By: Heidi Belleau | Other books by Heidi Belleau
Published By: HBVV
Published: Oct 10, 2012
ISBN # HBVVXX0000001
Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Mobipocket (.mobi), Epub
Galway Bound (Layers of the Otherworld) by Heidi Belleau - Romance>LGBTQ>Gay eBook
“Galway Bound” is a BDSM short featuring Sean and Cormac from the urban fantasy M/M series Layers of the Otherworld, but the only magic here is what’s happening in their bed. Fans of the series and new readers alike will all find a little something to love in this erotic story.
Contains D/s, impact play, edging/orgasm denial, bondage, toys, light voyeurism.
“I don’t know why I like this so much.”
“Do you need a reason?” asked Cormac.
That was how it started, with Sean on his back, wrists pinned, his face flushed with his confession. Or really, if Cormac thought back, it actually started a year ago, when Sean had joked offhand about Cormac tying him to the bedposts. Cormac hadn’t been able to shake the thought since, and apparently neither had Sean, which suited Cormac just fine.
“I just—I guess I don’t.” Sean flexed his arms, straining upwards against Cormac’s weight. Not enough to fight him off, even though Cormac knew that if he wanted to, he could. Testing Cormac, maybe. Cormac bore down on him harder, not giving an inch, staring into his eyes the whole time.
“If it makes you feel better, neither do I,” he admitted.
“So you—oh God, come on,” gasped Sean, and wrapped his legs around Cormac’s waist, and that was the end of that conversation.
The next few weeks passed in such a mad blur Cormac nearly forgot all about it. He had a case that led him rambling over the fields late at night, and Sean had essays to grade whenever he was home. How many nights had they spent sitting together on his couch, Sean hunched over a stack of papers with a pen cap in his mouth, shrugging Cormac’s mouth off his throat or Cormac’s hands off his chest? When they did come together, it was good, like always, just not very... energetic.
But then the case was dealt with and the essays were sent off, and Cormac, in a fugue, had booked them a weekend in Galway for their anniversary.
“Same hotel?” asked Sean with a grin as he slid over next to Cormac on the couch.
“Same room. But I’ve got some new ideas, this time.”
“I’d like to leave some surprises,” said Cormac, grinning as well now. “Tie you up properly, for starters. Would you like that?”
“Yeah.” Sean’s voice was thick and low. He flicked his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.” He paused and looked away. “Not every time we—you know what I mean? I don’t want to... I don’t know, with a leash or something. But I really, really want to try it.”
“Oh, now I’m disappointed!” Cormac teased back, “All my dreams of you in a gimp suit. Dashed.”
“Um—I should pretend I know what that means, but I’m not going to.” Sean laughed.
“Naivete has its own appeal.” Cormac swept a hand over Sean’s head, combing his fingers through Sean’s soft, wavy hair. “You might not be familiar with a few of the things I have in store for you, but I promise I won’t push you too far.” He bit his lower lip as he considered the possibilities; Sean watched him intently. “But I will push you. I need to know that’s all right.” A formality—he was pretty sure Sean would be game for anything at least once.
He was right. Sean didn’t even hesitate to consider. “Yes.”
That entire first day in Galway, Cormac could tell Sean was anxious to get to the hotel room, anxious to discover Cormac’s design for the evening. As they walked through the streets, Sean’s body language was tight and impatient, and the unabashed inappropriate-in-public stares—at Cormac’s bulge, at his hands, at his chest—nearly broke Cormac down, too.
Instead, Cormac took him for a nice lunch and on a leisurely tour of the shops, making sure to make conversation with all the various antique sellers while Sean practically twitched with agitation, drumming on every flat surface. Cormac pretended not to notice, but at one shop, he discreetly enjoyed, in the reflection cast by a gaudy, gilt-edged mirror, the sight of the muscles of Sean’s long thighs tensing and releasing again.
Later that afternoon, they went for coffee, and Cormac very slowly drank an espresso, ‘accidentally’ brushing the toe of his shoe against Sean’s calf.
Sean hadn’t touched his own coffee or scone, but instead sat bolt straight in his chair, drumming his fingers across the table and glowering daggers at Cormac. “Hey,” he said, his voice quiet and strained. “Come on. Can we go now?”
A warm curl of pleasure twisted down Cormac’s abdomen and he smiled, eyelids low. He took another sip of his espresso. “I don’t know,” he replied, “ Can we?”
Sean’s face twitched in a mixture of annoyance and recognition, but it didn’t take long for him to relent. “May we go now?” He tried for sarcasm, but the desperation in his tone undermined it beautifully.
God, Cormac wanted him.
But not yet. He shifted his chair until they were side-by-side, thighs touching under the table, and leaned in. “May we go now, Cormac,” he corrected, at a whisper.
Sean’s jaw tightened. His eyes tried to narrow. Cormac half-expected a round of cursing, a fist slammed against the table and possibly some spilled coffee, but that was all right... they’d iron it out. Instead, Sean blinked purposefully, took a deep breath and said, in a quiet, careful voice, “May we go now, Cormac?”
The effect was instantaneous.
Cormac had planned on drawing the afternoon out, taking Sean to a multi-course meal, maybe a sex shop to pick something out for himself, teasing him until he nearly fell apart, but now, seeing him like this—that eager restraint and shy need to please—Cormac couldn’t hold out any longer. And he had a feeling Sean bloody well knew it.
He reached out—he had to—and cupped the side of Sean’s neck. Not a pat on the back or a punch on the shoulder or any of those ways straight men regularly touched each other. Softer, more intimate. A touch that couldn’t be anything but one shared between lovers. Right there in public.
Sean didn’t flinch away.
“Do you want me to—”
“No. I’ll do it for you.” Cormac paused halfway down the row of buttons to take up Sean’s wrist and unbutton his shirt cuff as well. He circled his fingers around hard bone and smooth skin, circled them to feel Sean’s pulse. Then he guided Sean’s arm down again, reached for his other wrist cuff and did the same with that one, making sure to take his time. Sean’s breathing was labored but steady. The room around them was quiet, like a romantic painting with Sean at its center, lit by soft afternoon light that leaked in through drawn curtains the color of cream.
“So what are the rules?” asked Sean, then gave his head a shake. “Cormac.”
“The rules. Oh.” Cormac’s gaze fell on the third button of Sean’s shirt, on the shadowed depression between the muscles of Sean’s chest. Cormac slipped the button through, then the next, down to the last button, taking care not to touch Sean’s skin. “What makes you think there’s supposed to be rules?” He felt one corner of his mouth twitch, but quelled the expression expertly.
“Well, you know. Research.” Sean shifted his weight. The shirt fell half off, exposing his right shoulder. The asymmetrical effect was nothing short of stunning. He looked rather like a shy artist’s model.
Cormac, his throat gone dry, had to swallow before he answered. “Research, was it now? And what kind of research did you do?”
“A little Wikipedia, a little bondage porn. Or a lot. I mean, I’ve had a while to think about this.” He shrugged his shoulders, slipping the shirt down a few more inches. Damn, he knew exactly how he looked right now. More importantly, how he looked to Cormac.
“See anything you liked? Tell me.”
“It’s hard. I mean, to talk about.”
Cormac could read that reluctance in his muscles, in the tense set of his shoulders. No pity. “I know. That’s why I want you to try.” Cormac kept his tone firm, but soft. The sense of authority in his voice made him tingle with anticipation.
Sean’s pupils dilated and his lips parted slightly, sticking at the corners. “Okay. I just want to... give everything up for a while. However you can do that. You know me. You know what I like.”
It was sweet, really, but this wasn’t about sweet. “You’re right about that. But that’s not what I asked.” He clenched his teeth around that last ‘d’, snapping it in his mouth primly. “I asked, ‘Did you see. Anything you liked.’”
Sean’s cheeks turned a delectable flustered red, barely noticeable under the shade of his skin, but apparent to Cormac. He lifted his chin. “There was... there was one... There was a man, they didn’t let him come. They teased him until he was crying, begging for it, but they didn’t—not until—”
Cormac reached for Sean’s shoulders, sweeping the shirt clear of his body. It fell to the floor, pooling around his feet. He knew which video Sean was talking about, had sat and watched it when he’d found it lurking in their web history. “You liked all of it, did you?” Cormac certainly had. But to hear Sean recount it in his unsteady voice was at least hundred times better.
“Yeah.” Sean visibly relaxed now that he had such an easy question to answer. “Except the names they called him. But everything else, God, yes.”
“I think maybe I’ll stick to calling you Sean,” Cormac said as comfort. He’d been expecting that. Too bad, because ‘boy’ had a certain appeal, especially now that Sean was looking to him—not up at him, he was too tall for that, although the effect was quite the same—with his dark, trusting eyes, waiting for direction even if it made him nervous. “And as for rules, we’ll keep this dead simple. I won’t gag you. You can say ‘no’ or ‘slow down’ any time and I’ll be listening. All I’ll ask in exchange is that you’re obedient, understood? That you trust me.”
“Yes.” Sean lowered his eyelids a fraction. That look that always set Cormac’s blood on fire. “I’m ready.”
Cormac kept up what he hoped was an entirely impassive front. “Take off your belt and hand it to me,” he ordered.
The slightest expression of fear and distrust stitched Sean’s eyebrows, then disappeared. He swallowed. Nodded. Reached for his ostentatious belt buckle, hands barely trembling. By the time he laid the belt over Cormac’s outstretched palm, his hands were steady and his eyes were unblinking, gone slightly unfocused.
“Do you understand why I’m asking you for this?” Cormac asked, closing his hand around the warm leather of the belt. He already knew that Sean understood, but the sound of him saying yes was damn near addictive.
“Yes,” said Sean.
“Very good. So what do you need to do next?” A pleasant spasm rolled down his abdomen to his groin. He tapped the folded belt against his palm, trying not to smile when he saw Sean’s eyes instinctively follow the movement.
“I don’t...” A small frustrated noise, there. Sean was a good ways towards where Cormac wanted him to be, if he could barely answer questions beyond a yes or a no. “Whatever you want, Cormac.”
Cormac took pity on him. “Show me. You don’t need to say. Show me what I want.”
Sean’s hands moved tentatively to the fly of his jeans. He looked to Cormac for approval, fingers hovering by the button.
As Sean undressed, toeing out of his sneakers and wriggling free of his tight jeans and boxers, Cormac held the belt, weighing it contemplatively in his hand. It wasn’t quite right. He needed to feel it against Sean’s skin, Sean’s body, not just his own. He turned it in his palm, then drew the edges of the loop from Sean’s shoulder across his collarbone and up to his throat, like a stroking hand, watching Sean’s jawline tremble slightly in response. Once Sean was naked, he continued dragging it down Sean’s chest and belly, down to his cock.
Sean was half-hard, and he’d closed his eyes. At the last touch of the belt he drew a sharp breath. “This is fucking crazy,” he said, smiling wild like he’d just boarded a rollercoaster. The secondhand exhilaration hit Cormac hard, made his heart beat faster until he swore he could hear it pounding in his eardrums.
Before Cormac could say another word to shape his strange mood, Sean turned his back on Cormac, took a step forward and leaned down onto the bed. Cormac admired the stretched muscles of his long thighs, the way one leg was shifted slightly forward as if he were balancing —admired how Sean could make the most passive pose seem dynamic.
Cormac breathed in deeply, gathering his composure, and heard Sean echo him shakily. He tightened his grip on the belt until the edges of the leather bit into his palm. “Very good,” he said. At the sound of his voice, Sean’s arse arched into the air minutely, fingers curling into the quilt. His pose had barely shifted, but Cormac saw him in new light, now, saw the way the shadows cast by the lines of his body changed and reformed. “Now you can tell me how many.”
“Wh—how many... how many...” Sean’s body twisted, switching the balance of weight on his legs.
Cormac ran the flat of the belt up Sean’s left leg, from the back of his knee to the lower curve of his arse. Sean’s shoulders shuddered.
“Give me a number.”
“Three.” An easy number to remember. Practically hard-wired, in fact. “Cormac.”
“Six, then. And you’ll count each one, and thank me after.”
“Six,” Sean echoed, nervous, obviously trying to wrap his head around the concept. “Six. Okay.”
The first blow couldn’t be hard enough to leave any lasting pain, but Cormac fought his own inclination to keep it soft. Sean wouldn’t want that, even if he didn’t fully understand what he did want yet. Cormac lengthened the loop of the belt, focused—he’d done this before, years ago, and it wasn’t the sort of thing you forgot—and swung.
“Ah!” An exhalation more than a shout, but Cormac could hear the mingling of pain and surprise and joy, all tangled up in that single syllable.
“One.” Sean took in a deep, ragged breath and held it, his back held rigid. A rose-pink mark streaked across his left cheek.
“Good. But don’t hold your breath.” He heard Sean exhale in a gust. “And you’re forgetting something.”
“What, after every one? Jesus! Thank you.” The tone started off teasing but ended less assured, more tentative.
“You’re not convincing me of your gratitude. Try again.”
He brought the belt down again, harder this time. In the same place as the last.
“Goddamn,” Sean gasped through gritted teeth. Cormac’s cock throbbed just hearing it. “Two. Thank you. Cormac.”
“No. That was ‘one’. You bollixed it up the first time.” He couldn’t help but smirk.
Sean’s reply was nothing short of resentful. “Fine. One. Thank you, Cormac.” He might as well have said, Thank you, asshole.
That was all right. A bit of resistance made the game that much more interesting. Sean’s body was stiff, anticipatory, as if he had come to the same conclusion, maybe hoping for a little conflict. Cormac swung again with a backhand, aiming lower this time and hitting the inside of Sean’s upper right thigh.
Sean let out a noise almost too quiet to be heard—high-pitched and strangled short. “Two, thank you,” he said evenly after a pause of only a few seconds.
“You closed your legs. Spread them back again.” Stepping forward, he touched the toe of his shoe against the inside of Sean’s bare ankle, giving it an impatient tap. As soon as Sean obeyed, Cormac stepped back and swung.
“Three,” said Sean, and sucked in his breath. “Thank you.”
The repetition began to have an effect. With every further strike of the belt, there was less resentful anticipation in Sean’s ritual reply. Be in the present, wished Cormac. Accept this. He swung.