Deliberately Unbound (Bound #2-1/2)

The buckles on Oliver’s ankles seen to, Vincent stood and took a step back. Navy-coated arms crossed over his broad chest and features schooled in a bland mask, he appraised Oliver. If not for the blatant erection tenting the placket of his trousers, one might think him unaffected. The man’s iron-willed control an aphrodisiac all its own.

Oliver curled one hand into a fist to resist the impulse to reach out and tug on that placket. To free his lover’s cock. To have the weight of him heavy in his palm. To feel the silken skin slide past his lips. To taste the proof of Vincent’s desire for him.

A wave of need washed over him. Please, tell me to suck your cock. Somehow he kept the plea inside. It was all he could do not to grab his own prick, clutch it tightly at the base and push back the orgasm teasing his ballocks. Hell, Vincent had barely touched him. Just being cuffed by Vincent had the most profound effect on him. Breaths quickening, his gaze swept over his lover’s body. He knew exactly what those strictly tailored clothes hid. Six feet two inches of pure muscle and power. Enough power to easily force Oliver to do his bidding, not that force was ever needed.

Then his gaze slid up the broad chest to Vincent’s handsome face. The strong jaw, the firm mouth drawn in the straight line of consideration, the slightly roman nose. The absolute command, the rock-solid control in the man’s eyes…

Oliver’s shoulders went lax. His chin tipped down, the dark waves of his untidy hair falling forward as he dropped his attention to Vincent’s polished evening shoes. He wanted to drop to his knees, pledge his undying devotion, but he kept his legs under him and his mouth shut, focusing only on Vincent, on following each and every order for each one would take him one step closer to complete and utter bliss.

“Good boy.”

Those two words, spoken in that deep, rumbling voice, never failed to make Oliver feel damn good.

“Get on the bed.”

Oliver’s gaze flickered up to the iron hook in the ceiling directly overhead. He had thought…but perhaps Vincent planned to make good use of the headboard. Wouldn’t be the first time. Turning, he stepped over the clothes he had earlier discarded and crawled onto the bed, the old frame creaking in protest.

“On your back. Legs spread.”

Positioning himself in the middle of the gray woolen blanket, he rested his head on one of the pillows and did as he was bid, knees slightly bent and legs spread...


© Ava March, April 2010
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