No Good Deed - Marie Sexton Page 0,26

loved listening to his deep, throaty moans and his panting, labored breath. Jonas begged shamelessly, calling Charlie “sir,” “master,” and “daddy” interchangeably. He whimpered and groaned and gasped and Charlie reveled in it, his ears finely tuned to the volume and timbre. Eventually, he’d be able to tell when Jonas was about to come. Eventually, he’d know before Jonas did even, and he’d be ready for it. But for now, he was in the learning stage. He spent a long time going back and forth between Jonas’s entrance and his cock.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Jonas gasped. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold back, master. I’m so close. I’m so close. Oh God—”

Charlie kept sucking Jonas’s cock while sliding two fingers deep into him. Jonas cried out, even louder than before, jerking his wrists against the cuffs. “Oh God!”

Charlie kept sucking. Kept his hand moving, fucking Jonas hard with two fingers until Jonas could no longer speak. Until his words were gone and there was nothing left but frantic, desperate sounds wrenched from his throat, primal gasps and grunts driven from him in time with Charlie’s thrusts. Finally, he made a garbled, strangled sound that might have been Charlie’s name.

Charlie moved as quickly as he could, getting on his knees, putting his cock where his fingers had been. Jonas whimpered, pulling at his cuffs.

“Please, please, please…”

Charlie slammed in deep and hard.

“Yes! Sir. Master. Yes. Keep going.”

Charlie did exactly that. He used his hand on the spreader bar to keep Jonas’s ankles by his shoulders, his ass angled upward to apply the perfect amount of pressure on Charlie’s cock. It had the added benefit of giving Charlie the perfect angle to hit Jonas’s prostate with each thrust. With his free hand, he stroked Jonas’s cock.

“Oh, God,” Jonas cried. “Wait wait wait! I can’t—”

Charlie shook his head, thrusting harder. “No more waiting. I’m ready to see you come.”

The ragged cry of relief Jonas made when he heard those words was almost as good as the sound a few seconds later when he climaxed. Only a few more thrusts, and Charlie finished too. Jonas was still panting, shuddering a little as Charlie undid the cuffs.

Charlie set the spreader bar aside. Tenderness often followed his orgasm, and this time was no different. He pulled Jonas into his arms, holding him tight, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. Charlie’s heart swelled as Jonas snuggled against him.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“I hope you’re prepared to live in those chaps.”

Chapter 9

Charlie spent the next few days waffling between sheer joy and almost crippling guilt.

He worked five days a week at Urgent Care, as always. Each day, he came home to find Jonas in his kitchen either working on his laptop or putting dinner on the table. Sometimes after dinner, they moved to the living room where they chatted while Charlie worked on his afghan and Jonas sketched. Sometimes they stayed in the kitchen, Jonas working on art commissions while Charlie baked. Six years of absence gave them a great deal to talk about. Jonas talked a lot about Shelly. He often chatted about the preschool he’d worked at too. He complained good-naturedly about snotty noses and temper tantrums, but Charlie suspected he missed those kids more than he missed any of his friends from Seattle.

Jonas never talked about what would happen after the surgery—whether he’d go home or look for work in Denver—and Charlie never dared ask.

And then they’d go to bed. Sometimes Charlie tied Jonas’s hands together or cuffed them to the headboard, but for the most part, the nights weren’t about kink. They were about making up for lost time. Jonas’s unapologetic lust made Charlie fierce. He couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough. The need to own Jonas in every way took over, turning him into something he barely recognized—a man so driven by desire he couldn’t be bothered with the theatrics of bondage or leather. He only wanted to be closer. To push deeper. To stake his claim like some kind of caveman. Their lovemaking was savage and primal and so intense, it left Charlie reeling.

He slept like the dead afterward, Jonas’s head on his shoulder.

But then morning dawned.

Charlie always woke first. Both of them were used to sleeping alone, and by morning, Jonas was always on the other side of the bed, curled up like a cat as he slept, often with Buttercup next to him. Charlie practiced his meditation as he had for years. He closed his eyes, focused on