His Boy Next Door: #9

Showing Off

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 #9

Jack's voyeuristic streak is starting to rub off. There's something about being shown off as Jack's prize that sets Channon's pulse racing, and when Jack takes him to a sauna, Channon gets a chance to find out first-hand the appeal of being watched.

This book is episode 9 in an ongoing series, and contains acts of a sexual and kinky nature. Read at your own risk.

Showing Off

The first thing Jack said when Channon went over on the Tuesday, was, "Hey, Channon," but the second thing was, "I've got homework for you."

Channon felt his nose scrunch up. He tried to smooth out his face but Jack had already seen it.

"Oh?" He arched an eyebrow. "That bad, huh?"

"No," Channon said quickly, but Jack's other eyebrow went up, and Channon realized this was one of those 'don't lie to me' moments. "I mean...I don't know, sir."

"You don't like homework," Jack guessed, leaning back against the breakfast bar. It was mid-afternoon. Jack was drying a glass with a dish-towel. He was also shirtless, which Channon was finding more than a bit distracting, in nothing but jeans and an expensive-looking belt. Channon liked Jack shirtless, liked the thickness of his shoulders, the curls of black hair that veiled his chest and belly and forearms. But it was hard to look at him like that, when all Channon wanted was to lean down and lick his navel, his dark nipples, press kisses to every dip and swell of muscle.

Jack put the glass down and gave Channon a 'well?' look.

"Nobody likes homework." Channon shrugged. It wasn't like that was a stunning observation.

"This is homework from me," Jack said firmly, reaching out to cup Channon's jaw in his palm, his eyes gone very serious. "If you're going to treat it like a chore then I don't know if I care to tell you."

Channon's face heated. That was a rebuke. "I won't, sir," he said, chastened.

Jack made a 'tsk' noise, tilting Channon's chin up. "I'm not convinced you really want it."

Channon licked his lips, thinking fast. "I do, sir. Please." When that didn't work he tried again. "Please, sir, will you give me my homework?"

The effect was instant—Jack's mouth twitched into a smile. "All right. Since you asked so politely." He patted Channon's cheek and let him go, turning to open the fridge. "I've printed you out a list." He nodded to a sheaf of stapled papers on the breakfast bar. "You're going to look up anything you don't know and write a short description of what each of the terms actually means. Because, Channon," and he poured out a glass of something clear and amber, "we're going to have a talk soon about what we both want out of this, and I need to know that you understand what you're agreeing to. All right?"

He put the jug down and handed Channon the glass. Channon dutifully took a sip. It was the same unsweetened earthy tea Jack always had in the fridge. Channon didn't dislike it, exactly, but he was always expecting it to be sweet and it just wasn't. Jack's taste in drinks was distressingly healthy.

"I don't want you to panic when you see the list," Jack added, watching him with a faint smile. "I'm not interested in everything that's on there, and a lot of things I am interested in aren't all that important to me. But you should know what's out there. You might find something that intrigues you," he said, eyes narrowing in a very suggestive sort of way.

Channon's breath seemed to stick in his throat. He drained his tea, and set the glass down. "Yes, sir," he said, feeling a familiar tingle of anticipation.

Jack smiled, and pushed the fold of paper towards him. "All right."

Opening it, Channon found it was seven pages long, with hundreds of items. One caught his eye: Bastinado. What the hell was that? He glanced up to find Jack smirking at him. "That's a lot of homework, sir."

"Best get started, then," Jack said, and it sounded so much like dismissal that Channon balked Jack must've seen it in his face. "Oh, are you disappointed?"

"I..." But of course Channon couldn't complain. He couldn't lie, either. "I thought we might...do something. Sir."

Jack regarded him with vague amusement. "Not until you've finished your homework, Channon." He leaned in, brushing a light kiss to Channon's jaw. "So you'd best be quick about it," he added, and Channon couldn't help but grin because that, right there, was practically a promise.

"Yes, sir," he said, clutching the list in one hand while backing towards the door.

Jack winked at him, leaning on the breakfast bar. "See you soon."

* * *

It took Channon an all-nighter of incognito windows and stunning revelations to fill in the list. Some of the things sounded just strange, or revolted him in some way. He mentally crossed those off, uninterested. Some of the things they'd already done, and Channon got a sweet little thrill to remember it.

But some things were new and exciting, even if he wasn't entirely sure he'd like them. Some of them sounded interesting, some thrilling, some disturbingly attractive. All that public sex. All the parts where someone might be watching, or he might be watching them, or Jack might watch someone else with him, or him watch Jack...Yeah, he couldn't deny that those things made him both uncomfortable and very, very curious. Voyeurism. Exhibitionism. So long as Jack was in charge, Channon thought he could agree to all of that.

When he was finished he tucked the list inside his journal and locked the cover, before hiding it under his French notes in a bedside drawer. It was late, technically early the next day, but Channon texted Jack anyway to let him know he was done, and then he caught a couple of hours sleep. He was yawning over his cereal when Jack texted him back.

Good boy. Come see me when you can and I'll grade your work.

Ugh, that meant a whole day of wriggling and waiting. Plus, Channon was bushed. Maybe he shouldn't have shotgunned the whole list in one go but...well, he was eager.

And school was so boring, now, that he had trouble staying awake. He took refuge in his expected mediocrity to flake out. It wasn't as though anyone expected more of him. Except Jack, who seem to expect everything.

So the day was a blur, but mercifully short. He got home to find a note from his mom and half a dish of lasagna in the fridge. She wouldn't be home til late, and normally he'd be happy about that, able to sneak off to Jack's without her noticing. But he also had a text from Jack, saying he was stuck at the office until seven, so Channon couldn't even take advantage of the freedom.

Instead he napped, waking up groggy at six-thirty with time to shower and devour some reheated dinner. His phone pinged just as he put his plate in the dishwasher. It was Jack. Come over, it said, so Channon ran upstairs to grab the list out of his journal, and then—because Jack had said he didn't have to climb over the fence anymore—he went around and knocked on the front door.

Jack answered it in a towel and nothing else, his hair still wet, thick and tousled. Channon stared at him, silenced by the water caught in the curls of his chest hair, dripping down the ripple of his belly. It shuddered him to his core, somewhere essential that craved Jack constantly, desperate to touch him, desperate for his approval.

And Jack, true to his nature, smiled. "Come on in," he said, stepping back to hold the door open. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes, sir," Channon said crouching down to get his laces. "I had leftovers." Suddenly, it occurred to him that he could have bought some for Jack. "Uh, have you, sir?"

"I had a very late lunch," Jack said in a reassuring sort of voice. He gestured for Channon to go in, so Channon did. Behind him the tug and snap of toweling made him aware that Jack was drying himself. Which meant he was naked back there, behind Channon like a weighty shadow.

Jack ushered him into the living room. It was dim, the curtains drawn, a lamp lit beside the couch.

"You've finished your homework, then?" Jack said, holding out a hand. "That was quick."

Channon looked at him, the length of his body brown and muscular and still glistening. How could he refuse this man anything?

"Sir," he said, holding up the list. Jack took it from him and leafed through it, eyes scanning the entries and their descriptions while he dried his hair with a towel. He was so unselfconsciously naked—of course he was. He was magnificent, how could he have anything to be self-conscious about? Channon stood, waiting, watching Jack's face for any sign of disappointment or disapproval. It was impassive, though, almost blank, giving nothing away. Channon had to wait, and that felt right, waiting on Jack's pleasure.

Eventually, Jack looked up. "Very good, Channon. I'm pleased. I think you deserve a reward."

The tension in his shoulders went loose, and Channon breathed deep, relieved. "Sir," he said, wondering what it could be. Jack put the list down under the lamp, and reached out to curl his fingers Channon's hair, pulling him up to be kissed. It was a heavy kiss, deep and thorough, and Channon opened up to it gladly. A tiny part of his mind, way at the back, wondered if this was the reward. If it was then what could Jack have in mind for tonight? Something from the list?

When he was done Jack leaned back, smiling a small smug smile. "Go upstairs and get your cushion," he said in a voice like dark honey. That meant Channon was going to kneel. The thought of it sent a jolt through him, sharp and sudden.

"Yes, sir."

He took the stairs two at a time, skidding on the slate in his socked feet. Jack called after him, "Don't break your neck," and he slowed down obediently. Upstairs meant naked, so he stripped and stuffed his clothes in the drawer, grabbing the cushion off the bed where it now apparently lived, and taking the stairs down more slowly, though no less eagerly. He walked back into the living room and—

Jack was on the sofa. The towel was spread out beneath him and the lamp had been turned down, bathing him in rich amber light. He was golden brown beneath it, his highlights buttery, the wealth of his chest hair glistening like silk. He was leaned back, eyes closed, his head resting against the cushions, feet on the floor, knees spread wide, splayed out like an invitation. One hand lay half curled beside his thigh, but what took Channon's breath away was the other hand, wrapped around his cock and stroking it lazily from root to tip. The skin beneath glistened, his fingers sliding sleek and smooth over it. Channon felt his balls tighten, his cock thickening already, mouth watering because if Jack was making him kneel tonight then Jack might let him suck that cock and, God, how Channon wanted to.

He cleared his throat. "Sir?" he said, hearing the hopeful note in his own voice.

Jack opened his eyes, smiling a slow and promising smile. "Come down here." Channon did, coming around to stand in front of him, unable to hide his growing erection and not bothering to try. Jack's hand kept moving, slow and steady, as he watched Channon with dark, half-lidded eyes. "Put that here." Channon dropped the cushion between Jack's feet, as instructed, but he didn't go down to his knees yet, not until—"Down, Channon,"—and he went, easily, eager to, so fucking eager.

He swallowed, tongue running over his lip. He could smell Jack, clean and masculine, but also warm and spicy, a hot cinnamon hint to him. As if reading his mind, Jack lifted his hand from his dick, offering two of his fingers.

"Suck," he ordered, so Channon opened his mouth, licking up immediately against the pads of Jack's fingers. Cinnamon bloomed on his tongue—it was warm, spicy, not the same texture as lube normally was. More oily. He couldn't help the way his eyes flew open, and Jack was watching him, mouth curled up in the corner just a little, enjoying his surprise. "Good boy." Jack took back his fingers, and Channon licked his lips again, getting the last of the taste. It was good. Warm. A little sweet. Better than lube, and it made his mouth tingle, ever so slightly. "And because you have been such a good boy, I'm going to let you do something for me that you said you might like."

Channon didn't know what that meant. Cock-sucking, hopefully. Or something else?

But then Jack spread his thighs wide, sliding his hips forward on the couch cushions until Channon could see the valley of his buttocks and Channon remembered. A hot flush spilled down his face, engulfing his chest. Jack was going to let him in there, let him get his tongue in there and...fuck.

The sound that struggled out of his throat might have been a whimper, and it made Jack smile.

"Oh, you'd like that? You want to eat me out? Gonna worship my ass while I jerk off?"

Channon had to swallow, there was so much saliva in his mouth. "Yes, sir. Please—" but he cut himself off, not willing to beg, not yet, not unless Jack wanted him to.

"You can start here, then," and Jack tucked his hand under his balls, lifting them a little. "Show me how much you want it."

Sometimes when Jack did this sort of thing it made Channon feel like he might faint, this great roaring in his ears that threatened to drown him. And now, bending down, his hands flat on the floor and his tongue outstretched, Channon felt light, weightless, like his chest was full of air and he could just float away. He pressed his tongue against the skin of Jack's balls, licked him dutifully, and then licked him hungrily because, fuck, he tasted so good and it felt so good to do this for him. He moaned, shivering, because he was on his hands and knees, nose pressed up to the base of Jack's cock, wreathed in the masculine scent of him, and Jack was stroking himself, knuckles brushing Channon's brow, his breathing deep and even.

"Good," he said, dark and husky. "Good boy. Just like that. Listen to you, moaning like you love it. You do, don't you? God, Channon, you look incredible. You make me want to fuck your mouth."

Channon moaned again, muffled because his mouth was full as he sucked and licked and sucked. When Jack talked to him like that he could barely focus on anything else. Just Jack's voice and the dirty things Jack said, that Channon wanted more than he could ever have imagined.

"I bet you'd like that too. You're so hungry for it, Channon. Licking your lips when you look at my cock, like you're starving." He curled his hand in Channon's hair, pushing him down until his mouth was pressed against Jack's taint. Everything tasted of cinnamon and spices and Jack, and Channon licked him just like he was starving, just as hungry as Jack said. "You're so good for me. I know you'd take it, just hold still and let me slide my dick between your lips. God, you're amazing."

It sent hot shivers down his spine, tingling along his nerves, his skin, sparking warmth in his belly, his balls, deep in his crotch. Everything was so wet now, Jack slippery under his tongue, and when Jack guided him down Channon ran his tongue into the musky warmth of his cleft, tasting him there. It felt incredible, almost unbearably shameful to do this, something so dirty. Here he was, kneeling naked on the living room floor of a man twice his age, licking his ass because...because he wanted to. Because he loved this. Because it was Jack and Channon just wanted it.

Jack pulled him up close until his nose was buried in Jack's taint. "Use your hands to hold me open," he said, and Channon lifted his palms from the floor to wrap around the heavy halves of Jack's ass. He pushed his tongue up into Jack's cleft to find more warm cinnamon, and then, there, that was it, that was Jack, hidden and vulnerable. Channon licked him tentatively, testing the tight strangeness of his skin, of muscle clenched closed. Soft and firm, oddly textured, slick with oil and fucking delicious.

God, he was never going to be able to eat cinnamon toast again without blushing.

"That's good," Jack said, his voice gone breathy. "You're doing so well. You can go inside."

So Channon pressed his tongue in, and Jack opened up for him, and it was the most heady, feverish thing he'd ever done. He felt drugged, drunk on Jack, cock so hard he felt he might burst, and couldn't stop making these wet filthy sounds as he moaned with his tongue in Jack's asshole.

Jack groaned, and it made Channon shudder. "Go on. Worship me."

He lapped at Jack, licking around the rim and pushing back into him, trying to show Jack just how much he did worship him. God, he could do this for hours, he could do this for days, just eat Jack's ass and wind up tight with frustration until he snapped. He wanted...he needed...if he could only...

The wet slap of Jack's hand on his own cock sped up, Jack's hips hitching up into it, grinding down on Channon's tongue, the fingers in Channon's hair clenching tight enough to hurt. Channon pushed inside as deep as he could, and he was fucking Jack with his tongue, he could hardly believe it, how could this be happening? And then Jack groaned, loud and guttural, and Channon felt the clench and flutter of his muscle as he came.

Holy...holy shit.

Jack tugged him back far enough to look him in the eye, though all he did was look, breathing hard, his pupils blown in the low light. His hand was still looped loosely around the base of his cock, knuckled streaked with come, his belly painted with it, his chest spattered. He was still so hard, and Channon couldn't help staring at his cock—You're so hungry for it, Channon, licking your lips when you look at my cock like you're starving—and he ran his tongue over his lip as he did, chasing the last taste of cinnamon.

Jack breathed out, long and heavy. "Good boy." He lifted his hand to Channon's mouth, and Channon licked the come from his fingers, because surely that's what he wanted. It must have been—Jack smiled, lazy and sated. "Clean me up."

Gladly, Channon did as he was told, laving Jack with his tongue, swirling around his navel, up his chest all the way to a nipple and cleaning that too. He lapped up everything, licked along the side of Jack's cock, took the last drop from where it beaded at his slit, and all the while his pulse thundered in his ears, in his throat, this great glorious rush that felt better than any game of football he'd ever played.

Jack made a contented noise, stroking Channon's hair. "Fuck, Channon. You're incredible. Come up here."

Spurred by the praise, Channon climbed up into Jack's lap, straddling him. Jack looped an arm around his waist and tugged until they were chest to chest, pinning Channon against him. Then he held him still and kissed him, licking across his lips and pushing his tongue into Channon's mouth like he was claiming it. Or just tasting it.

"You," he murmured, when he'd apparently had enough of this, "have been so good. Did you like your reward?" He smiled as he said it, but not mockingly.

Channon had to clear his throat before he could answer. "Yes, sir. Thank-you," he added, blushing horribly because he really had and it felt so strange to admit it.

"You know," Jack said mildly, watching him, "some people get off on making their subs," and Channon stilled at the word, because this was the first time Jack had said it, but Jack went on as if he hadn't noticed, "thank them for things that they find humiliating or degrading or just unpleasant. But I think you liked it a lot. I think you really are grateful. And I get off on that." His smile broadened. "Am I right, Channon?"

Channon nodded, unable to hide it. "Yes, sir. I, I loved it."

Jack's smile softened, crinkling his eyes. He brushed his fingers along Channon's jaw, and Channon couldn't help but lean into it like a cat. "You're perfect. I don't think you have any idea how perfect you are for me, but you are."

God, it sounded so good. More than the warm trail of Jack's fingers moving down his chest, more than the promise of all this sex, it was the praise that Channon needed, that got him hot and flustered and tangled up inside. Did Jack know that? Was that why he said it? He'd tied Channon to him with sweet words and pride, but he meant it all, didn't he?

Jack's hand teased Channon's cock, still stiff and aching, and Channon gasped, his hips jerking up in a needy little plea.

"You're so hard, Channon. You look like you're going to pop any second." Merciless, Jack stroked him, but so light and so gently that it was more a torture than anything else. Channon bit his lip, trying not to whine, and quivering from the effort it took not to just fuck into Jack's hand. "Do you want to come?"

Channon nodded, lip still caught in his teeth, because he couldn't trust his voice, not while Jack was teasing him like this. His hips kept canting up in tiny little hitches as the muscles in his thighs betrayed him.

Jack looked wicked now, and Channon knew, he just fucking knew it wasn't going to be that easy.

"Do you want to come now?" Jack murmured, leaning in until Channon could feel the gust of breath against his lips, his voice low down and soft, deceptively sweet. "Or do you want to be a good boy and wait until Friday, and I'll let you pick something off your homework list as a treat?"

It was so unfair. Channon made a desperate noise, squeezing his eyes shut. Jack was killing him.

But he knew what he was going to say, and he was pretty sure Jack knew it too. "I-I'll wait, sir. I'll be good. Please," and he made a wretched noise as Jack's hand closed firm around his poor aching dick, just holding him still in a warm palm.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Jack squeezed him gently, and then reached down to tug his balls, fairly hard. Channon sucked in a breath through his teeth but all it did was make Jack smile. "You're going to be okay? You can't touch yourself, remember. I forbid it."

Channon nodded, breathing deeply to try and calm himself down. God, he was so fucking hard. He wanted so much...but he wanted Jack's approval more. And there was this 'treat' Jack had promised him. My pick. He shuddered, just thinking about it. "Yes, sir. I remember. I'll be fine."

But Jack made a show of inspecting Channon's erection, his mouth turned down in a frown that didn't touch his eyes. "Let's just make sure you don't have any accidents." He slapped Channon's thigh. "Up you get."

It was wobbly, but Channon managed it, with Jack's firm hand for support. Then Jack was shepherding him upstairs, through Jack's room and into the en suite. At first Channon had no idea what was going on, but then Jack detached the shower head and turned it on. He arched an eyebrow at Channon, gesturing for him to get in. But when Channon did—

"Fuck!" He tried to cover himself, staring at Jack in betrayal. But Jack just smirked and played the cold water over Channon's junk. "Ahhh!"

"Hands," Jack chided, and Channon reluctantly dropped them to his sides, curling them into shuddering fists by his thighs. God damn it. Jack was a sadist, he was a sadistic fuck, this was torture, and Jack was enjoying it. Channon grit his teeth, trying not to flinch away and failing, his breath going short and shallow in his chest like he was dying, which he probably was.

Finally, Jack turned the water off. "There you go." He wrapped Channon in a fluffy towel, smiling as if he really had just done Channon a favor as he chafed him. "You didn't like that at all." Channon tried not to pout but obviously failed because Jack reached up to pinch his lower lip. "Complaining, Channon?"

"No, sir." Channon stood there, letting Jack dry him off, and trying not to look sullen. It was hard, anyway, when he did feel warm, after, and Jack chuckled at him, ruffling his hair.

"Good. If you get too excited between now and Friday evening, you can give yourself a cold shower. Understand?"

Channon nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, thinking privately that there was no chance of him actually doing that.

Jack smiled, ruffling his hair again. "Then let's go through that list and see if we can't find something you like the sound of."

* * *

By Friday afternoon Channon had taken four cold showers, and felt nearly ready for a fifth. It was just such a tease, the way Jack had got him to sit in his lap and go through the list, crossing things off and highlighting others in green. Channon had felt a bit adventurous by the end, shyly highlighting a few things that had Jack's eyebrows up, the corners of his mouth too, as though jerked skyward.

"Oh, really?" he'd said, and then he'd kissed Channon very thoroughly and murmured darkly, "We'll have to do something about that."

Channon knew that when Jack said things like that he meant them, so it would probably only be a matter of time before they actually did.

But, for the promised Friday 'treat', Channon had wavered. There was something he thought he wanted, something specific, only he was too shy to ask for it. Even though Jack had smiled when Channon had self-consciously run the highlighter over it. Even though he was pretty sure Jack wanted to. Even though Jack had said.

Now, waiting for Jack to let him know he could come over, Channon was trying to decide between being honest about what he wanted and settling for something less...kinky. (Technically, he reminded himself, everything on that list was kinky. It was a kink list. Of kink.)

He had just about made up his mind when the message came, and by the time he was standing on Jack's front step he was pretty sure he knew what he was going to say.

Jack was clothed when he let Channon in this time, and just as gorgeous as he was naked. Maybe. It was hard for Channon to say, or even for him to think at first, taken aback by how good Jack looked. He was wearing charcoal slacks and a blue button-up, sleeves rolled to the elbow. The shirt fitted him so well, showing off the shape of him beneath it, and the blue was dark but rich, the fabric so smooth it was almost-but-not-quite shiny. He'd left the top button undone, and Channon wanted to kiss the bare skin of his neck, where he'd tidied up his stubble.

He looked just a little disheveled, and very, very expensive.

Channon, who had settled on his good jeans and a black henley, felt immediately under-dressed.

But Jack's smooth grin seemed appreciative. "Come on in." He gestured into the living room and Channon went. "Take a seat."

Channon sat on the sofa and Jack dropped down next to him, running a hand over his shoulder affectionately.

"Good day?"

Channon made a face. "Too many cold showers."

Jack chuckled, pinching his ear. "How many is too many?"

"Two today. Four total."

"Counting the one I gave you?"

"...no, sir."

Jack seemed to find this very entertaining. "I guess you're eager for tonight, huh?" Channon nodded, unable to help smiling a little. "You seemed to be having trouble making up your mind on what you wanted to try," Jack said, not unkindly. "So, I narrowed down the list for you a bit." He pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt-pocket and offered it to Channon.

There were four items on the list, all things Channon had highlighted on Wednesday, while curled in Jack's lap. He blushed to see that the thing he'd been wavering on was listed first, and nodded, handing the paper back. "Yes, sir," he said. "Um. The first thing."

Jack held the paper between his fingers, not looking at it. "Can you say it for me out loud?"

Now Channon's face was burning. "Public sex," Channon said, and Jack's mouth curled up on one side.

"Put it in a sentence, starting with 'please, sir, will you'."

Channon breathed in, and tried. "Please, sir, will you...will you fuck me in public?"

"In front of strangers?" Jack prompted, and when Channon nodded he just lifted an eyebrow for him to say it.

"In front of strangers," Channon said, feeling light-headed.

Jack smiled. "Good boy. I had a feeling you were going to pick that," he added, and Channon wondered how he'd given himself away. "So I planned something. Come on."

* * *

On the drive over, Jack gave him a quick run-down on what to expect. Channon paid attention, his pulse jumping every time he remembered that they were actually doing this. He balked, though, when Jack said they wouldn't go in together. "Sir?"

Jack's grin was toothy and white in the shadows of the car. "I'll find you. Don't worry. And then I'll fuck you in front of all the other guys who want to, and they can fantasize about being the one who gets to fuck you next time. Seems only fair."

It sent a quiver through Channon's thighs to hear him say that, so blunt, matter-of-fact. Jack would find him and Jack would fuck him, and that was that.

The building, when they arrived, looked more like a gym than what Channon had imagined a sauna-bathhouse place to look. The big reflective windows gave it a clean, modern feel, and the only very odd thing about it was the complete lack of any signage out front. Jack gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"Go on," he said. "You'll be fine. Just remember what I told you."

"Don't make eye contact," Channon recited. "Don't be afraid to say no."

"And don't worry. I'll be watching. I promise."

Channon couldn't see how, but he nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And have fun. Try out the baths. Steam a bit. Relax." He squeezed Channon's shoulder, leaning in to brush a quick kiss against his cheekbone. "Okay?"

"Yeah." Channon swallowed, nervous but determined. "Okay, sir."

"That's my boy."

So, alone, Channon climbed the steps and went in.

It was, oddly, just as clean and gym-like inside as outside. A handful of older men in street-clothes, holding sports-bags, were chatting by a vending machine, a man in a suit was talking angrily to someone on his phone, and a tanned guy maybe a few years older than Channon stood behind a desk with the sign 'Reception' hung over it. He looked up when Channon walked up to him, smiling a huge customer service smile. There was a tag pinned to his shirt that read 'Angelo'.

"Hi," he said, "Welcome to Club Rocket."

"Hi. Uh," and Channon had to take a breath to steady himself. "I'm not sure how to...this is my first time."

Angelo blinked, and then obviously looked Channon over. Channon felt his face heat. Great. "First time, or first time?"

Oh, perfect. "First time here. In a, a bathhouse. Um. My...friend gave me this?" He handed over the guest pass he'd got from Jack, and Angelo's expression softened immediately.

"Okay. Do you have some ID? All right." He scanned the pass and punched something into the computer. "Here's your locker key, and your towel. You can get clean ones if, you know, you need them." He paused, and this time when he looked Channon over it was markedly different to the first time. "So-o," he drawled, smile suddenly less customer-service and more...Channon supposed that was flirtatious. He couldn't be sure. Guys didn't look at him like that, normally, but he'd seen them do it to girls before. Being on the receiving end was new, and a little shocking. "Do you want me to show you around? Since it's your first time, and all."

"Oh. Yeah. I mean, please, if it's okay," Channon said, remembering his manners.

"Louis!" Angelo called, and a guy with carefully styled hair stuck his head out of a doorway. "Cover for me, I'm going to show a guest around."

Louis gave Channon a once-over similar to the one he'd first got from Angelo, and let out a disgusted sort of sigh. "Fine. Just don't get fired," he muttered, coming out to lean on the desk.

Angelo took Channon to the locker-room. "It's towel-only, no briefs," he said, tipping Channon a wink. "So, put everything you've got in your locker and don't forget your key. Any toys?"

"What?"

"Did you bring any dildos, or plugs?" Channon felt the hot flush of embarrassment spill down his throat, and it must have been visible because Angelo smirked at him. "Okay, just get changed, then. I'll wait here."

The locker-room was pretty much just a locker-room, but instead of a mess of teenage boys this one was peppered with, well, men. There were less than a dozen, and all of them older than Channon. A few glanced up when he came in, not exactly discreet about it, and Channon found his locker and stripped off, feeling the weight of their interest like an itch between his shoulders. It's fine, he told himself. This is what you wanted.

And wasn't it? Being looked at? Maybe wanted? By people who didn't get to have him because he was Jack's?

Yeah. Channon breathed in, and out, and stepped out of his boxers. Then he stuffed them in the locker and knotted the towel around his hips and thought, Okay.

Angelo smiled at him when he came out. "Got your key?" Channon held up his wrist, with the key on a strip of elastic. "Great. Let's go."

There were three floors, Angelo said. The first floor was for the baths, the sauna, and the steam room. 'Baths' Channon found out were basically like swimming pools, cold and hot, and there was a hot tub, which interested him on some level. Everywhere there were men in towels, and out of towels. They were all older than him, and they varied from incredibly muscular to very thin to heavyset and fleshy. Some were hairy and some waxed smooth, and it didn't seem to matter how old they were, some of the younger men were covered in dark pelts down their backs and there were plenty of older men with careful manscaping.

Apart from the nudity, it was almost exactly like going to a swimming pool. Except there were no women, no children, and Channon couldn't help but be aware that people were looking at each other. In the change rooms at school, in the mens room, he knew what the etiquette was: do not look. Absolutely under no circumstances, look. But here? Everyone was looking, and it didn't matter. God, he'd never seen so much dick before.

The second floor Angelo took him to but they didn't move much past the landing. It was dark, red pin lights in places but mostly a diffuse dimness smothering everything. The music thudded loud and deep, and Channon knew it was the soundtrack for sex. He felt it thump deep in his gut, stirring something that made his cock twitch under the towel.

He knew there were people fucking in there, and he could see vague shadows that could be anything. The idea of walking out there was thrilling. He'd hardly be able to see anything. Anyone could touch him and he wouldn't even know who it was. God, he could fuck a complete stranger, it could be anyone. The thought made his lungs tight, his breath shallow, and he swallowed to cover it.

"There's a cruising maze," Angelo was saying, and Channon made himself listen. "You can wander through, see if you find anyone you like. There's all kinds of dark corners to have fun in. There's movie rooms out the back, for a little inspiration. You can rent a room with a sling, if you want privacy, or there's a couple out in the open, if you're an exhibitionist." He grinned as if to say, 'which you can't be, since you're new,' but the words tingled down Channon's nerves, because he was, wasn't he? Wasn't that what this meant?

Angelo pointed out the condom and lube dispensers on the walls, impressed on him the absolute necessity for safe sex (which Jack had already told him about), and then took him up a floor to the roof, where you could sun-bake during the day. There were guys in towels sitting around smoking and drinking coffee, chatting and laughing, and basically not having any sex at all.

"It's a safe zone," Angelo explained. "I mean, the whole club is a 'safe' zone, but no one's expecting any sex up here, so they pretty much keep their hands to themselves. Everywhere else, it's fair game." He grinned. "So, where do you want to start? I can introduce you to some regulars up here—anonymously, of course—or you can head down on your own. Whatever you like."

Channon had already made up his mind. "I'm going to try the hot tub," he said, and Angelo nodded.

"Great idea. I'll walk you down."

He left Channon in the doorway of the hot tub room, and Channon almost lost his nerve. There were three men already in the tub, two middle-aged guys who seemed to know each other, and one a few years older than Channon with the kind of sculpted body that came from hours and hours in the gym. He was also wreathed in tattoos, and they were kind of gorgeous. Channon hesitated, but he had to.

"Is it okay if I...?"

One of the middle-aged guys, gray creeping into his dark fluffy hair and salt-and-pepper speckles all down his chest, looked up and smiled in a friendly sort of way. "Sure, come on in."

Channon turned away to unhook his towel, and dropped it on the bench by the wall. Then, bravely, he turned back and climbed in. The water was deliciously warm, frothing around him like a gentle massage, and it was easy to relax against the side, despite his acute awareness that he was naked in a hot tub with three men he'd never met.

Salt-and-pepper guy watched him casually, and flashed Channon a grin once he was settled. "Do you come here often?" he asked, and his friend spluttered with what seemed to be indignation.

"I can't believe you just said that. I can't believe I'm seen with you in public." He eyed Channon disdainfully. "He's a baby," he said with obvious disgust. "He's far too young for you."

"Didn't you once tell me I was too young for you?" Salt-and-pepper sounded oddly fond. Channon glanced at his friend, who was fleshy and had lost a lot of his fine blond hair but didn't really look much older than the other.

"You were seventeen," Blond-hair scoffed. "And I was your TA. It was illegal and unethical."

Salt-and-pepper chuckled, and winked at Channon. "He's so moral. It's cute."

Channon didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything, belatedly remembering Jack's advice not to make eye contact. Caught between a lifetime of politeness and what was supposedly good etiquette here, Channon didn't know what to do. He looked down at the surface of the water, and realized that the bubbles hid almost everything, but he could definitely see someone's dick. He looked back up, face already warm from the hot tub, to see Salt-and-pepper watching him with obvious amusement. It only made it all worse.

"If you're going to flirt with jail-bait," Blond-hair said tightly, but Salt-and-pepper just patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm not flirting, I'm just making conversation."

They settled down to bickering between themselves, and it was obvious how much they were a couple. A couple who had come to the bathhouse to potentially have anonymous sex with someone. Channon thought about his own plans, and decided he couldn't possibly judge anyone else for theirs.

Someone came to the edge of the hot tub, and Channon looked up, his pulse skipping because it had to be Jack. But it wasn't, just a big muscle guy with a shaved head and a fake tan, who climbed in next to Channon without preamble. Channon scooted over to make room, accidentally bumping up against the tattooed guy, who had his arms outstretched on the edge of the tub, his head laid back and his eyes closed.

"Sorry," Channon muttered.

"S'cool," the guy said, shifting over a little.

Something warm and heavy settled on Channon's thigh. It took a moment to realize it was a hand, and that it belonged to the guy with the shaved head. He looked up, startled.

Shaved-head grinned at him. "Hey. You like sucking dick?"

The bluntness of it took him by surprise. And then he remembered where he was, and realized this wasn't at all inappropriate. "I'm not interested," he said, and then, because his mother raised him right, he added, "Sorry."

Shaved-head didn't look particularly deterred by this. The hand on Channon's thigh slid up, wrapping around his junk and fondling him. "No? How about if I fuck you?"

Channon froze. Could he push the guy's hand away? Was that rude? "I'm not interested," he said again, pulling his knee up to try and dislodge the hand on him.

But the guy just slid his hand up over Channon's belly. "Come on," he wheedled. "Bet I can get you hard."

"Hey," Salt-and-pepper interrupted. He waved a hand, scattering water. "The kid said he's not interested. You're scaring the crap out of him."

For a second, Channon's gut went cold. He'd seen this kind of thing, knew what happened when one guy interrupted another guy talking to a girl. Only this time he was the girl, and whatever happened next...

But Shaved-head just frowned, gave Channon a sidelong look, and took his hand back. "Fine," he said, and then he leaned over Channon to tap the tattooed guy on the chest. "Hey," he started, but Tattoos didn't let him finish.

"Not interested," he said, not bothering to open his eyes.

Shaved-head looked disappointed, but he shrugged and climbed out of the tub. "Whatever," he said to no one in particular, reaching for his towel and walking out with it over his junk.

Channon let out a long breath. That had been so awkward. The guy had just grabbed him. And Jack had said that might happen, had told Channon not to feel bad about it, had basically said it was okay for tonight, but still. He felt weird, and he surreptitiously adjusted himself under the water, not wanting that guy to be the last person who touched his junk.

Plus, he felt so unsophisticated, as if everyone else here knew exactly what the rules were and weren't even slightly fazed by them, while he looked inexperienced and young and stupid to everyone around him.

"What an asshole," Blond-hair said, staring at the doorway.

"Yeah, that guy was a piece of work," Salt-and-pepper agreed. He gave Channon a sympathetic sort of smile. "You okay, kid?"

"I'm fine. Um..."

"Yeah?"

"Was that...I mean, I kinda thought, maybe it was okay. What he did? I don't know, I've never been to...this kind of place."

The two middle-aged guys exchanged looks. Then Salt-and-pepper said, "Did you like it?"

"No," Channon said.

"And you already said no, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, no. That wasn't okay."

"Technically," Blond-hair put in, "upstairs, in the maze..."

"Yeah, that's okay," Salt-and-pepper agreed, "but in the hot tub?"

"No, no. Definite asshole."

There was a brief pause, and Channon settled his feet, wondering what he should do next. Get out of the hot tub? Go looking for Jack? Or stay here and wait for Jack to show up? I'll find you, Jack had said, like a promise. But he'd also told Channon to have fun. And the hot tub was fun, now that that guy was gone.

"So, what are you here for?"

Blond-hair groaned and slapped a wet hand over his eyes. "He's less than half your age! Stop trying to pick him up, it's sad."

"I'm not trying to pick him up. I'm being friendly. You wouldn't know anything about that. Anyway." He turned back to Channon. "We're here so I can screw some guy while Roger watches," he said, smirking over his shoulder, "and then Roger's gonna nail me to remind me why I married him."

"Aw, you make that sound so sweet," Blond-hair said, leaning in to kiss him. Channon wasn't sure if he was supposed to look away, but he did, anyway, glancing up at the ceiling where everything was safe.

There was a surge of water next to him as Tattoos stood up. "If there's going to be married kissing I'm out of here," he said dryly, and Channon was momentarily captivated by the sight of all that tattooed muscle rising up out of the water, slick and wet and close enough to touch. Plus...the guy was really hung. Channon stared and then blinked and then looked up at the guy's face because, well, that was polite, right?

Tattoos was looking back at him, interest evident in his face.

"I'll fuck you, if you want," he offered, spreading the fingers of one hand wide.

Channon shook his head. "No, thanks."

"Cool," Tattoos said, and got out to dry himself off. He tucked his towel around his hips before walking out, tossing a, "Maybe next time," over his shoulder.

Channon watched him go, the lines of ink rippling across his shoulders like smoke. When he glanced back the other two were watching him.

"So, kid." Salt-and-pepper leaned in. "You were pretty fast to say no to that guy. Not your type?"

"No," Channon said, feeling awkward again.

The guy made a 'fair enough' face. "Well, if you're here for anonymous sex—"

"We're all here for anonymous sex," Blond-hair scoffed.

"—then you might wanna head upstairs. If you're ready." Channon must've looked uncertain because he went on. "The tub'll still be here when you're done."

Blond-hair huffed. "Oh, leave him alone. If he wants to stew in the tub, let him. It's none of your business."

"I'm just saying. He's young, he's cute, he's probably limber," Salt-and-pepper said with a shrug. "He reminds me of me at his age."

"You were never that good-looking."

Salt-and-pepper snickered. "You called me a dreamboat."

"That was twenty years ago. I had low standards."

"Anyway," Salt-and-pepper went on, ignoring his husband. "Don't be shy. Go screw a bunch of guys while you're young and single. One day you'll have a hernia and a mortgage."

Blond-hair made a disgusted noise. "You're giving cruising advice to twunks in hot tubs, I'm so embarrassed for you."

Salt-and-pepper laughed out loud. "What the hell is a 'twunk'?"

"Like...a hunky twink? I don't know!"

"You're using words and you don't know what they mean! I'm so embarrassed for you."

* * *

Weirdly, the session in the hot tub seemed to have smoothed out Channon's nerves. He felt warm and relaxed, confident enough to climb out of the tub and dry off without getting self-conscious.

Then, taking his new friend's advice, he went upstairs.

The music settled into his skin, sinking down to his bones and tugging him on. He took a minute to get used the dim light, but even then it was dark, mysterious, all shadows tinged in red, the occasional pin light catching a glimpse of a limb, a bare chest, the planes of faces made unfamiliar by shadows. He hesitated at the entrance the maze. Maybe Jack was in there. Maybe Jack was watching him, right now.

Someone was—he could feel eyes tracing his back, caught a glimpse of someone against a wall, head turned in his direction. Not Jack, not tall enough to be Jack, but someone watching all the same.

Channon steeled himself, and walked into the maze.

There were people in the corners of it at every turn, shadows in the shadows, and he hadn't gone a yard before someone reached out to touch him. Just a hand, sliding over his ass, and it made him jerk away, but he kept going.

The anonymous hands stroked him as he went, phantom caresses on his sides, his arms, his chest, tugging at the towel. Someone stepped off the wall, two palms coming up flat against his belly. He pushed them away, kept walking. The thud of his heart seemed to match the throb of the music, beating down low in his crotch. Maybe it was the heat from the hot tub, maybe it was the darkness, the tight claustrophobia of the maze, but he felt so hot, fuzzy, almost drunk. He held his towel tight on one hip against the plundering fingers that tried to tease under it. Jack was here, somewhere, he could sense it, could feel him like a burn. Someone groped his ass and Channon pulled away from them. Fingers traced through his hair, and Channon ducked out of reach. He didn't know how much deeper the maze went, how deep he was already. What if Jack didn't find him? What would he do if Jack didn't come? Should he find a corner and wait? How would he even know if it was Jack? What if he'd already pushed Jack away? What if he'd missed him in the dark?

Heart racing, Channon turned back, straight into a broad chest, and was trapped in muscular arms that wrapped around and held him. And then—

"Channon," Jack breathed into his ear, and Channon staggered against him in relief.

Jack's hands knotted in Channon's towel, tugging him, and then Channon nearly tripped over a small step as Jack backed him up against a wall, bracketing him in with his body. Red light poured down over them and Channon looked up. They were directly under a light, right where anyone could see, and where Channon could see that it really was Jack, oh God, how good it was to see him.

Jack leaned his forearms up against the wall on either side of Channon's head, caging him like prey, then he ducked down to catch Channon's mouth, sucking his lip, savaging him with teeth, finally, finally claiming him. Channon couldn't help the noise he made, this weak relieved sob halfway to a moan, and Jack just licked it out of his mouth. Then he yanked Channon's towel away, leaning back to let light spill down Channon's chest. Jack's hands roamed over the exposed skin, catching his nipples and twisting them to make Channon gasp, nails scoring over his ribs. But Channon didn't want him so far away, so his arms went up, looping around Jack's neck, and he arched up against Jack's body.

"Please," he begged, and Jack's sharp smile seemed to say, 'all right'.

But out loud he said, "Turn around," in a low growl that went straight to Channon's cock. Channon did, hands going flat on the wall. "Up," and he went up onto the step. "Arms above your head." He reached up, and his fingers closed on a ring set into the wall for, he imagined, precisely this purpose. So he clung to it, as Jack's hands moved over his thighs, his hips. Then—thwack!—the sharp impact of Jack's palm on the cheek of his ass, hard enough to make Channon suck in a breath, but Jack's hands were already sliding forward over his hips to curl around his cock. Channon was thick but not full, and it only took a few sure strokes of Jack's hands to make him hard.

He caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye—someone nearby, watching, just a shadow against the wall, and remembered the light above them. Jack had chosen this deliberately, positioned Channon exactly where he wanted him, where people could see exactly what Jack was doing to him.

This wasn't like the time in the change room, when Jack had covered his mouth so no-one would hear Channon come. Or like the time he'd ordered Channon to strip in front of the wide-open window of his study, and Channon hadn't known about the tinting, had thought anyone might look up and see him. No, this time he was on display, and he knew it, and that was the whole point, and the realization that someone was watching made everything sharper and more urgent.

Jack's hands disappeared and Channon made a sound of protest, but then there were slick fingers sliding down his cleft, fingertips pushing into him, and nothing mattered except the feel of Jack opening him up, shoving into him to the knuckles, his fingers curling to make Channon see sparks. Channon made wet desperate noises, clinging to the ring above his head, wanting so badly to rock back onto Jack's hand. Jack's fingers slid out of him and Channon heard himself beg, "Please, please."

"Oh, you're going to get what you want," Jack assured him, breath hot on Channon's ear, but every moment it took for Jack to get back inside him was a moment too long.

Then there was the heat of Jack's palms on his cheeks, holding him open, his thumbs tracing around Channon's slick hole, and the weight of cock against him, the unfamiliar sensation of latex between them as Jack pressed in. Channon felt a high helpless noise tear from his throat, Jack pumping into him in short insistent strokes until he was buried as deep as he could go. Then he looped his arms up over Channon's chest, hands closing his shoulders, and held him still to be fucked into, in long smooth thrusts. Channon felt each of them in the back of his teeth, like Jack was fucking up into his throat, and he sobbed, and people were watching, he knew, they could see him opened up for Jack and speared on his cock. He snuck a look to one side and there, movement in the shadows that looked like someone jerking off. To this. To him, and Jack taking him.

"Oh God," he moaned, and then, "please, please, please," and Jack sped up, his pace gone ragged, messy, and Channon knew he was going to come. Breath burned in his lungs, Jack pounding him, and then the stutter of Jack's hips, the deep groan in Channon's ear, the last few hard thrusts and Jack was done.

Except he wasn't. "Let go," he ordered, his voice gone rough. Channon did, hands coming down from the wall-ring to flatten on the wall, and Jack took his weight, tipping Channon back onto his chest and holding him up, still buried in him. One hand went straight to one of Channon's nipples and pinched it hard—Channon gasped, and then Jack had a hand around his cock, stroking him relentlessly. Channon tightened up from head to toe, taut as a piano string, and every stroke wound him up further until he knew he was going to snap.

"Come on," Jack urged him, and that was all he needed to shatter, making broken sounds as he spilled over Jack's fingers. The flood of orgasm drowned him and left him waterlogged and useless in Jack's arms, and Jack held him up like always, took care of him like always, was there for him like always.

Too soon, Jack was pulling out, tying off the condom and dropping into a bin that slid out of the wall. Then he was scrubbing Channon down with a towel, and tucking it back around Channon's hips. "Hey," he said, grinning under the red light. "How about a shower?"

Channon nodded, exhausted, knowing Jack would take care of him, no matter what.

* * *

They were signing out, much later, when Channon realized that a decent-looking older guy in cargo shorts and a short-sleeved check shirt was standing in the foyer and grinning at him. It took him a moment to realize that that was what Salt-and-pepper looked like with his clothes on. Channon lifted a hand to wave, and then wondered if he was supposed to.

"You can go say hi to your friend," Jack prompted, bunting him with one hip.

Channon did, but when he got there, he didn't really know what to say. "Uh, hi."

"I see you got the hang of it, after all," Salt-and-pepper said, eyeing Jack speculatively. "Be careful with older men," he added with mock seriousness. "Sometimes they make you move to Toronto."

"That was for one year," his husband said derisively.

"One cold, cold, cold year," Salt-and-pepper insisted.

Blond-hair made a face. "Why did I ever marry someone so pathetically soft?"

"Killer blow jobs," Salt-and-pepper said, and his husband nodded thoughtfully. "Anyway, good on you. Maybe we'll see you again, sometime."

"Maybe," Channon said, not sure when that could possibly ever be. "It was nice to meet you. Thanks for...thanks."

Jack put an arm around him when he got back, but it wasn't until Jack had steered him outside and down the steps and toward the parking lot that it occurred to Channon to think of it as a possessive arm.

"Did you have fun?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. I did. It was...nice. Sort of. And kind of nasty," he added, thinking about Jack pounding him into the wall.

"That can be an exciting combination," Jack said, fishing out his keys. He looked pleased with himself, content and relaxed. Maybe that had been the sex, or the sauna they'd had after. Channon couldn't be sure.

"Did you have fun, sir?" he asked on impulse.

Jack glanced at him sidelong, and then pressed a kiss to Channon's hair. "I did. I really did. Good pick," he added, grinning, and Channon thought that maybe they would come back again.

Continued in His Boy Next Door: #10 Shared Interests

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Also by the Author

Published as R.J. Moray

His Boy Next Door (Channon Beaumont) series

Season One

Volume One (1-3)

A New Discovery

Breaking In

Bad Decisions

Volume Two (4-6)

New Toys

Eating In

Staking Claims

Volume Three (7-9)

Punishment

Submission

Showing Off

Volume Four (10-12)

Shared Interests

Fears

Choices

Season Two

Members Only

Published as Robin Moray

Bonded to the Alpha series

Bonded to the Alpha

Loyal

Claimed

Mallory Witches series

Something Wicked

About the Author

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

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

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

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