His Boy Next Door: #17

Possession

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.

Jack knows what he wants: Channon, conspicuously his in a way that no-one around them can possibly mistake. But he also wants Channon to choose this for himself, and the more leeway he gives him the more likely it seems that Channon is going to slip out of his grasp. Jack doesn't want that. Will giving Channon greater freedom mean Jack will lose him? And why does does he hate the idea of that so much?

This book is episode 17 in an ongoing series, and contains scenes of an adult nature. Read at your own discretion.

Possession

The trouble with Nate, Jack thought, was that they knew each other too well. For example, Nate knew when Jack felt guilty about something and overcompensated to make up for it. He knew Jack had a tendency to solve problems by throwing money at them. And he knew Jack pretended to enjoy being in the spotlight a lot more than he actually did.

So when he sauntered into Jack's office only to fold his arms and raise an eyebrow and say, "We're having a tech demo?" Jack knew he was in trouble.

"It's time to show off the Doberman alpha," Jack said, leaning back in his chair.

"Uh, it's barely even alpha. Why do we need to show it off?"

"Because it keeps us relevant in the industry," Jack said, because it was true.

"It's not ready," Nate said, because it was true. He cocked his head on one side. "Why not just release something on the channel?"

A video would probably achieve much the same outcome, but Jack had already made up his mind. "Sure, but an event is also a mixer. We have clients, and I'd like to keep them happy."

Nate huffed out a breath, and sat down. "You want to take Channon," he said, arching an eyebrow again.

It was true, no need to pretend anything else. So Jack said, "Of course I'll take Channon. Who else would I take?"

"You want to show him off," Nate insisted, giving him a, 'Jonathan Nash I am on to you' look, "so you're manufacturing a tech demo. Is he even out?"

It was, Jack conceded, not an irrelevant question. "He told his mother," he said, but no. He had a feeling Channon wasn't out at work after all. Suddenly this plan seemed ill-advised.

Nate tipped his head back, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Ri-ight. So maybe you need to have a talk with him before you out him to everyone in the industry."

He wasn't wrong. Jack found it irritating, though. He hadn't considered that. He hated any reminder that he was fallible, that he could make mistakes. He needed to be right, needed to think of everything. For Channon, for his safety and well-being. If he was wrong about thisÂ…

"I was really looking forward to getting him into a nice suit," Jack said aloud, leaning his chin in his hand.

Nate snorted. "Getting him out of it, you mean. Listen," and he fixed Jack with a capital-L Look, "take him out to dinner somewhere nice. Ask him if he'd like to be your date to a tech demo. If he's nervous, don't push him. He'll come out when he's ready."

And there he was again, being right. Jack tried to resent it but it was hard with Nate. There'd been too much water under the bridge for that.

"And Jack? Don't phrase it like a challenge. If he doesn't want to be out then he shouldn't do it just to impress you. Remember college."

Jack made a face. "I drank enough in college that I should legally be allowed to forget. Fine, fine. I'll ask him."

"Great." Nate hesitated, watching him. "So. How is Channon?"

"Didn't you have lunch with him yesterday?" Jack asked, trying for neutral and barely missing it. He wasn't jealous. He had no need to be jealous. But the way Nate asked got his back up.

"Oh, yeah. It was a very intimate pizza party with the thirty members of his team. We discussed pineapple as a pizza topping. Your boy's in favor, if you didn't know, you should keep an eye on that."

Jack couldn't help it. He laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Of course that offends you."

"Pizza is very serious business," Nate said mildly, though Jack remembered a young man and a dingy apartment and an argument over pizza that had led to some very aggressive making out, once.

A long time ago. A lifetime away. Jack put it out of his mind. "I'll talk to him," he said, because that was what Nate wanted. "I won't throw him into the shark tank without at least asking first."

He had to wait until evening, and when the time wound out to five he found he still had a stack of things to tick off his to-do list. But.

When he called, Channon picked up at once. "Hi, Sir," he said breathlessly, sounding pleased and excited. He probably thought Jack wanted something from him, which he supposed he did, after all. "How are you?"

"Very well," Jack told him, closing his eyes and enjoying the breathy eagerness in Channon's voice. He was so sweet, so innocently obedient. Jack found it delightful. No. He found Channon delightful. He was a delight. "So, Channon. I wondered if you were free this evening."

"I…yes, Sir. Um." He could feel Channon's indecision as to the why; to ask or not to ask? In the end Channon opted not to satisfy his curiosity. "What time?"

"I'll pick you up at seven. Oh, and Channon? Wear something nice."

"Is that…you mean a suit?"

"I do mean a suit."

"Yes, Sir!"

He was so enthusiastic, it made Jack smile to himself.

Now. He had things to take care of. At least he could get another hour of work in.

And then…well, they'd see.

* * *

Channon was struggling with his tie when Jack came in. He had his tablet propped up on the kitchen bench running a YouTube tutorial, his elbows leant on the counter, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

He glanced up when Jack came in, blushing furiously. Jack found it charming. "Having trouble?"

"Yes, Sir," Channon admitted.

Jack beckoned him over. He trotted up, suffering Jack to untie him and start over. It was trickier, Jack always found, to tie a tie from the front, but that was more than made up for by the way that Channon stood still and patient, green eyes blinking up demurely from beneath the dark fan of his lashes. He was a handsome young man, Jack thought, not for the first time, healthy and well-made, with broad shoulders and muscles thickening into manhood. And when he was like this, obedient and submissive, it made Jack thrill to his bones to know that all of this was his.

"There," he said, turning Channon's collar down. The tie sat about his throat like a slave collar. Jack liked the feeling of having put it on him just so, effectively leashing him. Marking his property, in a way. "Do you need cufflinks?"

Channon nodded, and followed him upstairs.

Jack took the opportunity to change his shirt, and Channon stood quietly by as he did it, watching. The flicker of his eyes caressed Jack's back as he stripped down—he could feel it, could see Channon reflected in the mirror, such an aching want on his face that Jack considered abandoning dinner and simply throwing Channon on the bed.

But. If Channon had to have discipline, then Jack had to have more of it.

He smiled at Channon in the mirror, shrugging into a clean shirt. "Want to pick out a tie for me?"

Channon loved Jack's ties, or at least he pretended to. He seemed to enjoy going through the armoire, running his fingers over the neatly curled silk. He was eager to now, fingering the soft fabric and hesitating. Finally though, he pulled out a copper tie with an open paisley pattern in dark burgundy. He found the matching pocket-square and shyly offered them up.

"Oh, really?"

"It, um." Channon looked embarrassed. "It brings out your eyes."

It was so fucking adorable that Jack couldn't stand it. He lifted a hand to Channon's jaw, noting that he'd shaved since getting home. and ran his thumb along Channon's cheek. "You like my eyes, huh?"

"Yeah," Channon breathed, and Jack could hear the 'fuck yeah' in it that anyone else might have said aloud.

So cute. Jack took the tie and knotted it up, shrugged into his jacket, and allowed Channon to tuck in his pocket-square.

Then he reeled Channon in for a kiss. He was fresh and minty and definitely clean-shaven, the scent of that citrusy cologne Jack had chosen for him rising from his throat. He crushed himself against Jack's chest, hands gone flat on his lapels, and Jack thought—That bed is looking more and more appealing right now.

But. "I hope you're hungry," Jack said, murmuring it into the space behind Channon's ear as Channon melted into his arms. Sometimes it was like holding something fragile, something too easy to break. Which was ridiculous—Channon had been a jock, for God's sake, he was all muscle. But that didn't stop it from feeling that way. "And I hope you like Italian."

"I like pasta," Channon said, breathless, with his head tipped back to let Jack at his throat.

Jack messed him up a little, and then let him go.

"There's more to Italian than pasta, Channon," he chided, but Channon was too flushed, too obviously aroused, to really react to the implied censure. He grinned, all wholesome American youth, and Jack thought, Later, I'm going to ruin you.

The heady rush of it was dizzying. Jack let out a breath, just revelling in it.

"Okay, let's go."

The place was called Moretti's and it was difficult to get into at the best of times—mid-Tuesday evening it was relatively easier but still Jack had only managed to get a booking because he knew the owner personally. This was not something he felt in any way ashamed about. Knowing people got you into places. And Gino Moretti was an all right guy with amazing luck with chefs, and an appreciation for simplicity in his dishes. Jack liked that, avoiding the over-fussiness of molecular gastronomy and sticking to fresh, locally sourced ingredients. Gordon Ramsay would be proud.

It was, however, extremely exclusive, and when they arrived Channon took one look at the place and immediately clammed up, stiff and nervous. Jack caught his hand and squeezed it. "Try not to fidget with your sleeves," Jack murmured to him and Channon flushed, nodding jerkily.

Jack let go of his hand to tuck his own more subtly into the small of Channon's back, spreading his fingers there in a soothing gesture. It seemed to help. Channon was still tense, but he unstiffened a little, pushing his shoulders back and lifting his chin. Jack caught a glimpse of them together, reflected in a floor-length gilt mirror. They looked, to his mind, strikingly good, both dark-haired, well groomed, in charcoal suits with jewel-toned accents. Channon's complexion lighter, almost milky-pale, his eyes that bright startling green, his suit lighter too. Jack, who hadn't bothered to shave, felt rakish beside him with the thickness of stubble come up on his jaw, the fat luxury of a full windsor at his throat.

He felt rich and dissolute, and blessed with the company of someone sweet and handsome, willingly obedient.

God, it felt good. Reckless. Jack wanted reckless, just now.

They didn't have to wait to be seated, and their table was only semi-private, tucked behind the open-slats of a room divider. They were still visible, but it gave an illusion of intimacy, which Jack appreciated. He escorted Channon to his seat, but didn't go through the farce of pulling out his chair for him.

Channon seemed better once they were seated. Still, he glanced over his shoulder.

"Everything all right?"

Channon bit his lip. "I'm fine." He glanced up, eyes so green it was breathtaking. "Sir," he added, very quietly, and Jack thrilled to hear it.

Still. "Probably just 'Jack' tonight," he said, and Channon nodded, glancing down at his place-setting. "Do you want to see the menu? Or shall I order for you?"

Channon hesitated. Then he smiled. "Would you?"

The unspoken 'Sir' at the end of it was palpable. Jack took a deep breath. This boy. This fucking boy would be the death of him.

And that was how it went. They weren't playing, strictly, but Channon allowed Jack to choose his courses, to pour his water, to put morsels of his own meal on the corner of Channon's plate for him to taste. He was so well-behaved, Jack almost leaned over to feed him with his fingers, but…no, not here. Maybe another time, at Amatus with the chocolate fondue. Much more appropriate.

Channon liked the osso buco, though he balked at the marrow. "Try it," Jack told him, and Channon dutifully did. "Well?"

"It's…slimy," Channon said, looking uncertain. "It tasted good, it's just the texture."

"Think of it like pudding," Jack suggested.

"Meat pudding?"

Jack laughed at the look of disgust on his face. "You wouldn't like meat pudding? What about meat jelly?"

"Ugh, no."

"You like gravy."

"That's different."

"Is it, though?"

Channon's brow furrowed. "Yes. I think…yes."

"All right, if you say so."

It was a good dinner. Channon enjoyed everything, and said he was too full for dessert but made good inroads into the biscotti when it came.

The conversation was much to be expected. Channon volunteered small details about his day—who he'd talked to, what he'd had for lunch. Jack disapproved of him buying lunch every day, much preferred him to put in an order with the housekeeping service for a packed lunch and so today Channon had eaten a quinoa wrap with chicken, and a salad on the side, and been teased for it by one of the girls on help desk.

"Teased in a good or a bad way?" Jack asked, alert to anything that might be a threat to his boy.

Channon shrugged. "It was fine. I think she likes me. Not like that," he added hastily when Jack raised his eyebrows in a demand for more information.

The girl from help desk was called Dana and Jack made a mental note to find out more about her. Was that creepy stalking, or just regular levels of stalking? He couldn't be sure, so he chose not to examine it too closely.

So Dana had teased him for his lunch, but he'd shrugged it off, and now people thought he was a health nut. Which seemed to amuse him for some reason.

Jack considered it. "You think I'm a health nut," he said, the conclusion obvious.

"You work out a lot," Channon said cheekily, licking the tines of his fork in a way that he really shouldn't but Jack didn't have the heart to put a stop to. "And you drink those green things."

"Spirulina," Jack said, considering it. Okay, maybe he was a health nut. Christ. When the fuck had that happened? "Does it bother you?"

"Nope." He made the 'p' pop obnoxiously. Jack…wanted to find that annoying but it wasn't, not even a bit. Neither was the grin Channon flashed at him. "I mean, it gets results."

Ah. Jack leaned back in his chair, draping an arm across the back, well aware of how it caused his jacket to tighten around his bicep. "You like it."

"I like you." Again, that unspoken Sir, brushing up against Jack like a caress. God, Channon. You have no idea, do you?

"I'm pleased to hear it." Jack eyed him carefully. "You know, if you wanted, you could blame me. For the healthy lunches." Channon blinked at him. obviously lost. "I mean you could tell them that it's your boyfriend's fault you eat so much quinoa and brown rice."

Channon blushed, glancing down at his empty plate. "Is that okay?" He sounded small, then, and Jack leaned over to touch his hand, watching his lashes startle.

"Of course it is. I'm not hiding you. You don't have to hide me, either."

"They'll ask questions though," Channon said, and Jack turned his hand over, feeling the flutter of his pulse beneath the delicate skin of his wrist. It raced, rabbit-fast and jittery, and Jack wondered how much of that was the idea of scrutiny and how much was Jack touching him right here, right now.

"They will. Do you want to talk about some things you could say?"

Channon bit his lip. Then he nodded. "Yes." Sir, said the shape of his mouth, hesitating over something so natural to him now that it felt wrong, obviously, to neglect it.

Jack breathed in, tracing Channon's veins with his fingertips. "What do you worry they're going to ask?"

"Who you are," Channon said at once.

"And you don't want to tell them."

"No, it's not…it's just…"

The waiter came and went, and Jack smiled his thanks absently but did not take his fingers from Channon's wrist. Channon's eyes flickered up and back, darting like minnows, and Jack wanted to kiss him, just kiss him until Channon forgot where they were, until he felt centered and confident and radiated that confidence like a lit bulb.

"Just because I'm technically your boss, if you run up the chain of command far enough?"

"Yeah. And I don't…I mean, you gave me this internship. They're going to think you did it because you…and that I'm just—"

"I did it because I wanted you to have a job, Channon, and learn some skills to take with you into the workforce," Jack said carefully, knowing this was a messy point. In honesty, he'd wanted Channon to come with him, wanted Channon to have some independence. Wanted him to learn something useful, not just drift about doing useless jobs uselessly. When this, whatever it was between them, was over, Jack didn't want Channon to look back and see a barren landscape where he'd been Jack's and nothing else.

The thought of it just now, of this ending some day, felt like such a kick in the chest that Jack had to stop, breathe in, and get a hold of himself before he could go on. He'd always known this would only last as long as Channon wanted it to, but the thought of Channon leaving…no, he hated it.

He must have gripped Channon's wrist too tight, pressing red splotches into his skin, but Channon just sucked in a breath, letting his arm lie still between them. Jack stroked over the marks, watching them fade. He had control of himself, he did. He wasn't a monster.

"I appreciate your concerns," he said aloud. "However, the fact of the matter is that we are in a relationship and I am the CEO of the company, and yes, perhaps there's would be something nepotistic in creating a paid internship for you when I am technically your boss, but that internship already existed. We just don't give it out every year, because it's specifically for someone like you, with very little experience, who we want to take a chance on. And if it makes you feel any better, I've read your work reports. You're doing a good job. Not exceptional, but solid work, consistent and thorough. Your line manager's pretty happy with it. He put you forward for a training course I want to talk to you about later, but for now…it's natural to be worried." He stroked Channon's palm, watching Channon's fingers flex around his. "This isn't exactly normal, after all. Nothing about us is really normal. That's one of the things I like about it. Does it bother you?"

Channon breathed out, soft and ragged. "No, I mean…sometimes? I always wanted to fit in."

And now he didn't. Now he was, like Jack, pretending to be normal in a world of boring normality, and all the while there were secrets covering him like lies.

Jack knew how that felt. So it seemed obvious. They needed to shed as many of the secrets as they could, to make space for the ones they couldn't.

"Do you want to come out at work?" Jack asked.

Channon nodded, but his mouth was turned down at the corners.

"What are you worried about?"

"I don't want people to say things."

Slurs, Jack supposed. "Well, if they do, you know we have a policy on that. I mean, if anyone says anything like that to you, about you, or about anyone else, then HR wants to know about it. We have a zero-tolerance policy on harassment of any kind." He tugged on Channon's hand until he looked up into Jack's grin. "And, really? I mean, you're working for a company founded by two openly gay men, do you think anyone is going to get away with behaving like that?"

Channon huffed out a breath, hunching a little. "No, I guess."

He was thinking of school, though, too close behind him for it to not have left a dark shadow. The locker room, probably. Years of casual homophobia and heterocentrism. Jack hoped school was better now than it had used to be, but if his own memories of it were anything to go by then Channon was probably dealing with a lot of internalized crap. And it was Jack's responsibility to help him with that.

"So, do you want to come out at work? You don't have to. It would make some things easier, but it also comes with some downsides. Like, for example, every straight woman in your team is going to assume you know about fashion and tell you things about their partners you probably don't want to know," Jack said dryly and Channon was startled into a yelp of genuine laughter. "I'm serious. They'll try to take you shopping. If you're not careful you'll end up their gay best friend. It's…flattering at first, but it gets old quick."

"I don't think I mind?" Channon said, his face screwing up in thought. "I mean…I like girls."

But not, they'd established, very much in that way.

"Okay, what else are you worried about?"

"If they know I'm dating you," Channon said, looking sheepish, "then…they won't talk to me. You're our boss!" he protested when Jack frowned, "what if I'm a, a narc?"

It was such a ridiculous thing to say that Jack had to work very hard not to burst into laughter.

He couldn't, though, not laugh at Channon like that, and not when he looked so earnestly worried.

Jack lifted Channon's hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, watching Channon's cheeks pink up at the gesture. "You're not a narc," he said, "and I don't expect you to tell me anything they say. If they're criticizing me or the business within the business, they have every right. If they're bitching about us outside the business, then it's an issue. But I'm more interested in finding out what they'd do to change things. That's why we have the suggestions bonus."

Channon sighed, curling his fingers around Jack's. "Okay. Okay. I just…I don't know how to say it out loud."

Jack thought about it. It had been a very long time since he'd had to have one of those conversations with anyone that mattered. The closest and most recent had been with Channon's mother, and then he'd just countered her "Have you ever been married?" with a comment about it not being legal for him until recently—he hadn't had a chance.

Of course now it very much was, and—okay, no, that wasn't a thought for now. He'd think about that later.

For now this was about Channon. "I find the best way to do it is to just answer a question honestly. If someone asks you if you have a girlfriend, you can say, 'No, but I do have a boyfriend.' Or, if they ask what you did last night you can say, 'I had a date, and he was amazing,'" and Jack grinned, kissing Channon's knuckles again.

Channon made a sound of amusement. "He is." He licked his lips, watching Jack from under those obscenely thick lashes. "That sounds…easy."

"It is. See how you go. And it's okay if you decide against it. You don't have to. It's not for me."

Channon nodded, squeezing Jack's hand. "Okay." Then he looked up, far too wide eyed to be really as innocent as all that. "You know…I mean, my date's been pretty good so far. But if you're going for amazing…"

Oh. Jack raised his eyebrows. "You have a suggestion?"

"You could take me home," Channon said, shy and tentative.

Jack paid the check, and took him home.

* * *

Sex with Channon was always a thrill. Channon did whatever Jack wanted, no matter what it was, and Jack got to maneuver him however he liked. Sometimes they played. Sometimes they played and didn't have sex. And sometimes they had sex without playing, which was sweet in its own way.

Channon liked to get down on his knees and push his face into Jack's crotch, liked it when Jack fisted his hair and controlled the bob of his head, and when Jack would hold him by the jaw, hold him still for Jack to fuck his mouth. That always got Channon hot, flustered, and messy. He'd moan, spit slick on his lip, his mouth red, eyes tipping up to blink pleadingly at Jack, half-lidded and sex-hazy. He'd swallow like a good boy, or climb up onto the bed and spread his thighs for Jack to have him, curling his hands into the bed-covers and keening, smothered into them as Jack fucked him. Channon liked rough hands on his hips, liked being shoved down and held there, a palm heavy in the middle of his back.

And Jack liked that too, he wasn't about to deny it. But tonight he felt gentle, as if Channon were exactly as fragile as the innocence in his expression when he caught Jack looking at him in the darkness of the car.

It had been like this since the night Nate had stayed over. Jack didn't regret any of it. There was nothing to regret. A bit of a miscalculation, sure, but Channon had rallied well, claimed to have enjoyed himself. He'd said he liked Nate, and liked the whole anonymity kink. Jack felt sure that Channon was both attracted to and humiliated by the idea of being seen by people. That they would judge him and find him…dirty. Which of course made him hot for it, hot and slutty and so fucking willing. This had been how it started in the very beginning, after all, Jack taking Channon home and giving him the opportunity to be exactly as dirty and slutty as he'd secretly wanted. And Channon had loved it. Channon had stayed. Jack couldn't believe it, sometimes, the randomness of it, as if he could just as easily have never found Channon at all.

So Channon liked that sort of thing, but felt conflicted, and Jack had been ginger with him since the night with Nate, when Channon had broken a little.

He felt sure it was okay, and that Channon would be fine, but he felt tender now and wanted to treat him sweetly, just in case.

(In case of what? In case he gave up on this and left? Jack refused to think of it.)

So. Jack reached up to unfasten Channon's tie, loosening it and undoing the top button of Channon's shirt. "Good dinner?" he asked.

Channon nodded, leaning back against the wall of the entryway. His eyes were shadowed, his mouth wet and shiny and pink where he'd been biting it, teeth white pearls against his lip. He was unearthly in this light, too porcelain-pale to be real, his hair tumbling about his brow like soft black silk.

"You found it acceptable?" Jack asked again, teasing this time, and Channon's mouth kicked up in the corner.

"It was fine, Sir," Channon said cheekily, slipping easily into his 'Sir's like slipping into a comfortable sweatshirt. "Thank-you, Sir."

"'Fine', he says," Jack grumbled, or pretended to grumble. "As if Moretti's doesn't have two Michelin stars."

"Sir?" Channon asked, allowing Jack to ease him out of his jacket. "I always wondered what it has to do with tires."

"Ah. Well," and Jack told him about the Michelin guide, the spread of the motor vehicle in France, the desire to encourage people to drive out to further dining destinations, and thus run through more tires. "Not what you were expecting?"

Channon watched him as he knelt down to untie Channon's shoes. "Not really. Sir, are you—"

"Am I what?" Jack eased Channon's shoe off his foot and set it down, looking up at Channon's downturned face.

Channon's breath had gone light and shallow in his chest. He made a small, weak sound, his palms flattening against the wall. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just let me take care of you," Jack said, brushing his fingertips across the sock-clad sole of Channon's foot.

Channon swallowed, shuddering visibly. "Yes, Sir," he said, and let Jack do as he liked.

Jack peeled him piece by piece, until Channon was down to his skin, and then Jack pushed him up against the wall, holding his wrists above his head, hovering his mouth over Channon's throat. Channon accommodated him easily, breathing in short, sharp gasps as Jack ground down against him. He was hard, of course. They both were, Jack in his suit-pants and Channon bare as truth. Jack brushed his lips over Channon's throat, breathing against him a long, hot exhalation, and Channon shuddered all over, pliant and obedient and Jack's, for now, all Jack's.

They went upstairs. Jack lifted Channon onto the bed, standing between his thighs, and Channon sprawled out loose and messy on the covers. It was impossible not to run his hands over every inch of pale sun-shy skin. Jack had never been attracted to pale skin, had always found it smacked of illness, or weakness. But in Channon was, despite appearances, fragile. Jack had to be careful with him. This was his, and he must not ruin it, no matter how he wanted to mess Channon up and listen to him beg for mercy.

"Sir?" Channon pushed himself up on his elbows, watching Jack from beneath the flutter of his lashes. Jack stroked his chest, fingertips skimming a nipple. "Are you…"

"Am I?"

"What can I do for you?"

"Just…let me."

And Channon did, letting Jack push him into the covers, letting Jack touch him everywhere, let his fingers explore this flesh he knew now more intimately than anyone else's. In the world, he realized, there was no body in the world he knew with the depth that he knew Channon's. What he felt like when he came. What he felt like when he struggled not to come. What he felt like in that moment he resigned himself, yet again, to the inevitability of denial, of restraint, of not being given permission. How he pleaded with his body and his eyes for it, even as he knew he wouldn't get it.

Jack indulged himself now, delving into the hollows of Channon's flesh, the dips and valleys of his sleek-muscled belly, the cradle of his hips. He tasted of salt and youth and musky masculinity, and Jack wallowed in him, drawing out every gasp and sigh, every soft choked moan, the little noises that meant Channon was struggling not to make bigger ones.

That wasn't what he wanted, though. Jack wanted to hear all of it, so he ducked his head to lap at Channon's cock, tasting the sweetness of pre-come beading at his tip.

"Sir," Channon gasped, straining against the hands on his hips. Jack held him firm, sucking on the head of his cock, playing with him, and Channon was hard in his mouth, taut with pleasure. Jack loved it, loved the sound of Channon's inchoate pleas for some kind of progression.

So Jack reached for the lube, slicking his fingers and working Channon open as gently as he knew how.

Channon sighed, his flesh giving way, letting Jack in and welcoming him, and he knew exactly where to curl his fingers to make Channon gasp and buck his hips up off the bed.

So lovely, he was so fucking lovely, and Jack kissed his cock, kissed his smooth-waxed balls, was gentle with him now because he deserved it. He was such a good, obedient boy, and all Jack's to play with however he wanted.

And what he wanted, he realized, was to tease. "You look so good on my fingers, Channon," he said, watching Channon squirm with embarrassment. He was red-cheeked now, and most of that was arousal but some of it was because Jack was looking at the place where Channon swallowed him up. "You looked good on Nate's fingers, too, when we shared you."

Channon stiffened, his whole body clenching up for a heartbeat before he forced himself to relax. Jack pressed down on him inside and he gasped, hands scrabbling at the covers for purchase. "Sir," he moaned, but it wasn't clear if that was a 'don't or a 'don't stop'.

So Jack pushed, fucking Channon slowly with his fingers, licking him again and teasing up under the head of Channon's cock. "You liked some of it. Which bits did you like?"

"I…Sir, I…" Channon licked his lips, squeezing his eyes shut. Jack teased him gently, fingertips skating over his prostate, agonizingly slow. "Ah! I liked…I liked it when you fucked me."

"Not when Nate fucked you?"

"No, I liked that too, I just….when you did it. After he…you just…like you claimed me."

The words sent a jolt of savage possessiveness down Jack's spine. Yes, that was exactly what happened. He'd claimed Channon back. Because. No matter what Nate did Channon was his. That would never change.

He leaned down to scrape his teeth lightly over Channon's sensitive skin. "Mmm. I liked that too. What else?"

"S-sucking your cock," Channon stammered, eyes half-lidded now, watching Jack lick at him. The muscles of his belly bunched and jumped, his whole body on edge. Jack wondered if Channon was trying not to come. But no, he wasn't that close, not yet. "Sucking your cock with another one fucking me."

Oh, yes. Jack rewarded him with a hard suck, the long slide of his tongue soothing down Channon's length. "Yeah. That was good. You did so well." Jack knelt up between Channon's thighs, sliding his hand free to fill his palm with lube. "I'm going to fuck you now, okay?"

Channon nodded, his hands clenching and unclenching, thighs wide open. He was so ready for it, hungry for it, and at the first press of Jack's cock inside him Channon let out the most beautiful moan, eyes fluttering closed. Inside he was tight and hot and perfect, everything slick and wet, and Jack forced himself to take this slow, to sink into him in smooth rolling thrusts, deeper and deeper until there was nothing left to give him. Channon was breathing hard, blinking fast, and his legs came up to wrap about Jack's hips, just clinging to him. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, so Jack held them down, just held them, firm but not hard. It seemed to relax Channon, and his eyes fixed on Jack's.

"Sir," he whispered.

Jack bent to kiss him, letting himself sink in to the hilt. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Channon breathed, tilting his hips to let Jack into him. It was such a small gesture of trust and want, and it fired something in Jack's gut. He had to take care of Channon. That was all he had to do. Channon needed him, and he needed…he needed Channon too.

So. He rolled up, thrusting in, rocked back, and then it was just this long slow roll of the hips, in and out and in. He could feel Channon hard between them, leaking between their bellies, could feel the trembling of his wrists, hear his soft broken cries, smell the citrusy freshness of his cologne, taste Channon's salt on his tongue. Everything narrowed down to this, everything else stripped away until it was only they two, here now, together, Jack in Channon's body and Channon permitting it because it was meant to be.

It built in Jack like a wave, a great huge thing that could not sustain itself, not forever, physics demanded that he crest and crash, but until then it felt so good, this unspeakable rightness that had only so much to do with arousal and impending orgasm. There was that too, the pleasure of Channon's body, the psychological pleasure of his submission, but also…also there was Channon. His. Mine, he thought, fucking into him as deeply as he dared, watching the wrench and gasp of Channon's mouth as he approached his limits. Not yet, not quite, Jack could bring him up to the peak in increments, almost pushing him over but slowing, merciless, not quite going past the point of no return.

Twice. Three times. The fourth time, Channon sobbed, "Please, Sir, please, will you let me?" and Jack said, "Yes," and Channon cried out high and helpless as Jack dragged him up over the precipice and down with him into the depths.

Mine, Jack thought, overblown with pleasure, and, Yours.

It felt like forever—the sound of Channon's breath hitching in his ears, the thud of his heart, of both of them, together. Slowing, as Jack caught his breath and the world swam back into view.

Channon stirred under his hands so Jack let him go, and watched as Channon wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. It was a curiously unselfconscious gesture, not quite gruesomely childlike, but it reminded Jack how young he was.

A young man is only a template for the man he will become, Jack thought. It was…uncomfortable. Who would Channon become? They wouldn't always be able to have this. Channon would want more from life than this, and Jack would be helpless then to keep him.

Channon blinked at him, and smiled, "Sir," he said, blissfully sweet and sated, and Jack kissed him, taking his mouth with the kind of intensity that usually preceded a thorough taking. Channon collapsed back on the covers when he was done, licking his lips and closing his eyes. "Sir."

It was, Jack thought, everything he'd been looking for. This pleasant, overwhelming joy, the chance to revel in someone made exactly for him. It was something he had never been able to buy, not even now, because at the heart of it Jack needed it to be real. He needed Channon to want this just as much as he did.

And to have that, he needed Channon to be able to walk away. To be able to, but stay anyway.

It seemed an impossible conundrum, too much for now, for the bed they'd been making love in—he didn't fool himself for a second as to what, precisely, they'd done tonight. They didn't do this like this very often, but when they did…Jack knew. He wasn't going to lie to himself about it. He didn't think it was lying to Channon not to mention it.

They showered. Jack took Channon back to bed, rolling him onto his chest and sprawling over him protectively. Channon hummed and wriggled under him until he was comfortable, and then he reached for Jack's hand, curling their fingers together beneath the covers.

"Goodnight, Sir," he said.

Jack kissed the back of his neck, breathing in the scent of his own shower-gel like a mark of ownership on Channon's skin. "Goodnight, Channon."

* * *

Jack tried not to push too hard after that. He let Channon take his time, tried not to think about it, just let Channon come to him with the results, if anything did indeed result.

He was rewarded one evening when his phone rang at five pm exactly. "Excuse me," he said to his client, "I have to take this." Then he stepped out into the hall. "Channon," he said, and he could hear the warmth in his voice. He walked a little way down to an office he knew was empty, and shut himself in. "How's it going?"

"Good! I, um, I did it."

Jack smiled helplessly. He sounded so pleased with himself, and that was new, very new. Gratifying. "You're going to have to tell me what 'it' is."

"Oh! Sorry. I mean, I told Dana. About me. Uh…she said something about her ex always leaving his clothes on the bathroom floor? And how much she hated it? So I said, 'Yeah, my boyfriend doesn't like me leaving clothes on the bathroom floor either'. Which is true," he added, sounding defensive.

The smile was uncontrollable. "Yeah, that's one-hundred percent true. Thank-you for not doing it anymore."

"You're welcome, Sir." Channon took a breath, clearly organizing his thoughts. "So she sort of stopped and looked at me, and I…for a second I thought it was going to be bad, but then she got really excited and…she wanted me to get drinks with her tonight, but I told her I don't drink and now she wants to go to this tea bar and I'm…can I go?"

Jack hadn't thought it would feel this good. He hadn't really thought about it at all. "Sure. Definitely, go ahead, if you want." Gay best friend territory, that was happening. But Channon sounded so excited he wasn't about to cast a pall over it. "You should have fun. Let me know when you're done and I'll send the car for you."

"Or I could get an Uber," Channon said, and then quickly added, "I mean, if that's okay."

Jack thought about it. There was nothing wrong with it. Channon probably just wanted to feel normal. No harm. "All right. Let me know when you're leaving, then."

"Okay! Thank-you," he said, sounding genuinely grateful, and Jack had to close his eyes against the rush of warmth in his gut.

When he went back into his office, apologizing for the interruption, his client looked startled. "Good news, then?"

"Something personal," Jack told him, leaving it at that.

He went home, warmed up some dinner, and ate it at his desk, going over a contract he'd had the lawyers put together. He tried to make sure contracts were as transparent as possible—he hated legalese so fucking much—and he wasn't interested in hiding loopholes in things to screw over their clients. That wasn't the point. Everything should be laid out, open and honest and irrefutable. So, the new lawyer? Was going to have to go over this one again because if Jack had to squint at it to make sense of it then it was too fucking complicated.

It was strange, eating alone at home without Channon. There was none of the usual rattle of heavy teenage footsteps up and down the stairs, or god-awful pop music playing softly in the living room, or the roar of the kettle on the boil. No tentative knock at the door of his study, followed by Channon carefully carrying an overfull mug of tea Jack hadn't asked for but enjoyed nevertheless. Just knowing that Channon was out without him felt wrong, unusual. Almost unpleasant.

And that was strange too. How long had he lived here alone before Channon moved in? And now it felt more and more like Channon's home as much as his own, strewn with the debris of a young man comfortable in his own space.

Jack pushed the feeling aside, concentrating on his contract, but he was relieved when his phone buzzed with Channon's: getting an Uber now Sir

It felt like forever before the door finally opened, and Channon called out, "I'm home, Sir!"

There was the clatter of his shoes on the rack, the soft thud of his messenger bag dumped on the floor at the end of the couch, and the soft patter of his footsteps. He knocked at the half-open door, craning his neck to look in.

"Sir?" He caught his lip in his teeth. "Can I…make you some tea?"

Jack held out a hand to beckon him in. "In a minute. How was your night?"

Channon came over, sinking to his knees at Jack's feet and resting his cheek against Jack's thigh, even as he laced their fingers together. "It was good! Dana brought Rayyan and they were both nice. And I drank this tea that came in a ball and then it opened up in the teapot like a flower and smaller flowers came out of it and floated on the water. It was pretty cool," he said. "For ten dollar tea."

"Did you like the taste of it?"

Channon shrugged. "Maybe? I think you'd have liked it better, Sir."

"Probably," Jack agreed. He carded his fingers through Channon's hair, thinking, I missed you. He couldn't say it aloud, though. The words stuck in his throat, too honest for this thing between them. Channon was lovely and Channon was his, but one day Channon was going to grow out of this and leave Jack behind, and Jack…he didn't want it to show, when it hurt. He didn't want Channon to see beneath his skin, to see him soft and vulnerable. That wasn't part of the deal.

Channon tilted his head, leaning into Jack's hand. "Do you want tea, Sir? I can make it." Let me make it for you. Jack wondered if it was a sort of apology, for leaving him alone tonight and coming back smelling like girls and…tobacco?

"Were you smoking, tonight?"

Channon looked startled, and then contrite. "Oh. There was shisha. You know, when you get it all in a big glass bottle thing with tubes sticking out of it."

Jack nodded, remembering. That would be the fruity, candy scent. "Did you like it?"

Channon gave him a wide-eyed look. "I didn't have any. You have to be twenty-one."

And that had been Jack's rule, nothing illegal. No underage drinking, no underage smoking. No drugs. "Good boy," he said, meaning it. "And you had fun?

Channon nodded, closing his eyes and turning his face against Jack's thigh. "Yeah. I think…I think it's okay."

He sounded relieved. Jack massaged his scalp, rubbing smooth circles into his hair. "Good. So. I was thinking about throwing a tech demo. It's all clients and prospective clients, and a bunch of people from work. Interested?"

Channon hummed, not looking up. "Sure? I mean, yes, Sir."

Jack caught him under the chin, tipping him up to meet Jack's gaze. "Do you want to to be my date?"

Channon froze. Then—"Sir," he breathed, coming up on his knees, hands skittering nervously across Jack's chest. "Really? Can I really?"

Perfect. Jack kissed him, and Channon hung there in his arms, safe and perfect, the lingering sweetness of shisha smoke on his skin.

"It's a date," Jack said, between kisses, and then Channon was nuzzling his cheek, all puppyish affection.

Later, mussed and glorious under him on the couch, Channon said, "Is that why you asked if I wanted to come out? So I could be your date?"

Jack could have lied. It would have been easy to deflect. But he didn't want to lie to Channon, not outside of a scene, not without reason. "It's a good idea regardless," he said aloud, kissing Channon's hair. "But yeah, that's what I wanted. I was hoping you'd say 'yes'."

Channon beamed at him, snuggling up to his chest. "You always know best, Sir."

The pressure was intense. He would have to be always right, for Channon, always thinking ahead for him. He couldn't let Channon down, not when Channon trusted him so implicitly.

Jack kissed his hair again. "Damn straight," he said, resolving then and there to make sure it was true.

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The series will continue in His Boy Next Door #18: Out

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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

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.