Page 41 of Anchored

“Not here,” he said, voice rough. He pulled Daniel from the shower, made hasty work of drying them both, and then tugged Daniel into the bedroom.

Daniel needed no prompting to climb into bed. Though his own arousal had been sated, he still had a job to do, and he took pleasure from doing it well. He straddled the master’s chest backward and bent down to lave the master’s erection with his tongue, cradled his balls. As expected, the master’s hands stroked up his back, squeezed his ass.

“Oh yeah,” the master panted. “Just like that.”

Daniel continued teasing, driving the master toward climax.

Too much teasing, it seemed, for the master moaned, “Daniel . . .” low and plaintive, and Daniel took that as his cue to deep-throat him—a skill he’d still not yet mastered without gagging, but one he felt certain practice would make perfect. Besides, the master seemed to enjoy his practice an awful lot.

As if in confirmation, the master’s hands tightened on his ass. Daniel lifted his hips off the master’s chest, giving the man’s eager hands access to his own cock and balls. He didn’t think he could get hard again so soon, but he was at least no longer oversensitive, and he knew the master liked to play.

Daniel pulled back a little to catch his breath, wrapped his hand around the base of the master’s cock, and pumped lightly while working the head with his tongue. He was so focused on his task he almost didn’t notice the finger sneaking toward his crack again. But now he realized that both the master’s hands were on his ass, that one thumb was parting his cheeks and the other was stroking gently over the sensitive skin of his anus. He sucked in a breath, ran his tongue across the master’s slit to buy some time, and then, resolve set, freed his mouth and said, “Master?”

Behind him, the master grunted, lifted his head off the pillow, and planted a kiss on Daniel’s left butt cheek.

“I, uh . . .” Daniel swallowed hard, heat flooding his cheeks. He was nervous, embarrassed, more than a little afraid, but he meant to see this through. “I thought maybe . . . I mean, I know you want . . .”

Warm hands stroked up his hips, kneaded his lower back. “What is it, Daniel? It’s okay, you can ask me for anything. Tell me what you want.”

The earnestness in his master’s voice was unmistakable. Still, Daniel was glad they weren’t face-to-face; he didn’t think he could do this if he had to look at the man.

“That night, after—” He didn’t have to specify; they both knew what “that night” was. “You said, um, you said it’s supposed to feel good. Would you . . .? I want to be able to do that for you, but I’m—”

Scared to fucking death.

The hands at his lower back moved to his hips and nudged him, urging him around. Reluctantly, he turned to face the master, who opened his arms and invited Daniel inside. The master’s face was fond, endlessly patient, maybe even loving, and Daniel pressed his chest to the master’s, laid down beside him, and let those large arms wrap around him.

The master pressed a kiss to his temple. “You don’t have to do this for me, you know.”

Daniel nodded, even though he wasn’t so sure. For as good as the man had been to him, he couldn’t help wondering how long it’d be before the master got tired of what he had, how long before he decided the cost of keeping him exceeded the return he was getting. And maybe that was unfair, but Daniel knew the master wanted more. And he’d been so good to Daniel, so patient and kind and loving; Daniel wanted to give it to him. He trusted the master to show him how.

“I want to,” he whispered. “Please.”

The master kissed him again, this time on the lips, long and slow and sweet, then pulled back and said, “Okay.” He stuck a pillow by Daniel’s hip. “Roll over.”

Daniel hesitated, trembling.

“Trust me, I promise I’ll make it good. I’m not going to— I’m just going to kiss you, okay?”

Daniel nodded. He could handle that.

He rolled onto his belly, situated the pillow beneath his hips, buried his face in his arms, and held his breath. When the master nudged his thighs, he spread his legs, and the master settled between them.

Daniel bit down on his forearm, trying not to hyperventilate, trying not to let his mind flash back to the nightmare with Mr. Foster or, worse, to the nightmare with his old mistress’s clients, when a puff of warm air blew over his ass. The master pressed a kiss to one quivering buttock. Then another kiss, lingering and wet, a touch of tongue, and large, firm hands rubbing up the backs of his thighs. No pain, only pleasure, gentleness, care. Daniel kept his focus relentlessly on the present, and even managed to relax a little, to savor the sensations.

The kisses moved slowly toward Daniel’s center, the master’s hands petting and kneading in the wake of his mouth. When his tongue slipped into Daniel’s crack, Daniel gasped, shuddered at the strangeness of it, the remarkable intimacy. He was weirded out, maybe even a little grossed out, but he supposed he’d just washed, after all, and damn, but it felt good.

Good, Daniel realized, shocked anew—it felt good. Great. Amazing, even. The master made a hard little point of his tongue and pressed the tip inside him, and Daniel gasped again, squirmed beneath the master’s hands, moaning his surprise and pleasure. But the tip of the tongue was a tiny thing, and his muscles were squeezing even that; he didn’t see how anything more could fit inside without pain.

“Relax,” the master muttered into his ass, breath and vibration trilling across his skin. “Just let go, let yourself enjoy it.”

The master’s tongue drove back inside him, in and out in short little thrusts that sent bright sparks of pleasure from Daniel’s backside to his belly, tightening his balls and making him hard again, though he’d come not even thirty minutes before.

“See?” the master said, pride and pleasure in his tone, sliding one hand around Daniel’s hips to grasp at his newly formed erection.

“Mmm,” was all Daniel could manage, but he thrust his hips into the master’s hand to punctuate the statement.

The master chuckled and put his tongue back to work in sync with his hand, reaching out blindly with his other hand for the drawer in the bedside table.