Bound By Love

BOUND BY LOVE Cassidy Ryan

Dedication For Syd, Lee, Mychael and

Loukie, for your support and encouragement.

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Ferragamo: Salvatore Ferragamo Italia S.p.A. Hugo Boss: Hugo Boss A.G. Rolls Royce Phantom: Rolls-Royce Limited

Chapter One

Rhys Matthews jerked upright in his battered armchair, his head snapping from side to side. He groaned when he realised he’d succumbed to sleep in the old chair in his studio for the third night in a row rather than climb the stairs to the big comfortable bed in his living quarters. A frown wrinkled his forehead and he wondered what had pulled him from sleep. Not a dream, he was sure. He was too damn exhausted to dream these days. The answer to the question came before he had even finished thinking it, and he pushed himself out of the chair, moaning with discomfort as his body’s cramped muscles and aching bones made their displeasure known. He made his way down a short flight of stairs to the front door, feeling significantly older than his twenty-six years. He pulled the heavy, scarred door open and found a uniformed delivery man standing on the other side, a patient smile on his face. “Mr. Matthews?” he asked pleasantly. Rhys squinted against the early morning sun. “Uh, yes.” His voice was thick with sleep and disuse. When was the last time he had spoken to another human being? The man’s smile deepened. “Don’t sound too sure there. Haven’t had your morning coffee?” As he spoke he held out a package wrapped in thick brown paper and a clipboard. “If you would just sign here, sir.” Rhys took the package and tucked it under his arm, then reached out and scribbled his name on the line indicated. “Thank you sir. You have a good day now.” With that the delivery man turned and headed smartly in the direction of his van, parked at the end of the narrow, cobbled lane. Rhys stood in the open doorway for a couple of minutes, blinking dumbly at the package, then, giving himself a mental shake, he shut the door and climbed the stairs back to his studio. For a moment he paused to consider the canvases in front of him. He was preparing for another one-man show, and as usual, had gotten lost in his work.

He couldn’t help smiling around the inevitable nervous flutter in his empty stomach. He was pleased with the way things were going. Forcing himself to move, lest he get caught up again before he had a chance to shower and eat something—when was the last time he had eaten? He grinned to himself. He’d last eaten about the same time he had spoken to another living being—the boy who had delivered the pizza two nights ago. He placed the package on the battered workbench that held his materials and would have left it there to go upstairs and sort himself some breakfast, but the neat, copperplate handwriting on the wrapping caught his attention. A thrill so intense it took his breath away ripped through his body. He reached for the package and tore at the paper with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. Inside was a thrillingly familiar carved-wood box with a brass latch holding it closed, along with a heavy, embossed card the colour of parchment which read, “Meridian, 8:30 tonight.” His entire body come to life. His blood rushed in his veins, his pulse raced and his skin fired. With a hand that was trembling, he unlatched the box and opened it. Although he knew exactly what he would find nestled on a bed of black satin inside, the sight made him lightheaded and made his fingers tingle. “Draven.” The singled word was spoken quietly but was charged with such feeling and emotion it seemed to fill the room. Much like the man himself. Blossoming joy and anticipation chased away all exhaustion and hunger but was tempered with a hint of frustration when he caught sight of the clock on the wall. Nearly twelve hours to wait. He put the box back on the work bench and closed it, running a hand almost reverently over the intricate design etched into the wood. A wide smile curving his lips, he grabbed a palette and started mixing some paint. Perhaps he could channel some of this newfound energy constructively.

rnTrrr.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. It

was Friday night, so Club Meridian was busy.

The door was opened by Roe Harland, a big burly ex-soldier hired to “Keep the peace”. One look at Roe was enough to make anyone rethink the mischief they might have in mind. “Rhys, good to see you again. It’s been a while.” Roe smiled warmly. It transformed his features from forbidding to nearly handsome. Rhys shook the big man’s hand. “Hello, Roe. I’ve been summoned.” His wide smile told how happy he was about that. Roe’s own smile widened as he closed the door to the private club. “Better get going then. Wouldn’t do to keep him waiting.” With mounting anticipation, Rhys made his way through the main body of the club, which looked like an old-fashioned gentleman’s drinking club with its burnished wood-panelled walls, thickly carpeted floors and expensive, yet understated furniture. As always, he admired the sights that met his eyes in the intimate, ambient lighting. Seated in a chair by an open fireplace a handsome man in his forties ran a hand lovingly through the hair of the young woman kneeling at his feet, her head lowered deferentially. On a sofa in a darker corner, another man was being fed small pieces of fruit by a partially clad young man with a look of delight on his face. Rhys moved through the room until he came to the bar and a strikingly beautiful blonde dressed in a figure-hugging white sheath. She held a leash attached to the collar around the neck of an equally beautiful, but smaller woman who wore a short black dress cut low at the neck and high on the thigh. When she saw him the tall woman’s violet eyes lit up with pleasure. “Rhys. darling. How wonderful to see you again.” Rhys offered the woman a small nod. “Hello, Lux. You look stunning, as always.” She smiled and accepted the compliment as her due. Rhys looked at the other woman who had her eyes lowered, but whom he could see was also smiling. He looked back to Lux. “May I?” Lux nodded her assent and Rhys bent down to place a soft kiss on the young woman’s forehead. “You look lovely, Gaia,” he said softly. His eyes rested briefly on the beautifully hand-tooled leather collar at her slender throat. As always he felt a small stab of envy which he quickly pushed away. Gaia tilted her head in question to her mistress. Lux merely nodded again, a small, loving smile on her lips.

Gaia looked up with warm, chocolate coloured eyes. “Thank you Rhys. You look very nice, too,” she said quietly, then lowered her eyes to the floor again. Lux reached out a hand and touched a single finger to her slave’s cheek in an achingly tender gesture. She turned back to Rhys and inclined her head elegantly in the direction of the stairs. “Draven is in the office.” Thanking Lux he turned and made his way upstairs, fighting the urge to take them two at a time. At the door to the office he stopped and ran a hand over his hair, smoothed out non-existent creases in his charcoal grey suit jacket and made sure that his deep red silk tie was straight. He took a deep, calming breath and knocked on the door. When a wonderfully familiar, deeply resonant voice, called “Enter” he turned the handle and pushed open the door. Though Draven Laird sat behind a polished, rosewood desk, it was easy to tell he was a tall man, perhaps six foot two or three. With wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and flat stomach, he had the tight, well-honed physique of a swimmer, without a spare ounce of flesh on his frame despite the fact he was edging up on forty. His short, dark hair was stylishly mussed, his skin lightly olive-toned and his eyes a penetrating green set in an uncommonly handsome face. He was dressed in an exquisitely tailored Hugo Boss suit and a black shirt opened at the throat. He wore no jewellery aside from the gold watch peeking out from the cuff of his jacket. Rhys had always thought that a little curious for a man who owned a chain of high-end jewellery stores. Rhys closed the door behind him and watched with growing arousal as Draven stood and moved around the desk, crossing the floor on long, powerful legs, his Ferragamo shod feet silent on the carpeted floor. With his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his trousers he exuded an air of confidence and authority that made Rhys shiver. He stopped a foot or so from Rhys and regarded him intently. Without false modesty, Rhys knew that he was considered to be attractive. Just an inch short of six feet, he had dark blond hair that had a tendency to fall over his forehead, eyes that could be either grey or blue, depending on his mood, good bone structure and smooth, clear skin. He worked out at the gym a couple of times a week, so he was fit—if a little on the thin side.

Draven moved a step closer and cupped his cheek in a warm, dry palm. Desire lanced through Rhys and pooled with fire in his balls. “You look a little tired,” Draven said, concern clear in his voice. “You’re not sick?” “No, I…” Rhys emitted a small, self deprecating laugh. “I have a show coming up and you know how I get when I’m working.” Draven nodded. “Yes, I do.” He moved closer still and Rhys was sure that he must be able to see the pulse racing wildly at his throat. “Looks like I got back just in time,” he added, slowly lowering his dark head until their lips barely touched. Rhys felt the heat from the other man’s body. His eyes drifted closed and his lips parted under Draven’s. The touch of Draven’s lips was determinedly light. The tip of his tongue smoothed over Rhys’ bottom lip. Rhys moaned and brought his hands up to Draven’s shoulders, his fingers digging in as he pushed into the kiss, attempting to deepen it. Draven frustrated him by pulling back slightly, smiling when Rhys bit back a curse. He slid his arms around Rhys’ waist, inched his hands down until they cupped his backside. When he squeezed the cheeks, Rhys gasped and felt his cock harden in direct response. Rhys leaned forward to bring their lips together again. Draven resisted for one infuriating moment, then brought his mouth down hard, his lips parted, his tongue thrusting deep into Rhys’ welcoming mouth. Rhys held on to Draven’s shoulders tightly and tilted his head to the side so that they could get even closer. Small sighs of arousal sounded in his throat and he eagerly tangled his tongue with his lover’s, wanting to merge with this man who could so easily consume him. When Draven ended the kiss they both struggled for breath. Rhys looked up into those green eyes, as deep and mysterious as a cat’s. He wanted to say “I missed you”, but he bit back the words, knowing that they were not allowed. His hands slid to his sides when Draven moved away from him to sit on the edge of the desk, long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. His lover’s eyes moved the length of his body, and Rhys felt his arousal increase, his cock harden so that it pushed against the front of his trousers. Draven did not miss the reaction and smiled. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked Rhys right in the eye. “Strip.” It was one word, but it was like an explosion in Rhys’ brain.

Dipping his head slightly, letting his eyes fall to the carpet, he slipped into his submission with the ease of a hand slipping into a well-worn glove.

Chapter Two

Intensely aware of Draven’s eyes on him Rhys loosened his tie, pulled it free from his shirt collar and let it fall from his fingers. He removed his jacket and tossed it in the direction of the long sofa against the wall of the office. His breathing became increasingly laboured as he unbuttoned and cast aside his shirt while toeing off shoes and socks, his arousal so fierce he feared he might lose it right there. It had been almost a month since his last encounter with Draven and hand-jobs in the shower were a poor substitute. His fingers shook as he loosened the button on his trousers, lowered the zip and let them fall to the floor, leaving him standing in only grey boxer briefs bulging almost obscenely at the front. Heat touched his cheeks as he manoeuvred the material of his shorts over his erection and let them join his trousers on the floor where he kicked them both aside. Completely naked now, he lowered his head and clasped his hands together at his tailbone. The room was silent. The only thing Rhys could hear was his own blood rushing in his ears. After an agonising few moments in which he sensed Draven’s eyes raking over his body and causing goose bumps to rise on his skin, Rhys raised his head and looked at the other man. Draven raised one finger and casually motioned for Rhys to turn around. He obeyed and when his back was to the desk, he closed his eyes. No matter how many times they had played out this scene, or something like it, it was still both acutely embarrassing and intensely arousing. His cock was getting harder by the second. He jumped when a hand suddenly touched his back and he looked over his shoulder instinctively. “I want to examine you,” Draven said in a low voice that both reassured and aroused. Rhys shivered with the sensation of the man running his hand lightly over the skin of his back. When his knuckles brushed the top of his buttocks Rhys bit back a gasp. Draven trailed a hand around Rhys’ hip, moving until they were standing face to face, if not eye to eye. His hand grazed up the centre of Rhys’ chest then moved to the side to rasp the pad of his thumb over a nipple which immediately hardened. From under his lashes

Rhys saw a smile touch Draven’s lips and an answering smile began to lift one side of his own mouth. It disappeared fast, however, and he took a sharp intake of breath when he felt a warm hand wrap around his rigid cock then slide down to cup his balls, squeezing them just enough to be uncomfortable. “Haven’t we forgotten something?” Draven asked with an edge to his voice. “Or are you so desperate to be punished that you did it deliberately?” Puzzled, Rhys looked in the direction of the hand holding his most sensitive area. His eyes widened as realisation dawned. One of his duties in this arrangement of theirs was that he was to keep his genitals shaved smooth. But he had been so distracted all day, filled with almost overwhelming expectation, that he hadn’t been able to think straight. This visit had been completely unexpected. He hadn’t thought to see Draven for perhaps another month. “I’m very sorry, Sir, it wasn’t a deliberate act of disobedience. But if you feel you need to punish me…” The last was said with a small smirk. He caught a huff of laughter from Draven, then the sharp sting of a hand landing on his backside sent a wash of pleasure through him. “Brat,” Draven said affectionately. “Go to the desk and bend over.” Rhys bit his lip as his cock leaked pre-cum freely. He moved to the desk and leaned over its polished surface, resting his forearms on the cool wood, his legs parted, knees stiff. His buttocks clenched automatically at the first touch of a hand. “Open up to me.” The command was soft but unequivocal. Rhys was strung tight as a bow, had been all day. He forced himself to even out his breathing and relax his tense body. A breath of a moan escaped his lips when his buttocks were parted and a single finger began to circle his anus. “I’m glad you didn’t forget everything,” Draven remarked, his finger touching the end of the clear silicone butt plug wedged inside Rhys. Rhys bit his lip harder and his eyes drooped. Since he’d opened that carved wooden box and found the plug lying on its bed of satin he had been in a state of near orgasmic pleasure. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold out much longer. Draven took hold of the end of the plug and began to slide it free from Rhys’ body. He had pulled it nearly all the way out when he suddenly pushed it back in. It hit Rhys’ prostate

and he groaned loudly, resisting the urge to rub his aching cock against the desk, the need to come sharp and intense. Draven removed the butt plug completely and let it fall to the floor. It was replaced by two fingers which fucked in and out of Rhys with agonising slowness. He clenched his fists on the desk top. “I’m going to come,” he warned in a harsh voice. The hand that had been playing with his hole suddenly moved and gripped his balls, tugging enough to dampen his arousal a little. “Not if you want to come again any time soon.” Rhys’ head fell forward as perspiration broke out on his forehead. He knew it would do no good to beg or plead. In fact, that just might make Draven take all the longer. “I want you to be silent now,” Draven instructed, his hand moving back to Rhys’ backside, his fingers circling his hole with infuriatingly light touches. He leaned over Rhys and placed moist, breathy kisses along the length of his spine. Rhys gritted his teeth against the sensation of those full lips on his body and the feel of Draven’s suit brushing against his sensitised skin. Draven continued to trail kisses down his spine, his tongue occasionally flicking out to join in the play. Rhys heard the rustle of clothing as Draven dropped to his knees behind him. Big hands pulled his cheeks apart and a hot tongue dipped into the crevice. Rhys fought down his moan, knowing when Draven said not a sound he meant it. His hands clenched tighter on the desk, short nails digging into his palms. The very last thing he wanted was for his lover to end this before it had reached its conclusion. Draven teased him with tongue and fingers until Rhys thought he might stroke out. Finally, Draven got back to his feet. The sound of a zip being lowered sent Rhys’ stomach fluttering and his anus convulsing in readiness. Draven put his hand behind Rhys’ left knee and lifted it to place it on the edge of the desk, leaving Rhys wide open for him. A second later he heard the unmistakeable rip of a condom wrapper and held his breath. “You are so beautiful, little one, so ready for me.”

Rhys was pleased to hear the husky arousal in Draven’s voice, but all thought fled when he felt the head of Draven’s engorged cock pushing at his entrance. “I want to fuck you hard and fast. I want to love you long and slow. I want to tie you down so that you’re completely at my mercy.” His voice was low and rough as he pushed inexorably in, filling Rhys, stretching him to his limits, then pushing a little more. The burn was exquisite. Rhys pressed his forehead into his hands, his breath coming in laboured puffs. He pushed back to meet Draven, taking him deep. When his balls were resting against Rhys’ backside Draven paused to give him time to adjust to his substantial length and girth. His hands stroked soothingly over his hips and thighs. When he decided Rhys was relaxed enough Draven eased out with a sucking sound, then, without warning, rammed himself back in, so hard that Rhys was pushed against the edge of the desk. Rhys couldn’t smother the groan that escaped him as pleasure rushed through his entire body and caused his cock to pulse. “Sir, please, please let me come,” he begged, regardless of Draven’s order of silence. In response Draven pounded into him several times, one of the hands which had gripped Rhys’ hips moved around to the front of Rhys and took hold of his cock at the root. He squeezed so that Rhys couldn’t come even if he wanted to. Which he really, really did. A frustrated noise escaped his throat. Draven pushed in hard and held himself there, grinding his pelvis against Rhys’ backside. His body suddenly went stiff, and Rhys knew he was on the verge of orgasm. With Draven’s long, low growl of satisfaction, Rhys felt the hot gush as his lover’s cum filled the condom. Draven draped himself over Rhys’ back, kissing the nape of his neck and Rhys felt his heat, smelled the scent of aftershave and sweat. Draven muttered soft words of praise and his tongue touched the shell of Rhys’ ear. Rhys shivered, his body still tight with unfulfilled desire. After a moment Draven raised himself and Rhys heard him putting himself to rights. “I want you to kneel in front of me, little one,” he said gruffly. Rhys pushed away from the desk, turned and did as he was bid, sliding to his knees before Draven, who looked disgustingly satisfied while Rhys’ cock was pointing at him pleadingly.

“Lean back on your heels and spread your knees apart,” Draven said, seating himself in a leather armchair and watching him through hooded eyes. Once again Rhys obeyed, resting his hands on his thighs when he’d gotten into position. “Take your cock in your hand.” Draven ordered. “Which hand?” Rhys asked, mischievously. Draven simply arched an eyebrow and waited. Rhys wrapped his fingers around his stiff shaft, desperate to pull himself off, but he had not been given permission to do so. “Run your thumb around the slit and gather up some pre-cum.” Rhys complied and as a shock ran the length of his dick to settle white hot in his balls he thought he’d hate Draven if he didn’t love him so much. “Now suck your thumb clean.” “Fuck.” It was heartfelt, but barely above a breath. He slipped his thumb between his lips and stroked it clean with the tip of his tongue. He saw with a thrill that Draven’s eyes narrowed, so he made a show of sucking on his thumb far longer than was absolutely necessary. When he spoke Draven’s voice was deep with renewed arousal. “Bring yourself off.” With a sigh of relief, Rhys began to stroke his hand up and down his stiff cock, gradually increasing the pressure and speed until he groaned and spurted cum over his hand and thighs. He slumped, exhausted, but when he felt a light caress in his hair, he looked up to find Draven crouched in front of him, a soft smile on his full lips. “Beautiful,” Draven whispered. Before Rhys could express his pleasure at the compliment Draven added, “I was thinking of going down to the country for the weekend. Would you like to join me?” It didn’t even occur to Rhys to hesitate. In fact, embarrassingly, he accepted before Draven had even finished the question.

Chapter Three

The car arrived to collect Rhys at seven o’clock the next morning. The driver, an elderly man named Mills—if he had a first name he did not mention it—took the leather weekend bag from Rhys and held open the back door of the silver Rolls Royce Phantom for him to get in. Mills stowed the bag and climbed in behind the wheel. “Will we be collecting Draven?” Rhys asked curiously. “I believe Mr. Laird travelled down to the manor last night, Sir,” Mills answered in courteous, but clipped tones. Rhys nodded, disappointed. He settled back into the plush leather seat and fastened his seatbelt. If Draven was running true to form then he would not be staying long and Rhys would have liked to have spent as much time with him as possible. “Where exactly is the manor…Mills?” he asked. “Fanshaw Manor is on the South Coast, Sir,” Mills answered. Rhys frowned. “Fanshaw Manor? Doesn’t the house belong to Draven?” He detected a condescending smirk in the man’s voice. “Fanshaw Manor has been in the family for almost two hundred years on Mr. Laird’s mother’s side.” Rhys was sure that it was a perfectly reasonable question, but Mills had a way of making him feel like an idiot. He decided that it was probably better not to try to make conversation with the man. Instead he looked about him. A CD player and two TV monitors were tucked discreetly into the backs of the seats. But since he didn’t know how to work either without asking for help, he gave up any idea of music or Saturday morning cartoons. With a sigh he relaxed and looked out the window at the passing scenery and quickly found himself drifting away. This arrangement he had with Draven was by turns a delight and a source of frustration. Draven had made it very clear at their first meeting that he did not do forever. He wasn’t looking for happily ever after. If they decided to play together then it would be on a strictly casual basis. There would be no contract and no chance of a collar for Rhys as the significance of it to people who enjoyed their lifestyle was too meaningful, much like a

wedding ring was to others. There would be no commitment between them. They would be free to see other people as and when they chose—but when they were together they would be exclusive, because neither was into group scenes. At the time, almost two years ago, Rhys had been happy to accept the terms of the agreement. He hadn’t been looking for a full-time Dom, just a way to satisfy his submissive inclinations. Now though, he would give anything to have Draven’s collar at his throat, their signatures side by side on a contract—even if it was more symbolically binding than legally. Of course he kept such longings to himself. If Draven knew Rhys had fallen in love with him, thereby breaking the most important—if unspoken—rule, then Rhys had no doubt that he would never see him again. And that was simply unthinkable. He was pulled from increasingly maudlin thoughts by the unexpected sound of Mills voice. “Mr. Laird asked that I give you this letter, Sir.” Over the man’s shoulder appeared a long vellum envelope. Rhys accepted it and, while Mills turned his attention firmly back to the road, he opened it almost reverently. His cock instantly sprang to life when he realised it was a set of instructions.

When you arrive at the manor you will be shown to your room by Mills who will then take his leave for the duration of the weekend. You will be allocated your own bedroom and will not enter mine unless expressly invited. You will remove all clothing and remain naked until told otherwise. A cock ring and butt plug will be on the bed; you will use these, again until told otherwise. You will ensure you are clean and shaved at all times. As always, you will remember you have free will. If at any time you become uncomfortable you have your safe words and are urged to use them. Equally, if you want the game to escalate you have the right to make the request. I look forward to seeing you, little one. D.

Rhys re-folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope.

For the rest of the journey he remained half-hard.

mrrrrrrrrrrn

They made good time, arriving at just after ten o’clock. Mills lowered the car window when they reached a set of wrought iron gates, reached out and keyed a code into a number pad. The gates swung open on well-oiled hinges, closing behind them when they’d passed through. The drive up to the house seemed almost as long as that from the London, but finally they exited a long avenue of trees and Rhys got his first view of the Manor. It was beautiful. It was breathtaking. It was huge. Perched on a slight rise, the house was built of red brick with white stone trim around the many small-paned windows. A grand, sweeping stone staircase led up to a set of heavy oak doors. Mills drew the car to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, exited the car and came around to open Rhys’ door. Rhys fumbled with the seatbelt for a few minutes before he was finally able to release it. He got out, and while Mills fetched his bag he stood back and looked at the manor. He remembered coming to a house like this on a daytrip when he was at school, but other than that houses like this existed only in books and on TV for Rhys. “This way, Sir,” Mills said, motioning for Rhys to precede him up the steps. Rhys made himself move, climbing the steps slowly, a little overawed by his surroundings. He stepped to the side at the top and let Mills open the door. The driver then gestured with a small sweep of his hand for Rhys to enter. He smiled his thanks and stepped over the threshold into a big, marbled entryway. He heard the door close behind him and Mills led the way across to a wide carpeted staircase. Rhys followed behind the man, feeling both overwhelmed and excited at the thought of his weekend with Draven. According to Mills, the first floor was where the main bedrooms were located. They passed countless doors and Rhys wondered which one of them led to Draven’s room. At the end of the hallway, Mills opened a door and stood to the side while Rhys entered.

“This is my room?” he asked, a little surprised. It was big and airy, furnished with what looked like to Rhys to be genuine antiques and dominated by a huge four poster bed covered by an ivory satin spread. Rhys walked over to the tall windows and looked out through the sheer curtains. He gasped at the view and pushed the curtain aside. A lush green lawn rolled down until it kissed a stretch of beach leading to the sea. To the side of the house he caught a glimpse of well-tended grounds and just a hint of a walled garden. “It’s spectacular,” Rhys said softly. “Indeed Sir,” was Mills reply. “If you don’t need anything further then I’ll be on my way.” Rhys turned to thank the older man, but he was already closing the door behind him. “Thank you,” he said anyway, smiling to the empty room. He took a couple of minutes to look around him, then his eyes fell on the cock ring and plug lying on the bed. For a moment he blushed at the thought of Mills having seen them, then he realised he really didn’t give a damn. This was about him and Draven. If the world didn’t approve then that was their problem. He spotted a door in the wall to the right of the big bed, and guessing that it was a bathroom, he made his way to it, shedding his clothes and collecting the items from the bed as he went. He’d already showered, shaved and cleaned himself thoroughly that morning, but he decided to take a quick shower to freshen up from the drive. The bathroom was very Victorian in feel, with a big roll top tub, blue patterned tiles, a wicker chair and lots of plants. Rhys showered quickly, somehow feeling the quicker he was ready the quicker Draven would come for him. Then he slipped the cock ring over his half-hard penis. He balanced one foot on the chair and, with the lube he found in the cabinet over the sink, manoeuvred the butt plug into his anus, groaning with pleasure as he did so. With growing excitement he went back into the bedroom, knelt at the foot of the bed, clasped his hands behind his back, lowered his head and waited. By the time the door opened to admit Draven, Rhys was in some discomfort. His erection was straining against the cock ring and if he settled back on his heels the butt plug sank further in, pressing against his prostate. The idea of pulling himself off just to take the

edge off had gotten more and more tempting, but then the door had opened and the scent of Draven hit him. He didn’t raise his head from the expensive shoes, wanting to get the game started as soon as he could. He literally ached for this man, for the things he could do to his body and for the tenderness that followed which made him believe there had to be something more in this for Draven than pure physical release. A gentle hand rested briefly on his head. “Stand up, pet.” Rhys pushed himself to his feet and felt a finger under his chin. His face was raised until he was looking at Draven, then the other man caught his mouth in a quick, but deep and heated kiss. Rhys leaned in for more, but Draven drew back. “Did you have a good journey, little one?” he asked. “Yes Sir. I did, thank you,” Rhys replied, then added, “You have a very beautiful home.” Draven was quiet for so long that Rhys raised his eyes to look at him. The emptiness he saw in Draven’s eyes made him shiver. “This hasn’t been home for a very long time, pet.” Suddenly Draven smiled but there was something not quite real about it. “But it is a beautiful house. Would you like me to show you around?” Rhys nodded. “I’d like that. Thank you, sir.” Draven guided him around the two upper floors of the grand house. The top floor held the staff quarters, although there had not been a full time staff in many years. The next floor down was the one on which Rhys’ room was found along with many other bedrooms, all furnished as expensively and tastefully as his own. “Which room is yours, Sir?” Rhys asked as they made their way down the big staircase to the ground floor. It did not occur to Rhys to be bothered by the fact that he was completely naked save a thin piece of leather wound around his penis, while Draven was fully dressed in dark, tailored trousers and a black cashmere sweater. “Angling for an invitation, pet?” Draven asked, and Rhys was pleased to see his smile was back in place and quite genuine. Rhys grinned. “Would it do me any good?”

Draven gave a little laugh but didn’t answer. Nor did he tell Rhys which bedroom was his own. Draven showed him where the kitchen, dining room and reception rooms were. Rhys noted as he went that there were many paintings of whom he assumed were ancestors, but there was a distinct lack of photographs of family. It struck Rhys that he knew nothing of Draven’s family. “This is my office,” Draven said finally, leading him into a wood-panelled room with a huge desk, leather club chairs and a big open fireplace. It reminded Rhys a little of Club Meridian. “What’s that room over there?” Rhys asked, looking over his shoulder at the only room on the ground floor Draven hadn’t shown him. “That room is out of bounds at all times,” Draven said, and without further explanation, he led the way to the back of his office and an arched doorway which was concealed from plain sight by a bookcase. He took a key from his pocket and opened the door. He gestured for Rhys to precede him, a private, almost predatory smile on his lips, a gleam in his beguiling eyes. Curious, Rhys entered and found himself at the top of a set of stone steps that curved down out of sight. Draven flicked a switch and sconces lit up on the walls. “Go on, pet,” he said, giving Rhys a small nudge. Rhys descended the stairs slowly, and when he reached the bottom a gasp of awe and pleased surprise escaped his lips. “Dear God, you have an actual dungeon!” The room had rough stone walls and a vaulted ceiling. All manner of toys and furniture were on display; a leather sling, a St. Andrews Cross, a whipping bench, a bondage chair, stocks and a pillory. On shelves that took up an entire wall sat more whips, paddles, restraints and harnesses than Rhys had imagined in his wildest fantasies. Rhys looked at Draven with wide eyes. “Holy fuck!” Draven just laughed and leaned back against wall, hands in his pockets, stretching the material of his trousers over an obvious bulge.

“May I?” Rhys asked, and receiving a nod of assent from Draven, he moved around the room, touching the cool metal and fine leather. The scent of candle wax and oil pervaded the air. Out of nowhere Rhys felt a stab of jealousy. How many others had seen this room? Been invited to partake of some fun here? How many others had Draven called “little one”? He realised he’d come to think of that name as his own. He knew that he had no right to feel this way, but, even though he managed to push it down quickly, he knew that he would have to deal with it some time. A hand on his back made him start with surprise. He looked over his shoulder to find Draven watching him. “Whenever we are in this room, pet, the rules will be tighter than normal. You will call me Master. You will not meet my eyes and you will speak only when spoken to. Is that understood?” Rhys felt a thrill rush through him. “Yes Master,” he replied with suitable deference. “Good.” Draven stroked a single finger along Rhys’ cheek before pulling back. “Now, I want you to go and choose a paddle from the shelf, bring it to me and then get into position at the whipping bench.” His voice was deep and dark and made Rhys shiver with want. He moved over to the shelves and ran his fingers lovingly over the wide selection of paddles made of everything from aluminium to leather to intricately carved rosewood. He selected a curved ebony paddle and took it to Draven, then went to the bench where he bent over the padded leather top and grabbed hold of the legs. His fingers gripped tight and the tension in his body grew as he heard Draven’s near silent approach. Draven moulded a hand over Rhys’ buttocks, stroking gently, as if memorising the shape and texture. “I want you to count each stroke,” Draven ordered. “Yes, Master,” Rhys replied, his voice strained. Draven removed his hand, and the only warning Rhys got before the paddle connected was a hushed whoosh of air. A sharp sting ripped through his tender flesh and he virtually screamed, “One Master!” The next crack that sounded through the otherwise silent dungeon was expected, but took Rhys’ breath away none the less.

Chapter Four

By the time he had called out “Ten Master” Rhys’ body was an agony of sensations. His backside felt raw and on fire, every time the paddle connected it shoved the plug deeper, torturing his prostate, and his dick was so hard he wondered vaguely if the cock ring would do permanent damage. But his brain was tingling with pleasure, endorphins shooting off like fireworks. He never once considered using his safe word. He was, however, relieved when he heard Draven place the paddle on the floor at his feet. He sighed when Draven ran gentle hands over skin that felt sunburned, and couldn’t resist a little giggle when he felt him touch a gentle kiss to each buttock. That earned him a stinging little slap from Draven’s open hand, but it was worth it. “Get up now, little one.” Rhys loosened his white-knuckled grip on the legs of the whipping bench and straightened, a little frisson firing through him as his erection brushed against the leather. Draven took his hand and led him to the sling. He helped him into it then attached the cuffs to Rhys’ wrists and ankles, making sure they weren’t too tight. Then he moved to the shelves and returned with a black silk scarf which he draped over Rhys’ eyes and tied behind his head. Restrained and blindfolded, his backside hanging over the edge of the sling, Rhys felt completely, amazingly vulnerable. He could only listen, and when he did he heard the soft sounds of Draven shedding his clothes. And taking his own sweet time about it. The first touch on his inner thigh made him jerk and breathe in sharply. “Relax little one, I’m just going to play with you for a little while before I use your beautiful, tight little hole,” Draven said, dragging his knuckles along the sensitised skin of his thighs and over the tightening muscles of his stomach. Rhys tried to even out his breathing, but his chest felt constricted. He closed his eyes behind the blindfold and focused all his concentration on Draven’s touch, his big, warm hands moving over his body, finding his own pleasure in the feel of

Rhys skin, muscle and sinew. Draven had Rhys writhing with need in no time, pulling at his restraints, desperate for release. But Draven denied him as he brought his mouth into the game, moving his lips from Rhys’ bound ankles, along his calves and thighs, over his hips and up to his chest, completely passing over his cock, the place that ached more than any other. When Draven’s lips closed over his nipple, his teeth biting down just short of painfully, Rhys arched his back and moaned, biting his lips to fight back the plea yearning to break free. Draven licked and sucked, first one nipple then the other. He leaned over Rhys, and Rhys felt the hardness of Draven’s aroused cock pressing into his stomach. Draven took hold of the chains just above Rhys’ wrists, their hands lightly brushing together. Rhys thought he might bite through his lip when he felt Draven’s tongue at his throat, soon to be joined by his lips, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, however temporary. Rhys ached to tell Draven how much he would love to wear his mark permanently on his skin. Draven moved away then, and Rhys sucked in a breath when he felt the plug being eased free then the chill of lube being pressed into his twitching anus. A single finger pushed in and out of him, coating his heated passage. It was soon joined by another finger, then a third, stretching him open, preparing him for the ultimate intrusion. He heard the tear of a foil wrapper and held his breath in excited expectation. He frowned, puzzled when Draven suddenly released the cuffs at his ankles and moved to do the same to those securing his wrists. Draven helped Rhys to his feet, then turned him and pushed him forward. “I want to take you from behind, pet. I want to feel those heated cheeks against me when I fuck you.” A glorious rush of desire assailed Rhys as he grasped the chains of the sling and felt the pressure of Draven pushing steadily into him until he felt coarse pubic hair against his well-disciplined behind. Draven’s hand rested in the centre of Rhys’ back as he began to thrust, but as he built up in speed and force his hands moved to Rhys’ shoulders. He gripped tightly and pounded Rhys until Rhys was breathing in forced huffs, his skin glowing with sweat.

Draven’ fingers tightened on his shoulders, firm enough to bruise, then he came with a long, low groan, his cock pulsing in Rhys. He stayed there until Rhys felt him gradually soften and slip free. Rhys was still painfully hard, the cock ring biting into his flesh quickly becoming uncomfortable, but still he did not think of using his safe word, for he trusted Draven implicitly. He knew that the man would never do anything to cause him harm, and this knowledge added to his love for Draven. When he had taken a moment, perhaps to compose himself, Draven helped Rhys to straighten up and turned him. “Keep your eyes closed pet. Open them slowly once I’ve removed the blindfold.” Rhys did as he was told and the silk was removed. He gradually opened his eyes, adjusting to the light in the room, careful to ensure that his head was lowered in obedience. Draven took his hand and led him to the bondage chair, but instead of placing Rhys in it he sat himself. He moved Rhys so he was standing directly in front of him and placed one hand on Rhys’ hip while the other flicked at the fastening of the cock ring, letting it fall unheeded to the floor. Relief was like a living thing in Rhys as his dick was released, but any respite he felt soon fled when his flesh was suddenly enclosed in the wet heat of Draven’s mouth. He moaned and his hands clenched into fists at his sides as Draven ran his tongue along the thick vein underneath his penis then circled the head teasingly. He dipped the tip of his tongue into the slit at the end, lapping up pre-cum. When he took Rhys completely into his mouth, so deep that Rhys felt the back of Draven’s throat, and swallowed, Rhys thought that he was going to pass out. Draven was relentless. He sucked and swallowed until Rhys came violently, shooting his hot load down Draven’s throat. His knees went so weak they gave out from under him. Draven pulled him onto his lap, stroking a soothing hand along the moist skin of his back. They sat like that for some time, the silence broken when Draven said, quietly, “That was wonderful, little one. You give yourself so freely and completely to me.” Rhys made no reply. He had neither been asked a question nor given permission to speak.

It seemed to please Draven, because when he spoke again Rhys heard the smile in his voice. “And now, I think we need some sustenance before we pass out!” They left the dungeon together, and when the door closed behind them Rhys said, knowing the rules were now back to normal, “I still can’t believe you have an actual dungeon. Now that I know, you might have trouble getting me to leave this place.” Draven smacked him lightly on the behind. “To the kitchen with you, brat. I need food. We’re not all twenty-six years old.” Rhys looked at his lover with mock sympathy. “I’m sorry, I keep forgetting you middle aged men need more rest than us more youthful types.” Draven’s outraged growl sent Rhys fleeing in the direction of the kitchen, laughing and naked with an equally naked and amused Draven close behind. His punishment was to make and serve a late lunch while Draven lounged in a chair, playing the Dom for all he was worth, demanding his steak be grilled just so, that the dressing for the salad had exactly the right consistency and groping Rhys whenever he came close enough. They sat together at the big kitchen table, Draven having decided the dining room would necessitate dressing and he wasn’t inclined to do so. When he’d eaten enough to sate his immediate hunger, Rhys twisted his water glass between his fingers, occasionally looking over at Draven, his movements hesitant. Finally, Draven sighed and placed his knife and fork on his plate. “Come on. Out with it,” he demanded. Rhys blushed, embarrassed that he was so transparent. “May I ask you something?” Draven was quiet for a moment, clearly considering, then nodded slowly. “Go on.” “I was just wondering about your family…?” Draven didn’t hesitate to answer, but there was little warmth in his voice. “My parents are both dead. No brothers, no sisters. A few aunts and uncles, but no one I’m particularly close to.” He suddenly smiled. “My grandmother was about the only one I was connected to. She died a couple of years ago, but she was a great old bird. She had absolutely no problem with my sexuality, but every now and then, I would catch her watching me, as if she was waiting for me to do something gay.”

Rhys laughed and picked at his salad. He decided not to push things by asking more questions. He knew Draven well enough to know any information he released would come in a slow trickle rather than a rapid flow. This was confirmed when, instead of offering further insight, Draven said, “I’m afraid I have to take a couple of hours this afternoon to clear up some work that can’t wait. Why don’t you explore the grounds for a while, perhaps you could do some sketching. I brought some materials down for you.” Rhys snorted a laugh and Draven raised an eyebrow. “Care to explain?” “I’m curious, did you bring some crayons?” he asked with a grin. “Crayons?” Draven asked, puzzled. “Well, it sounded like you were sending the child to draw you a nice picture while you do the real work.” “You had better be careful with that mouth of yours little one or I might have to put you over my knee,” Draven said with a small smile. “I beg your pardon, Sir, but it seems to me that might be more of an incentive than a deterrent.” “Oh, you are determined to push your luck today, aren’t you brat?” Rhys lowered his eyes theatrically in a show of abject obedience and smiled when he heard Draven’s quiet laugh.

rrrrrrr~.-.~-.-i

Feeling all warm and fuzzy because Draven had taken the time to buy him a sketching pad and some charcoal, Rhys, with Draven’s permission, dressed in faded jeans and a grey T-shirt and spent an hour wandering the grounds of the estate, stopping occasionally to sit cross-legged on the grass and sketch a sundial surrounded by wild flowers or a tree that looked as old as creation. He spent another hour leaning against the tree and trying to capture the majesty of the manor on paper, before strolling down to the beach where he sat on a sand dune, put aside the sketchbook and just looked out over the sea.

Twilight was painting the sky pink and mauve when Rhys headed back to the house. Inside, he immediately shed his clothes and headed for the study. He was just a few feet away when the door to the room opposite, the room that was out of bounds opened and Draven appeared. Rhys was shocked to see the pained expression on his lover’s face, but it disappeared the moment he laid eyes on Rhys. Draven smiled in welcome, but the smile didn’t completely erase the haunted look in his eyes.

Chapter Five

“Tell me more about your family,” Draven said. They were lying together in the big tub in Rhys’ bathroom, Rhys leaning back against Draven’s chest, almost purring as the bigger man stroked soapy hands languidly over his chest. “I don’t know if there’s anything to tell you that you don’t already know,” Rhys answered. “As you know both my parents teach music, my twin sister Bronwyn is a social worker and my younger brother David is studying chemistry at University. We’re just an ordinary, everyday bunch.” He smoothed his hands over Draven’s and linking their fingers together. “Ordinary is no bad thing,” Draven replied thoughtfully. “I would never suggest that it was, nor would I have them any other way.” “Nor would I,” Draven said, and Rhys felt his lips at the back of his head. “They helped make you what you are.” Rhys flushed with pleasure at the words. “What’s it like having a twin? Have you ever had a…psychic connection?” Rhys laughed. “God forbid! I think I might go insane if I had an inside track on Bronwyn’s thoughts. You know how every house has a drawer where all the junk gets thrown, all the stuff you don’t want to throw out ‘just in case’?” he asked. Draven huffed a laugh. “I know the one. You keep everything but the kitchen sink in it but can never find anything when you need it.” “That’s the one,” Rhys confirmed. “I think that must be what Bron’s mind looks like. Balls of string tangled up with elastic bands and sticky tape—with a few safety pins and paper clips thrown in for good measure!” He felt Draven’s chest shake with laughter at his back and a soft kiss was placed on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here. The water’s getting cold.” Rhys reluctantly agreed. He pushed out of the water and grabbed a towel which he used to dry Draven before getting another for himself.

When he saw Draven flinch as he reached for the silk robe hanging behind the door he moved up behind him and placed a hand on his lower back. “How about a massage?” Draven looked over his shoulder. “That would be wonderful.” Rhys smiled. “Why don’t you go and lie on the bed. I’ll warm some oil and join you in a minute.” Draven moved through to the bedroom and stretched out on the big four-poster. Rhys admired his lithe, muscular body for a long moment, then turned to take some oil from the cabinet. He warmed it under the hot tap and took it along with a hand towel through to the bedroom. Draven was lying on his stomach with his head resting on his folded arms. He turned his head at Rhys’ entrance and smiled slow and seductive. Rhys felt blood pool in his groin. He seemed to spend most of his time around this man half hard. He laid the towel on the bedside table and climbed on the bed, straddling Draven’s thighs, taking advantage of the situation by resting his hardening dick in the crease between Draven’s buttocks. Draven looked pointedly over his shoulder but allowed the small liberty. Rhys squeezed some of the sandalwood oil out onto his hand, placed the bottle on the table beside the towel and rubbed his hands together. The first touch of his hands on Draven’s warm, firm back was heavenly. Rhys moved his hands slowly, kneading Draven’s lower back with gentle thumbs, pleased when the other man emitted a sigh of satisfaction. He worked his hands up Draven’s back, pressing with the heels of his hands up to the broad shoulders. All the time his erection got thicker and longer. He pushed aside his own desires and concentrated on his lover, rubbing, smoothing and caressing. When Draven turned onto his back, still between Rhys’ legs, Rhys was gratified to see the other man was as aroused as he. When Rhys reached out an arm to retrieve the bottle of oil to start on Draven’s front, Draven snagged his wrist. Rhys looked at him questioningly. “Get the lube. I need to be inside you.” Rhys swallowed and took the lube and condoms from the drawer. He moved off Draven and got onto his hands and knees beside him on the bed. Draven put a hand on his hip. “No, on your back, I want to look at you.”

Rhys nodded, feeling light-headed with need. He turned onto his back and spread his legs to make a place for Draven to settle. Draven moved over him, his weight on Rhys’ body deliciously welcome. Their skin touched from knee to chest, blood rushing close to the surface. Rhys sighed when Draven’s hands came up to his chest, pinching and twisting his rigid nipples. Draven lowered his head to Rhys’ neck, licking and sucking, using his teeth lightly. Rhys arched his neck to give him better access. “Put your hands over your head and keep them there,” Draven instructed. “As if you were bound —tied down for me.” Rhys raised his arms and dug his hands into the pillow behind his head. “Wrap your legs high around me.” Again, Rhys did as he was bid, lifting his legs from the bed and wrapping them tightly around Draven’s ribs. For a moment Draven simply looked at him and Rhys’ breath caught in his throat when he caught a brief glimpse of that look in Draven’s eyes that had been there when he’d left the forbidden room. Rhys wanted to touch him, to soothe him, but it was important to him to follow Draven’s instructions, so he kept his arms above his head, digging his fingers deeper into the pillow. Draven lowered his head and kissed him heatedly, his tongue pushing insistently at Rhys’ lips, demanding entrance and tangling with Rhys’ when it was granted. There was almost a desperation about Draven. Normally so controlled, his hands shook when he pushed up onto his knees, rolled on the condom and squirted lube onto his fingers. He prepared Rhys quickly, then lifted one of his legs over his shoulder and plunged into him, his eyes closing and a look of bliss crossing his face. He rode Rhys hard and fast, hands gripping tightly, pushing Rhys’ legs back until it would have been painful had Rhys not been in the throes of his own passion and delighting in the rough, deep strokes. He canted his hips up and Draven’s cock hit his prostate tearing a cry of joy from him. Draven reached between them and took hold of Rhys’ cock, pumping it fast, in time with his powerful thrusts. They came at exactly the same second. Rhys threw his head back and howled as his come shot between them and he felt the scalding rush of Draven’s climax.

Draven dropped onto him and rolled to the side, pulling Rhys close as they fought for breath. Rhys brought his head to rest on Draven’s chest and listened to the fierce rhythm of his heart. The only sound in the room was that of their breath gradually evening out. After a while Rhys raised his head and saw that Draven had slipped into sleep. He levered himself up onto one elbow and looked down into his relaxed face, feeling is chest swell with emotion. With the gentlest of fingers he reached out and touched Draven’s face. “I love you.” The words were barely more than a sigh, but Rhys felt a thrill at having said them out loud for the first time, even if Draven had not been awake to hear them. He lowered himself again and made himself a pillow on Draven’s shoulder, letting his eyes drift closed as sleep took him.

rrrrrrr.-.-.-.—n

There was a sense of déjà vu that Rhys woke the next morning. He lay for a few minutes in the big bed, trying to get his bearings. He turned his head on the pillow and found he was alone. He was disappointed but not surprised. He had never woken up next to Draven. It was another of those unspoken rules. The knocking brought him back to himself and he frowned. “Come in.” It was as much a question as an invitation. The door opened and Mills stood on the other side. “Mills?” he asked, frowning in his confusion. The other man gave a small nod. “Good morning, Sir. Mr. Laird asked that I drive you back to the city today.” Rhys’ frown deepened. “Today? But it’s Sunday.” “Indeed it is, Sir,” Mills said in his condescending way. “I’ll be waiting in the car when you’re ready to leave.” He turned to go, but Rhys called him back. “Draven…Mr. Laird, will he be travelling with us?” The sinking feeling in his stomach told him that he already knew the answer to the question. “Mr. Laird took the early flight to New York this morning.” Tears stung the back of Rhys’ eyes as he nodded. All he could do as Mills walked away was wonder what had happened to bring such an abrupt end to their weekend.

Chapter Six

“I told him I love him,” Rhys said quietly, anger at himself clear in his voice. “He must have heard me. It’s the only explanation I can come up with.” He took a long drink of whisky and tilted the glass in the direction of the barman for a refill. His third since he’d arrived at Club Meridian a half hour ago. Gaia laid a hand gently on his arm. “Surely he wouldn’t have left you for loving him.” The bark of laughter from Rhys was cold and bitter. “I broke the rules, Gaia. It was supposed to be a casual thing, no ties, no commitments, just a bit of fun. I broke the rules,” he said again, pain spilling from him like a blood from an open wound. He threw back the whisky as soon as it was placed in front of him, his face twisting with distaste as the liquor burned its way down his throat. Again he held the glass up for a refill, but it was taken from his hand by Gaia. “No more sweetheart, if Lux sees me letting you get falling down drunk she’ll tan my hide!” Rhys snorted and relinquished the glass. “Lucky you!” His eyes burned and his vision became blurred. “Why couldn’t I have been happy with the way things were? Why’d I have to push it?” “He’ll be back,” Gaia assured him, stroking his arm soothingly. “It’s been nearly three months. He’s not coming back, and it’s all my own stupid fault.” He thumped his hand on the bar top, drawing the attention of other club patrons. Gaia clamped a surprisingly strong hand over his fist. “You have to stop blaming yourself Rhys. You don’t have any control over your feelings. That’s the way love works. You can’t fight it and you can’t force it.” She was quiet for a moment then added, in a softer voice, “If you ask me, Draven has behaved very badly towards you…” Rhys shot her a look of shock. “Draven has always treated me very well. He told me right at the beginning what he wanted. He never made me any promises he didn’t keep.” Gaia sighed and shook her head. “I’ve known for over a year how much you care for him. It was written all over our face every time you looked at him. He’d have to be either blind or a fool not to have seen it himself, and Draven Laird is neither of those things.” She

tightened her hand around Rhys’. “It was cruel of him to let you go on loving him if he didn’t return your feelings.” Her words were harsh, but Rhys couldn’t find it in himself to argue with her. Part of him knew she was right. Draven must have known he had feelings for him, but he’d carried on with the game regardless, knowing it meant so much more to Rhys. Rhys realised, however, that he would not change a thing about their time together. He would cherish his time with Draven, even while he grieved its passing. Straightening on the bar stool, Rhys determinedly shook off his self-pity. “Let’s have some champagne,” he said to the young woman at his side. “This is a special night, after all. My show was a big hit, and I’m about to be quite a bit richer. I think that calls for a celebration.” If his smile was a little empty then Gaia was good enough not to mention it. “Alright.” She agreed. “But only one glass, then I’m putting you into a taxi and sending you home. You look like you could use a solid week’s sleep.” Rhys didn’t argue with that. Between preparing for the show and beating himself up over the situation with Draven—not to mention missing the man like crazy—he was a physical and emotional wreck, and a week under the covers sounded perfect. He managed to get two glasses of some of the finest champagne the French could offer before Gaia made good on her threat to send him home. At the studio, he paid the driver and stumbled from the taxi, hoping that he wasn’t going to regret mixing whisky and champagne in the morning. He dug his keys out of his pocket, cursed when he dropped them on the doorstep and reached down to retrieve them, only to gasp when a hand reached out of the shadows and picked them up. Rhys straightened and took a step back, slipping from the step and landing on his backside on the cobbles. “Damn man, how much have you had you drink?” Draven asked, moving forward and holding out a hand to help Rhys back to his feet. Rhys allowed Draven to pull him upright, feeling a rush of hunger at the touch of his hand. Rhys immediately withdrew his hand. He was acutely aware of Draven’s presence, wanted nothing more than to go to him, to wrap himself in his warmth and inhale his scent. He loved this man more than he had ever imagined it possible to love another person.

He also knew that he could not carry on like this. He could not live his life for the brief moments spent in Draven’s arms, no matter how precious those moments might be. He needed more. He needed strings and commitments. He needed everything Draven would never offer him. The game was over and he felt like he might shatter into a thousand pieces. Careful not to touch Draven he reached out and took his keys from him and unlocked the door to the studio. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, but instead of moving further into the studio he turned, holding on to the door, and looked at Draven, not quite able to meet the other man’s eyes. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Draven asked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” “No?” Rhys shook his head. “No. I broke the rules. I know you heard me. Maybe on some level I wanted you to. I don’t know. What I do know is that I fell in love with you, and this arrangement we have isn’t enough anymore.” “Invite me in Rhys,” Draven said softly. Rhys swallowed. “I can’t Draven, please…” “Invite me in Rhys,” he said again, and Rhys was surprised to hear a hint of a plea in the other man’s voice. He hesitated only briefly, before sighing and pulling the door wide, stepping to the side so that Draven could enter, so close he could feel his heat. He followed Draven up the short flight of steps to the studio and crossed his arms tightly over his chest so he wouldn’t reach out and touch him. “I wanted to be here for your opening night,” Draven said, turning to face him, hands still tucked into his pockets. “But my flight was delayed. “Draven…” “I tried so hard not to fall in love with you,” Draven said suddenly, his voice almost tortured. “I’ve been running from you since before I even met you. Every time I felt you getting too close I took off again, hoping that putting some space between us would help me to get some perspective, but it never worked. You got in there anyway. You wound yourself around my heart until I was just fooling myself that I had some say in it.

Rhys stared at him, wide eyed, mouth open in shock. Draven turned away and began to pace around the studio, his shoulders tight under the material of his coat. “I’ve never known love to bring anything but pain, and I was determined it wasn’t for me, that I was smarter than that.” His short laugh was self-mocking. “You can’t fight it and you can’t force it,” Rhys said quietly, echoing Gaia’s words to him earlier. Draven shot him a glance. “No, no you can’t. This last time I ran, I sat on that plane and I cursed myself as a coward and a fool. But I was so determined not to end up like…” His voice trailed off and the searing pain in the depths of his eyes cut into Rhys like a knife. Rhys moved forward until he was standing in front of Draven, but still didn’t touch him. “Like who?” he urged. Draven’s eyes closed, as if he could blank out some image that was too much to deal with. “My father,” he finally said. “He loved my mother so much and she took such advantage of it. She cheated on him all the time. She didn’t even try to hide it. It was like she enjoyed his pain. But he just kept on taking her back.” His pain was now tinted with anger. It was almost a relief to Rhys but seeing such naked anguish on Draven’s face tore at him. “She finally left him when I was fifteen,” he continued. “For the next year I watched him die a day at a time until finally I came home from school one day and found him in his study with a gun in his hand and the back of his head missing.” “Oh, dear God,” Rhys groaned, his heart breaking not only for the man before him, but for the boy he’d been. No wonder that room had been out of bounds. No wonder Draven had looked so haunted when Rhys saw coming out of it. “That’s why you took me to the house, isn’t it? So that you wouldn’t forget even for a second and let me get too close.” Draven nodded. “I never wanted to love anyone so much that I would rather die than live without them. I’ve always thought that I was so much stronger than he was, but I was lying to myself. At least he had the courage to love.” “Why are you telling me this Draven? Why now?”

“When I heard you whisper that you loved me I wanted so much to tell you how much you mean to me. How much I love you. But I couldn’t. I was too afraid. I’m tired of being a coward.” And he sounded tired. He sounded as exhausted as Rhys felt. “These last three months haven’t been easy on you either, have they?” Rhys asked. “These last two years haven’t been easy on me,” Draven admitted. “Every time I left you, I left behind another little piece of myself until… I think you have it all now.” Unable to stand still a moment longer, Rhys moved forward and wrapped his arms around Draven. The other man instantly gathered him close, his embrace so tight it was rib-cracking. “I want it all,” Rhys said into his shoulder. “I want everything. And I want to give you everything. I’m yours. I always was.” “God, I’m worn out,” Draven said, his voice rough with emotion. Rhys leaned back in the circle of Draven’s arms. “Let’s go to bed. I want to sleep with you and I want to wake up with you in the morning.” He took Draven’s hand and led him up the curved wooden staircase to his bedroom then slowly removed Draven’s clothes and guided him over to the bed. He settled Draven in the bed and pulled the covers over him then undressed himself and climbed in beside him. Draven immediately pulled Rhys into the curve of his body, wrapping an arm around his waist and cupping his lax cock in his warm hand.

rrrn-rr.-.-.-.—n

Rhys woke the next morning to the feel of lips on his shoulder and a hand stroking up and down his thigh. He smiled and turned to look at Draven, reaching a hand up to lay it on his stubbled cheek. “Fuck me,” he said in a sleep roughened voice. Draven’s laughter was loud and free. “And here I was worrying that we were going to get all mushy.” “Heaven forefend.” Rhys grinned, reaching a hand between their bodies and squeezing Draven’s morning erection. Draven pushed him onto his back and loomed over him. “Heaven forefend Sir.” Rhys emitted a very unmanly giggle. “Yes Sir, sorry Sir.”

Draven insinuated himself between Rhys’ legs, his cock probing at his opening. “I want to be inside you without a condom,” he said, suddenly serious. “I haven’t been with anyone since I met you and I get tested regularly. I’m clean.” Arousal flared out of control through Rhys. “You’re it for me. You have been since the minute I laid eyes on you. And I’m clean too, so yes. Skin on skin.” Draven smiled and took his mouth in a searing kiss, his lips hot, his tongue thrusting deep. “Lube,” he gasped. “Now. Hurry!” Rhys reached out and fumbled with the drawer beside the bed and grabbed the tube. He handed it to Draven with trembling fingers. Draven squirted the lube directly into Rhys, tossed it aside and eased two fingers in. Rhys arched his back in bliss. “Oh, so long…too long,” he moaned, pushing down on Draven’s fingers. “Hell yes!” Draven concurred. He ran his slippery fingers over his rigid cock, then looking right into Rhys’ eyes, he drove into him. Rhys opened his legs and pulled them back to get Draven as deeply inside him as he could. The feel of the naked cock sliding in and out of him was incredible, breathtaking. They both picked up speed, knowing that there would be plenty of time for slow and steady later. Rhys was still hard when he felt Draven’s cum flood his passage and when his lover gently slipped out of him he felt it trickle out of his body. It was one of the most erotic things he’d ever experienced, and it caused his dick to convulse and shoot between their bodies, coating both their stomachs. They lay side by side on the bed, hauling in desperately needed breath. Draven picked up Rhys’ hand and kissed his knuckles. Rhys raised himself up on an elbow. “Now that we’re all…couply and everything, does that mean we can’t play anymore?” Draven grinned. “Couply? Is that a word?” Rhys laughed and nudged him. “It’s absolutely a word, now answer my question…Sir.” Draven rolled until he was on top of Rhys again. “Just thinking about you in my dungeon makes me want to come. What do you think?” Rhys dragged his head down for a quick kiss. “Excellent.”

Draven moved off him and got out of the bed. Rhys watched as he picked his coat up from the chair where Rhys had left it the night before. He dug into the inside pocket and came out with a flat square box. He brought it back to the bed and held it in front of Rhys. “I got you something. Actually, I had it made for you.” He opened the lid on the box and revealed a thin platinum circle with a tiny padlock holding it closed, a key in the lock. Rhys looked up at Draven with moist eyes. “Is this…?” He choked before he could get the word out. Draven removed it from the box and held it out. “Rhys, would you do me the greatest honour and wear my collar?” Rhys could only nod, words beyond him right then. Draven put the slender collar around Rhys’ neck, fastened the padlock and removed the key. He held the key between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll keep this, forever I hope, but if you ever want it all you have to do is ask.” Rhys touched a hand to his throat with barely concealed joy. “You might as well throw it away now,” he replied. Draven smiled. “I’ve spent the last month scaling back my work, promoting and delegating to free up more of my time. I was thinking of spending more time at the manor, maybe making it into a real home again.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “Care to join me?” Rhys pushed aside the covers and rolled out of bed. “I’ll start packing.” To the sound of Draven’s delighted laughter he pulled out a huge suitcase and began to empty drawers into it.