His Boy Next Door: #4

New Toys

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 #4

When Jack offers to take him to a tailor, Channon thinks he knows what Jack wants. But Jack's perversions run deeper than Channon had expected, and all he can be sure of is that pleasing Jack is what he wants, and he'll do anything to keep this whatever-it-is they have alive. Meanwhile, Jack has some new things he wants Channon to enjoy, and does his best to ensure that Channon will come back, begging for more.

This book is episode 4 in an ongoing series, and contains acts of a sexual and kinky nature. Read at your own risk.

New Toys

Channon hesitated on the stairs, thinking he must be hearing things. That voice, downstairs...no way. But there, in his mom's kitchen with his mom, laughing over coffee and cake...there was Jack. Channon slowed to a dead stop, just frozen in the doorway.

Jack grinned at him. "Hi, Channon."

Channon felt his face heat up like a furnace. "Hi...Mr Nash." He tried not to think about the night before, how Jack had put him over his knee and spanked him til he nearly cried. It still ached, a hot reminder of Jack every time Channon sat down or just stood there in his jeans, the fabric pulling against his abused flesh. And he'd liked it, honestly, couldn't quite get his head around how good it felt to take everything Jack gave him and come out of it...not unscathed. Definitely scathed. But whole, all the same.

"Your mom was just telling me you've got prom coming up this week," Jack said, leaning back in his chair, in another perfectly tailored suit, so out of place in the normality of Channon's mom's kitchen. This suit was a lovely deep blue-green, so crisp against the snowy white of his shirt, setting off his handsome tan. Channon just stared at him, not sure how he was supposed to answer. Jack's grin deepened, definitely amused by Channon's complete lack of, well, anything. And, like he could read Channon's thoughts—"I hear you have a suit for it. Can I see it?"

Channon's mom smiled, and—shit, his mom was into it, looked so proud of him that he didn't know what to do with it. "Oh, go on, Channon. Put your suit on for us."

Well. Now he had to. "Okay, mom."

He lurched back upstairs, taking them two at a time, and peeled off his clothes. The suit was charcoal, three-piece, and he had a fresh-ironed button-up to go with it. The tie gave him some trouble. He did his best with it, squinting at the result in the mirror. Good enough.

He padded downstairs in his socks, nervously smoothing a hand over his midriff.

The snap of Jack's eyes was sharp enough to pin him there in the doorway. Jack gave him a considering look, eyes narrowed and thoughtful.

"Hmmm. Very nice," Jack said. "Though...if I may," and he got up to nip Channon's jacket in back, tight between his fingers. "I'd like to see it tailored. Nadia, what do you think? Channon's so well built, it would be a shame not to show off those shoulders."

Channon's mom hummed, tilting her head on one side. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"Let me take him to my tailor." Jack smiled into Channon's mom's hesitation, a charming I-always-get-what-I-want kind of grin. "Please, I'd love to."

"Oh, go on, if you want," she said, waving a hand dismissively.

"Thank-you." Jack let go of Channon's jacket, and smoothly reached up to straighten Channon's tie. "Interesting colors Did you pick this yourself?"

Channon felt his cheeks heat again, but this time out of shame. "Kim picked it." When Jack arched an eyebrow, Channon added, "To match her dress."

"You're taking Kim to prom," Jack said evenly, no hint of anger or disappointment, just a deceptively mild statement.

Channon didn't know how to answer. "Um. I don't..."

"Kim's a lovely girl," Channon's mom put in, oblivious to his discomfort. "A bit flashy for Channon, but very nice. He'll have trouble hanging on to her," she added blithely. "Kim's very academic. Channon probably won't be able to keep up with her once she's off to college."

Jack had his back to Channon's mother, so she couldn't possibly have seen the twist of his mouth, the flash of his hazel eyes as they flickered up to meet Channon's. It only lasted a moment, and then Jack was smoothing Channon's tie, his expression gone mild again. "You're not going to college, Channon?"

"No, sir," he said, blushing harder when he realized what he'd said.

"Why's that?"

Channon hesitated. He had reasons, but he'd never tried to articulate them to anyone else before. Anyway—

"Channon's not really smart enough for college," his mom said.

He didn't blush. He just took it, nothing new there.

Jack, though...his expression tightened, hardening to something dark and stony. But when he spoke his voice was smooth, impersonal, no trace of the emotion in his face. "You might be surprised. I think Channon has hidden depths." Then he smiled, turning it on Channon's mom like a bright searchlight. "So, Nadia, let me borrow Channon and his suit for the afternoon. Unless you have plans?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at Channon over his shoulder.

Hanging out with Jack all Saturday afternoon was better than anything Channon could have asked for. "No, no plans."

"Good," Jack said, with familiar warm approval. He winked at Channon. "We'll go as soon as you're changed."

So Channon hurried back upstairs.

Jack's car was, by now, becoming familiar. It was sleek and dark, expensive but somehow more practical than Channon thought a guy like Jack would buy. Though, he supposed, just because Jack was loaded didn't mean he always had to have the shiniest toys. Maybe he liked his car. It was definitely well-maintained, clean and fresh-smelling. Channon relaxed into his seat, comfortable alone with Jack in a way he didn't usually feel comfortable with anyone.

"So," Jack said, leaning back in the driver's seat. "Your mom thinks you're taking Kim to prom."

Ah. That sense of comfortable ease disappeared in a flash. Channon swallowed, not sure what to say. "I didn't tell her yet. About Kim."

"Why not?"

"I haven't told anyone. And...anyway, it's not like...a big deal. I don't, you know. Talk to her much about stuff. Sir."

"Too personal?" Jack asked, eyeing Channon sidelong. Channon nodded, feeling awkward about it. "You're pretty open with me, Channon. Why is that?"

Good question. Channon thought about it carefully before answering. "You ask, sir. And...I don't know, it's like you...actually listen." Like you care about what I say.

"I'm interested in everything about you," Jack said in agreement, "of course I listen. People don't, though. Do they?"

It was too close to the truth. "No, sir," Channon said, chest inexplicably tight.

Jack smiled at him, small and private. "That's their loss." He turned his attention back to the road. "Your mom doesn't seem to think you and Kim would have worked out."

"I'm not good enough for her," Channon admitted.

There was a small pause, and then—"Who told you that?" Jack asked, very low, very even.

No-one? Everyone? Channon shrugged, fingering the seam of his jeans and not looking up. "Her parents never really...and everyone was surprised she liked me. Her family's really rich," he added, feeling stupid.

"I'm 'really rich'," Jack said, still so serious. "That doesn't make you 'not good enough'. I don't ever want to hear you say you aren't good enough again, Channon. Do you understand?"

Channon bit his lip, feeling so..."Yes, sir," he said. He understood. He didn't have to understand why.

* * *

Getting the suit tailored was weirdly unnerving. The tailor tutted at him, examining the fabric.

"Be kind," Jack said, sitting splay-legged on a spindly chair against the wall. "It's off the rack, but I'm sure you can make it work."

"Of course, sir." The tailor gave Channon a brittle smile. "And the occasion?"

Channon just blinked at him, so it was Jack who said, "It's for prom. But I imagine Channon will find some further use for it. It's a versatile cut."

"Mmm, there is that," the tailor conceded. Channon got the impression that he wasn't particularly impressed with the suit. He didn't get why, though, not even when it had been thoroughly tugged and pinned. It looked almost identical, but Jack seemed pleased so he supposed that was the main thing.

Jack arranged for it to be expressed and delivered in time for prom, and then Channon thought they might be done for the day but Jack just squinted at him. "Those jeans, Channon. You can do better."

Which was how Channon ended up trying on what felt like an endless string of jeans, delivered at intervals by a bored shop assistant who clearly didn't take Channon's ass as seriously as Jack did. Jack took over in the end, managing the whole business himself and essentially using the assistant as a gopher.

"These," he said finally, stabbing a finger at a slim fit low-rise pair that hugged Channon's rear in ways he wasn't sure mens jeans were supposed to. "In black, dirty navy, and that blue vintage wash." He flicked his fingers at the assistant. "Bag them for me." And then he pointed at Channon. "Take those off."

Channon must have hesitated because Jack arched an eyebrow at him.

"Do you need a hand?" he said, and then he was crowding Channon back into the change-room, suddenly huge in the doorway.

Channon's heart jumped up in his throat. Jack had already thrown the latch on the door, a hand under the hem of Channon's t-shirt to push it up all the way to his nipples. They peaked instantly under the air-con, and Jack rubbed the pad of his thumb over one hard enough to make Channon gasp.

"Shhh." Jack unfastened Channon's jeans, pushing them down around his knees. "Can you be quiet?"

Channon had no idea. They were in a change-room. It was practically public. Anyone could catch them. What did Jack want?

Jack seemed to take his hesitance as a 'no'. "Then I'll have to keep you quiet," he murmured, and then—"Turn around."

Instead of pinning Channon to the mirror, though, Jack caught him around the waist, leaning back against the opposite wall. He held Channon hard against his torso, tucking his fingers into Channon's boxers and pushing them down far enough to expose him. He was already half-hard, and shocked by the sight of himself there in the mirror: boxers down below his hips, t-shirt rucked up to his collarbone. He saw himself blush, the hot red spilling across his skin, saw Jack's wicked grin, and then Jack had a hand over his mouth, fingers closing on his cock and Channon couldn't look away.

"Look at you," Jack murmured in his ear. "I could do anything I wanted with you, couldn't I?"

Yes, but Channon couldn't say it, could only moan into the smother of Jack's palm as his hips bucked helplessly into Jack's fist. Fuck, if someone knocked on the door...

"You'd let me have you up against that mirror, wouldn't you?"

God, yes. Channon ground his ass down against Jack's hips, against the tent of his trousers, acutely aware that Jack was stirring, firming up against him. He wanted it, wanted Jack to take him, wanted everything Jack teased him with—even the ice? Maybe—wanted Jack to want him, just him, just...

Jack sunk his teeth into Channon's shoulder and Channon jerked, reduced to wet muffled noises and squirming in Jack's arms. "Shhh," Jack whispered. "I've got you." His eyes burned in the mirror, bright and hazel, and Channon couldn't look away.

The warm puddle of heat in Channon's gut spread out in hot flutters, dancing down the inside of his thighs and pulling him up taut. His whole body bowed, arched against Jack's and shaking, hips hitching in desperate little thrusts. He couldn't help it, though a part of him despaired. Jack wasn't going to let him come. Jack liked teasing and there was no way he would—

"Are you going to come for me?" Jack asked, lips brushing Channon's earlobe.

Was that permission?

Channon moaned a 'yes' into Jack's skin, jerking his head in an attempt at a nod.

"Come on, Channon. Come for me."

Channon braced his feet against the floor, fucking up into Jack's hand, strung out on Jack, Jack, Jack, his firm hands, the strength of his chest, the spicy scent of his cologne. His audacity to do this here, now, as though he had every right, as though Channon was his to play with however he wanted. And he was, wasn't he? Jack could do anything and Channon would let him, would beg for it, would take anything he could get.

Fantasies bloomed behind his eyes: Jack taking him up against the mirror; Jack's reflection, the glint of his eyes and his teeth as he sunk in; Jack's hands gripping bruises into his hips; Jack slamming into him, God, how would that feel? How would—

Jack squeezed him hard and Channon bucked, up on his toes, and—oh. It hit him like a supernova, white-hot and blinding, rendering him useless, just a scatter of blissed-out nothing. He moaned, smothered, shaking and helpless, and Jack wrung him out, jerking him through to the last throb, and then both hands let go.

Channon gasped, sucking down air, still braced against Jack's chest. Their reflection was so...God, Channon looked debauched, face so red, exposed from nipples to balls, belly streaked with white, and Jack...well, Jack just looked pleased.

That just happened. Channon stared at himself, this loose, easy whatever-he-was-now reflected back at him. He looked so...Channon didn't know. Raw. Slutty, maybe. But only slutty for Jack, and that counted, didn't it? He had no idea.

Jack smiled, and that smile made Channon feel amazing. "Good boy." He took out a handkerchief and mopped Channon up before pulling his boxers up and his t-shirt down. He smoothed his fingers over Channon's chest, pressed a kiss to the skin behind his ear. "Get dressed and meet me at the counter."

And he left, leaving Channon still catching his breath, staring at the stranger in the mirror he'd become.

* * *

Jack paid for the jeans, made Channon pick out a couple of t-shirts—"No brand names or superheroes," he said—and then he bought Channon a hotdog because he 'looked hungry'. Which, well, he had been, but how Jack could tell Channon had no idea. They walked down to the park, stood in the shade of a tree, Jack watching Channon with this vague amusement Channon couldn't quite work out.

And then Jack said, "We need to talk. About boundaries."

Channon froze, mouth full of bun and mystery meat, mind gone absolutely blank. What could that mean? He forced himself to chew and swallow, licking mustard out of the corner of his mouth. "Sir?"

"So far you've let me have my way in pretty much everything," Jack said, folding his arms and leaning back on his heels. He didn't look mad about this, on the contrary, he seemed pleased. Entertained, almost, watching Channon stuff sausage into his face. "And I've enjoyed it. But there's more I want from you, and if we're going that way we need to set some limits. You need to tell me what you aren't willing to do for me. And I need to tell you exactly what I want. Somewhere in the Venn diagram of that," he said, smiling a little, "we'll have our boundaries."

Channon felt like his whole body unclenched. For a moment there he'd thought Jack was brushing him off. "I'll do anything," he said, inexpressibly grateful, but it made Jack frown.

"No, you won't. If I ordered you to bring me your mother's bank details and credit card, you wouldn't do that. You wouldn't murder someone because I told you to. You wouldn't strip naked right now and run across the park," he said, but then he paused, mouth curling up. "Or would you?"

Channon cleared his throat. "No, sir. But...you said nothing illegal."

"I did," Jack agreed. "That was my limit. I need to know yours. Because, Channon," he added, eyes glinting in the sun, "I'm going to push you as close to those limits as I can get without crossing them. Eventually."

Despite the sun, Channon shivered. Jack meant it, he could tell. And it sounded good but also kind of scary.

"You don't have to come up with an answer now," Jack said. "But I'll tell you some things I want, and you can tell me if you hate the sound of them, and we can take it from there. Okay?"

"Okay, sir," Channon agreed, relieved.

"Well, I like fucking your mouth," Jack said, and the sound of those words here, now, in the middle of a park in the afternoon made Channon's face go hot. There was no-one close enough to hear, but still. "And I like it when you worship my cock with your tongue. I'd like to get my mouth on you, too," he added, and Channon felt like his brain might burst. "Maybe tie you up and torture you with it, until you're a pleading mess. Does that sound good?"

Channon's mouth was too dry for words, so he just nodded, breath gone shallow in his chest.

Jack grinned. "I definitely want to tie you up. And I want to own every one of your orgasms, Channon, I want you to only come when I say. I think you've already worked out how much I like drawing that out, when you're eager for it and can't have it. I want to fuck you," he said, low and dark. "I want to make you come on my cock, I want to empty my balls into you and fill you up with me. I want to milk you dry and fuck you after so it's not even for you anymore, just for me. Take my pleasure of you because I can and you're mine." His grin broadened. "I definitely, definitely want you bareback. How does that sound?"

The noise that came out of Channon's mouth was nothing more than a whimper. Holy...holy shit.

"Channon?" Jack's tone made it clear he wanted an answer, so Channon swallowed and tried to find his voice.

"Sounds good, sir. I...want all that." So much it hurt.

Jack's grin was white and wicked as a shark's. "Excellent. Then, we have an appointment to keep."

* * *

The clinic was private and quiet, and they were ushered into a private room almost immediately. Channon had to fill in a bunch of paperwork, and then he was escorted into another private room where he had to change into a gown. The worst part was giving blood—no, the worst part was when the nurse saw his bruised ass and asked him how that had happened. He told the truth (mostly) and she raised an eyebrow at it but, hell, he was over eighteen, he could do what he wanted. He was a consenting adult, right? So it was fine.

Back in his clothes and in Jack's car, Channon thought none of that had been particularly sexy, but he didn't say anything. Jack, though, seemed cheerful.

"We'll get the results back in a couple of days. In time for prom," he said glancing at Channon with a smile.

But prom had turned into this awful mess, and Channon had half-convinced himself he was over the whole thing. "I don't have to go, sir. I could...come see you instead."

Jack shook his head. "Go to prom. Does Kim have another date yet?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Find out. If she doesn't, the gentlemanly thing would be to take her. As a friend." He arched an eyebrow at Channon. "No kissing. No groping. But ask her to dance. Don't be cruel. Prom," he went on, "would be a good time to make your breakup official. I want you to stop hiding it, as of the last dance. I don't care what Kim says, it's best for both of you. Make sure she understands that. And then, after prom, you can come back to my place and I'll fuck you until you know you're mine. Do you understand?"

Jesus. Channon nodded, his pulse hammering. "Yes, sir." That sounded perfect.

* * *

Kim texted him back to say she was at the Mall, so Jack dropped him off and he met her down by the awesome taco place. She was beautiful, hair done up in a crown of complicated braids, her sundress light and floaty and floral.

"Hey," she said, clutching her purse and a couple of shopping bags. "I didn't think you were talking to me."

Channon hadn't been, exactly, but he wasn't not talking to her either. "Can we be friends?" he asked. "You know, I still...I still like you."

"Just not enough to date me," she said, no malice in it. "I still like you too. And...I sort of figured we'd break up eventually. You've never really been invested in us. You've never really been invested in anything," she added, apparently oblivious to how that hurt him. But. She was right. Even football had been this thing he did because he didn't suck at it, not anything he was particularly into.

What he said, though, was, "Do you have another date for prom yet?"

She stared at him with wide blue eyes like bright bits of glass. "Channon, I don't want another date for prom. If I can't go with you then I'm going with Stacey and Ben. I figured you would too."

Okay. Jack had told him what to do. "I'll take you, if you want. But...just as friends. And after prom you've gotta tell people we broke up. Okay?"

Her eyes narrowed, just a bit. "Okay. Hey. How are you, anyway?"

"I'm good," Channon said, suddenly wary. She was examining him. That couldn't be good.

"How's that guy?"

Channon froze. "What guy?"

"When you broke up with me, you said there was a guy," she went on, still watching him like that. "That you wanted to make out with but hadn't. I just...wondered if you'd tried it yet."

Uh-oh. Channon was no good at lying at the best of times, and now he was pretty sure guilt was scrawled all over his face. "Uh...yeah?"

"And you liked it?"

"Yeah," Channon said, unable to deny that. "I really did."

Her expression pinched up, her hurt-feelings-but-trying-to-hide-it face, but she nodded. "Okay. I mean...I want you to be happy, Channon. I don't hate you. I just...wish things were different." She sighed, swinging her purse nervously. "I guess it could have been worse, though. What if we'd gotten married or something?"

That would have been terrible. He couldn't even imagine. "Or had kids," he said, just trying to engage, but Kim slapped a hand against her purse and gestured emphatically.

"I know, right? So...this is better, I guess." She eyed him, chewing her lip. "So yeah. I'll go to prom with you. As friends. And then...I'll tell people we broke up. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, relieved. "Cool. Uh...you can blame me, if you want."

"Of course I'm going to blame you," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's not my fault that I've got a vagina."

Channon tried not to blush, but mostly just succeeded in ducking his head and kicking at the tiles beneath his feet. "It's not that."

"Might as well be," she said, and he couldn't help thinking she might be right.

* * *

"I did it," Channon said, holding his phone to his ear. "I'm taking Kim to prom."

Jack sounded so level, always so fucking together—Channon envied it horribly. "And after?"

"We'll be broken up, properly."

"And?"

And Channon stopped on the side of the road, arrested by the enormity of what he wanted to say. "Then I'll come to you and, and you..." But how to say it? "I'll be all yours, sir."

"Do you want that?"

"Yes, sir." How could he doubt it? But, maybe he just liked hearing Channon say it. "More than anything."

"Good. Do you want a lift home?"

What? "Sir?"

But then a familiar car pulled up beside him, and he thought, Oh.

He got in. Jack grinned. "So," he said, idling at the curb. "Let's talk about college."

It was tricky. Channon didn't have anything against college in concept, but the system was...well. The cost of it was prohibitive, and even if he made it in, even if he earned a degree, the chances of working in that field were so low it felt pointless. And if he didn't, he'd have that debt hanging over him. So why not start work somewhere else? He'd probably end up flipping burgers anyway.

Expressing this to Jack, though, was hard. He hadn't ever really had to explain himself. Kim's parents had disapproved of his 'lack of drive', but his mother had just shrugged. "Well," she'd said, "you're not really cut out for that kind of career, anyway."

So. It felt like most people never expected more of him but were still, oddly, disappointed in him for not trying harder.

Jack, though, just frowned as he turned the car off the main road into the suburbs. "What's your GPA?"

Channon tensed, almost certain this was going to end badly. "Three-point-six, `sir."

"What are you taking? Math?"

"Yes, sir. English and physics, history and French."

"French?" Jack sounded interested. "You take French?"

Channon hesitated, and then—"Oui, Monsieur."

That got him a smile. "I see. And are you good at it?"

"I guess?" When Jack gave him an expectant look, he added, "Mes notes sont bonnes, Monsieur."

"Interesting. Do you like languages?"

Channon opened his mouth to say 'I guess' again but thought better of it. "I think so."

"Is there anything you're interested in doing? Professional football, engineering? Sea captain?" he added, with a hint of a smile.

But there was nothing. "Not really," though he hesitated, feeling very self-conscious.

"Go on," Jack prompted. "Anything."

"I like video games." It seemed so childish, so trivial.

But Jack didn't laugh or even look surprised. "You think you'd like to play professionally?"

"No, I'm...not that good. But I think...if I could make them..."

"Ah. Well, that's certainly possible." He smiled, pulling into his garage and killing the engine. "We'll talk about it more later."

Channon followed him into the house, automatically toeing off his shoes on the threshold.

"You'll ruin your shoes and your laces," Jack chided. Channon froze, staring at him in chagrin, but Jack just chuckled. "Don't do that to any shoes I buy for you."

Channon wasn't sure how he felt about the whole 'buying things for him' business. On the one hand, Jack was stupidly rich. On the other...actually, his mother had always said it was much ruder to reject a gift than to accept it graciously. No matter how weird it made him feel.

Still, there was only one thing to say right now. "Yes, sir."

Jack summoned him with a crook of his long brown fingers, leading him up to the spare room. There was a new piece of furniture along one wall, a low console table with wide drawers, warmly polished with beeswax.

"I'm almost always going to want you naked,"Jack said, sauntering over to it and opening the first drawer. "This one is for your clothes. If I don't want you naked, I'll specify." He gave Channon an expectant look. "Well, Channon? What do you think I want now?"

"You want me naked, sir," Channon guessed, and Jack frowned, just a little.

"Then why are you still dressed?"

Channon jerked, blushing because, well, of course that's what he'd meant. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled, pulling his t-shirt off over his head and folding it to drop in the drawer.

Jack laid his hand on the back of Channon's neck in a firm and possessive caress. Channon stilled at once under it, feeling his heart flutter and settle. "Did you like it today, when I made you come in that change-room?"

Channon licked his lips, feeling his face still warmed with embarrassment. "Yes, sir."

"Was it thrilling? To think you might be caught? That someone might see?"

God, yes. "Yes, sir," he whispered, unable to bear the shame of admitting it.

"What if someone had seen? What if they were watching you, if they saw you come for me?"

Channon opened his mouth but nothing came out. His breath had gone shallow, the thought of...being seen tightening him up along his sinews. It made heat rise in his face, a strange mix of shame and guilty desire curling in his gut. Did he want that? Did Jack want that?

"Channon?"

He bit his lip hard, and then—"Yes, sir," he admitted, wretched and unable to look up.

"I can think of several people who would like to see that. I'd like to show you off some time, let them watch me work you over. You're so beautiful when you come, Channon. When you let go." Channon shivered, still unable to summon the nerve to look Jack in the eye. Jack's fingers tightened on his neck, a firm squeeze. "Finish undressing," he said, moving away, and Channon did as he was told.

By the time he was done, Jack had hung his jacket on the back of a chair and removed his shirt and his belt, standing there in bare feet and suit pants watching Channon put his things away. He came up close enough Channon could feel the heat of his chest radiating out, could smell the musky masculine scent of him underlying his spicy cologne. Jack's breath tickled his neck when he spoke.

"I have a surprise for you," he said, deep and velvety, and Channon twitched, his imagination running wild. "Open the center drawer."

It slid out smooth as butter, and Channon's breath caught in his throat. The drawer was lined with black satin, and laid out across it in a neat row were...well. Sex toys. Dildos, mostly. Channon had never seen anything like them before—he'd seen dildos, of course, but nothing like these. They started off...he supposed that was small, no longer than his palm, and ranged up to what looked like Far Too Big. But it was the shapes of them that caught his attention and held it. They were all very beautiful, molded from glass, and some of them were just smooth bell-ended things but others were curled around with spiraling ripples, or were ridged all along with bumps, or a series of widening spheres.

"They're all for you," Jack said, and Channon put out a hand, but Jack added, "Ah-ah, Channon. No touching without permission," and Channon hastily tucked his hand behind his back, where it couldn't do anything disobedient. "But they are for you. One way or another."

They were all going in him, that meant. Channon tried to imagine it, and had to close his eyes for a moment, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation. Yes please.

"Which one do you like the look of best?" Jack asked, leaning his chin on Channon's shoulder with a scrape of fresh stubble.

Hard question. But Channon's attention had been caught by a pink thing, smooth on one side and bumpy down the other, and it looked..."This one, sir?"

"Hmm, good choice." Jack kissed the side of his neck, light as a feather, and then reached over Channon's arm to pick up a slim purple wand with small spherical bulges along its length, terminating in one extra large sphere that looked like a handle. "But we'll start with this one." He slapped Channon on the ass. "Go climb up on the bed."

Channon did, kneeling up on the end of it and waiting. Jack put the purple dildo on the bedside table, and then fetched lube and gloves out of the last drawer, setting them beside. Then he shifted the mirror from its place near the door to the end of the bed, reflecting a view of the pillows against the headboard.

Jack stripped off his pants, down to his skin. Channon eyed him surreptitiously. He wasn't sure if Jack would care, but he still felt shy about it, ogling Jack's cock. Fuck, he liked Jack's cock, though. It was thick now, dark and heavy, hanging threateningly against Jack's thigh. Threateningly? No, more like a promise. After prom, Channon reminded himself. Jack had said, and Jack had never lied to him.

Now Jack came up onto the bed, settling himself on the pillows against the headboard with his legs stretched out, tan against the dark chocolate of the covers. "Come here," he said, and then he had Channon arranged over his thighs to straddle him, ass snugged into the hollow of his lap, reflected in the mirror. His broad hands flattened over Channon's chest, stroking him from collarbone to hip, then down his thighs as if soothing a nervous animal. Which Channon supposed he was, to some extent. Skittish, anyway, and Jack probably thought he might run if given a chance.

He wouldn't. He wanted this. He'd make sure Jack understood how much, he would.

Jack's fingers played over his nipples, leaving trails of heat in their wake. "Of all the things I like about you, Channon, and it's becoming quite a list," he said with amusement, fingernails scoring red marks into his skin that stung like sunburn, "I think I like your unquestioning obedience best. I'd tell you you can trust me, that I have your best interests in mind, that I want you to be healthy and happy and satisfied, but I think I don't need to. You already trust me. Or, do you simply not care if I'm trustworthy, so long as I give you what you want?"

How was he supposed to answer that? And then Jack was teasing his nipples, rolling them firmly between his fingers and tugging hard enough to hurt, which made thinking even harder. Still, he said, "I trust you, sir, to give me what you want."

Jack's smile was genuine, his hands soothing gently over Channon's chest, down his belly. "Were you born perfect, I wonder? Or just perfect for me?" But it wasn't a real question and Jack clearly didn't expect an answer, because he bit down on Channon's shoulder. "You taste good, you smell good, you make such wonderful noises...God, it's going it feel so good inside you. Channon," and he kissed along Channon's shoulder, up to breathe in his hair, and murmured, "I'm so glad I found you."

It stole his breath away, his throat tight and his chest aching. Me too, me too, but Jack's hands were curling around his cock, stroking his balls, and he couldn't say anything, could only watch his reflection. In Jack's fingers he was hard in moments, moisture beading at the tip of his cock as he gasped, thighs tensing with the effort not to jerk his hips up. Jack was teasing him, he knew it, enjoying the sight of him flushed and messy in the mirror.

Then Jack let go, and there was a hand broad between his shoulder-blades. "Down." He went, face-down between Jack's knees, Jack's hands urging his hips up. The reflection in the mirror was obscene, and yet Channon couldn't look away. He braced his forearms against the mattress, watching Jack snap on the gloves and pump what looked like a lot of lube out into his palm. Then, Jack smoothed a cool, slick fingertip over Channon's hole and Channon had to bite his lip to keep himself from making any sound. He tried to keep quiet as Jack fingered him, teasing around his rim, slipping a fingertip inside, and the faces he pulled as he tried, oh, he looked...red and helpless, and hot all the same.

"Try all you want," Jack said as if reading his mind. "You can't keep quiet forever. I'm going to make you howl."

Channon saw him reach for the dildo and then there was the cool smoothness of it against his skin, pressing into him. It felt strange for all of a moment, but then Jack started moving it in slow, smooth circles, easing him open, and Channon felt like his spine was melting, like his bones were going to liquid. Everything became very immediate, narrowing down tight to this smooth, hard thing invading him, opening him up like a flower.

"Relax," Jack said, and Channon didn't understand. Wasn't he already? But then the pressure intensified and he remembered the fat spheres along the thing's length. Oh. That was the first one, pressing against his rim. God, it felt huge, too big maybe, but Jack was pressing it in with insistent thrusts and then, gloriously, Channon felt himself give way and the thing slid past his entrance smooth and wonderful. He felt the groan spill out of his throat, but his ears were so full of the rush of his own heart he barely heard a thing. Except Jack. "Good boy," Jack said, and then, "you can take another."

Another what? But the pressure against his flesh made it clear. Jack pressed the second bulb up to him, worked it in, and oh God, the easy slide of it inside him made him keen, throat gone tight. The tip of the thing was almost deep enough, close to the place where Jack had rubbed him inside—prostate, his brain helpfully supplied—almost as deep as he wanted it. He rocked back, pressing on the next bulb, and Jack made a pleased sound.

"Greedy boy. Shall I feed you one more?"

How many were there? Channon tried to remember, but his mind had gone to pink fog, unable to cope with anything more than Jack's voice and Jack's hands and the thing inside him. "Please, sir," he breathed, wriggling back, face pressed to the backs of his hands in shame. "Please."

"Please another?"

"Please, sir, another," Channon begged, unable to help himself, and then there, the third, pushing into him, slick and smooth and perfect. He made a high, desperate sound, and oh there, deep enough, angled so the first two bulbs ran thick and heavy over the place that made him see sparks.

Then he was face down on the mattress, moaning with every thrust as Jack fucked him. That's what it was, glass dildo or no, Jack was fucking him, shoving into him in smooth firm thrusts. He was completely helpless, at Jack's mercy, and there was nowhere in the world he wanted to be more than here, in Jack's lap as Jack plundered him.

He hitched his hips higher, gulping down breaths, trying to hang on to something as the thick heavy warmth crept up his body. God, he couldn't feel his toes, he was just hot ecstasy from knee to throat, his cock swinging swollen and neglected beneath him. Jack wasn't even touching it but it felt so full, flooded, like he was going to overflow. Ripples of pleasure shuddered over him, stripping away everything but this: Jack's hands, Jack's voice, Jack fucking him smooth but no longer slow. The tempo matched his heart—thu-thud, thu-thud—and Jack was saying something.

"Come on, Channon, come for me, you can do it, I know you can."

Ah. He could. He had to, every thrum inside him drawing him up tighter until he had nothing but Jack, and then he burst, spilling with hot jerks, a wordless wail ripped from his throat. Jack. Oh, God, please.

When he came back to himself, Jack was slowly sliding the toy in and out of him in shallow strokes, but now the angle had changed and it just felt...nice.

"Open your eyes, Channon. I want you to see how beautiful you are."

Jack wanted, and Channon obeyed. The light was dim but he still blinked against it, and then he saw himself. He had his cheek pillowed on the bed, arms bent beneath him, hands loose-curled like pale shells. His hips were up, ass in the air like an offering, the skin of his back blotchy in places, flushed with the intensity of what Jack had done to him. Still so red-faced, hair tumbling about his brow and black against his skin. He saw his eyes, dark-rimmed and the green of them bright as he blinked up at himself, and he looked so well-fucked, so utterly wasted.

There was a smooth tug, and Jack eased the toy out of him, each bulb making his breath hitch as it slid free. Jack put the thing aside, snapped off his gloves, and put his hands down low on Channon's thighs, near his knees. "On your back."

It was a little tricky with every muscle gone to rubber, but Jack rolled him over, and then Jack was straddling his chest, the heavy weight of his cock bobbing in Channon's face, and Channon knew what was coming.

Jack tucked a hand under his skull to hold him up, pushing the head of his cock past Channon's lips to press against his tongue. "Just relax," Jack said pushing into his throat. Channon tried, held still, lungs burning, let Jack fuck his mouth and just listened to the weight of Jack's breath as it deepened, roughened, as Jack stared down at where his cock disappeared into Channon's mouth. Jack's gaze flickered up and Channon knew he was watching himself in the mirror, then Jack made a deep noise, eyes catching Channon's as one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, and he pulled out to spend himself in spatters on Channon's lips and tongue.

For a moment they just stared at one another. Then Channon licked his lips. Jack's expression softened. He sighed, running his thumb into the corner of Channon's mouth. "Good boy."

It still worked. God, it was better now, sent a shiver down Channon's spine. He'd do anything Jack wanted, anything. Even if Jack wanted to...did Jack really want to fuck him in public? In front of people? 'Show him off'? And if he did, was that okay?

But Jack was leaning against the pillows, beckoning Channon up, had the covers pulled back to tug Channon under, and then there were firm hands in his hair, running the length of his spine, the warmth of Jack's arms, kisses against his hair, against his cheek. On his mouth, and Channon opened up for it, because of course he did. Because anything Jack wanted, Channon was brave enough, or foolish enough, to try it. One way or another, he was going to make Jack happy with him. Whatever it took.

Continued in His Boy Next Door #5: Eating In

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Also by the Author

Published as R.J. Moray

His Boy Next Door (Channon Beaumont) series

Season One

Volume One (1-3)

A New Discovery

Breaking In

Bad Decisions

Volume Two (4-6)

New Toys

Eating In

Staking Claims

Volume Three (7-9)

Punishment

Submission

Showing Off

Volume Four (10-12)

Shared Interests

Fears

Choices

Season Two

Members Only

Published as Robin Moray

Bonded to the Alpha series

Bonded to the Alpha

Loyal

Claimed

Mallory Witches series

Something Wicked

About the Author

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

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

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

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

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