, Channon felt euphoric. Jack was happy. Therefore Channon was happy. And when Jack finally slid out of him, and cleaned him up with wet wipes, Channon lay pliant and obedient and quiet, not caring if Jack opened his thighs and swiped up between them, nor when he inspected Channon's asshole with clinically dispassionate fingers.

"Tender, sweetheart?"

"Mmph." Channon had to work to open his mouth, but all that came out was, "…sssir."

"Oh!" Jack leaned over him, looking fucking delighted. "You okay, baby? Let's take your collar off."

Channon didn't want to, but Jack was Jack and Channon was Jack's and Jack could do whatever he liked. Especially if all Channon had to do was lie there.

"You've gone soft as bubblegum," Jack said, his voice ringing with approval, and Channon sighed and nuzzled Jack's arm and let the floaty, dopey feeling overtake him.

Jack got up, and came back. There was a lot of cuddling, a lot of treats, fruit pieces and deli meats and crackers Jack fed to him with his fresh-washed fingers. Jack let him suck on them, and Channon licked them over, his chest full and warm, like he was a cat wanting to purr.

"Do you want to watch something?"

Channon tried to communicate his lack of wanting to do anything without speaking, and Jack chuckled.

"You don't want to get up? Well, let's put something on."

It was an audio-book. Something with a witch in it and a pumpkin-headed man, and the narrator's voice was rough and soothing, and Channon let Jack fold him up close and safe and just drifted for a while.

When he came back to himself, Jack was watching him, those hazel eyes dark in the low light. He was stroking along Channon's arm, up to his collarbone, just drawing circles on Channon's skin.

"Hey."

"Hi," Channon said, feeling like his tongue was thick and useless.

"You're getting good at that," Jack said. "I'm going to have to be careful with you."

That didn't make any sense. Channon just hummed, and kicked a foot over Jack's ankle. "Sir," he said, just because it felt good.

Jack bent to kiss him. It was soft, sweet, a tender sort of mercy after everything else. "Sometimes I wonder if you know how good you are for me," he said.

Somehow, Channon found his voice. "I'll always be good for you, Sir," he slurred, and Jack's smile made it more than worth the effort.

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The series will continue in His Boy Next Door #23: On Display, available December 2017

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Also by the Author

Published as R.J. Moray

Novellas

Finding Elliott

His Boy Next Door (Channon Beaumont) series

Season One

A New Discovery

Breaking In

Bad Decisions

New Toys

Eating In

Staking Claims

Punishment

Submission

Showing Off

Shared Interests

Fears

Choices

Season Two

Members Only

Learning the Ropes

A Good Host

Anonymous

Possession

Out

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving (part II)

Mistakes

Forgiveness

On Display AVAILABLE DECEMBER 2017

Published as Robin Moray

Bonded to the Alpha series

Bonded to the Alpha

Loyal

Claimed

Mated

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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