“Good. I’m gonna get you out of this sling.” I reach up to undo his left hand.
Tye’s face wrinkles up at once. “Wait a sec. Why? Why are you freeing me? I want—”
“I know what you want.” I loosen the strap around his left hand, then start circling around to free each of his other appendages. “And you just might get it. But you’re gonna have to learn the most important lesson of all.”
“Stop undoing the binds.”
I undo them anyway. “C’mon, Tye. I see that big boner you’re sporting. You don’t think I know you’re enjoying this? Here’s your first lesson.” I set his right hand free—the last bound appendage—then take hold of that hand and pull him out of the sling and to his feet. Our hands don’t let go as I look him in the eye. “Moderation.”
His frown softens. The chained clamps—still on his nipples—hold up his tank top, showing off his cascading cliff of abs, and the low-hanging waistline of his leather pants. His gaze drops to my lips, a longing look taking him over.
Then he asks: “Can I kiss you?”
I can’t help but enjoy how fucking intoxicated he is by me. It’s as intoxicated as I am by him … and by what he needs. “Is that what you want?”
“It’s what I want right now.” He’s practically pouting. “Please let me kiss you, Dante.”
“Already asking permission for everything.” I grunt with amusement. “Boy, you are desperate to be owned, huh?”
“I want …” He grimaces suddenly, then looks down at his nipples. “Are these really gonna hurt when they come off? I can’t even feel them.”
“Because all the blood’s pushed out. But when these fuckers come off …”
A glint of excitement flashes in his eyes. “Off?”
“You were about to tell me what you want.” I lift my chin at him. “C’mon, Tye. Tell me what it is you think you want. And I know it isn’t a blow job. Or a hand job. Or any other conventional means of pleasure that countless guys would normally beg a man like me for. Look, boy, you’ve gotta learn to ask for what you want in this world, otherwise you’ll never get it.”
In an instant, Tye’s strength surges back into him—in the form of an attitude. “What is all of this, anyway? Life lesson time?”
My eyes narrow. “Yeah, sure. Life lesson time. And one more thing.”
“One more—?”
I grab his nipple clamps and pop them off so fast, he doesn’t even know it’s happening.
Until the blood surges back into his nipples.
His mouth drops open, his eyes grow twice their size, and he groans loudly in anguish. “Holy fuckin’ fuck!” he shouts out.
And it’s right in the middle of that expletive that I plant my lips right on his, giving him what he wants, while then pressing my thumbs against his reddened, exposed nipples, massaging away their stinging, mixing his pain with pleasuring relief.
From the way his body melts against mine, and the throaty growl he lets out, he’s getting exactly what he wants—something he didn’t ask for.
I let go of a nipple, reach around, and cup his tight, firm ass, which feels like it might as well be bare with the material of his pants. I pull his slender waist against mine. Our hard, throbbing crotches grind together.
His brand of satisfaction seems to be a lot like mine: a blend of conventional and unconventional.
A little bit of loving. A little bit of kink.
And a little bit of something else that has no name.
When our kiss ends, I smirk at his eyes. “What I’m gonna show you tonight, it’s going to give you a lot to think about. What you want. What you don’t want. What you like and don’t like. You just need to be honest with me, and I’ll be honest with you. That’s all I ask. You got me?”
Tye gives it a moment’s thought. I almost think he’s just getting lost in my eyes. Then he tilts his buzzed head and squints at me. “Is this still free of charge under that ‘time for prints’ thingy?”
To that, I give him an honest laugh. “Boy … I told you the first time we met, I’m not here to just satisfy your sexual desires. Hell, do I look like a damn escort to you?”
He swallows, shrinking a bit. “Nah.”
“I’m either your photographer, or I’m …”
Suddenly I realize I don’t have a word for what the hell I am.
What am I being right now?
It doesn’t matter, because Tye pulls away from me, peels off his tank the rest of the way, and flings it aside. “I wanna try everything,” he tells me. “I’ve never felt safer with anyone like I feel with you. I trust you. More than just … my photographer. Or whatever it is you want to call yourself. You get me. You know me … and I can see it.”