Make Me Soar (30 page)

It didn’t take a genius to guess
exactly
what was going on in his dreams, but this didn’t alter the fact that Dorian would willingly have sold his soul to be able to come. Alan’s hand was on his hip, moving now and again, but that slow,
slow
thrust up and down his crack was going to be the death of him. Alan’s breath was warm against his back, and Dorian could feel the soft brush of Alan’s chest hair as he pressed even closer. When Alan let out a grunt and rolled onto his back, freeing Dorian from his sensual prison, Dorian seized his chance and slipped out of the bed.

He stood there, cock rigid and pointing toward his navel, waiting until he was sure Alan was still asleep before silently creeping out of the bedroom. Dorian went into the bathroom and tried to relieve the pressure, but peeing was difficult. He stared down at his granite dick, pushing at it in a futile effort to make it go down, but it only jerked back upright, the foreskin stretched tight to reveal the wide purple head.

Fuck this
.

Dorian had never taken a cold shower in his life, but there had to be a first time for everything. He closed the bathroom door softly and then flipped on the shower as he stepped into it pulling the glass door shut behind him. The initial rush of cold water took his breath away, and he gasped, but before long it had warmed up enough for him to be able to stand beneath its torrent.

Just don’t think about it
.
Think of
anything
that will make it go down
.

He put his hands against the cool tiles and leaned forward, head lowered, letting the water cascade over the back of his head and shoulders, his dick pointing toward the tiled wall, a solid arrow of flesh. It felt great to have the use of his hand back, now that the stitches had been removed. The sight of them made his stomach clench.
I was such an idiot
. He still couldn’t believe how patient Alan had been with him.

Alan…
. And just like that, he recalled the feel of that hot dick sliding between his cheeks.

Dorian closed his eyes and tried to picture his cock cage pressed tight around his erection, imagining the sting of pain it would bring.

What arose behind his closed lids was an image of Alan, standing with him in the shower, slowly pumping that long, heavy cock, his gaze fixed on Dorian. Alan, moving closer, until his chest met Dorian’s wet back, his hand coming around to grasp his water-slick dick, stroking it, squeezing it. The feel of Alan’s cock, its head pressing insistently against his hole.

When his fantasy Alan pushed inside him in one long, fluid thrust, hands gripping his hips, Dorian was lost.

“God, yes,” he whispered. He grabbed his dick and pumped it hard, stifling a groan. He could
feel
Alan thrusting, filling him, hips slamming into his arse, the harsh slap of flesh against flesh so loud in his head. His balls were on fire, his need white-hot. Dorian worked his cock faster, and it only took four or five tugs before he was coming, back arched as he shot his load against the tiles, his teeth clenched to keep him from crying out. The stream of come seemed
endless
.

Dorian pressed his forehead to the tiled wall, chest heaving as he fought to get his breath back. He watched the slow slide of come down the wall, all evidence of his climax disappearing in a swirl of water down the shower drain. Legs shaking, Dorian straightened and took the showerhead from its rail to remove the last traces. He stood under the warm pulse and washed himself thoroughly, breathing in the fragrant steam that filled the enclosure. His dick limp once more, he rinsed off, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest, the churning in his stomach, the image of Alan’s expression, that look of dismay so obvious….

Dorian scrubbed a wet hand over his face and closed his eyes, as if that would blot out the picture in his head. No such luck.

He pushed open the steamed-up glass door and froze.

Alan was standing by the door, naked, leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. His face was like stone, eyes locked on Dorian.

Breathing suddenly became a chore. Dorian gulped, hand gripping the edge of the door, his cheeks on fire.

“I hope that was good.” Alan’s tone was flat, his eyes stormy.

“Sir,” Dorian began. Then it occurred to him that he didn’t have a clue what to say next.

Alan held up his hand, and Dorian snapped his mouth shut. Alan regarded him in silence, and every second of scrutiny tightened that iron band around Dorian’s chest.

“Did it ever occur to you,” Alan said slowly, enunciating every single word, “that I had forbidden you to come for a reason? That it
wasn’t
just a whim on the part of a sadistic Dom?”

Dorian swallowed, but there was a lump in his throat the size of an orange. He wanted to look away, but that piercing stare had him pinned to the spot. He stood there, water beading on his skin, and shivered.

That cool look hadn’t changed one bit. “Did it occur to you that by denying you an orgasm for so long, I was making sure that when you finally
did
come, it would have been explosive? So intense that it took you into subspace?”

Oh
. The breath left Dorian’s body as Alan’s words sank in. His belly knotted, arms like lead at his sides.

Alan gave a slow nod. He studied Dorian for a moment, as if deliberating what to say. Alan broke the stare to hang his head, and Dorian felt like his heart would break. When Alan raised his chin to meet his gaze once more, Dorian grew cold at the sight of those blue eyes, so dull, the light gone out of them.

Alan sighed heavily. “You just threw away your first chance to fly, boy.” And without another word, he turned and walked out of the bathroom.

Dorian stumbled out of the shower, slumping to the floor, his knees hitting the hard tiles with a crack. He hardly noticed. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw up. All he could see in his mind was Alan’s face, that closed-off expression.

What the fuck have I done?

He froze when Alan poked his head around the door. He stiffened when he saw Dorian on the floor but then straightened.

“When you’ve dried off, meet me in the bedroom.” He delivered the instruction in a monotone. Then he was gone again.

Dorian got to his feet and grabbed his towel, drying himself in a daze, his heart pounding, knees shaking. He couldn’t think straight. When he couldn’t put it off any longer, Dorian exited the bathroom and entered Alan’s bedroom. The Dom was already dressed in jeans and a sweater. He stood at the side of the bed, face still set.

Dorian walked up to him and knelt at his feet, head bowed, his body trembling. “I’m sorry, Sir. What is my punishment to be?” The words tumbled from his lips, his heart aching. The muscles in his stomach were taut, hard as iron, but inside his belly was a quivering mess.

Alan’s cool finger lifted his chin. Dorian quaked to see his face so devoid of emotion. When Alan grasped his hand and placed a small key in his palm, Dorian stared at it, uncomprehending.

“Take off my collar.”

The instruction was like a kick to the stomach.

With trembling fingers, Dorian fumbled with the key as he tried to unlock the padlock that fastened the metal collar around his neck. It took him a moment or two to get it into the lock. His vision blurred as he placed the key and collar in Alan’s outstretched hand. Dorian stifled his gasp when Alan flung the collar toward the bed without even looking at it. Dorian watched it land precariously on the edge before it slid onto the floor.

Alan’s expression didn’t change. “And until I feel you’ve earned your place in my bed, you will sleep on the floor beside it.” He paused. “I will see you downstairs when you’re dressed, for breakfast.” He stepped around Dorian and left the bedroom.

Dorian waited until he heard the sound of the coffee machine before hugging his arms around his body, tears pricking his eyes. He hunched over, chin on his chest, his breath hitching as he fought to drag air into his lungs.

I am such a fucking idiot
.

Dorian was no stranger to punishments, but never before had he been filled with such an all-pervading sense of loss. And it fucking
hurt
. His eyelids grew hot, his chest ached, and all he wanted to do was crawl under the duvet and hide. He thought about that day he’d spent without Alan’s touch. Christ, that felt like
nothing
compared to the mental pain he was feeling now. Alan’s disappointment in him was as tangible as a blow.

What the fuck do I do now?

Dorian sniffed and wiped his eyes. There was only one thing
to
do—get on with life in the house and wait until Alan forgave him. However long that might take.

He didn’t have a clue how to even
begin
to make amends for his stupid impulse.
Sorry
didn’t come close to expressing how he truly felt. His gaze alighted on the cleaned cock cage on the bedside cabinet, and there was that lump in his throat again. There was one thing he
could
do—wear the bloody thing. It didn’t matter that Alan hadn’t informed him of what he was trying to achieve. It should have been enough for Dorian to obey his rules. Making a sub hold back their orgasms wasn’t exactly something new.

Dorian knew he had no excuse. He eased his flaccid dick into the cage and snapped it shut. One way or another he’d prove to Alan that he could do this.

A
LAN
SHUT
the kitchen door behind him. He walked over to the table and leaned on it, head bowed, eyes closed, while he took several deep breaths. His stomach clenched. It took a minute or two before he regained his composure. He straightened and let out a heavy sigh as he set up the coffee machine.

Was this my fault?

Maybe he’d pushed Dorian too hard. Maybe his expectations had been too high. Maybe….

Alan pushed aside his suppositions with a groan. This was getting him nowhere.

He waited for the coffee with a heavy heart. What hurt most about Dorian’s…
betrayal
—it was too strong a word, but that was what it felt like, a physical blow to Alan’s hopes—was that he hadn’t seen it coming.

Alan clenched his fists.
Will you just
listen
to yourself?
Y
ou caught him wanking in the shower, not exactly a huge offense, is it?

So why the hell was he feeling like this? Alan couldn’t understand his intense reaction. This wasn’t like him.

Dorian’s appearance at the kitchen door called a halt to his internal rambling. His glance took in Dorian’s pallor, his rigid posture. “Coffee’s ready,” Alan said shortly. He turned his back on Dorian and poured himself a mug. When he turned around, the sub hadn’t moved from his spot. “I’m going to work on the book.” Alan walked past Dorian, out of the kitchen, heading for the lounge.

“Aren’t you going to have some breakfast?” Dorian’s voice shook.

Alan paused at the lounge door, not bothering to turn around. “I’m not hungry.” He entered the room and closed the door behind him. Despite his words, Alan was in no mood to write. He sat in the armchair and booted up the laptop, all the while listening for any clues as to what Dorian was doing. The house felt unnaturally silent.

Alan pulled up his latest chapter and read it through, intending to tweak it until he was happy with it. But the words danced on the screen, making no sense. He read through one paragraph four or five times before he realized he hadn’t taken in a single word. He closed the document with a sigh and went instead to his edits folder.

After five minutes of fighting to keep his temper, Alan was tempted to give it up as a lost cause. Generally, edits weren’t a problem. He knew a lot of authors loathed doing them, but for him it had always been a case of just getting on with it. After all, the end product was a better, more polished book, so why complain about the process? But today it seemed that every comment from his editor got on his nerves.

Just leave it for today
.
Do something else
. Anything.

The thought was tempting.

Alan’s gaze went back to his laptop. He couldn’t really afford to waste time. He had a deadline to meet, and besides, he was
not
a quitter.

He let out a sigh and went back to work.

D
ORIAN
UNDRESSED
slowly in his bedroom, his limbs feeling as heavy as his heart. All he wanted was for this day to be at an end. Alan had been civil, speaking when necessary, but to be honest, Dorian had avoided him all day. That closed lounge door was a big enough sign that this was the way Alan wanted it too. Lunch and dinner had been quiet, neither of them really talking much, and the lingering silence was enough to have Dorian longing to escape to his room. The thought of watching TV or even sitting in the lounge with Alan was unbearable.

How long will my punishment last this time?

Dorian had a sinking feeling that it was going to be longer than one day, especially if that “
until I think you’ve earned your place
” remark was anything to go by. He got the impression that Alan’s feelings went beyond mere disappointment. Dorian had well and truly hurt him. He knew better than to talk about it with Alan. What the Dom needed was for him to follow his rules and
show
his contrition. Words just wouldn’t cut it.

He paused at Alan’s bedroom door and took a deep breath before entering. Alan was already in bed, his laptop on his knees. He glanced up as Dorian came in but then went back to studying the screen.

Oh God, he seems so distant
. The urge to apologize once more was so strong, Dorian was almost trembling. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. It was then he noticed the single mattress on the floor beside the bed, a folded sheet, blankets, and a pillow resting on top of it.