Velvet Memories (12 page)

“I told you not to move.” His breath, his words, the very air around Rob vibrated, shivered over Michael’s skin in an unbearable, intangible caress.

“I’m sorry,” Michael choked out. Words were literally painful, as if his very lungs were filled with soft, melted wax. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he finally managed.

Rob shifted, pressing his shins over the backs of Michael’s thighs, pinning his lower body to the table. “You say you’re sorry, but you’re still moving, Mikey.”

And, oh fuck, he
was
moving, writhing under the lightning streaks of the wax and the velvet lash of Rob’s words.

“Do you need to be punished?”

No.
No.
Because if he gave in to it, gave Rob that power over him, how would he ever protect the last corner of his heart which he’d kept safe for all these years?

“No, Sir,” he panted. “Please, Sir, I don’t.” His voice was trembling, he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. What was pride in the face of what Rob was drawing out of him?

“Don’t need it? Or don’t want it? Because, baby, you’ve been all but begging me to punish you since I walked into that workshop.”

*

So fucking beautiful, so warm and sleek and strong beneath him. Michael was a feast for the senses, a freaking Carnival of delights.

The break in his submissive’s voice as he begged Rob not to punish him sent shudders of reaction down Rob’s spine. Partly because he knew he was going to punish him anyway, but mostly because he knew that when he did it, Michael would love it.

But it could wait a bit.

Sitting back on his heels, Rob began to play with the rapidly cooling wax between Michael’s impressively firm cheeks. Pressing, kneading, Rob felt like an overgrown child with some X-rated Play Doh as he formed hills and valleys, adding more wax here, swiping through with an ice cube there, and generally tormenting Michael until his slender back was in a constant, agonized arch.

When Michael was panting, each breath a low, pained groan, Rob knew it was time to move on. Settling back even more comfortably on his heels, he slowly peeled away the plastic wrap, enjoying the way the thin material clung to Michael’s oiled skin. The flesh below was a gorgeous, flushed pink that seemed to glow with heat stolen from the wax as it cooled.

Unable to resist, he lowered his head, ran his tongue along the throbbing, burning skin, tasting baby oil and heat and something he knew was pure Michael, a faint salt and spice Rob remembered as the taste of Michael’s cum.

Michael moaned, head falling forward on the table, hair sliding free of its tail to stick in messy strands to Michael’s cheeks. His pale gold skin shimmered against the black silk blindfold, damp with sweat and, Rob suspected, tears.

“I’m going to fuck you, Mikey,” he said, pressing the words into Michael’s very flesh. “Are you ready for it?”

“Sir
…
” Michael’s voice trailed off weakly as Rob flicked his tongue around the pink, vulnerable rim.

“That’s not an answer,” he pointed out, dragging his teeth lightly over Michael’s clenching hole. “Are you ready?”

“Please, Sir.”

That wasn’t an answer either, really, but since Michael’s ass was pressing back, his body all but begging for a deeper touch, Rob decided he’d let it go.

“Yeah, Mikey. Gonna fuck you. Gonna fucking own you.” Rob’s fingers dug into Michael’s cheeks and the submissive grunted, pushing into the touch. “But first, we’re going to get you ready.” He ran his hands over Michael’s ass, stroked over the silky flesh. “And you have a punishment coming.”

“Rob, Sir, please.” Rob wondered if Michael even knew what he was begging for. Whatever it was, Rob was going to give it to him, everything he was begging for and more.

Rob rose up onto his knees, then leaned down, pressing against Michael from knees to shoulders, enjoying the slide of oiled flesh and the prickle of hardened wax against his own skin. Wrapping his hands around Michael’s, he eased the submissive’s white-knuckled grasp on the handles set under the table, and urged him to push up, so he was arched in almost a cobra pose, knees firmly planted on the table, upper body raised and pressed hard against Rob.

Rob just stayed there for a moment, rubbing slowly against the beautiful man beneath him, savoring the leashed strength of his submissive. Savoring even more the fact that, resistant or not, Michael had
chosen
to submit to him.

Eventually, though, Rob knew he had to move or he’d end up rubbing off against Michael’s perfect ass, and that was definitely not how he wanted to come.

With one lithe movement, he jumped off the table. He had to smile when Michael’s head jerked up. The submissive’s entire body went rigid as he seemed to practically scent the air, trying to figure out where Rob had moved to, what Rob was doing.

What Rob was doing was retrieving the dull sword from the supply table.

Another graceful movement and Rob was on the table again, this time straddling one of Michael’s thighs. Michael, braced on his forearms, turned his head as if he could actually see Rob, and Rob had a sudden need to look into those neon blue eyes, to see Michael’s soul reflected there, his for the taking.

Leaning forward, Rob tangled the fingers of one hand in Michael’s messy ponytail, using the grip to pull the slender man back until he was pushing up on his hands, back in an exquisitely graceful arch. Then, his erection throbbing with the pounding of his heart, Rob ran the very tip of the sword down the line of Michael’s spine, letting it bounce lightly over bits of hardened wax even as it traced a faint line on the exposed skin.

The caress electrified Michael. The man shuddered, letting loose a low, guttural groan that sounded like it was pulled straight from his balls. The sound worked on Rob like a touch, a long, tight stroke of the hand over his aching cock.

Leaning in, he pressed his cheek against Michael’s, all the while keeping a tight grip on the submissive’s silky hair.

“Stay like this,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised by the grating, tight sound of his voice, or by the fact he managed to speak at all past the lump of sheer want lodged in his chest.

Slowly, he released Michael’s hair, not relinquishing his grip entirely until he was sure the submissive would stay in his arched, push-up position. Once he knew Michael wasn’t going anywhere, he slid a finger under the edge of the blindfold, tracing a light line over Michael’s cheeks, the bridge of his nose, even toying with the sensitive rim of his ear.

Michael just shivered under the touch, shivered and practically whimpered, so fucking responsive.

The black silk was damp, a fact Rob noted with a slow rush of triumph. He’d give Michael this gift, pulled him out of himself enough to give him the release of tears. If he’d ever doubted Michael was meant for him, and really, he hadn’t, then the evidence of how fully the man had given over to him would have erased it. His.
His
submissive.
His
man. Soon to be
his lover
.

Moving quickly now, he tugged the blindfold off, exposing a flushed, blotchy face and burning blue eyes. That glowing gaze glittered with leftover tears, his dark lashes clumped together and damp.

Michael’s lower lip was red and swollen, and even now the submissive was sinking straight, white teeth into the abused flesh, trying, Rob knew, to bite back his instinctive cries of passion and resistance.

“Time to clean you off, Mikey,” he rasped, smiling a little wildly as Michael’s eyes widened at the sight of the blade. Oh, yeah. This was fucking perfect.

Winding his fingers back in Michael’s hair, he pulled until the submissive’s body was completely taut, completely dependent on his grasp for balance. Then he laid the blade sideways against the upper swell of Michael’s ass and slowly dragged it up the length of his spine.

Michael shuddered hard under the stroke, and Rob spent a moment in gratitude that the blade was utterly dull. It was so gorgeous, little bits of wax flaking off, falling to the side, sticking in the leftover oil on the submissive’s golden skin.

He placed a slow, wet kiss at the top of Michael’s spine, then moved to take another stroke, peeling the wax away with the edge of the weapon, watching Michael’s skin go white, then flush dark pink in the wake of the blade.

Unable to resist, he followed the third stroke with his tongue, bending low to lick Michael’s skin, which was almost feverish with a combination of passion, pressure and the heat from the wax.

Michael tasted amazing, of salt and the powdery remnants of baby oil. The skin of his back lacked the rich spice of his ass or his cock, but the submissive was every bit as responsive to the drag of Rob’s flattened tongue along his spine as he was to the thrust of it in his opening.

“Please, Sir. Please. Please.” Michael was chanting, moaning, gasping with every stroke of the blade and every flick of Rob’s tongue. “Please, Rob. I need. I need. I need.”

“I have what you need,” he growled back. Because he so fucking did. Everything Michael needed, and he was aching to give it all.

Rob gave himself a moment, a moment to bury his face in the curve where Michael’s neck met his shoulder, to drink in his scent, to bite into the heavy muscle, tasting salt and submission. He ground his cock against Michael’s ass, feeling himself slide a little in the pre-cum gathering in his leather pants. So slick, so hot, but not as hot and slick as it would be sliding into Michael’s ass.

“Sir
…
” It was more a thought than a word, but Rob heard the plea as loud as a siren, and the Master in him had to respond. Moving quickly, less graceful now in favor of speed, he vaulted off the table to stand at Michael’s side.

So hot. He wondered if Michael’s sheer sensuality would ever stop taking him by surprise. He somehow doubted it. After all, ten years later the submissive was every bit as addictive as he’d been back in high school. Maybe more so.

He urged Michael to shift, having him brace again on his forearms and push up on his knees, presenting his ass beautifully, open, begging to be pounded
—
by a paddle or by a cock, Rob thought either would work. Of course, he had something else in mind.

Running an appreciative hand down the submissive’s back, over his ass, he paused to drink in the sight of Michael’s cock, full and hard and wet-tipped, pointing straight down from the submissive’s groin like a sword of flesh. He took a moment to delve a bit between strong thighs, to tickle Michael’s tender, hairless balls that drew up tightly. So sweet. Then moving with more purpose, he settled Michael’s thighs a bit closer together, protecting anything especially delicate from the upcoming punishment.

Holding the sword up so Michael could easily see it, he moved to stand by the submissive’s head.

“It all comes back to this, doesn’t it?” he murmured.

Michael nodded mutely, eyes blazing electric blue but somehow vulnerable.

“
Eromenos,”
Rob murmured, reaching to stroke Michael’s hair back from his sweating forehead.

“I’m not your beloved,” Michael rasped back, watching Rob with a wounded expression the Dom knew would haunt him. He didn’t pull his head away from Rob’s touch though, although Rob could tell he wanted to.

“Aren’t you, Mikey?” Rob stroked Michael’s hair one more time, tucked a strand behind the submissive’s ear. “Because it really feels like you are.”

Michael didn’t answer with words, but the way he closed his eyes, shutting Rob out the only way he could, spoke volumes.

Rob sighed again and wondered if he’d ever be able to make it up to Michael. Firming his jaw, he moved to stand alongside Michael’s ass. There was only one way to prove he was in it for the long haul, and that was by doing it.

Raising the sword, he brought it down hard across Michael’s ass, the flat of the blade delivering a stinging blow to those firm cheeks.

Michael grunted in reaction, involuntarily jerking away before surging back into the blow.

“Please
…
” It was Michael’s voice, but this time the word resonated in Rob’s soul. Please don’t let this moment ever end. Please don’t stop moving, breathing, stealing my fucking mind.

Again and again he brought the sword down, marking Michael’s ass with each crack of the wide blade across his flesh. It began to blur. Michael, sprawled across the couch, light from the movie on the TV flickering over his features. Michael, spread across the weight bench, long, lean muscles begging to be touched. Michael, pressed against the wall, lights from the dance floor dying his features in stained glass hues. Michael, so cold and closed off Rob could literally feel the frost crawling over his skin.

Michael, presented, open and waiting for Rob’s pleasure and punishment.

Michael’s cock bobbed with each blow, pre-cum gathering in a glistening bead that trembled for a moment before splashing on the cloth covering the table.

“Don’t come,” Rob warned him, snapped from his trance by the sight of the dark spot left by Michael’s cum. “Not until I’m inside you.” Michael groaned, and Rob watched appreciatively as those strong thighs went tight as the submissive clearly fought for control.